The Very Short Story Thread

[Sulkdodds]

Detonation shook plaster from the low cieling.

A single flame reflected in pools of molten wax.

The tramp of remembered feet overhead.

How long had he been down here? Long enough. Long e-****ing-nough. The air was warm and stale and should logically have choked him an age ago. Here in this tomb, this concrete coffin scarcely big enough to swing a cat (he'd tried). The radio had long since stuttered and hissed into silence, the frantic voices dead and gone now. Like the rest. Like all of the rest.

So with that passage collapsed he could do nothing but sit and wait and stare at the darkness, half-remembered shapes stirring somewhere behind his eyes. He couldn't blink them away. Not this time.

Someone screaming (someone beautiful, that he'd loved once). The striders singing, a sound of thunder, as they loped above a burning city. That sound like whalesong, unearthly and utterly strange to him, came back through the years - haunting and baleful, as if all the misery and hate had finally found a voice. The striders called to him across the urban canyons. Their voices echoing down the empty streets. The terrified faces upturned at the sound.

And always, the broken sky burned itself into his retinas. Though it was gone now - the void had been stabilised, the gap between worlds knitted back together by technologies alltogether beyond human comprehension. But he still saw it, still felt it, like it was yesterday. It might as well have been.

Never forget. A rift in the sky, the whole fabric of reality torn asunder, as if by the hand of some ancient god or demon (perhaps not so far from the truth) - a gash in the air, green fire rolling out into the sky, ball lightning as worlds collide.

But maybe he should have let past be prologue.

So he sat, and remembered. Above him the endless white noise of war. And the lonely strider song.

The door was sealed. The passage was no more. The staircase was all blocked up with rubble. He was trapped down here. She said she would be back. When would she come?

When would she be back?

Verbose and random and overcomplicaterised maybe but I was bored.

edit: Tense fixed.

 

[nebular x]

Nice thread, I'm gonna give it a go...

I looked out from the stolen Helicopter with my hazel eyes, I could see four other stolen helicopters holding up a Dropships cargo; inside were ten refugees willing to join the War Titans who were a rebel group that had never been discovered by the Combine. I just hoped they wouldn't kill us.

Ahead I could see their base, a silhouette of a nuclear power plant that reached only a few floors into the sky but was as long as two Titanics, so I was told; how am I suposed to know that!

Below I could see the ruins of a refugee camp that was made during the seven hour war, it was destroyed two weeks later and was left scattered with armor and weapons from the soldiers that protected it. These resources, along with it's isolated yet strategic location, made it the perfect base for the War Titans, which were 500 hundred strong. That was bigger than city 14!

I was a War Titan member, but I lived in City 30 nearby. So most of the people at the base didn't know me. My radio crackled into life and a voice came thorugh, female, crisp and stern; "you have entered the War Titans base, identify yourself."

I sighed and replied, "I am Trent Blaze, 27. We are riding stolen Helicopters and we are escorting refugees to the base." It didn't seem very truthful but that was the truth.

"That's what the other pilots said, give us reason not to shoot you down," the helicopter warnings fired up, aparently thirty turrets had painted Ion Beams on the helicopter. This was dangerous.

"We don't bring harm, only supplies and refugees. Besides one group of helicopters and refugees wouldn't stnad a chance against 500 rebels, no amtter how crap your weapons."

More noise from the warning systems, now snipers had their Ion beams fixed on his copit. I would get killed if even one of then fired. The ships continued aproaching the base, there was no reply, more Ion beams fixed on me. Surely I was going to die, I braced myself as I sped towards the base, the base seemed to take an age to reach, we gained hight as we flew over the first walls, they weren't going to fire. We aproached a Canteen area and began to land, we had survived. I sighed as I breathed out, my heart still racing and my arms still shaking...

 

[nebular x]

Edit: oh crap I double posted my story, sorry.

 

[Sloth]

I'm thinking of trying to knit together some of the short stories into a bigger one, sort of a compitition for the best knit in the end, and you can select any of the short stories and glur them together edgeways. Only if it's ok with the authors...

Don't forget to review other people work eh?

Hybro: The other point of view is awesome, sad but very good.
Rae: again another enemy POV, and in HL1 setting aswell, good job.
Jintor: A good quicky, makes a good feeling. Depressing but good.
Sulk: You put forward very good writing every time, good sense of panic blended with letting go from it all.
Nebular: Havn't read all of your Fan-fic, so i don't know the setting, but its a tight situation, i like it.

 

[Jintor]

Heh. Depressing = Good in my books.

 

[Sloth]

Jintor: True, same here, do you write anything largish? Or just the random jotting?

