Hope Less

[Shadowsarin]

*** I have decided to use this topic as a dumping ground for all my short storys. Enjoy!***

This is the first draft of a really short story I wrote. Its been edited and improved since, but thats on a different computer. My English teacher told me to post it on the internet somewhere, so here I am.

Be nice!

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Hope Less

Rain, lightning, thunder, high winds, full moon; all that was missing was an orchestral score and this could have been straight out of Hollywood. Everything about this was a cliché. In fact, let’s do this properly. Picture the scene: Our hero, Max Goddard, a 30-something muscled type, decked out in a black leather trench coat, is standing on the roof of a huge, gothic Cathedral. He is facing off against a group of repetitious terrorists led by a complete maniac who is holding a really big gun. The rest of the terrorists are all carrying the generic AK-47’s and they are all being pointed at our hero. Who is naturally unarmed and standing with no cover nearby. The bad guys have his daughter hostage, who is crying and screaming.

The exchange will certainly go wrong, and the main baddie will run off with the hero’s daughter leaving a dozen well armed and ruthless baddies to take on the unarmed hero who is standing without cover on a roof in a thunder storm. After a few one liners, he charges at them and they all miss according to the Stormtrooper Effect. Now up close, he proceeds to defeat them in close combat as they all attack one at a time as instructed by the Inverse Ninja Rule. With the Cannon Fodder down and a huge pile of weaponry at the hero’s feet, he promptly ignores it and runs off after the main baddie. The rest, as they say, is history. If only.

“Daddy!”

The cry is sharp, voice full of fear, and is unfortunately very real. I open my eyes, and I find myself on the roof with the dozen terrorists in front of me and the head baddie with his really big gun pointing at my daughters head. My fake leather jacket is saturated and the freezing wet has left me numb. I also come to my death, as the instant they have the guidance chip I designed they will kill both me and Natasha. So why would I come knowing there is no chance of either of us surviving? What kind of farther could walk away from his child like that?

“The chip is in the case. I just want my daughter!”

Following instructions, I put the briefcase on the ground and take several steps back and one of the terrorists retrieve it. I’m now in limbo, and I just gave up any control I might have had over the situation. I see them opening the case, checking to see if the chip is legitimate. It is legitimate of course; no-one would be crazy enough to play Russian Roulette with a child’s life. So, will these monsters accept my request or not, that is the question. Any thought of asking them is castrated when the worst thing possible happens.

The lunatic holding Natasha had been distracted by his comrades checking the chip, and she had taken advantage of it. In almost slow motion, she shoves him away and runs towards me. But I’m distracted, the hand cannon is levelled at her, and I see the hammer clicked back. I start running towards her, sprinting, urging myself to make it in time. It’s like running through a dark tunnel, only I and Natasha are visible. Just a few more meters, please god, let me make it, I beg of you, this once. Please.

Just before I can reach her, I am forced to bare witness to her chest exploding as the gunshot rings out. A second too late I clutch her, limp in my arms. I feel a warm liquid flowing onto me, as her blood soaks my top. I kiss her forehead, our bodies now a cocktail of rain, tears and blood. Sweet Natasha, my child, I’m sorry, but I’ll join you soon, up in Heaven so bright. Slowly lifting my head, I open my tear streaked eyes.

Those monsters are standing there, watching. Like leaches they are feeding off my pain, sucking it all, becoming intoxicated off the hate I so strongly feel. Yet, they don’t fire. I yell at them, I scream, I insult them with every word I know. Yet, still, they do not fire. I order, beg, for them to fire. But still they stand fast. Why? Why won’t they let me end this misery? I take a step forward, and I finally get what I want.

I feel the blow as a bullet punches through the still body of my baby and into me. Strange, the pain is less than I expected. It’s kind of a dull, light feeling. I feel my legs give way, and I crash to my right. I feel the air pass me as fall off the roof and slip through the stream of gravity. Even the thud 70 feet below isn’t that painful. It’s just dreamy, I feel myself fade, as an immense light approaches down the alleyway I landed in. Take me, Take me, my daughter awaits me! My eyes, close for the last time.

