Reepicheep
05-17-2007, 05:00 PM
Here is a small (517 words) excerpt from a short story I wrote when I was 17. I invented the pseudonym Corban Creed for it. I have shared it with few others until now. I no longer have it on disk but only on hard copy (paper) so I have to recopy it. In doing so I cannot help but revise a little as I may find a better way to convey the story or as I find necessary to comply with forum rules (language). For example I have finally given the main character a name and removed what I feel to be platitudinal and outdated references to popular culture. My greatest complaint with this story upon rereading it is that it may be difficult for others who don't see the story in their own heads to figure out what is going on. So without making further excuses for this tripe :D ...
Nativity on the Golgotha
By
Corban Creed
The merciless battering of the soul the youth had taken, at least in this writer’s opinion, was ample reason for his current state of mind. Throughout every waking moment of his life, he had been endlessly tormented by the fiend he now so easily dispatched, whose name was Shawn. He was but one of many. He was not particularly loathsome over any of the others, but it was upon him the burden of years of bedevilment exploded. The youth was their thrall, a medium for self-ascent. Now through this same medium all the fury of Hell erupted, focused into one square inch. That square inch lay between the youth’s knuckles and struck Shawn’s jaw with force enough to shatter all bones involved between them.
His current tormentor’s name had once been something well known in the valley where they lived. It now seemed the dying boy would enjoy the immortality of fame for reasons other than his father’s name. He would now pay the price for his lack of passion. Just as the final insult passed his lips, some vital link to the complacent part of the youth’s soul disintegrated, leaving the aforementioned wrath of fiery Hell to flow freely.
Aaron clutched his broken hand with the other. Blood trickled from between the fingers of his good hand and fell to the floor below. Though reality demanded it, one boy’s blood refused to mingle with the other. Shawn’s body lay in a heap under the dented lockers. His fellows stood there like stone with their mouths agape. That vital link in their own minds would simply not accept what had just happened as reality for some time. It was true though. Their population had just been reduced by one before their very eyes.
Dizzy from the unhealthy surge of adrenaline and the loss of blood through his ruined hand, he staggered through a part in the crowd. This part, found impossible to gain by any mere spectator in the ordeal, occurred quickly and naturally from sheer terror of the young man’s wake. Matt was last to move. Matt had always been something of a religious counsel for other students willing to talk to him. Aaron was among those who accepted his guidance on occasion. Through the haze of turmoil, Aaron saw him standing in his way, his ever-present Bible dropped absently to the floor in shock. He was wearing one of those shirts with tall red numbers on it that Aaron tried to look up but could never figure out. All was a blur as he stumbled forward so he didn’t see the word above it but the number stood out like lightning: 5:44.
He managed to walk to the west exit whereupon sight of the bright, cloudless sky, he felt a dizziness so acute he felt to empty his belly on the sidewalk. Instead, another vital link failed him now, the one that kept him upright and awake. He did not feel himself hit the concrete or any other sensation but endless falling for what seemed a thousand years.
End of excerpt
Please forgive the form as my paragraph indentions don't seem to be translating proplerly. Please let me know if you would like to see more and especially if you get some of the references I left in. (I.E. Matt's shirt)
Nativity on the Golgotha
By
Corban Creed
The merciless battering of the soul the youth had taken, at least in this writer’s opinion, was ample reason for his current state of mind. Throughout every waking moment of his life, he had been endlessly tormented by the fiend he now so easily dispatched, whose name was Shawn. He was but one of many. He was not particularly loathsome over any of the others, but it was upon him the burden of years of bedevilment exploded. The youth was their thrall, a medium for self-ascent. Now through this same medium all the fury of Hell erupted, focused into one square inch. That square inch lay between the youth’s knuckles and struck Shawn’s jaw with force enough to shatter all bones involved between them.
His current tormentor’s name had once been something well known in the valley where they lived. It now seemed the dying boy would enjoy the immortality of fame for reasons other than his father’s name. He would now pay the price for his lack of passion. Just as the final insult passed his lips, some vital link to the complacent part of the youth’s soul disintegrated, leaving the aforementioned wrath of fiery Hell to flow freely.
Aaron clutched his broken hand with the other. Blood trickled from between the fingers of his good hand and fell to the floor below. Though reality demanded it, one boy’s blood refused to mingle with the other. Shawn’s body lay in a heap under the dented lockers. His fellows stood there like stone with their mouths agape. That vital link in their own minds would simply not accept what had just happened as reality for some time. It was true though. Their population had just been reduced by one before their very eyes.
Dizzy from the unhealthy surge of adrenaline and the loss of blood through his ruined hand, he staggered through a part in the crowd. This part, found impossible to gain by any mere spectator in the ordeal, occurred quickly and naturally from sheer terror of the young man’s wake. Matt was last to move. Matt had always been something of a religious counsel for other students willing to talk to him. Aaron was among those who accepted his guidance on occasion. Through the haze of turmoil, Aaron saw him standing in his way, his ever-present Bible dropped absently to the floor in shock. He was wearing one of those shirts with tall red numbers on it that Aaron tried to look up but could never figure out. All was a blur as he stumbled forward so he didn’t see the word above it but the number stood out like lightning: 5:44.
He managed to walk to the west exit whereupon sight of the bright, cloudless sky, he felt a dizziness so acute he felt to empty his belly on the sidewalk. Instead, another vital link failed him now, the one that kept him upright and awake. He did not feel himself hit the concrete or any other sensation but endless falling for what seemed a thousand years.
End of excerpt
Please forgive the form as my paragraph indentions don't seem to be translating proplerly. Please let me know if you would like to see more and especially if you get some of the references I left in. (I.E. Matt's shirt)