Archive for August, 2008

Elly

{ August 18, 2008 @ 10:14 pm } · { short stories }
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I don’t like this one as much as I like Malky, because it was slightly more original the first time I used it.

Richie stared across the room at the girl, who was struggling to free herself from the ropes tying her tightly to the chair. He had had to tie the chair, in turn, to a post in the warehouse, because she struggled so much. She already had several bruises on the sides of her face from falling sideways in the chair.

“You’re my second friend you know, Malky was my first. Did you know him? I think his name was Malcolm Hill.” He said.

“Friend? You’ve kidnapped me and tied me to a chair and you’re calling me your friend?” She paused a second, fuming. “Yes, I knew him. He was the mayor, of course I knew him.”

“Malky… My lovely Malky, he was the mayor, wasn’t he? I forgot about that.” Richie seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. “Oh, my lovely girl, I’m deeply sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

Glaring, she managed to slip one of her hands out of the ropes that were holding her in place. “Why should I tell you? You’re probably going to kill me, why would you care?”

“Well, my dear girl, my lovely sweetheart, I’ve grown quite attached to you.”

She sighed, “My name is Ellen Wayne. Since you’re so attached to me, why don’t you let me go without hurting me?”

“Hmm… Ellen Wayne… I’ll call you Elly. Elly and Richie, we sound like comic book partners in crime.” He walked over to her seat and tied her hand back into the knot of rope at the back of the chair. Richie leaned down and kissed his lovely Elly on the cheek. “My dear, you’re very beautiful when you’re afraid.”

When she didn’t say anything, he walked to the middle of the room, turning around and around as if looking for something. He started going from door to door, locking each, as he said, “My sweet little Elly, you’ve been sitting there so long, would you like to get up and stretch your legs? We could make a game out of it. We could play tag. Doesn’t that sound fun, my lovely little sweetheart, my dear little Elly?”

She glared, still not talking. He finished locking the doors, and untied Elly, “I’ll be it first, you can have a few seconds head start.”

She ran, checking all the doors as she went by them. They were all locked. He didn’t bother chasing her. When she got to the other side of the room, he let out a piercing whistle. Two burly men appeared out of seemingly nowhere, grabbing Elly and carrying her struggling back. He tapped her on the forehead. “You’re it.”

He started running, and a second later the two men who had carried Elly across the room let her go and disappeared again. She just stood there. After a while Richie ran back to her “Why aren’t you chasing me, my dear?”

She glared again, and gingerly tagged him on the shoulder, then sprinted across the room and stopped at the other side. “Oh, you expect my men to come bring you back again, my darling girl, my wonderful Elly?” He walked over to her, and pulled out a gun.

“Tag.” Boom, “You’re it.” Thud.

Malky

{ August 14, 2008 @ 2:08 pm } · { short stories }
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I like the idea for this story, but the Dark Knight just came out so its going to be endlessly compared to the Joker until the hype is over. Its not horribly well written, and not very well organized, but for some reason I still like it.

He dragged the struggling, mayor-filled sack across the floor. He dumped it on a couch, and it’s struggling immediately caused it to dump itself onto the floor. He ignored it, limping across the floor of the dank warehouse to a cockroach-infested kitchen. He made himself some coffee, flicking the infernal insects away.  He limped back to the couch and its former occupant.

“Mmmhhmm!” Moaned the sack. “Mmmmnnhmm!” He sat on the couch, leaned down, and untied the top of the sack. Being a mayor-filler sack, as it was, its mayor was a man of many chins.

“Hello, Mr. Mayor,” he said sipping his coffee, “How are you doing today?”

The mayor glared. “The police will find me, you’ll go to jail. You should just let me go now.” He pleaded.

“I couldn’t do that, we haven’t had any fun yet.” He grinned, “My name is Richard, but you can call me Richie.”

The mayor glared again, “I’m hungry.”

“Says the fat man. You’re always hungry, that must be why our city is such a disgrace, all you ever do is eat. Rather than actually do your job.”

The mayor closed his eyes.

“Don’t fall sleep, just yet, my dear mayor, say, what is your name anyway? I really should pay more attention, they’ve been spouting your name all over the place, yelling about how you handled this, or that, or that other thing over there.”

“My named is Malcolm Hill… why am I even telling you this. Why am I here!” Mayor Hill screamed.

“Malcolm, Malcolm, Malcolm. I think I’ll call you Malky. Malky and Richie, we really do sound good together. But, my dear mayor, my lovely Malky, you are here,” Richie paused, “You are here, to play Truth or Dare!” He laughed giddily.

