Tag Archives: short story

Shortest story ever written by me

The fog was seen rolling over the city like some predatory animal swallowing up thousands of people in one fair scoop at a time like some giant anteater.  Within five minutes the city was bare.

Everyone had gone, dead, eaten by this thing, this cloud and I could only watch in horror from a safe distance, sitting on a hill.

 

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Spectral Vampire

I tiptoed through the shadows, stalking him and he didn’t know I was there. Light-footed, my steps traced the line of his footsteps down the darkened pathway towards the car-park; gently I called to him, nothing more than a whisper in the breeze of the night and he turned towards me, he didn’t see me at first, but then, just like a cat, I stealthily approached him and made my excuses to ask for directions to keep his guard down.
He came to me and leaned towards me, nodding at the map in my hands and pointing helpfully, but all I was interested in was clenching my thirst and hunger and grabbing at him around his neck and pulling him close to me. After I was sure he was in my grasp I did so and dropping the map that was in my hands I bit into his neck for the warm sweet juices that flowed within. I barely drank away half of his life until we were disturbed by something brash, violent and fast, coming out from the car-park at us with beams of painful light. The old jeep of my enemy Neil Porter swerved up behind my victim and ran out towards me, I instantly tried to flee the scene but he had a new weapon, something I wasn’t aware he had – a crossbow and it hit into me through the back and into my heart and before I knew it I was standing next to my broken shell, seeing it bleeding to death alongside my victim and my enemy cleaning up both the mess he made and the mess I made.
I was confused at first; watching him packing the bodies away into the back of his jeep, washing the blood on the car-park floor and praying for our souls.
I don’t know where I went after that, I don’t know if spirits sleep, I just went and came back again, nothing filling the gaps; this went on for a long time, each time I would arrive at the scene I last left, each time I would arrive as hungry as the night before and each time I would vanish into the ether of the unknown again and again and again.
I would like to tell you about the first night that I came back.
I came back to the car-park, confused at the new night, wondering where I went and how I got here again. Why here? That question never got answered. I walked through the car-park and across the pedestrian crossing and into the park, I sat on a bench for a while, collecting my thoughts. A few people walked passed me, but no one seemed to be able to see me, someone nearly sat on me that’s how I know. When this happened I felt a deep loss, a sense I had lost my self somehow, I knew I wasn’t whole anymore, I saw that yesterday, but I had hoped that death would have been kinder to me somehow.
My hunger grew to an unbearable level, standing up from the bench I walked further into the park and had hoped to go through to the gates at the other end of the park that lead me to the town’s most night friendly amenities, but I was stopped by some peculiar young girl, twenty something, sniffing the air, smiling and dancing like she was chasing butterflies and coming straight towards me. Right into the jaws of death, so it seemed.
Confused I watched her with both bafflement and caution as she laughed and spoke out loud to herself “Oh the lovely smell” and reaching up into the air trying to catch something invisible even to me! The hunger in me made me retch; I tried to ignore it, because I was dead right? Dead people don’t need to eat do they? So why have I got this hunger? Is this my eternal punishment? Am I in Hell? But the pain got too much; I took a chance that perhaps I can still feed in my spectral form? So, as her head was stretched up looking high around her I put my arm around her waist and lunged into her throat but I couldn’t feed on her blood, her body writhed in agony in my grasp, screaming, but her blood wasn’t soothing my hunger. I held her whilst she screamed, cried and bleed to death. Then I knew, I saw her life leave her and as I sniffed for her suffering, I breathed a little of her into myself and my hunger lessened. Her spirit was too fast for me to catch once I realised what it was that I now needed. How beautiful the feeling of peace was, when I breathed in her soul.
Shortly after a man came into the park and saw the girl lying in a pool of blood, he ran to her to see if she was OK and tried to raise an alarm, but I went to him and my scent side-tracked him from his alarm call as he stopped in mid-sentence and started to sniff the air dreamily around himself. I placed my hand over his nose and mouth and whispered comforting things to him whilst I suffocated him to death. He didn’t see me, he only felt and heard me. He died within minutes of oxygen deprivation and I kissed his life out of him and felt in paradise.
That’s when I knew that vampires don’t find peace. That’s when I knew that being a vampire I am truly eternal and that’s when I knew that nothing can be explained simply.

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Chivalry by Neil Gaiman

Chivalry by Neil Gaiman
The first short story from the Neil Gaiman anthology “Smoke and Mirrors”, “chivalry” was enchanting in that it bought medieval fairy-tale to the modern world and included as a main character a person who is rarely considered for a main protagonist role in literature – an old lady browsing the shelves of a charity shop for some hidden gem; and what she found was a chalice that had unknowingly to her special links to the knights of the round table. A clever tale of bartering and cunning, knights and old ladies, wishes coming true and a taste of real history all rolled into one, made this story, for me, delightful.

