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Alex Scarrow
Ape
969 Posts |
 Posted - 20 June 2006 : 10:44:07 PM
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SHORT STORY ENTRIES (LESS THAN 500 WORDS) BELOW. READ, ENJOY.
AT 10PM ON SUNDAY 25TH, THIS THREAD WILL BE CLOSED. THE FIRST 12 ENTRIES ONLY WILL BE ENTERED INTO THE POLL FOR VOTING.
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jof
Single Cell Organism
United Kingdom
30 Posts |
Posted - 20 June 2006 : 11:39:34 PM
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Okay, 496 words, Might not be very good, its the first story ive written of my own volition.
Heresy
James Alderson looked in fear at the 3 cloaked men. One, a tall male with a purple cloak sat at a desk covered in ink and parchment. Every now and then he would write a few scribbled notes and then pause and look around as if wondering where he was. The other two looked more gruesome, one wore the black tunic and leggings of a commoner yet his pose spoke of a very different ancestry and the final male was obscured as he had his back to Alderson and was leaning over a brazier.
“We are meeting today to interrogate the accused; James Alderson of heresy against the most Catholic Church.” Spoke the regal haughty man when he finally realised exactly what he was doing. The tone was that of complacency, he sat with not a care in the world and had seen this far too often to now have his stomach turned. This was shown as he looked with indifference at the bound Alderson.
“Firstly the garrucha” said the complacent Notary of the Secreto, whose job it was to write down the results of said torture. Alderson was lifted high into the air via a string of pulleys which held him around the hands, and waist. Weights were gently applied to Alderson’s ankles in ironic contrast to the pain of stretching muscle that screeched in every fibre of his being. Alderson clamped his mouth shut whilst he suppressed a cry of pain. He would not show these murderers fear he swore to himself. He would not give in!
An hour later the weights where released, the muscles had torn and with the pain had come the blackness, half relief half fear he sunk into the depth of his thoughts only to be roused moments later by a brand on the soles of his feet, The Spanish chair. Tied to the chair, hands clamped and legs held in pace his feet could not move. Heat was applied, again in gentle mockery of the burning flesh. He would not survive. That was a certainty. With this revelation came the depths of despair, he had no family to worry about, they had been killed, or at least taken to rot in some stinking cell. The brand was applied again, all thoughts of his daughters and wife ceased. All feelings ceased. The fear that had once sat in his eyes now left, a stony gaze now looked out of those once loving eyes. With every once of willpower he had left, Alderson looked up, glared at the Notary and looked back down not before seeing the surprise on the Notaries face.
The surprise was the only satisfaction he received, days later Alderson was dragged out in front of the crowds; accused once more of Heresy and as unrepentant went to the fiery abyss. The stake was his final resting place. No thoughts of those he loved left he died in a crinkling, abandoned mass. Where was his God now?
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"Go ahead, shoot, your only going to kill a man"-Che Guevara to his assassin |
Edited by - jof on 21 June 2006 8:08:01 PM |
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AndyCanty
Homosapien
United Kingdom
6629 Posts |
Posted - 21 June 2006 : 08:56:17 AM
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Ok, here it is, no where near 500 (although the original post did say 300....hehe hope you enjoy it....(well prob not  )
Darkness.
He awoke with a start, sweating, momentarily panic set in as his brain tried to assimilate where he was, he couldn't see a thing, rubbing his eyes of the grit of sleep he waited for his eyes to adjust.......they didn't. He couldn't work it out, he must be able to see something there was always light somewhere, wasn't there???
It was still dark,
Fumbling with the sheet covering him, he tried to stand up, his legs felt like that they had heavy weights upon them, finally he got to his feet and shuffling forward he bumped into something stubbing his right toe, bending down to rub his toe, cursing softly to himself, why softly he didn't know, you just didn't speak loudly in a dark room, didn't you????
Somewhere in the darkness he could hear a strange rumbling sound, well not really a rumble more like air being forced through something......stumbling still in a haze of sleep he made his way across the room; well he thought it was a room.
It was still dark
The rumbling noise changed, He froze, straining to work out what it was, fear began creeping into his mind. Standing still he concentrated on the sound trying to make out where it was in relation to himself, the sound settled down to an even rumble again, shrugging he began his shuffling trek through the darkness concentrating very hard not to stub his very sore right big toe again.
It was still dark
Reaching out in front of him he felt a wall and something on it switch like, flicking it, he was bathed is blinding white light! The rumbling stopped and a start........
“Turn the bloody light off dear, and come back to bed your sleep walking again!” came the muffled voice from the bed he could now see in the room
Flicking the light off he stumbled back to bed falling back into a deep sleep.
_________________________
If all the worlds a stage?
Where's my script???
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Edited by - AndyCanty on 21 June 2006 09:07:23 AM |
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John Prigent
Homosapien
United Kingdom
8414 Posts |
Posted - 21 June 2006 : 10:35:31 AM
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OK, here's mine. I didn't need anything like 500 words for this one.
