Writing Back to Short Stories, Enjoy The Latest One!

Muddy68 · Aug 30, 2012

One Snowy Night

It was winter and no one was traveling by road for fear of catching their death in the blizzard that swept across the countryside. Inch after inch was piling up outside the inn as the family that owned it sat inside, huddled around the fire, wishing that spring would soon arrive. Business had been mediocre at best over the past month or so because no one would even consider venturing out into the wintry hell. Money was scarce, but food was plentiful at the inn. The owner, a middle aged man who had recently lost his father, had amassed a rather large winter store this year.

So there the family - the owner, his wife, and their daughter - sat on wooden stools around the fire, each with several layers of cloaks and blankets piled on their shoulders. The inn itself was decent compared to others. It was not exactly clean, but was not dirty either. Occasionally, a mouse or two would attempt to warm themselves by the hearth, only to be chased off by the cat.

The moisture on the windows had long frozen and skewed the view the family had of the outside world. Snow drifts were almost as high as the window sill, but did not come any higher due to the wind constantly shifting the snow around. The wind continuously howled like the hounds of hell and beat against the inn constantly, like a battering ram attempting to penetrate a fortress without success. The walls of the in refused to collapse under its might.

And so the family sat, praying that the blizzard would soon come to an end. Just when it was beginning to grow darker outside (it was always dark as the blowing snow refused to let all the sunlight into the inn), there came a knock at the door. In stepped a soldier stating that he needed a place to stay for the night as he had been separated from the other soldiers and his horse had gotten frostbite from the nipping cold. He had no money to pay, but promised to return in the spring once he had received his meager pay. The owner, in desperate need of the man's money, allowed him to enter.

The soldier ventured over to the fire, pulling his snow-wettened cloak close. The daughter rose, removed it, and hung it over the hearth. The wife took her cloaks and blankets and combined them with the daughters and the pile the owner had left on the ground when he answered the knock at the door. She then distributed them into piles of four and passed them out to the four of them.

After a little bit of time had gone by, the wife rose and walked to the kitchen to prepare some stew for supper. After it was done, and ale was poured into worn wooden mugs, the four of them sat around the rectangular table, with the owner and soldier at opposite heads of the table and the wife and daughter on each side, prepared to say grace. Right as the owner had said, “Dear Lord, thank you-,” there came a pounding at the door.

It was not quiet. It thundered across the room and caused the ale to rattle in the mugs. The owner, clearly insulted, rose and stomped over to the door, ready to give a rather loud scolding to whomever had interrupted his family's dinner prayer. He flung open the door and froze. The color drained from his face and his eyes grew wide.

Trying to recover, the owner stepped back and beckoned the visitor come in. His wife gave a confused look to the daughter who simply shrugged. Seeing that the owner was in shock, for whatever reason, the soldier rose and politely offered to remove the man's cloak. The man shook his head. The owner showed him to the table.

The man appeared to be chilled to the bone. Snow clung to not only the hood of his cloak but also in his silvery white hair which came to about shoulder length. In the firelight, the soldier could have sworn the man's eyes glowed a satanic red.

The owner sat down again and took a long swig from his mug. The prayer was forgotten and they sat in silence for a few moments. The daughter rose and brought the man a steaming bowl of stew which he promptly held up his hand in refusal. He reached into his trousers pocket and pulled out an obviously aged coin purse. He reached in and placed the correct amount for one night on the table and withdrew to his room. As he walked down the hallway, the family cat was heard hissing. The sound was quickly muffled and heard no more.

The wife turned to her husband and asked what had startled him. The owner, still a tad shaken, replied that he believed the man to be his father, 5 months dead now. The soldier shook his head and said that there was no truth in that. “That's the way pagans think,” he stated. The daughter, not knowing what to do, commented on the large hole in the left side of the man's cloak.

