F.E. Michael
03-01-2013, 03:35 AM
Hello, I am a 24 year old criminology major at USF in Florida, I sell cars and moonlight as a repo man. I'm new here and tend to shy from self-focused intros, so don't think I've forayed into the introduction forum. To me they never feel accurate and seem canned. I'd rather people get to know me over time. I'm more comfortable as the outsider in the first place! Anyway, here is my first attempt at creative writing. I have written for college and for freelance jobs, never for fun. I have so many ideas and people in my head that I need to let them live a little. I am wading into fiction slowly by writing short stories that help me get into the heads of the supporting characters in the novel I am planning. This short story is not an original concept, you may notice that it is a bit predictable. I do not think anyone could expect something astounding from thier first 1500 words, so I am not too embarrassed. I would be thrilled with some contructive feedback and commentary about my ability and storytelling or my character, just keep in mind I know it is a familiar plot. Enjoy!?
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It happened again, doubt, sorrow, and cold sweats, followed by that peculiar feeling of wondering what stirred me.
I wasn’t truly curious, though, even my subconscious mind was used to this awkward brand of pity. It was always the same pattern, I had screamed myself awake. It was barely even a question by now, I was quite certain I had. Same time, same sinking feeling, all of it identical...
I snapped my eyes open trying to push the awful imagery out of my vision. I knew my eyes were working because I could see the clock, but nothing else greeted me, darkness. It was still night, the inky blackness and stuffy recirculated air were almost more than I could bear. The night was no savior for me. 0300, just the bottom of the bare asscrack of morning but I already knew what I was in for today.
It was the same this ‘morning’ as any other of the past six weeks or so. Time was almost blending together now. As I came to my senses and rubbed the slumber and sorrow from my eyes I was almost surprised when I realized my palms were moist. Still deluded, I told myself it was sweat.
I had plenty of time to learn to accept things though. There was no sign of the fake-*** sunrise, in the simulated window, near the dingy corner of this ridiculous closet I was appointed. I still had another couple hours until the shift change, the only real difference between night and day for humanity now. There was no morning anymore.
Isn’t it funny when the mind plays tricks on you? When something seems so wonderful that you almost begin to miss it, even knowing that you’ve never experienced it. It was not easy. Coming to terms with precious sleep being squandered away was just the opposite of easy, but, the imagined feeling of the warm sun seemed such an ideal consolation.
As I went to the control panel and entered the manual override code for ‘sunrise’ a full three hours early, two concepts captured my mind by force. I wouldn’t be able to shake myself free. Both thoughts so alien and unknown: Morning, the real earth kind as I imagined it, and as always, the face.
Her face.
These were the reasons why I was jarred awake at this same time, every damn night. I doubt that coincidence is to blame that this exact hour was the one in which I made up my mind a month and a half ago. I decided that I would turn her in.
The evil little picture haunting me slowly began a harmony as it mixed with my perception of morning. I shared a love/hate relationship with the artificial weather system in my cabin, but I knew I’d keep going back to it. For it kept alive the quaint delusion of waking up to the sight and warmth of Earth’s sun, an ideal I’d never truthfully lived.
That was the new plan for my subconscious now, I guess. These two concepts swirled in my mind, it was truly ridiculous. Yet, I longed for them…
As a fresh round of visions hit me I knew it was true. Just the same as the darkness, I too was no savior. All the applause and back-patting, and worst of all the attention… I loathed it and it was all a huge lie. Yet for some reason, I sought it, in that one instance. I’d gotten my wish; I’d achieved a state of notoriety, alright. My little half-cocked idea of bravery, it bought me everything I now hated.
“WHY?!” This morning it seemed to come clear, I was evading the truth.
I loved her. I love her.
We weren’t even permitted to pursue love, not anymore. According to interstellar protocol amorous relationships were “nearsighted and irresponsible”. According to the degree of offense, love was a crime. It was punishable by various levels of extra-vehicular maintenance detail. I was beginning to think that she may be worth at least that, but there was so much more to consider.
