View Full Version : Stories of varying lengths

08-06-11, 10:26 PM
I used to write a lot as a kid, but haven't created something since about 2001. Tonight I feel the need to write, but rather than it being a scathing self-examination with the intent of feverishly ripping the negative aspects out, I've decided to try my hand at some "fictional storytelling", though I might be weaving a bit of truth into it as well. Bear with me folks, I'm not Stephen King :D

08-06-11, 11:07 PM
A misted blanket of rain descended on the city at night. The street lights' rays were distorted in the fashion of rounded, imperfect orbs. The uninterrupted whisper of the rain was broken by the occasional passing car, even at 2:30 am, spraying a miniature wave along the sidewalk like an angrily passing shark.

The buildings were old - not as old as the city, but old nonetheless. The shadows not hidden by the lights seemed very much in place, the occasional protruding brick or beam accentuating the path of darkness...

...from which there exploded a small but sudden flash of flame, it's origin a very old Zippo. Tucked into a nook on the sidewalk, stood the man no one knew. Holding the lighter to his cigarette, the first puff of smoke ripping apart in the gentle, but ceaseless rain. The unmistakable metallic clank of the lid flipping shut. From across the street, if one were there to observe, there was only the sight of the cherry, increasing in brightness with each drag, and the ghost-like puff of smoke that held it's form for only a few seconds.

He pulled the collar of his black long coat higher, flicked the butt to the sidewalk, and began walking. A few had seen him in places throughout the city, but none could place him. He had a seemingly friendly face you felt you knew, but his lack of recognition and acknowledgment made you doubt. There seemed to be something haunting him, his eyes preoccupied with some unknown sadness, and his almost hurried step seemed to carry him to some destination that even he didn't know.
Why was he out there, in the dark? Where did he stay? Who did he know? Questions without answers, dissipating in the air once uttered, not unlike those wisps of smoke in the rain.

His passing briefly raised interest, but once out of sight, the questions gone in the air, the focus returned to whatever mundane unimportance; and that's exactly how he liked it. Knowing he could pass through a room, pass by a street cafe, be seen and questioned about, but almost as soon as seen he was forgotten. So much better that way, so much better to navigate the streets, the woods, wherever, than to have to navigate the oceans of the mundane and the ignorant...

The rain drops increased in size and quantity, the whisper becoming a cacophony; the few left on the street at this hour hurried, but his stride never changed. Hands in pockets, eyes along the cracks in the sidewalk, brow furrowed against the rain, he continued walking, without any regard to the elements pelting him from all sides.

The first thunderclap of lightning pierced the black sky, showing the city in it's bluish white light for the briefest of seconds. The dying reverberations of the initial strike carried far off into the distance, a rumbling growl from Mother Nature descending through the abomination of the concrete jungle.

His boots crushed the occasional bit of discarded human forgetfulness: Styrofoam cups, food containers, glass bottles, and so on. Their infrequent sounds were barely audible over the downpour, but even then their presence went unregistered to his gaze, so lost in thought was he.

Sometimes his mind was where his eyes were directed: the crooked, jagged borders of the concrete; the black splotches of old chewing gum that had emulsified to the street; the pulverized cigarette butts gathering in puddles, water made dirty only after having fell to the concrete.

Other times, and more often, his mind soared to places behind, ahead, visited, or never been. Thoughts ranging from people he had talked to, loved, hated, fought, fu*ked, hurt, healed, thieved from, given to...
He sometimes imagined going back and doing things differently, or just relived these events, but always always.... always he looked inside himself, reviewing these events like movies on a shelf....

His heart wrenched more than it glowed, coarse black tendrils constricting it, never leaving. Sometimes they loosened their grip, but always they were there, wrapped and tied. Not unlike an octopus, but instead of suckers there were barbs laid flat against the tendrils, and the tighter they held, the more the barbs dug in...

The lightning pelted the night, loud crash like the first, then several smaller bursts, each accentuated with the same light as before, infrequent flashes exposing the ugliness of this place. He walked on....