The newly nicknamed Malky stared. “Ummm… What?”

“Truth or Dare, Dare or Truth, you picked either Truth or Dare and I ask you a question for Truth and dare you to do something for Dare. Come on, you’ll love it, Malky.” He grinned widely, “Pick! Quick, quick, quick, pick, pick, pick!” He made it into a song, and kept singing it, over and over, as he waited for Malky’s reply.

“Well… Truth I guess.”

“Yay! I love truth. So tell me, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Hill, my lovely Malky,” he pulled a notepad and pen out of seemingly nowhere and crossed his legs, mock reporter through and through, “How much does the mob pay you?”

The lovely Malky’s eyes got wide. “But, but, they…” he mumbled something incoherent.

“Malky, Malky, Malky,” Richie said, “No use lying to your good friend Richie, just tell me, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” Richie put on his most innocent expression, which looked more like a viper than anything.

Malky sighed, “They doubled my salary. Will you let me go now?”

“Oh, no, no, no, I couldn’t do that, you have to play again.” Richie grinned a toothy grin, “Truth or Dare?”

Malky’s eyes got wide, his eyebrows raised, the perfect picture of terror. “D-D-Dare.” He managed to stutter out.

“Hehehe, DARE, dare, dare, dare, I like dares.” He leaned down and pulled Malky all the way out of the sack. “Come with me, will you?” Richie got up and limped to the door, pushing Malky ahead of him. Sipping the coffee he had forgotten while they talked.

They ascended some stairs, flight after flight, all the way to the roof. Richie stepped out onto the flat roof of the warehouse, Malky behind him. Richie led Malky over to the edge, which looked out over a busy street, full of pedestrians with cars trying in vain to reach the speed limit without killing anyone.

“Your dare, my dear, is to hit someone on the way down.” Richie pushed his dear, lovely Malky, off the building.

Scream. Crunch. Thud. More screams.

“Very good Malky, you did well.”

Criticisms are welcome. If anyone is even reading my blog at this point. In fact no one is, and no one will, because I challenge your existance.

Nameless Sci-fi Thinger

{ August 13, 2008 @ 3:37 am } · { short stories }
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This was based on a dream I had, and I don’t actually like it at all. It seems confusing to me. Confusing and not that well written.

“Captain! Come here!” General Oria screamed, “We need your help!”

The captain hovered over to Oria in her Spade SC20, the twenty-seventh century equivalent of a Segway,  but with guns… and flying.

They were hovering three hundred feet above the ground, inside a stadium. The stadium wasn’t a stadium in the normal, bug-shaped sense of the word. The stadium was a perfect titanium sphere, sixty stories high and resting on a hill. The seats were built into the walls, row after row covering every inch available. It could fit the entire population of every nearby town, and still leave the good seats for every politician known to man.

Inside the stadium, were two floating horizontal metals bars 240 feet long each. These metal bars were facing each other,  and each had twenty ten foot by ten foot panels hanging down. The panels were evenly spaced across the bars and each had a circular hole in the middle, five feet in diameter.

There was a ship hovering directly in the middle of the two bars, but another fifty feet higher.

“Captain, when the fighting gets bad, take this to the ship.”  Oria said, handing her a small, wafer-thin remote.

“Yes, sir.” She hovered back to her position behind the last panel. Oria had the first. In between were their eighteen comrades, each hovering just behind the hole in their respective panels. Spade guns pointing out. The opposite bar was similarly occupied, only difference being that the people behind the opposite bar were the ones they were trying to shoot. The ship in the middle started glowing green.

Bang. One down. Bang. That’s two. Bang. Three down. The Captain alone had brought the opposing teams size down to seventeen before they shot once. From the other side: Bang. Down goes her neighbor. The loud speaker spoke up to the empty stadium, empty other than the dead and about to die, at least.

“In the war standings, the USA is down to 18 brave soldiers, China is down to 16.” She should have been paying more attention. She hadn’t even noticed another of their own drop. In the following ten minutes, they had lost five of their own, and shot four of the other side. She decided it was time to bring the remote to the ship as General Oria had told her to. She hovered along the back of the panels, picking out the three best soldiers.

“You’re coming with me,” she said. “We’re going to the ship.”