Clearly emotionally drained, the family and the soldier soon retired to bed. The fire soon burned down to a few embers in the hearth, scattered amongst the remains of the firewood. At one point, the wife rose from her and her husband's quarters to walk outside and restart the fire. She noticed that the blizzard has finally broken and a full moon shown down on the road. She stopped to admire the first clear night sky she had seen in a week or two, she couldn't quite remember.

After some time, she returned to the warmth of her bed. When she arose in the morning, the soldier and the daughter were talking nearby the hearth. She sent the soldier to arouse the man, but he returned saying that he was gone, the bed never slept in. The wife yelled for her husband, but received no reply.

Suddenly her face, beaten and wrinkled over the years of keeping the inn running with her husband, grew very pale. She remembered what he had said the night before about the stranger looking like his late father. “GEORGE!” she shrieked. There was no reply.

She sprinted upstairs and into the bedroom, close followed by the daughter and the soldier. The owner, on the left side of the bed, was laying slightly askew. Upon closer inspection, it was noticed that there was a small dried pool of blood on the pillow casing. The daughter screamed, seeing two small puncture wounds on her father's neck.

The soldier drew his knife out of its sheath on his belt and took the man's wrist. He slit it, but nothing came out. The owner was dead. The soldier sprinted outside and returned with a stake of wood and a hammer. He drove it through the heart of the owner while the wife and daughter sobbed in the corner.

* * *

That same day, just as dusk was setting in, the soldier ventured into a nearby village to organize a group of villagers to march to the cemetery. They all hung the most pungent garlic they could find around their necks. Some carried freshly sharpened pitchforks, others torches, and the rest shovels. The soldier, leading the way, had a hammer and a stake, so sharp that an accidental prick of the flesh could draw blood.

When they reached the cemetery, the sun had disappeared over the horizon and the only right came from the mob's torches. It danced around the shadows of the tombstones, and a few began to turn back, only to be stopped by the soldier's booming, echoing voice. He instructed villagers to guard every tombstone. He then reached into the pocket of his trousers and removed a scrap of paper with the name of the owner's father written on it.

He found the grave under a lifeless oak tree. A dirt mound lay in front of the marker. Fresh, thought the price, from reburying himself after he drank from the inn owner. He began and a few others began to dig. After what seemed like an eternity, they hit wood. The soldier, with extra garlic around his neck, pried the lid off of the freshly buried coffin.

As soon as the lid was removed, the soldier dropped his stake. A look of horror appeared on his face. It spread to the men surrounding the grave, and all of a sudden there was a yell from one of the far corner's of the cemetery. A couple of the men ran off into the distance, lanterns slapping their sides.

Another group of men stepped forward to see what had frightened the soldier. In the coffin lay only a cloak with a hole in the left side. The soldier climbed up from the grave and ran in the direction of the scream. There lay a pale lifeless villager with the man's son desperately trying to revive. The soldier threw the teenager aside and jammed the stake into the man's heart. No blood came out.

It was then that a note was noticed to be lying at the dead man's feet. The soldier picked it up. The handwriting was messy, as if written in a hurry.

I know that you seek to destroy me, but my fun has just begun. I hate to have to kill this man, but he spotted me and I had no choice. As for my son, he betrayed my will and I felt the need to punish him. Now that he is gone, all that remains is his wife, daughter, and a soldier, all of whom know too much. To the three of them, watch your backs.

It was not signed. The prince dropped the note, and looked off into the distance only to see a cloak-less figure disappearing into the forest beyond the cemetery.

* * *

A week passed, and both the wife and daughter were found dead at the inn. The soldier avoided death for several years, but only by sheer dumb luck. He would appear and vanish just as quickly as he had arrived in a village. He would stay long enough to drink himself into a stupor. The man with the silver hair caught up to him in an inn one night when the soldier failed to leave quickly enough.

So readers, take care, and be weary of anyone knocking at your door late in the evening, for it could just be a man with satanic red eyes and silver hair, hungry for the warm blood coursing through your veins.