 

[Sulkdodds]

Firstly, since I started this thread, I reserve the right to shamelessly plug my own fanfiction The Hunters which contrary to evilsloth's FOOLISH beliefs is not over quite yet!

Go go go.





That said:

I looked out from the stolen Helicopter with my hazel eyes

First off here, it seems a bit odd to even mention the colour of his eyes. He himself wouldn't be thinking about it and it's such a short segment as a whole that his appearance is really irrelevant especially since you don't go into any more detail. It just seems odd to me that he'd even mention this, unless he was say distracted by his own reflection in the windscreen.

...inside were ten refugees willing to join the War Titans who were a rebel group that had never been discovered by the Combine.

Just a slight example here of punctuation (or lack thereof) making a bit of a climsy sentence.

"the War Titans, who were a rebel group.."
"the War Titans: a rebel group..."
"the War Titans - a rebel group..."

Ahead I could see their base, a silhouette of a nuclear power plant that reached only a few floors into the sky but was as long as two Titanics, so I was told; how am I suposed to know that!

You need to concentrate more, I think, on the flow of your sentences. Here, the commas don't quite work (plus the last clause is a question...). Not much needs to be changed; I would write it as-

"Ahead I could see their base, the silhouette of a nuclear power plant that reached only a few floors into the sky but was as long as two Titanics. Or so I was told."

Below I could see the ruins of a refugee camp that was made during the seven hour war, it was destroyed two weeks later

Argh! Sorry to gripe but this is one of my pet hates: you can't really use commas like this. 'made during the seven hour war' and 'destroyed two weeks later' are seperate clauses with kinda seperate subjects and you can't divide them with a comma. You either need to relate them more ("a refugee camp that was made during the seven hour war, destroyed only two weeks later") or seperate them properly ("a refugee camp that was made during the seven hour war; it was destroyed two weeks later").

500 hundred strong

I am Trent Blaze, 27

I wish I had such a cool name. What's your name? TRENT BLAZE! But why would he tell them his age? Exposition is sometimes necessary but this kind of breaks it up. I thought to myself 'why would he say '27' after his name?'

helicopter warnings fired up, aparently thirty turrets had painted Ion Beams on the helicopter

the base seemed to take an age to reach, we gained hight as we flew over the first walls, they weren't going to fire.

We aproached a Canteen area and began to land, we had survived.

Again the comma thingy. Two seperate subjects. Use a ; or a : or a -

Apart from that, I'd say think more about the flow of your writing, about the words you use to evoke all-important atmosphere - think about maybe making your descriptions more figurative and less literal or matter-of-fact (unless a scientific style is what you were going for - in which case you need more detail).

Just an example:

"That's what the other pilots said, give us reason not to shoot you down," the helicopter warnings fired up, aparently thirty turrets had painted Ion Beams on the helicopter. This was dangerous.

Could become:

That's what the other pilots said. Give us a reason not to shoot you down."

The controls lit up red, warnings buzzing in his ears, as thirty concealed surface-to-air turrets swivelled to track him and paint their ion beams with lethal precision.

Quite a crappy example I did there but you see how the second example is somewhat more interesting and evocative?

Hope this helps (and sorry if I come off as patronising).

 

[Sloth]

Sulk: About Hunters, you said in four or five days it would be over, i guess now that you meant in the story wise.

 

[nebular x]

Thanks for the tips, Sulkdodds. I've only really only just started writing online so I guess i need more practise.

 

[Hazar]

Once in a far away land there was a race. This race was between a rabbit and a fearsome eggplant. Since the eggplant had challenged the rabbit to the race, everyone figured that the eggplant had some sort of nefarious trick up his sleeve or brilliant logic that would win him the race. Thus, everyone placed bets on the eggplant. Finally, the day of the race arrived and everyone was very excited to see what the eggplant had in store for the rabbit. The race started and the eggplant just sat there. Everyone was in great anticipation for the trick the eggplant would use to win the race. Finally, the rabbit crossed the finish line. Everyone who was watching ate the eggplant.

Moral: Don't bet on eggplants

Here is mine (extra points for you if you can tell me what book this came from)

 

[Sulkdodds]

Douglas Adams? Terry Pratchett?

 

[Jintor]

I would say that, but I've read most pratchett... don't think it's him.

 

[Sloth]

It's more Douglas Adam ish...
But i don't think it's in there somehow...

 

[Fletch]

Had a go myself

Look down below you, and marvel, Mr. Freeman. Isn’t it beautiful? I give credit where credit’s due, and I duly applaud you. It is quite an achievement this creation of yours, and so it should be. It was quite an effort, was it not?