All I could imagine is what I was to her, in her eyes. The awful reflection of myself I caught in those mysterious orbs when I last saw her punctuated my truth. I knew what I was the moment I’d committed the ferocious atrocity everyone else saw as heroism. The odd glow in the pupils of her beautiful inhuman eyes shed the perfect light on what I already knew was fact. I looked into those eyes and knew I was a pariah.
I slowly staggered over my memory and across the room to the urinal port to relieve my bladder. I knew shaking this new routine would be impossible. I sure was putting myself through hell, and for the sake of what? A damned refugee!
My mind was trying to put her aside, excuse the actions I’d committed for the sake of duty and the choice I made. ****, she’s not even a part of the GDC!
“AHAHAHA”, I’d began laughing out loud at the dialog in my head, maybe they were right, maybe I would end up just like my dad.
She was down in that miserable gut of the ship, probably shackled, thanks to me. Going and telling her my thoughts weren’t only useless to her, they would make me a traitor.
The fresh split in my chest insisted further inquiry as it bled.
The Global Democratic Coalition, what are you talking about, Spiny? Of-course she isn’t a part of the G-D-****ing-C! SHE ISN’T EVEN A HUMAN!
WHY did I keep doing this to myself?
Resistance is futile… and then the wave of nostalgia wrapped me momentarily. That feeling of a wet blanket on the skin, the melancholy was spiraling now.
As I put on my uniform that line kept repeating in the back of my head, where had I heard it before?
“That’s it,” I hushed myself as I buttoned my standard issue trousers and I felt a shiver erupt from my spine. Then it hit me. Wasn’t it from that brainless old sci-fi program Pops used to watch?
As I exhaled and allotted some fresh pity for myself I realized I’d been brushing my teeth for at least the last seven minutes. The line, though…
“Resistance is futile.” I uttered it aloud allowing the words to ripple the dampness in the air in combat with the ringing emptiness both inside and outside of my body. Whether I’d picked it up from TV with Pops, or perhaps in the media room one day, it did not matter. As applied to what I’d done the phrase was locked into my consciousness with more than nostalgia.
I fought with myself, trying to keep my pitiful existence something recognizable. I hadn’t thrown caution to the wind and embraced my desires yet. “GODDAMNIT,” I roared,”This has to stop!”
I probably would have kept on yelling like that, like a crazy man, like Pops… But the sharp bang on the wall brought the noise in my mind back down into focus; I had to maintain appearances despite the tumult inside my skull. I couldn’t go waking the ensigns, not when they looked up to me so damn much…
I was not worth their admiration.
Making decisions and even just caring for the processes of everyday life aboard the Ark was becoming hard to handle. As the last of mankind drifted through space a war was being fought, my mind was the battlefield. I am Captain Aden “Spiny” Simms, I won’t bend to this pressure. I am better… I have to be… I thought to myself,
I’m not, I’m nothing.
I was trying to convince someone, I must have been, because I sure as hell wasn’t convincing myself. Sure, I was the youngest man to even become a GDC officer, never mind a Captain, but boasting was not going to work today. The feeling was artificial, an appearance, just a role to be acted out while on duty.
Somehow as the next hours passed I made my way down to the bridge. I needed to show face to the crew and issue the morning’s action plan. How could I do that when I couldn’t figure out what I could do to get through the midmorning?
It’s hard enough to grasp these new and dangerous feelings and thoughts invading every waking minute of life. I ought to report to the infirmary, I would have, if it wasn’t so damn full of refugees.
And that was it. That was all it took. As I grasped my head I knew my conscience had heard enough. The mere registering in my mind of the word was all it took to lose grip of the crumbling ledge of composure I so desperately clung to.
Her face, the look of betrayal and lost trust while they pulled, no, dragged her away. This pain was worse than anything I’d ever experienced.
“Refugee”, I’d said it aloud now, accepting the responsibility for my actions for the tenth time this morning. If they were ‘refugees’, what the hell was she? I knew accepting responsibility wasn’t nearly enough. That was when fell off my proverbial ledge.
Screw the damn ship. I spun, knocking the coffee someone had left from the last shift onto the steel grating beneath my boots. As I tumbled down the caverns of sanity I stormed off the bridge and away from the deck. As I stormed toward the lifts there was also a squall raging between my ears. Was I too late yet?