Luckyfire · Aug 31, 2012

RE: One Snowy Night

Wow. Just...wow. That was incredible. I see no mistakes, except for that you should space a few paragraphs.

Are you going to continue this, or post your stories in this thread?

Muddy68 · Aug 31, 2012

RE: One Snowy Night

Where were the paragraphs, I'll try to improve upon that next time.

And thanks

I am probably just going to keep this thread going as a short story thing, I find them more enjoyable to write than actual chapters.

Zyflair · Aug 31, 2012

RE: One Snowy Night

Here you go:

When they reached the cemetery, the sun had disappeared over the horizon and the only right came from the mob's torches. It danced around the shadows of the tombstones, and a few began to turn back, only to be stopped by the soldier's booming, echoing voice. He instructed villagers to guard every tombstone. He then reached into the pocket of his trousers and removed a scrap of paper with the name of the owner's father written on it.
He found the grave under a lifeless oak tree. A dirt mound lay in front of the marker. Fresh, thought the price, from reburying himself after he drank from the inn owner. He began and a few others began to dig. After what seemed like an eternity, they hit wood. The soldier, with extra garlic around his neck, pried the lid off of the freshly buried coffin.

This was a nice read. Your writing is enjoyably simple, something that my interally rambling mind cannot conjure. There are a few spelling/grammar errors, most of them pretty negligable except for this one:

So there the family sat, the owner, his wife, and their daughter, on wooden stools around the fire, each with several layers of cloaks and blankets piled on their shoulders.

You want to specify the members of the family, so "sat" should be after that list. But upon looking a second time, it looks a bit unclear with all of those commas running in a row. I would suggest you use alternative punctuation. If you want to make a large emphasis, go with dashes. Otherwise, make an aside with parenthesis. I've got the options fleshed out below:

So there the family - the owner, his wife, and their daughter - sat on wooden stools around the fire, each with several layers of cloaks and blankets piled on their shoulders.

So there the family (the owner, his wife, and their daughter) sat on wooden stools around the fire, each with several layers of cloaks and blankets piled on their shoulders.

But overall, a fun yet slightly haunting tale. Reading it was a pleasure. I hope to see more of your works. :3

Happy Writing,
~Zyflair

Muddy68 · Aug 31, 2012

RE: One Snowy Night

Lol, thanks, I couldn't find it. And I agree with the one with the dashes in it, I feel like it flows better.

Thanks for taking the time to look over it, and I'll try to write more in the next few weeks. It wasn't too simple was it?

Zyflair · Aug 31, 2012

RE: One Snowy Night

Hm, there were a few passages that I felt that could benefit with slightly more complex sentence structures, but writing styles is a fickle topic; there's no perfect answer, so I feel it's better I let you write the way you naturally do. Besides, your tales show sophistication in comparison to many stories here, so no complaints at all. x3

Muddy68 · Aug 31, 2012

RE: One Snowy Night

Sweet, thanks. Let's see what I can crank out next (maybe this weekend).

Zyflair · Aug 31, 2012

RE: One Snowy Night

Take your time. Make sure you're not forcing yourself. ~~Actually, you should definitely try to draw inspiration from a fanfic around here. There's a great one called Disbelief and I highly recommend it.~~

Muddy68 · Sep 1, 2012

RE: Muddy's Short Stories- Part 1 of Survival of the Fittest Up!

Well, I found one that I wrote this past school year, I am gonna post it in parts, it's a little long for short story, but the teacher and my friends liked it:

Survival Of The Fittest Part 1

The world was ending. No nuclear bombs were falling from the skies, the Earth was not going to be hit by an asteroid, none of that. It was nothing like in the movies. It was ending because everything was coming apart at the seams. Civilization was crumbling, the world was headed into another Dark Age, and my friend Josh and I were right in the middle of it.