AFTER THE BATTLE
"It was the harsh calling of the ravens that roused him. That, and the sharp pain as a wickedly-pointed beak tore at his outstretched leg.
He rolled over and sat up. Scattered battle debris – swords, shields, torn cloaks, and bodies – littered the field. “Did we win?” he wondered aloud. Then “what hit me?”, followed by a cry of “Oh, my head!” as the pain rushed in.
He staggered to his feet, clutching his head, and looked around. Where were his comrades, his brothers in arms? Surely the Vikings had not driven them from the field? Alfred's Huscarls would never have left him to suffer the torment of the Blood Eagle when found by the Vikings!
He turned at the swish of footsteps through the long grass. A figure wavered into view – his eyes were watering with pain and he could not see clearly. Was it Edgar? He squinted but could not see the figure any better.
“Where is everyone?” he asked “All I see are the slain, but surely we are not the only survivors.”
A quiet voice replied “The Vikings are defeated, fleeing with the Huscarls in hot pursuit. Only you remain on the field out of all the Saxon array.” “We won?” he cried, wincing as the pain hit him again. “Winchester is safe?”
“Yes,” the voice replied, “Winchester is safe. There will be no Viking slaughter in the town, your wife and children are safe. But there was great slaughter here.”
He still could not see the speaker clearly, and the voice was unfamiliar. “I cannot see you properly and I do not know your voice,” he said “Are you from another town?”
“I am not from around here,” the voice replied, “but you might have met me anywhere. You cannot stay here any longer, it is time for you to come with me.” “Why should I go with you?” he asked. “I must rejoin my comrades and pursue the Vikings!”
“You cannot” the voice responded. “Look down”
He lowered his gaze to the grass at his feet. A mail-armoured body lay there, face downward, its helmet and head split as if if by a Viking axe.
Suddenly his vision cleared and the figure sprang into focus – a black cloak and hood covering its face, a scythe, and a bony finger beckoning."
Cheers
John |
Edited by - John Prigent on 21 June 2006 3:10:11 PM |
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Alex Scarrow
Ape
969 Posts |
Posted - 21 June 2006 : 12:50:39 PM
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| quick note...please give your story a title, preferably one that will jog people's memories so they will clearly recall your story. And then I'll put these titles in the poll slots, along with author name. |
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Parmenion
Homosapien
United Kingdom
13892 Posts |
Posted - 21 June 2006 : 12:55:08 PM
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Lies
Lies, Alex never knew when to stop them, he had spent his life so far skipping from one miss-truth to the next and now it had become an automatic response to any question.
The thing was, he now knew that it was wrong, he understood that it was something that held him back; he would never build up any trust with anyone he hung out with or any member of his family. His family had finally reached the point of utter exasperation; basically if he opened his mouth they knew that bull**** would flood out. He knew it was time for change!
The frustrating thing for him was that he had tried to tell people that he would not do it any more, that he had changed, but they all thought
"Yep, ok that’s good, but I really do not believe you! Prove it!"
And then walked off sure in the knowledge that it was just another lie.
Which had usually been the case, they were often such silly lies as well,
“Have you eaten your lunch?”
“Yes dad”,
“Then why is it still in your lunch box”.
“Who broke your mobile?”
“My friend broke it dad”
“Right, like he did the last 3?”
Or recently and more seriously
“Some ones been in the house playing the play-station today, and you have not got a key to get in, your bedroom window is wide open, so is there anything you want to own up to”?
“No dad it wasn’t me! I was at school and then went to a friends house until 10 minuets ago”
It was so easy for him to live down to people’s expectations of him, but he now honestly wanted to change. But how to convince people he was truly a changed person?
So he started telling the truth.
The short pause before answering had vanished, the careful balance of fact and fiction eased, he no longer had to keep a mental note of what he had told to who and when.
The problem was he had cried wolf so many times that no one believed him. He could have said that the house was burning and even if you could see the smoke you would have wondered if it was just another lie.
His dad kept banging on about trust and that it was something that you had to earn, but in typical teenage fashion Alex wanted to have all the past lies vanish and be presented with a blank slate (again), a way to start again from scratch but with a full measure of trust applied at the start.
What he wasn’t telling himself was that he wanted this new level of trust so he could come and go at will, have his mates around and generally break as many rules as possible.
What Alex didn’t realise was that now he had reached the pinnacle of lying,
He was lying to himself….and he was falling for those lies hook line and sinker!!
LASCIATE OGNE SPERANZA, VOI CH'INTRATE
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Edited by - Parmenion on 21 June 2006 4:00:02 PM |
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Ankhsy
Homosapien
United Kingdom
7087 Posts |
Posted - 21 June 2006 : 9:45:54 PM
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A Case of Plagiarism
Rodrigo slumped heavily onto his armchair, the telephone receiver still in his hand, now forgotten. “Plagiarism! I am accused of plagiarism!” His mind went blank, unable to comprehend what was happening, the beginning of a tension headache clamping his head.
Just two weeks ago, he was on top of the world. His first novel, the result of three years’ painstaking arduous research on both sides of the Atlantic, was published to critical acclaim. Brad Pitt had already bought the film rights!