I rounded the corner and slammed a fist on the call button. An ensign’s voice crackled through the fuzz in my brain, “What floor, Captain?”
I recall laughing as I heard him address me. Today I stopped being their miserable captain. Today I was a traitor.
“Send me to hell, buddy.
“…err… sorry sir. What was that?”
“The brig, I’m going to the brig.”
“Aye sir,” as the elevator doors parted, another old saying from Pops came to me… Isn’t it funny the way things always seem so different in the morning?
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It happened again, doubt, sorrow, and cold sweats, followed by that peculiar feeling of wondering what stirred me.
I wasn’t truly curious, though, even my subconscious mind was used to this awkward brand of pity. It was always the same pattern, I had screamed myself awake. It was barely even a question by now, I was quite certain I had. Same time, same sinking feeling, all of it identical...
I snapped my eyes open trying to push the awful imagery out of my vision. I knew my eyes were working because I could see the clock, but nothing else greeted me, darkness. It was still night, the inky blackness and stuffy recirculated air were almost more than I could bear. The night was no savior for me. 0300, just the bottom of the bare asscrack of morning but I already knew what I was in for today.
It was the same this ‘morning’ as any other of the past six weeks or so. Time was almost blending together now. As I came to my senses and rubbed the slumber and sorrow from my eyes I was almost surprised when I realized my palms were moist. Still deluded, I told myself it was sweat.
I had plenty of time to learn to accept things though. There was no sign of the fake-*** sunrise, in the simulated window, near the dingy corner of this ridiculous closet I was appointed. I still had another couple hours until the shift change, the only real difference between night and day for humanity now. There was no morning anymore.
Isn’t it funny when the mind plays tricks on you? When something seems so wonderful that you almost begin to miss it, even knowing that you’ve never experienced it. It was not easy. Coming to terms with precious sleep being squandered away was just the opposite of easy, but, the imagined feeling of the warm sun seemed such an ideal consolation.
As I went to the control panel and entered the manual override code for ‘sunrise’ a full three hours early, two concepts captured my mind by force. I wouldn’t be able to shake myself free. Both thoughts so alien and unknown: Morning, the real earth kind as I imagined it, and as always, the face.
Her face.
These were the reasons why I was jarred awake at this same time, every damn night. I doubt that coincidence is to blame that this exact hour was the one in which I made up my mind a month and a half ago. I decided that I would turn her in.
The evil little picture haunting me slowly began a harmony as it mixed with my perception of morning. I shared a love/hate relationship with the artificial weather system in my cabin, but I knew I’d keep going back to it. For it kept alive the quaint delusion of waking up to the sight and warmth of Earth’s sun, an ideal I’d never truthfully lived.
That was the new plan for my subconscious now, I guess. These two concepts swirled in my mind, it was truly ridiculous. Yet, I longed for them…
As a fresh round of visions hit me I knew it was true. Just the same as the darkness, I too was no savior. All the applause and back-patting, and worst of all the attention… I loathed it and it was all a huge lie. Yet for some reason, I sought it, in that one instance. I’d gotten my wish; I’d achieved a state of notoriety, alright. My little half-cocked idea of bravery, it bought me everything I now hated.
“WHY?!” This morning it seemed to come clear, I was evading the truth.
I loved her. I love her.
We weren’t even permitted to pursue love, not anymore. According to interstellar protocol amorous relationships were “nearsighted and irresponsible”. According to the degree of offense, love was a crime. It was punishable by various levels of extra-vehicular maintenance detail. I was beginning to think that she may be worth at least that, but there was so much more to consider.
All I could imagine is what I was to her, in her eyes. The awful reflection of myself I caught in those mysterious orbs when I last saw her punctuated my truth. I knew what I was the moment I’d committed the ferocious atrocity everyone else saw as heroism. The odd glow in the pupils of her beautiful inhuman eyes shed the perfect light on what I already knew was fact. I looked into those eyes and knew I was a pariah.
I slowly staggered over my memory and across the room to the urinal port to relieve my bladder. I knew shaking this new routine would be impossible. I sure was putting myself through hell, and for the sake of what? A damned refugee!