An earthquake shook everything, hardly any buildings remained standing. The entire continent, and possibly the entire world, had been leveled in about 20 seconds. Fighting for the remaining supplies had broken out in the streets almost immediately afterward. People in our town, friends, neighbors, even the pastor, had turned into animals, killing for a scrap of bread, or anything that would aid in their survival.

Josh's and my parents were both killed in the chaos. We had nothing left but a rowboat, some bottles of water, a little food, some seeds, and little means for defense, all of which we had concealed in my parent’s tool shed. Regardless of these meager supplies, we still ventured out into the chaos. Every supermarket, convenience store, and restaurant was picked clean, but the book store was quiet. We slipped in silently, but there was no one there, not even the store's owner.

“Alex,” said Josh, “This place may be a refuge for now, but someone will find us eventually. We need to slip away quietly, up the river to the mountains where we can be safe.”

“They’ll attack us as soon as they see the supplies. We’ll never get off the dock.”

“We can if we conceal it in my rowing boat. C'mon Alex, it’s the best chance we’ve got, we’re not built like the rest of them, never worked out a day in our lives. We gotta at least try.”

I sighed, and then began browsing a shelf of fictional books about the end of the world. I grabbed a few of them, and then stopped. I put the books back on the shelf and said, “Well, if we’re gonna go, we’re gonna need some nature books. We need to know what we can and can't eat.”

Josh smiled, “Now you’re talking.”

We scoured the store, looking for anything that could be helpful. We found five books; one entitled How to Survive the Apocalypse, and walked back to the entrance of the store. Josh laughed as he opened that book, “It says to go to the mountains. I guess our plan isn’t half bad after all, but we can’t just leave these around for people to find, they might follow.” He grabbed a box containing books that were on special and dumped them on the floor. “Gather up the rest of the survival books,” Josh commanded, giving me the box.

I sprinted around the store, grabbing all the books on that topic I could find. When I returned, I was told to put some in a pile at the center of the building. Josh went outside as I was arranging the books. “Get me the box!” Josh yelled.

I ran outside and saw him by a car with a garden hose in its gas tank. He was draining the gasoline from the car! I was horrified. “You’re going to torch the store?!”

“Alex, we can’t afford to be little goody two shoes, those people raiding every building in sight sure aren’t.”

He grabbed the box from my hands and emptied the fuel tank. Josh and I went back into the store. I dumped fuel on the books while Josh struck a match. He dropped the match and we ran. The store was already ablaze. No one would know it was arson, a lot had caught on fire from the earthquake knocking things down and making sparks. We walked out of the store, concealing our finds.

As we headed back to the tool shed, all I could think was that we were only 16, but we had just committed our first felony. Not like it mattered anymore, crimes were going to become a regular staple in our lives from now on. I hated it though; we were good kids, hardly ever grounded or stayed up late on school nights. I guess we just had to adapt, survival of the fittest, I think Darwin said that. He probably never knew what it would come to mean in these apocalyptic times.

Surprisingly, we reached my dingy little shed without difficulty. No one had even touched it. I guess it was so dirty it wasn’t even worth the looters’ time. “Okay, let's take that tablecloth from the picnic table and throw it over everything. Make sure nothing can be seen, not even the oars, that could make it something worth stealing,” said Josh as he began arranging everything in the boat.

“You think this will be enough to reach the mountains?” I asked, knowing that it would take at least a week, or more depending on the current. We were paddling upstream.

“No, that's why we gathered those books from the store. Oh, almost forgot.” He reached into his pocket and placed his matchbox into the basket stuffed with food and seed packets. “Don't want to ruin those. Hey, does your dad still shoot at the range?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, the memory of my father's death filling my mind. “He keeps the guns in that padlocked drawer in the back.”

“Well,” Josh said, picking up some wire cutters, “Let's get those.”

He broke off the padlock quickly and without much noise. Inside the drawer were a few revolvers and hundreds of bullets. “Perfect,” I said, smiling at the fact we could now defend ourselves.