Except it isn’t the last time. Suddenly, my eyes burst open, and are blinded by the thick white light. I’m totally blinded; I’ve never felt such pain before. The numb has gone, everything has gone; I’m reborn in a place I do not know. But wait, I see a figure walk towards me, a shadow in the burning horizon of light. I feel a hand placed on my arm, pulling me. I hear a voice, it is female, young. It sooths my soul, calms the blaze, and it is vaguely familiar. The words it speaks, I know I shall never forget.

“Welcome to your destiny.”

[Shadowsarin]

This is another short story I have written. Again, enjoy.

And comments are welcome and wanted!

Chaos Mine

The scream rang out across the empty building. Echoed in fact, though no-one heard it. No-one was left alive to hear it. The blood soaked corridors were a silent as the grave. Literally. The facility was now one gigantic coffin, worth roughly one hundred million US dollars. The only two (technically) people left alive were unlikely to remain so for much longer. The scream cut out. One person left alive it seems. Not for much longer, though, for It moves fast. Extremely fast.

She is running, at about 20mph, fantastic speed for a desk worker. About three floors up; making for the emergency exit. Perhaps she though It had gone. But It won’t go, ever. It was made here, and it will never leave. It cannot, like an unborn child cannot escape the womb unless it is time. Not yet. And now, after this? Not ever now. But It cares not. It can outlast steel and concrete. It can outlast rot and decay. Until then, one more waits judgment.

Sarah Annett Haddock. Age thirty-two. Moderately attractive, with a padded figure. Not fat, nor thin; an average build for an average woman. Her uniform pinches her in just the right places, and more than one male colleague has commented on how nice it looks on her. In fact, one did less than an hour ago. R. Mills, who she has always had a thing for anyway. Dead now, with all the others. Its funny how such trivial things come to mind when your doom approaches.

The door she was running towards is off its hinges, and a puddle of red mass has leaked from under its steel mass. Poor bastard. She nearly slips on a meaty bit, but keeps her balance. She isn’t going to end up like all the others, she can’t. To succumb to that, not a chance. No, not chance, but fate. Round the corner she runs, not far now. Don’t look at the gore everywhere, keep focused. Don’t look, don’t look! Oh god damn it, was it that hard to not look at a head embedded in a steel wall? Anyway, recover yourself. After all, you are going to be the lone survivor. Remember that plan?

Watch it die.

The eruption of sound behind her tells a great story about It. Not many beings can jump through three reinforced steel floors, but It can. And It does it in an almost poetic style, too. Far more beautiful than most of the art on the walls around here, that’s for sure. She was just down the corridor, no problem now. It follows her with ease, casually. No-one can escape It, and the chase is where the lies. Well, most of the fun. The other fun comes with pulling her body apart limb by limb, going in alphabetical order.

Come on girl, you can run faster than this, you can’t slow down. To slow down is death. To do anything but run is death. So she does, running as fast as she can. Almost there, keep telling yourself that. Almost. But then, there were many ‘almosts’ in the story of this sad place. About thirty, if the floor, walls and ceiling is anything to go by. But you aren’t one of the thirty, you are more than them, you are better. You can’t not be better than them. They are dead, you are not. And you are going to keep it that way, right?

Wrong.

It plucks her out of her stride. It has her. Total tally of ‘almosts’: thirty-one. Not bad. And Sarah is not bad; she made it longer than all others. In fact, as a kind of ‘reward’, It kills her in less than a minute. And stacks her in a neat pile, unlike the others strewn everywhere. So, with the corridor covered with thirty-one people’s vital organs, It takes a leisurely stroll through the facility, back to Her. She decided to let Him have the honour, and He made sure not to let her down. Entering their quarters, which have remained remarkable tidy throughout this, he sees Her up ahead.

They embrace in each others arms, the most perfect of matches. Long flowing brown hair from both entangling as their love is enacted again and again. No more screams of pain, only of pleasure. And what pleasure, both knowing either other perfectly. Thirteen years they have been together, and an eternity before that. Thirteen years in this incarnation. Which, like them, is perfect.

And so they wait, for steel to rust and concrete to rot. And then, when their time comes again, they will emerge. They will be born from this mausoleum, as Adam and Eve.

For they are Adam and Eve.

[toni]

Hey, Shadow, those were good stories! I had fun reading them. They remind me of Neil Gaiman at some point. Nice plot, and the suspense, man. Good job. :