My mind was trying to put her aside, excuse the actions I’d committed for the sake of duty and the choice I made. ****, she’s not even a part of the GDC!
“AHAHAHA”, I’d began laughing out loud at the dialog in my head, maybe they were right, maybe I would end up just like my dad.
She was down in that miserable gut of the ship, probably shackled, thanks to me. Going and telling her my thoughts weren’t only useless to her, they would make me a traitor.
The fresh split in my chest insisted further inquiry as it bled.
The Global Democratic Coalition, what are you talking about, Spiny? Of-course she isn’t a part of the G-D-****ing-C! SHE ISN’T EVEN A HUMAN!
WHY did I keep doing this to myself?
Resistance is futile… and then the wave of nostalgia wrapped me momentarily. That feeling of a wet blanket on the skin, the melancholy was spiraling now.
As I put on my uniform that line kept repeating in the back of my head, where had I heard it before?
“That’s it,” I hushed myself as I buttoned my standard issue trousers and I felt a shiver erupt from my spine. Then it hit me. Wasn’t it from that brainless old sci-fi program Pops used to watch?
As I exhaled and allotted some fresh pity for myself I realized I’d been brushing my teeth for at least the last seven minutes. The line, though…
“Resistance is futile.” I uttered it aloud allowing the words to ripple the dampness in the air in combat with the ringing emptiness both inside and outside of my body. Whether I’d picked it up from TV with Pops, or perhaps in the media room one day, it did not matter. As applied to what I’d done the phrase was locked into my consciousness with more than nostalgia.
I fought with myself, trying to keep my pitiful existence something recognizable. I hadn’t thrown caution to the wind and embraced my desires yet. “GODDAMNIT,” I roared,”This has to stop!”
I probably would have kept on yelling like that, like a crazy man, like Pops… But the sharp bang on the wall brought the noise in my mind back down into focus; I had to maintain appearances despite the tumult inside my skull. I couldn’t go waking the ensigns, not when they looked up to me so damn much…
I was not worth their admiration.
Making decisions and even just caring for the processes of everyday life aboard the Ark was becoming hard to handle. As the last of mankind drifted through space a war was being fought, my mind was the battlefield. I am Captain Aden “Spiny” Simms, I won’t bend to this pressure. I am better… I have to be… I thought to myself,
I’m not, I’m nothing.
I was trying to convince someone, I must have been, because I sure as hell wasn’t convincing myself. Sure, I was the youngest man to even become a GDC officer, never mind a Captain, but boasting was not going to work today. The feeling was artificial, an appearance, just a role to be acted out while on duty.
Somehow as the next hours passed I made my way down to the bridge. I needed to show face to the crew and issue the morning’s action plan. How could I do that when I couldn’t figure out what I could do to get through the midmorning?
It’s hard enough to grasp these new and dangerous feelings and thoughts invading every waking minute of life. I ought to report to the infirmary, I would have, if it wasn’t so damn full of refugees.
And that was it. That was all it took. As I grasped my head I knew my conscience had heard enough. The mere registering in my mind of the word was all it took to lose grip of the crumbling ledge of composure I so desperately clung to.
Her face, the look of betrayal and lost trust while they pulled, no, dragged her away. This pain was worse than anything I’d ever experienced.
“Refugee”, I’d said it aloud now, accepting the responsibility for my actions for the tenth time this morning. If they were ‘refugees’, what the hell was she? I knew accepting responsibility wasn’t nearly enough. That was when fell off my proverbial ledge.
Screw the damn ship. I spun, knocking the coffee someone had left from the last shift onto the steel grating beneath my boots. As I tumbled down the caverns of sanity I stormed off the bridge and away from the deck. As I stormed toward the lifts there was also a squall raging between my ears. Was I too late yet?
I rounded the corner and slammed a fist on the call button. An ensign’s voice crackled through the fuzz in my brain, “What floor, Captain?”
I recall laughing as I heard him address me. Today I stopped being their miserable captain. Today I was a traitor.
“Send me to hell, buddy.
“…err… sorry sir. What was that?”
“The brig, I’m going to the brig.”
“Aye sir,” as the elevator doors parted, another old saying from Pops came to me… Isn’t it funny the way things always seem so different in the morning?