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1922 – Stephen King

Stephen King’s – 1922

A very gory short story about how money can bring about great evil in this world; the story is written with such unusual details for King in my opinion that it is an absolute gem to behold.

The story is about a man who is driven insane by the murder of his wife (he was the murderer) and how she haunted him into his own death.

The story can be found in the anthology called “Full Dark, No Stars”.

It is not the kind of story you want to read if you have a rat phobia. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

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Legend of the gargoyle

There was once an ancient legend in our land, that deemed that no heart should be broken by man, for if he did a spell be cast, that this wretched human to stone be cast, to exist as a gargoyle upon the walls of Snell, our beloved fortress we love so well.

It is said in the dead of night a fair young maiden received this plight, a young stranger came to our land and made a promise to this maiden’s hand, a ring he bestowed upon her finger but the little louse he did not linger.

But before the gates had time to open the spell was cast and his image broken, with a contorted grin and piercing eyes, claw like nails he’ll be despised.  A memory of a loveless night, revenge is sweet and it served him right.

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Duotrope

If you’ve sent work through duotrope.com could you please let me know whether the site worked for you or not?  Thanks.

I’ve noticed there’s about five publishers that could potentially be interested in one of my stories as I meet their requirements according to duotrope.com and I am a little worried about whether or not they accept stories and poems that have been previously posted on my blog.  Is that usually problematic?

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It’s a duck, no it’s a monster

My son Henry, is definitely my inspiration for some of my work.  When I mishear him, he gives me concoctions I can cook up for my fantasy worlds, and silly things for short stories such as saying there’s a duck under his bed, but it turned out to be a little monster toy.  I say, no it’s not a duck it’s a monster look, but he insists it’s a duck.  Most mothers have the opposite problem, they see a duck under the bed but is trying to convince their child it’s not a monster, this family of mine is truly weird.

 

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Gargoyle flopped at dialogue

Aha, I have found a way in making the front bigger on the quick-post option without having to go into Microsoft word like usual.

Anyway, getting down to what I want to say; My gargoyle story seemed to be starting off good, but in the last 100 or so words I did yesterday I noticed it started to flop, typically when the dialogue was developing and I don’t like it.  So, instead of doing the usual trick of deleting it and starting over again, I am going to suffer my readers into reading all drafts when they’re done so you all can help me decide which is the better piece.

Sound like a good idea?

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current project (gargoyle in world war III)

8903447-gargoyle-statue-emphasis-on-face-and-eyes-with-a-dark-borderI am currently working on a short story about a magic gargoyle, this is based on world war III like the world never really moved on from being stuck in a 1940’s way of life, but with some technological advances we had in the late 70s.  I am unsure what category this story would be if it ever becomes a novel sized piece of work and published, I have no confidence in it’s structure so far, because it’s mostly dialogue and dialogue isn’t my strong point, in fact I think it’s my biggest weakness, so I am taking an enormous risk here.

I aimed for the story’s word count to be between 500 – 800 words, unfortunately it’s not even halfway yet and I have already done 596.

I think taking a creative writing course in September would help me immensely, because I would be able to receive feedback from other wannabe writers and they can help me hone in on my skills with dialogue writing.  Though I have heard from other people that these courses tend to shatter confidences, whereas blog writing builds you up.  I do like honest feedback, if I am showing a weakness somewhere I am prepared to talk it through and make my work better.  So any help out there, I’m ready to receive it!

Thanks!

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Widdendream nightmare

This photo is not my work

In my widdendream I scream although you hear it not

My head is close to bursting, or better yet rot

In my cage of clay walls I’m banging my head hard

This life I am living is just a safeguard

Or so they say

 

Safeguard from what?

Is he real I say?

Who they ask?

Mr Ted

 

He came into my bedroom and now he’s in my head

We all know he’s not real, or so the doctor said

But if he isn’t and you say I’m safe aren’t I being misled?

Instead I get no answers, another shot I get

A dose of dreamland to help me forget

But I don’t

Mr Ted

He is

Real

 

I see him over there

Behind my mind’s eye, a memory of despair

I woke up again, still in the widdendream

But they do not listen

They only think I scream

But I am shouting HELP, HELP

Get me out of here

I cannot bare to stay here

Not for another year!

I don’t think I’ll ever leave

Here I’m meant to stay

And in my widdendream I hear him

Mr Ted wants to play…

 

This photo is not my work

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Filed under Poems V - Z, Short Stories