All your own doing I believe, your own.. artistic creation Mr. Freeman. Breathe in the fumes, smell the burning, dead rotting bodies of women and children. See them burn, Mr. Freeman; look!.. Is this how you envisioned it? Dare I ask, did you grasp that moment? That eternal defining moment, when you had all the time in the world.. Mr. Freeman, to step back and look upon a blank canvas, a thriving beauty of a canvas that was City 17; to look upon it before you took to it with your brush strokes. What did you aspire to gain Mr. Freeman? You painted her walls red, but for whom? Or was it for her? Did you intend to liberate City 17 from her evil, evil captors? Her saviour? How romantic.. It is rather ironic, that in the said process of rescue, you.. destroyed her. Isn’t it so Mr. Freeman?

And such a tragic tale of ironies this has been - would it truly have been so bad for you to serve? To serve a greater cause, a more worthy one should I say? But what I must say, however, Mr. Freeman is that you intrigue me, you and your kind. You lack commodities such as purpose and meaning; and so I conclude you should be content to merely.. exist. You don’t own Earth. She is not entitled to you; and most certainly, Mr. Freeman, you and your kind do not deserve her.

I see that she is a worthy cause for your, vain, efforts. But not today Mr. Freeman, this is where I pluck you out of the frame, out of time. Your pallet is diminished, the paint drying, cracking.

 

[Hazar]

Douglas Adams? Terry Pratchett?

wrong on both counts,

he's much more obscure, but equally as good

 

[Jintor]

Robert Rankin? (I think that's his name...)

 

[Hazar]

nope, keep trying

 

[Fletch]

Um, Anthony Horowitz?

Edit: Haven't read Mark Haddon's new one, is it from that?

 

[Jintor]

Prothoplastus

'What is it?'

The voice echoed through the labryminth of darkness, ringing off distant stones, billions, trillions maybe of years old. Somewhere near the front of the cavern, clustering together near the flickering light of a torch, were a group of lifeforms descended from what only two million years ago had been sitting in a tree and eating bananas, occasionally having sex. One of them turned a page.

'I don't know... it seems to be... unnatural, certainly. It can't be a native animal...'

The subject of their curious stares made a curious clicking sound, and bounced up and down a little. Massive claws clink-clinked on the ground.

'Awwww... it looks hungry. I wonder what it eats?'

A soft squeak, a longing call.

'What do you think it eats?'

One of the students giggled. 'Maybe you!'

'Don't be stupid.' said one, peering closer. 'Whatever it is, it doesn't appear to be harmful...'

Green light crackled somewhere in the distance, malevolantly, for just a second. Another call echoed back.

'You crazy? What do you think these claws are for? And these teeth?'

'I don't know, maybe its a carnivore...'

'Well, i certainly haven't seen too many bats around here...'

Another flash of green light.

'Bloody short legs, don't you think?'

'Hey, don't you hear it calling? Let it go, stop tormenting the poor thing. It's time to sleep, anyway...'

'Yeah, whatever'

'It's a totally new species! We can't just leave it!'

A chittering, somewhere in the darkness of the cave...

'Yes, we can. We have to. I'm sure there are plenty around, I saw some on the way in... let it go.'

The shuffling of feet filled the cave, as the people slowly wandered out of the cavern. The flickering light gone, the headcrab stretched slowly in the light. It was hungry. It wanted to eat.

It didn't know what those things had been, but it knew what its prey looked like...

 

[Jintor]

Oh, come now, we know there are more of you people out there.

'Open up in there!' came the muffled shout, filtered and digitized, through the door. 'Open up now!'

There was no response. The only occupants of the building huddled, tense and expectant, against a wall. The pounding at the door increased. 'We will break this door down!' The pounding stopped, and a unintelligiable conversation took place just outside the door. There was a count, a flashing red light,and a WHUMP -

- as the door exploded inwards. Several Civil Protection officers stepped in through the smashed splinters of the door, their pre-programmed training coming into action as the quickly scanned the room for danger. One spoke.

'All clear, sir'.

The grunts relaxed, slightly. One kept his gun trained on the doorway, but the other two lowered their weapons and looked around, more inquisitive now that there was no obvious danger.

'Great. We wasted a grenade on an empty room. Again. How many times has this happened?' the monotone voice rang out, loudly, from the officer inspecting a dirt-stained painting. 'Six? Seven?'

'Quiet, P-938' motioned the one with gun raised. 'I think there is a citizen in the next room. Higher up wants to know why there are so many abandoned building around these days. And why that strange sign is graffitied everywhere.'