08-09-11, 08:47 PM
The warm summer breeze flowed across the endless fields, making the tall grass and occasional tree dance slowly to some unheard music.
The road stretched in front of him, bending slightly this way and that into the endless distance. A mountain could be seen through the haze of distance slightly to his left, the whitecap more pronounced than the few lazy clouds suspended above it.
Flicking the cigarette to the pavement, he began walking again. Jacket slung over his shoulder, pack securely on his back, the weight of his gear familiar and comfortable.
Still the sound of wind and grass, an occasional reminder of life coming from a bird here, something unseen over there.
He loved it out here, the serenity known here couldn't be bought anywhere else, for any price. Normally an occasional external interruption of thoughts (that he couldn't control anyway) would cause frustration, and quick attempts to leave the situation. Not here. These interruptions to his thoughts were more than welcome. No verbal fumbling to scramble out of his fugue, no failing conversation, no facial expressions to misread, no unintended offenses - just Mother Nature's indifference.
He didn't even mind the distance to walk, mainly because he had no idea where his destination was anyway. The stop here and there, and setup of his accommodations were more than he could ask for, a mansion on his back with riches beyond compare: cooking tin, fire striker, lean-to, and everything else needed to make life more livable on the road.
Sometimes he'd encounter a fellow traveler: a few courtesies of the road were exchanged, sometimes there would be an undesirable or unwelcome interest in what he had, but the rules of the road governed survival of oneself above others, and both always knew that they would eventually be moving on. He wasn't bothered by this whether it was a positive or negative encounter; regardless of the interaction it would go sour anyway, so walking on just worked better.

The sun crested the horizon, and the day's light began to fade, an orange and purple display playing across the canvas he walked in. The road was old, crumbled, barely used. A vehicle or two passed, but otherwise it was not well-traveled. Small chunks of the pavement would spray from the contact of his boots, skittering across the road and into the field. Here and there a huge chunk was broken off and sunk into the grass nearby. A forgotten thruway that was slowly but surely being reclaimed by the field.

The light seemed to hold forever at this stage, the colors brightening here as they darkened there. The whitecap of the mountain took on the light bluish purple hue of the sky, and he stopped to observe for a time.
He heard the hasp sound of an approaching vehicle behind him, growing in volume. He stepped onto the grass, out of the car's path. The headlights were on, and slowly creeped up the road in front of him.

The sound of the tires was slowing, the engine's marathon run slowing. He turned, and saw it was a battered old truck, signs of rust creeping from the edges, the engine chugging as it came to a stop in front of him. The passenger door opened, and a feminine voice said: "Hola, amigo!"
He smiled, and got in...

08-09-11, 09:03 PM
More please:D

08-09-11, 09:17 PM
That was you at the end ;)

08-09-11, 10:46 PM
That was you at the end ;)

Me... :yes:

08-10-11, 02:58 AM
. e sound of the tires was slowing, the engine's marathon run slowing. He turned, and saw it was a battered old truck, signs of rust creeping from the edges, the engine chugging as it came to a stop in front of him. The passenger door opened, and a feminine voice said: "Hola, amigo!" smiled, he and got in... _______________ "

Oh my, lol this really could have been me! Lol I do drive a battered old truck ( well it is a Ford Club Wagon van but was built on a truck frame,) I just was noticing the rust around umm the ..edges now wait a minute. . .

Now THAT is ... intriguing :)

08-19-11, 09:04 AM
The asphalt slapped with rain, small puddles growing with each drop. He raised his head, eyes shaking open. Looking around, he realizes he survived. All around, grayish black clouds retreat, accentuated by the icy blue streaks of lightning hidden within the storm. Thunder rolled across the open plain, the imperfect road a platform for his unconsciousness.
He sits up, fishing in his coat pockets for the pack of Camels. Sopping wet, he throws it aside, slapping into the mud. He sits, taking the view in.

The storm he was caught up in, more powerful than his own thoughts, than anything he'd encountered before. And when it was done with him, he was cast aside, already forgotten before he hit the ground.
He stands, begins searching for his belongings. A piece here, there. Finally he finds his pack, still intact. Shoving the few stray pieces into their rightful places, he searches in the waterproof sack for a new pack of smokes, and finds it. Sheltering cigarette and lighter under his coat, he takes the first drag, relishing and regretting it all at the same time.

The storm has receded, but stays on the horizon, blocking the sunlight so that it only shows through as a gray glow, spotted with black.
Despite the scene, his heart is strong, beating with strength he thought he lost forever. The storm reminded him of this strength, showed him how to use it again. He actually depended on the foul weather for a short time, to keep giving him this strength. But he had to stand on his own, and he is.

Standing up, he hoists the pack onto his back, securing the straps. Casting the butt aside, he begins walking again, and the storm maintains it's exact distance as he moves, always there, always reminding him...