As they made their way to the ship, the three surrounded her, shooting anyone who made a move to shoot her. She considered them lucky, they only lost one of the three getting to the center. Then entered the ship, hovering through the halls towards the generator she remembered was at the center. When they reached it, it had turned red. Red meant the fighting was over, since the generator was what had been making the ship glow green. The fighting was over, but who had won? She dropped the remote into the red, swirling, glowing mass of energy that was the generator. It pulsed.

“Time to go back, I guess.” They hovered slowly back, not bothering to guard from bullets. The fighting was over. But still, they could not tell who had won. As they reached their bar and hovered through one of the panels, the captain looked down. One, two, three… fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. Seventeen bodies on the ground. She and her two soldiers were the only ones left alive. They had lost.  Slowly, they made their way back to the changing rooms, to get ready to greet their new Chinese rulers.

I’m not sure I put enough emphasis on the fact that this was war. It seemed too much like a game. But in a way that is why I was drawn to the idea, the fact that in the story (and originally, the dream) war was just a game. It still controlled the flow of power between countries, but it was a game nonetheless.

Prequel To Crimson Hawk

{ August 11, 2008 @ 8:32 pm } · { short stories }
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I wrote this after I wrote Crimson Hawk, and I still don’t like that name. The first paragraph in this one is a disaster, I know.

She stepped out of the plane, gazing down the steps and across the runway, following the other passengers across the concrete sea. The night was cloudy and starless.  As they reached the airport terminal, the passengers could see a churning mass of people waiting in the line to reach immigration. “Welcome to China” the sign above the door proclaimed in as many languages as they could fit in such a small area.

As they entered the building they were immediately immersed into the line. Although the size of the line was rapidly decreasing ahead of her, she still had to wait half an hour before she reached the front, and was pointed to the nearest empty booth.

“Passport, please.” The immigration officer said in a thick Chinese accent. She handed her fake American passport over. He ran his finger over the top edge of her passport, while still looking her in the eye. He seemed to find something wrong, he looked down at the passport, opened it up and held one of the pages up the light. He still seemed unsatisfied. He stood up warily, keeping his eyes on her the entire time.

“Is there a problem, sir?” She asked.

“Please come with me,” Again with the accent.

He led her to an empty office, he looked around and said something in Chinese that she couldn’t understand.

“Stay here,” the simple words were hardly recognizable through his accent.

He walked out of the room, glancing back every few seconds as he walked away. She contemplated what to do. She could stay, but then she’d get jail time and dirt on her spotless record.  She could run, but they’d catch her, and then there would be even more dirt. She chose the lesser of two evils.

A man walked in, American by his looks, but wearing the same uniform as her immigration officer had. He had her passport open in his hand. He glanced down at it.

“So, Alison Fuller, is it?” Flawless English. He glared at her.

“Yes, that’s me.” She let out a wide, pleasant, utterly false smile. “Is there a problem, sir?” She stared at him innocently.

“This is a false passport. Where did you get it?”

Her eyes got wide, looking as innocent as she possibly could.

“Sir, its not false. I would never  try and travel on a false passport. I’m appalled that you think I would.” She walked towards him, reaching into her purse. She slid her fingers around a cold, hard, molded object.

She pulled the knife out, and skipped forward before the uniformed man could react. She held the knife against his neck, gazing into his eyes, relishing in his terror, and slit his throat. She quickly jumped back to avoid the majority of the blood pumping out of his newly unoccupied body as he fell to the floor. She licked the blood off her hand, and then the knife.

She put the knife back in her purse, and walked out of the room, plucking her passport out of his hand and walked out. Her walk took her to baggage claim, she picked up her bag, and calmly left the airport.

After checking into her hotel, she pulled off her blond wig, picked up the phone, and dialed.

Ring, ring, ri- “Hello?”

“The passport didn’t work. Why didn’t the passport work.”

“Uhh… Well… I don’t know.” The voice on the other end pleaded.

“Yeah, right, you don’t know. I should have gotten what I paid for. I paid for an authentic American passport.”

He sighed. “You’re always in this mood after you’ve killed someone. Who did you kill?”

“Vladimir, I killed an immigration officer.”

“They know its you?”

“Probably.”

“Shit.”

“You got that right.” She said.

“Anya… I’m sorry. Any way I can make it up to you?”

“Go jump off a cliff.” She hung up.

She pulled a hand gun out of her luggage, and walked out of the hotel room.

The first person she saw was a cleaning lady, she walked by, gun in plain sight. The next few people were just as unimportant. When she reached the lobby there was a police officer talking to someone behind the desk. She shot them both.