But now, it was all over. A tattered manuscript found in the Archivo de las Indias in Cadiz during yet another cataloguing exercise had changed all that.
Rodrigo’s fax machine whirred into life, interrupting his thoughts. He replaced the phone in its cradle and reached to pick up the pages as they came through.
“The Chronicles of Don Sebastian Ugarte Andorra”, his publisher, Antoni Mondial, called it. “A research student found it yesterday while helping with the cataloguing” Antoni said, his voice strained and hoarse. “He started to read it and thought it sounded familiar. He realised it was your book which he read last week.”
“Impossible!” Rodrigo stuttered. “I’ve never even heard of the manuscript.”
“The Archives faxed me a copy. I will fax some pages to you. Rodrigo, I’ve read it. The resemblance to Mexico Dorado is too close to be a coincidence.”
“I did not copy anyone’s work. I haven’t plagiarised anything. It’s not possible!”
“Perhaps Ugarte plagiarised your work” Antoni joked lamely. “Where were you in 1541?”
Rodrigo quickly scanned the six pages of spidery writing characteristic of 16th century Spanish, noting Ugarte’s signature and the date – 1445 – on the first page. The language was typical of the period, but he immediately recognised his story, the adventures of a conquistador in Coronado’s expedition to Cibola. While Rodrigo’s story had been fiction, this appeared real life!
His eyes stopped at a name –San Felipe y Santiago. Rodrigo held his breath. He used the Spanish name for the Indian settlement of Sinaloa in his book, but Hurdaide only established it in 1599, 54 years after the account was written.
Rodrigo read on, stopping again after a minute. Ugarte described Coronado as wearing a corbata, a cravat, as Rodrigo had done. But the word was first used in 1651. What was it doing in a 16th century account? What was going on?
Rodrigo’s eyes fell on Ugarte’s signature and he frowned. Suddenly, he jumped up and hurried to his desk. The Guest Book was still there. Antoni turned up with it at lunch on the weekend, “a souvenir of the launch, with a few interesting names” he winked.
Rodrigo turned the pages rapidly, his heart pounding, until he found it, on page eight, six signatures down. What had Sherlock Holmes said? “When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
He picked up the phone and dialled Antoni’s number.
“Hello, Antoni. Tell me, do you believe in time travel?”
"It's hard to work in a group when you're omniscient."
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Edited by - Ankhsy on 21 June 2006 10:19:42 PM |
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Viriatus
Ape
Netherlands
859 Posts |
Posted - 25 June 2006 : 12:11:07 AM
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End and Beginning
Sunsea waked to the sound of shouts echoing in thousands.
Damm animals, he thought, could they ever be silent? He ran a hand over his head, trying to relive the heaviness inside, like someone swimming trough a foggy morning.
Suddenly the reason for his aggrieved mood came to him wholly.
This was the day he waited and feared the most. The end of it all and a new beginning.
He needed only to complete the ritual.
The ceremony had been taught and rehearsed time and again, till every word and movement become second nature to him. Yet it was not intended to be on use so soon.
He get up from the huge bed, a bed that was build to last and capable of holding a full mating ceremony, as it indeed had hold before, and stretched himself.
Neither a giant nor a midget, strong but not bulky, he was a living image of the statistical average guy. Sadly that would change in many ways over the next year, if he could endure it. The first four months of forced enclosure were deemed to leave him bone and skin.
Once again he recalled the last dispute, the one that ended with Allison hurt and bleeding.
It was his fault; he needed not to reassert his dominance. Not now, as the fertile period was finish and gone. Only the pheromonal scents lingered, but that was the reason why he felt so strongly attracted to Allison.
He knew the overwhelming effect produced, and he should have calm down before moving in, right here in the master bedroom, to muffled sound that awaked him.
Afterwards the other guy squeezed himself out trough the window, not an ordinary accomplish to a three-hundred, as the window was only a two foot square
Sunsea smiled; he had helped the guy out, his right shoulder still carry the bruises.
But before that, his theatrical entrance had provoked a more stunning effect.
Allison was at the corner of the bed, already capitulated, her head between the guy’s hands. Small rivulets of blood marked their path from the ceremonial wounds to the chin line. As the other turned quickly in response to Sunsea, the blades had cut deep in Allison’s neck, severing the two main blood vessels there.
The day was at the end, his waiting nearly over as the night approached. Felling inside that the time was right, he moved across the house, till the small side room, and entered.
A yearning look on his sad face, Sunsea caressed the soft skin on Allison tight.
Then, a concerned expression crossed his face, and he look swiftly towards the neat lump of eggs, undoubtedly visible under the skin, a little above the waistline.
His hand moved along the still brilliant skin, over the leg, gently pulling it and revealing the muscle outline lying underneath. With the other scale-covered hand guiding the sharp knife, he tore apart a large piece and, with a sloshing noise, started chewing at it.
"How bright is the light if there’s no one else to see it?"
"Scire tuum nihil est, nisi te scire hoc sciat alter" |
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SHORT STORY ENTRIES
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