That night, we slipped quietly down to the docks. The people were looting on the other side of town; the docks had been picked clean a couple of days ago. We got the boat into the water with no trouble, each grabbed a pair of oars, and set off into the unknown. I was scared, but Josh's bravery was what kept me going. I knew that together, we could survive in this post-apocalyptic world.

The next day dawned as we passed through an abandoned trailer park. Everything there was destroyed, some even burning. “No sense in even checking,” I mumbled. It was frightening, no people around at all. My family had once gone fishing with Josh's family for the weekend. Those days were long past though, no happiness was going to come to us for a while.

I dozed off during Josh’s rowing shift, only to be awoken by the sound of gunshots from the shore. “Get down!” Josh yelled.

He tossed me a revolver, and I instinctively shot into the bushes on the shore. Josh was quick to fire his round after me. It cut through the air like a knife and wounded someone. The man, who had been shot, dressed in rags, fell into the stream, and then started swimming towards us!

“I got him!” I shouted, shooting again, this time, hitting him in the head.

The next few minutes happened so fast, I could barely keep track of what was happening. Josh and I shot into the bushes again. We were becoming more accurate, we hit two more men. Suddenly, a large, built man appeared from amidst the brush with a double barrel shot gun and fired. He missed, but did manage to hit the side of the boat. Water began pouring in. Josh returned fire as I tried to stop the flow of water. We were sinking, and fast.

And then, everything stopped. We had either killed them all, or they retreated. “Row to the other side,” I whispered to Josh so anyone around us eavesdropping could not hear.

Josh obeyed, rowing quickly to the small beach. I jumped out of the boat and ran over to a tree while Josh was bailing water. I started to rip off bark to put over the bullet hole, but then realized there was no way to get the bark to stick to the boat. I looked around and noticed a maple tree oozing sap. I rubbed it all over the bark and began patching the boat. We silently ate a lunch of wild berries picked from nearby bushes, and put the boat back onto the water.

The sun was soon lost behind the trees and a peaceful dusk was beginning. A cool, refreshing breeze blew against us as I decided to give Josh the first rest. As he dozed off, tears gathered in the corners of my eyes, threatening to stream down my face. I had taken my first life today. Sure he was a looter trying to murder us, but that thought did little to calm me. As I rowed, I stared at the moon, remembering the summer nights in Josh's and my hometown when we would sit on my patio and talk about school and girls. Those discussions seem so pointless now. Most of the people we talked about then are either dead or will die soon when their supplies run out. Around midnight, Josh woke up for his watch and I dozed off into a dreamless sleep.

Luckyfire · Sep 1, 2012

RE: Muddy's Short Stories- Part 1 of Survival of the Fittest Up!

Well, it's quite nice. There's the occasional grammar mistake, and then there's nothing more.

Very nicely written, Muddy. You have potential.

Muddy68 · Sep 1, 2012

RE: Muddy's Short Stories- Part 1 of Survival of the Fittest Up!

Thanks, I hope I am keeping you in suspense until I post Part 2...

MrGatr · Sep 4, 2012

RE: Muddy's Short Stories- Part 1 of Survival of the Fittest Up!

How dare you keep part 2 from us

I didn't find that many errors but I found extremely enjoyable, also you don't have to call them short stories you could call them just plain ol stories

Anyways great job. And the Valpire one is going to give me nightmares lol.

Muddy68 · Sep 5, 2012

RE: Muddy's Short Stories- Part 1 of Survival of the Fittest Up!

Oh, my bad Martini... I call them short stories because that is what they are. I guess I've just had too many LA classes over the years. I'll post Part 2 when I have time (probably later in the week).

MrGatr · Sep 5, 2012

RE: Muddy's Short Stories- Part 1 of Survival of the Fittest Up!

The post two thing was more of a joke lol.

Muddy68 · Sep 5, 2012

RE: Muddy's Short Stories- Part 1 of Survival of the Fittest Up!

So, you don't want me to finish that story?