People started screaming. She was hyper-aware of the sound of her shoes, the echo off the walls, click, clack, click, clack.

More police officers came in running. Bang, bang, bang, click, clack, click, clack, bang. Six people dead in five minutes. She felt accomplished. A child was crying, SWAT would be here soon. She walked towards the door, and put the gun in a dead cop’s empty holster as she walked out the front door, she got in to a waiting taxi.

“To the airport, please.”

Yet again, a story I only half like.

Wooo, first short story

{ August 11, 2008 @ 8:10 pm } · { short stories }
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Might be somewhat disturbing to some people… I guess. Only people that are completely and utterly sheltered from the blood-soaked media. Its called Crimson Hawk, for lack of a better title.

She stepped out of the bathroom, a thick hotel towel wrapped around her. She unwrapped the towel, using it to dry her hair as she walked to the mirror. She got dressed slowly, only half an hour left.  Finally, as she pulled the tight red dress over her head, she heard a knock at the door.

“One minute,” she called in her high, clear voice. “I’m almost ready.”

She quickly arranged the dress around her  slim waist and  brushed out her long, silky black hair. She left her makeup sitting untouched on the bathroom counter along side a bottle of hotel-provided shampoo. She preferred looking natural, she was pretty anyway.

She slipped on her shoes, picked up her purse from the bureau and opened the door  to see the driver of the limo she had hired, ready to escort her to the parking lot.

“Oh, you’re early,” she said.

“Its across town, miss. We wouldn’t want to be late.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She sighed. She couldn’t exactly say she was looking forward to this.

They rode the elevator to the first floor, and as they walked through the lobby to the waiting limo, she caught the stares of men, following her out the door.

The driver opened the rear passenger door of the car, waiting for her to get in before he shut it. She watched the buildings go by as they slowly navigated through the downtown traffic, the rooftops many meters above her head.

They parked in the back, in an empty parking lot reserved for the restaurant’s more important patrons.  She hopped out of the car, not waiting for the driver to open the door for her. Her heels made a click clack, click clack sound on the pavement.

“What is this place called, again?”

“It’s the Crimson Hawk, ma’am, it’s the most prestigious restaurant in town.”  He said, “I’ll be waiting here when you’re done.”

Click, clack, click, clack into the restaurant. She scanned the tables, seeing Vladimir, the man she’d come to meet. She walked towards him, past the suit-clad waiter asking if she had a reservation.

Vladimir stood as she walked towards him, looking her over. From her silky hair to the long, dark red dress and the black heels.

He kissed her on the cheek when she reached him.

“Anya! Its good to see you. I take it your trip here went well?”

She sighed inwardly, small talk, she hated it. She just wanted this to be over. They talked about  his work, and her recent trip to China. They talked for what seemed like years, until finally the food came. They exchanged comments about the food, and later the desserts, until finally it was over. They both stood, each waiting for the other to speak first.

“Its been so nice talking to you, I hope we can arrange another date some time?” She lied through a false smile.

“Of course, that would be lovely, I’ll call you tomorrow. Would you like me to walk you to your car?”

“Oh that would be wonderful.” Her smile was genuine this time. She took his arm as he led her out to her car. Click, clack, click, clack. As they reached the car she dug into her purse, closing her hand around the smooth , comfortable form.

She pointed the gun at his head, grinning at his short-lived terror, and pulled the trigger. As she put the gun back in her bag, she noticed a small spattering of blood on the tinted window. She wiped the blood off with her finger, staring at it as she walked around the car. There stood the driver, calmly holding her door open for her. She licked the blood off her finger and ducked into the car.

“Back to the hotel, if you would.”

The lack of indentation is quite annoying. I should blow it up. I’ll fix that eventually, aka make my Mom fix it. Constructive criticism is welcome, since I know this story is incredibly cliche and not partiularly well-written.

Watch as I laugh at you evilly

{ August 11, 2008 @ 7:30 pm } · { Introduction }
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I’ve started this blog as an outlet for my overwhelming need to rant senselessly. Also known as my overwhelming need to write disturbing short stories. I tend to give myself nightmares due to my own short stories, mainly because I usually base the main character off of myself. But you might get nightmares, too. In which case you should remember them and email them to me because I love to hear peoples’ dreams. Speaking of which, I’ll also be posting what little of dreams I can remember here. So basically, this will be a blog full of horror stories and nightmares. Sounds pleasant doesn’t it?