Moving swiftly, the 3 Civil Protection units moved to the doorway. The officer moved through, swining his gun round to bear on a woman, huddled against a doorway, holding a child. Both were silently weeping. The Civil Protection looked at each other.

'What are our orders, sir?' asked P-938 of the officer. The officer hesitated, slightly, and then breathed out.

'Interrogation.' he said, softly. 'Take her away...'

 

[Hazar]

Um, Anthony Horowitz?

Edit: Haven't read Mark Haddon's new one, is it from that?

nope, someone much more obscure D:

 

[Jimmeh]

The citizen frantically scrambled for her sidearm. It was too late.

“SHIT!”

Marik pulled the trigger.

The young woman let out a desperate shriek, as a volley of hot lead ripped through her protective flak jacket. A spray of vivid crimson was sent skywards as her body tumbled backwards, smashing into the concrete floor with a sharp thud.

A cloud of smoke hung in the air for a moment, her blood-soaked carcass lay in a putrid puddle of mud and grime, completely motionless. It took a little while to set in. Marik had just killed one of his own. As little as two days ago that could’ve been him. The woman's glassy white eyes were wide open, gazing into the abyss. It just wasn’t right.

City 17 was a mess. The Resistance was on its last legs, for every fallen Civil Protection Officer, there was always going to be another Warren J. Marik to take his place. Only small bands of militants still took refuge in the city itself, the vast majority pulled out months beforehand. Civil Protection’s main role was to flush the remaining rebels out of the city, beyond that - they were someone else’s problem.
-
Intense red light poured into the maintenance shaft, the sun’s fluorescent glow slowly sank behind the treetops. The day was finally drawing to a close. Marik groaned, and glanced down at his watch. His shift had only just begun.

”There’s one down here! Over here!”

A distant voice broke the silence; the muffled bark echoed off of the narrow passageway’s thick, dreary walls. Obviously the woman hadn’t been alone. Marik warily pressed onwards, his shotgun clutched firmly in his hands, trigger finger at the ready.

The deafening sounds of automatic gunfire suddenly erupted through the passageway. A salvo of bullets shredded the walls, flinging razor-sharp debris in a blast of a dust and smoke. Marik impulsively flung himself to the ground in an attempt to take cover, but it seemed his luck had finally run out. He let out a frenzied squeal as a blistering hot slug tore straight through his right shoulder. His body slammed into the damp, muddy ground beneath him.

The passageway fell silent once again. Laying face-down in the mud, Marik...

Canneh be arsed to carry on for now.

 

[knut]

Aw, c'mon, man. I wanted to see what happened. Good stuff, and the other one on the previous page that was recently posted. I'm tempted to write something up, but I've just put a DVD on so bleh.

 

[Deathwish-uk-]

Really bored in between writing an English Lit essay:

Ryan gazed over toward their target. Why were they still here? They had been waiting in the god foresaken cold for hours. He shivered and tried to obscure his breathe that spiralled upwards from his nose and mouth, their superiors had told them not to give away their position. Which meant Ryan could not stop and make that brew (Tea) he so badly wanted, the steam would signpost their position. The plan was to assault the Combines fuel depot, thereby rendering their vehicles and gunships immobile, giving the Rebels more vital time. Ryan and his comrades had been designated 3rd squad, who were equipped and organized to provide heavy covering fire, while 54 men and women from 2nd platoon advanced forwards towards the base.

The idea was that 3rd squad would unleash two savlos of three mortar rounds, hopefully destroying fuel tanks and creating mass chaos and confusion in the process. Then the two grenadiers in the squad would hit the Machine Gun nest guarding the entrance. The 3 Heavy Machine Guns would then open up and rake the base with fire, concentrating on light vehicles and infantry. All the while the mortars would slowly continue to shell the target, after expending all their mortar rounds the mortar teams would fallback to a forest two miles away.

Ryan scanned the base with his battered binoculars. He paused to clear the lens of dirt. Two guards stood talking, while the soldier manning the Machine Gun nest gazed groggily outwards, oblivious to his impending demise. There were a few scattered patrols around the base and one or two APCs milling about, but this threat was countered by 5th squad who had been chosen for Anti Tank duties, the squad consisted of four soldiers armed with SMGs and LAW/RPG launchers with 5 or 6 rockets each, and three soldiers armed with LMG (Light Machine Guns). It was completely silent. Ryan looked to his left and right, observing the men and women willing to give their life for their cause. All of them peered over the hilltop, it was a good 400 yard dash, in which time a Machine Gun could tear the entire force to pieces if his squad didn't do their job. Ryan was eager to get this over with.