MrGatr · Sep 5, 2012

RE: Muddy's Short Stories- Part 1 of Survival of the Fittest Up!

No no no no (what have I done -_-) finish the story...

(I'm actually really liking it at the moment, and when it suddenly ended in that way books do to continue into the next book, waiting in suspense... That's what my reaction was lol

Muddy68 · Sep 5, 2012

RE: Muddy's Short Stories- Part 1 of Survival of the Fittest Up!

XD I was honestly going to post the rest whether you wanted me to or not!

Survival Of The Fittest Part 2

Around noon the next day, Josh pointed to the shore. “Land here, my Uncle John lives there.”

“Are you sure he'll help?” I asked. “Most people have even turned against their immediate families.”

“He's not like that, I know he'll be willing to help us,” Josh said firmly. The look in his eyes did little to convince me, but nonetheless, I listened to him and helped steer the boat in that direction.

When we pulled the boat on the beach, I was amazed to see the house so well intact. A middle-aged, red haired, balding man walked out of the back door. He was smiling. Josh ran into his arms for a hug. I did not see the resemblance between them; Josh was a lot taller than his uncle and had completely different hair.

“Good to see you Josh. And who's this with you, your twin?” John joked. He was right though; we both had brown hair and were about the same height.

“No, this is my friend Alex,” Josh told him.

“Well, we best get you two and your boat inside in case of looters. They know I'm a good shot, so they won't come inside, but they'll take whatever is left unattended.”

John helped us carry the boat inside. I was amazed, he still had electrical power. He had the TV on where the president was talking about the current state of crisis. He had just made sandwiches for lunch when the TV blared, “BREAKING NEWS!” Our heads immediately shot towards the TV. A scientist appeared on the screen. “The worst of the tremors should be over in our country, the rest of the world is unaccounted for currently. However, it appears that we are in for the largest solar flare in our history.”

“Wha-” I began to ask, but was interrupted by a “SHHHH!”

I turned back to the TV. The scientist continued, “All communications and electricity will be knocked out. The Earth will be temporarily sent back in time to the Dark Ages.” Then, everything turned off.

John stood up. “Okay, go, now! There is no going back from this, you think the people have been savage now, you just wait. I lied about being a good shot, I actually had an electric fence installed for my dogs that caught the metal on their guns. Now, they can get in. Run! They're coming!”

“Uncle-” Josh started but was cut off by a shot being fired.

We grabbed our revolvers, but John stopped us. “No,” he said reaching behind the couch. He pulled out a shot gun. “This is my fight, you need to leave. I'll distract them.”

We ran to the back porch and carried the boat to the water as fast as we could. We pushed off just as a looter was coming around the corner. Not even thinking twice, I fired a bullet into his heart. I could hear John's shot gun going off, but the front of his house was being set ablaze. They wanted him gone!

“Alex, we have to go back!” Josh yelled.

“You heard what he said!” I shouted.

“I know, but he's my uncle, my favorite uncle, we need to save him!”

With that, we both began to turn the boat around. We quickly rowed back to the shore. Looters were surrounding the house. We set the rowboat as a shield and began firing at them. Bullets were whizzing past us, more than we could return. There had to be well over 20 looters against the two of us. John's house was like a bonfire now, the walls beginning to fall and the roof was caving in. I saw John run out the back door, somehow dodging bullets. He fired and took out another, but they just kept coming.

He looked towards the beach, and a look of horror came to his eyes when he saw that the boat was still there. And he froze, thinking that we had been killed. He was shot in the side, arm, leg, and chest. He fell forward, coughing blood, saying one last silent prayer to his maker, and then, the gurgling sound coming from him stopped. He was dead.

But that did not stop the looters from firing at us. Enraged, Josh fired more fiercely than ever before. His bullets found their target. One man fell, two, three, maybe more. I was amazed at his precision and bravery.

