Author Topic: A short story  (Read 1091 times)

Offline Shawn Yang

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A short story
« on: December 09, 2010, 03:49:17 PM »
I wrote a short, under-1000-words story for my english class and showed it to  my friend, who's also a practionner. He said that I should post it on apk to sort of spread and see what people think and get some feed back, so here goes. Honest feedback would be appreciated.
P.S.: please note this was written in about an hour and a half, so there are some shortcomings, obviously. :P Oh, and could anyone suggest a title?



   “It was a cold, stormy night as he looked into her sparkling blue eyes. She looked down at him with tears beginning to appear within her eyes. ‘Yes’, she whispered, her voice cracking, ‘I will Robert.’ Robert rose from his crouched stance and he embraced her, with tears in his eyes, laughing. He leaned in ever so slowly to-”
   “NO GOD DAMN IT!” screamed Pierre as he picked up his short story and began to rip apart. “It-” he tore it in half, “Needs-” into quarters, “To-” eighths, “Be-” sixteenths, “ORIGINAL!” the shreds flew out of his hands at the last tear, and floated down to the already messy tiled floor.
   Pierre Burns stared at the pieces of paper on the floor, panting. He swore under his breath, regretting the action. That story had been the best he had come up with in the last six hours, and he needed a new one on his ridiculously demanding boss’ desk in three hours. Pierre imagined ripping the idiot’s head off and wondered if he could hand that in as a story. The thought made him chuckle, but his joy was quickly replaced by his frustration. How was he to come up with another idea?
   Pierre looked out the window of his apartment, and down onto the street, desperate for inspiration. An elderly woman was being robbed by two young boys; the owner of the small pawn shop across the street was paying off some gangsters for protection money; a policeman was casually walking along, counting the money he had received from the gangsters. These were the slums of the city. Where the police held no power and gangsters ruled the streets.
   Pierre sighed. Five years ago, this would have been gold for writers. Now? Now, there were too many books of crime and gangsters. Besides, the gangsters themselves did not seem to enjoy books about them, and many writers had been found dead in gruesome ways. He looked around his little apartment, frantically searching for anything, ANYTHING to inspire him. His eyes caught on the TV.
   The TV was broadcasting security camera footage for the building, and Pierre saw three people down in the lobby. Three people he could not afford to see just yet. He swore, packed up his writing equipment into a small tin, and shoved it down his pockets. He checked the TV again. They were on his floor. Pierre swore once again, and leaped out his window.
   Pierre landed on the roof of the building adjacent to his, rolled to absorb the impact from the two-story fall, and started sprinting away. He could hear the yells of the gangsters behind him, and instinctively vaulted over an air conditioning unit and crouched behind it just in time as they started to fire. Once the gunfire stopped, Pierre yelled, “Come on you guys! I still have three hours to come up with a story for the boss! Why the Hell are you already here?!”
   A vaguely familiar voice called out, “Because he’s tired of giving you extensions!” Vance, the voice belonged to Vance, “He told us to just go ahead and ice you!” The three thugs laughed and began to fire again.
   Pierre swore another time. He had known he was falling out of favour with the boss, but he had never guessed that the boss no longer wanted him around. He panicked slightly, trying to think of where he could go now. A bullet that shot right by his ear interrupted his thoughts. He would have to get out of here first.
   Pierre’s eyes darted around the small roof, looking for an escape. He saw a small skylight, a skylight that could save his life. The gunfire stopped, and Pierre heard a small grunt as a gangster landed onto the roof. Pierre dove for the skylight, grabbed the handle and leaped down, shutting it behind him. Pierre landed on a restaurant table. He ignored the screams of the customers and saw out of the corner of his eyes that some of them were getting out of their seats, reaching into their coats. Without hesitation, he sprinted out the back door of the restaurant and started running down the alley with the gangsters close on his heels.
   Pierre ran to a dumpster, jumped up, kicking off of it. Mid-flight he grabbed a windowsill and hoisted himself up and through. He heard a gangster slam into the wall, missing the windowsill. He thought frantically wondering what he could do, as he raced down the hallway he had entered. He threw himself out of the window at the end of the hallway, his thoughts flying; he grabbed a laundry line and used it to swing through another window into an empty apartment. He quickly pulled the line in after him and crouched under the open window, listening.
   “God damn it, where did he go?” It was the voice of Vance, coming from the hallway he had just escaped. “Damn it all, he must be in one of these apartments, break down all the doors!”
   Pierre sagged on the wall, sighing with relief. He felt pity for the people the gangsters were about to disturb, but as long as they cooperated, most of them should live. He let himself rest for awhile, letting his breathing become regular again, as he thought about where he should go. Where could he go? He knew, at the very least, he’d need to get out of the city.
   Pierre decided to wait until it became night before he got out of this empty apartment. The gangsters would realise soon enough that he wasn’t in the building he had just left, but they wouldn’t search here for at least an hour or so. That’d be enough for it to become dark. Then he would make his move.
   So as day turned into night, Pierre contemplated, but still couldn’t come with an answer to the question that could save his life. Where could he go?
« Last Edit: December 10, 2010, 04:18:08 PM by Shawn Yang »
Like Water shall we flow,
Like Wind shall we move,
Like Fire do we burn to run.

Offline mickeynotmouse

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Re: A short story
« Reply #1 on: December 10, 2010, 03:15:06 PM »
OH


MY



GOD!!!



I loved it!! :D


I felt you wrote "gangsters" to many times, but it really doesn't matter! Your story was fun and original. I could hear pierre going "shit!"   

It was great, really. I'm saving it.

Offline Rebecca Myers

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Re: A short story
« Reply #2 on: December 10, 2010, 07:39:16 PM »
I liked the action, it really got me into it. However...why is this guy writing a short story...for a gang boss?
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Offline Shawn Yang

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Re: A short story
« Reply #3 on: December 10, 2010, 07:52:44 PM »
I liked the action, it really got me into it. However...why is this guy writing a short story...for a gang boss?

Well, I wanted to incorporate the "intro-story-that's-being-written-by-the-protagonist" intro. It just turned out that way. Maybe the crime boos really likes short stories. Jabba the hutt really liked his weird looking alien singers.
'shrug'
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Like Wind shall we move,
Like Fire do we burn to run.

Offline tibo

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Re: A short story
« Reply #4 on: December 11, 2010, 02:27:12 AM »
that is such a good story.
i would never be able to write an almost-1000 word story where the course of the actual story is like 5 minutes.
i like how you kinda confused us at the beginning with that wedding thing. i was like "ehh god."
good work. *clap*  :P ;D
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Offline Shawn Yang

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Re: A short story
« Reply #5 on: December 14, 2010, 01:14:39 PM »
so can no one think of a title?
:S
Like Water shall we flow,
Like Wind shall we move,
Like Fire do we burn to run.