Suddenly, a bird call shattered the silence. That was the signal, it came twice more. That was the go call, Ryan quickly turned to the mortar team to his right, he nodded and the team quickly and efficiently peppered the base with their explosive offerings. Ryan observed the damage, and saw a mortar round impact on the top of a fuel tank, sending a pair of guards thirty foot and slamming into a wall with a sickening crunch, countless bones broken. Fire lashed into the sky, and black smoke plumed upwards. More mortar rounds hit home and dull thuds were heard as the rounds sent columns of dirt and shrapnel tearing through flesh, metal and bone. One soldiers leg was severed from the knee down, blood sprayed claret into the air. He screamed in anguish as a comrade tried to pull him towards cover.

"GO! GO! GO!"

The men and women of 2nd platoon rose and ran, their weapons clunking as they went, the whipping noise of the Machine Gun nest opened up and kicked dirt up all around. Then all hell broke loose.

 

[Sloth]

Although that could be pressed onto any situation, not just HL2, it's bloody awesome. Get bored more often!

/me donns his anti-flame jacket, just casue he brought back an old thread.

 

[Talyn]

Somewhere, far above them in the citadel, there was a massive explosion. The lift ground to a shuddering halt, throwing the two scientists off their feet. Dr. Judith Mossman tumbled into Dr. Eli Vance, and the two of them crashed to the floor of the lift, the lift that was hopefully bringing them down to the ground level. There was an shock of pain when she hit her head against the transparent surface, and then everything went black. Beside her on the cool surface of the lift, there was a soft groan.

"Eli," she said in a shaky voice, feeling his body against her back, the cold metal of his synthetic leg against the back of her hand, "Eli, I think I've gone blind."

"I don't think so, Judith," her fellow scientist said soothingly. "I can't see either, the lights are just out. Gordon must have done it! He must have destroyed the Dark Fusion reactor!"

Just as he finished talking, however, a second explosion, many times more powerful than the first, tossed the two of them about like ragdolls and filled the lift with a rumbling roar that defied description. A sudden feeling of vertigo plunged both of them into a panic as the lift disengaged from it's magnetic couplings and went into a free-fall, scraping against the walls and shooting up huge streams of bright sparks as it fell.

Eli instinctively pulled the woman against his chest and wrapped his arms around her, a probably-futile attempt to shield her from the inevitable impact of the fall. Luckily for the pair of them, the fall wasn't long, but the final crash still hit them with teeth-jarring force. White-hot pain shot through Eli's shoulder as it bounced against the floor with Dr. Mossman's weight upon it.

Judith rolled off of him just as the dim emergency lights came on, revealing that they had survived a fall all the way down to the ground floor. She shakily got to her feet and then reached down to help Eli up, sparing a moment to cast a concerned look at his dislocated shoulder. As concerned as she was for the black man's safety, however, she couldn't help but take in the scene before her.

It was chaos. Black-uniformed soldiers sprinted back and forth clumsily, shouting at each other and their radios and generally falling apart in disarray. Three of the massive Combine war machines Judith had seen come through a portal earlier that week sat inert and lifeless on the metal deckplates, apparently knocked completely out of commission by the rupturing of the portal between worlds.

One of the Overwatch soldiers was running about blindly until he slammed face-first into the transparent wall of the lift. He fell to his knees, clutching at his helmet. A hoarse scream, distorted by the helmet's voice filter, got louder and louder and turned into a real scream when the soldier finally managed to pry the helmet off of his head, revealing a bald, scarred head covered with wires and jacks. The man's eyes had been replaced with technological implants, and the two true humans watched in horror as the transhuman tore at his face, desperately trying to claw his metal eyes out.

His screams rose to an unbearable pitch and he frantically reached for his belt, pulled out his sidearm and placed it in his mouth. He pulled the trigger so hard that the gun kept firing after he died, blowing a bloody hole through the wiring criss-crossing the back of his head.

Judith's self control finally broke and she screamed and turned away, burying her face into Eli's chest. Even as she felt unreasoning panic tug at the corners of her mind, however, her scientist's brain was kicking in with an explanation. "The central control network must have been disrupted," she said with a calm that surprised herself. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that her words were muffled by Eli's old Harvard sweatshirt, but the words allowed her to fully regain control of herself.

"All the stalkers, all the transhuman forces are attached to the Overwatch network - their implants must be going completely haywire."

"Lucky for us," Eli said grimly, surveying the scene. "We don't have much time until another Citadel gains control of this network and get's these... things operational again. We've got to get moving."