Then, they retreated, running towards the road in front of John's blazing home. We heard cars start and then drive away. Silently, we abandoned the boat and took the one that John had on his patio. We hardly noticed the large fire, until the house was almost out of view when it collapsed.

Josh was silently crying. “We shouldn't have gone back. It's my fault he's dead.”

“No, he wanted us to be safe. He would have come with us if he wanted to live. Besides, the looters aren't taking prisoners, he would have died anyways. He's in a better place now. It's more civilized where he's going. He'll be in heaven, not this Hell on Earth.”

And we were silent for the next several hours. Night came, and we ran aground. At first we panicked, but then realized, we had done it. We had reached the mountains. We carried everything up quietly so no one would hear us. The next morning, we began building our shelter and planting the seeds.

10 Years Later

Our little farm has become a thriving village. Several families trying to escape the dangers of the cities have stumbled into the mountains and found us. We welcomed all of them. Society never recovered from the earthquake and solar flare. Outside our little paradise, the world has entered a new Dark Age.

We have never ventured down that river again, it's just too dangerous. No one knows how many people are left on the continent. All we know is that there are over 300 living in the village we called Johnstown, after Josh's uncle who had so bravely sacrificed himself so that we might live. He is the hero in our journey, not any of us.

The history books have been rewritten in the small school we have. John has become known as the martyr that made our settlement possible, and Josh and I are the new founding fathers. Looking back, I never thought any of this would occur. We were just two teenage boys who wanted to survive in the post-apocalyptic world. Never did we think that we could create the new cradle of civilization, the small place in the Rocky Mountains where humanity would endure.

That's how we survived, we kept our humanity. We still cared when we killed someone or when John was brutally murdered. We never let that slip away like most people did. Those without it have become drooling brutes, monsters in Johnstown's folklore. We built walls surrounding the settlement to keep them out.

The age of firearms ended with the earthquake. No one could make bullets anymore and the weaponry of the Middle Ages had returned. Our guards carried spears and bows and arrows for defense now. We still have a few bullets left in the revolvers, but those are for anyone who makes it through the walls into Johnstown.

And now there is nothing left to write. I someday hope that Josh will tell of his occurrences during our journey, but I doubt he ever will. He is too happy as Johntown's mayor to dwell on the somber past. It still bothers him, haunts his sleep. I managed to overcome that fear years ago.

I am proud of what the two of us have accomplished. I can only hope that our shining paradise of Johnstown can remain for years to come. A testament to the world that even in the worst of times, one can still keep civilization alive.

Luckyfire · Sep 5, 2012

RE: Muddy's Short Stories- Part 2 of Survival of the Fittest Up!

Nice, but again, there's the grammar mistakes. I won't tell them to you, though; I think it's just part of your style.

It seems a little short, but what do I know?

Muddy68 · Sep 5, 2012

RE: Muddy's Short Stories- Part 2 of Survival of the Fittest Up!

Lol, I don't know grammar, which is sad seeing as I'm in AP English and Comp this year...
Anyways, it's short because it was written for my English class last year and had to be under 10 pages double spaced, it stretched 9.5, so I barely made it... The more I revised it though, the more I came to like it, so maybe I'll eventually post an extended version, but right now I am working on a legit book with chapters.

Muddy68 · Sep 6, 2012

RE: Muddy's Short Stories- Part 2 of Survival of the Fittest Up!

This is probably poorly written grammatically since I wrote it in 30 min, I just needed to get this out:

Lost Chance

Now I want to first state that everything that you are about to read is completely true. This unfortunate occurrence happened to me during my second year of high school, and I am slightly embarrassed writing this because my actions were stupid and have filled me with regret since the last day of that school year. I am sure that by this point I have left some of you confused, so I will begin the story:

It was mid-March when the feeling first struck me. I was unsure how to react at first since I had just come out of a relationship whose ending I would rather not discuss. I had been frightened to begin looking again, I had that feeling that it would just result in heartbreak with no months of memories to fondly look back on. I was scared to be in a committed relationship. I will freely admit it.

Feeling for a girl at my school had begun to build in my mind, and I knew that I should pursue them, not let them fester to the point of madness. Her name was Julie, and she was in my English class. In fact, it's funny. I had liked her the year before and been a complete idiot with the entire situation. Instead of attempting to become her friend first, I simply strung myself out, hoping that she would like me back. Needless to say, it went horribly.

But, it was a brand new year and I felt that I honestly could make something of it. We had talked off and on all year up to this point, and I felt that we were really good friends. I came to her with my problems and she with hers and we sorted them out together. The mutual trust was there, I just had to show her that I was more than just a bitterly sarcastic friend who could make her laugh on her worst days.

Well spring break came and went. I had my wisdom teeth out and took the ACT, all the while wishing I had some form of communication with her. Once I returned to school, we talked more than ever. We spoke after each English class, I walked her to her bus, it was fantastic. There was one issue though, she suspected nothing of my underlying feelings for her, she just believed I wanted to be a great friend.

Twice a week, she would stay after school for a music lesson in which she was instructed on how to better her skills on the French horn. I remained after school in order to practice for my school's spring play appropriately titled “The Worst High School Play In The World.” And believe me, the title suit it.

Anyways, one of these days, she had brought ice cream for her class of sixth graders that she mentored with two other students. She taught them to make good decisions in life like not doing drugs or not giving into peer pressure. I also did this, but with third graders instead. I didn't give my class ice cream, just cookies and brownies, but lucky for me, she had extra.

After I had gotten a bowl, we walked to the refrigerator in the teacher's lounge to place the frozen treat into the freezer so it wouldn't melt. Once in the lounge, I took a deep breath and asked if she liked anyone. Not even believing that I could like her, she stated, “Nick, I just want to concentrate on my studies. I don't like anyone.”

Saying I was hurt would be an understatement. I was flat out crushed. We walked back to the practice rooms for her lesson. I sat down by her on the tile floor, and we talked for a while, and then she went for her lesson. And that was that. I was unsure whether it was worth it to keep trying or not. My friend, Ethan, urged me to continue, but I was unsure. That all changed one night in late May.

Ethan had a sleepover for his birthday. I sat around a campfire roasting marshmallows with him and three other friends. We had been talking about girls, and then Josh (who we all called Froats) turned to me. “So Nick, who do you like?”

Not even flinching, I said, “Julie.”

My other friend Paul told me good luck. I smiled, knowing that they thought I should try, and the feelings for her strengthened. I knew I was going to try.

That next Friday, we were at our lockers, and she told me she had made cupcakes. If I went with her to the band room, she would give me one. Of course I went with her, blowing off study hall and euchre with my friends. We got there and she gave me a cupcake. It was red velvet with raspberry icing, and let me tell you, it was the greatest thing I had ever tasted. I thanked her and left, not noticing her lack of talking when we had walked to the band room.

At lunch, Ethan pulled me aside and told me she knew. I could feel the color drain from my face. This was crunch time, I had less than 10 days of school left to try and win her over. Well, each day came and went, and I made no progress.

And just like that, it was my final day of school. I had study hall the exam periods that were to take place the next morning. We were alone at our lockers, ready to go to the buses. I looked at her and said “Have a great summer.”

“You too Nick,” she said, smiling.

I stood there, looking at her beautiful red hair. She had the cutest expression when she smiled. I hugged her. “You riding the bus?” I asked.

She was carry a lot of stuff home from her locker. “No, I'm getting picked up.”

“Bye Julie, see you next school year.”

And we turned and went our separate ways, and just like that, everything I had worked for during the past couple months was gone, probably forever. Now, we have no classes together, are lockers are far apart, and we can barely talk. And I still feel something for her. Am I stupid, should I have taken advantage of those last seconds together to get her number? Did I lose the chance to date one of the greatest girls at my school? I cared about her and loved how great of a person she was. I lost my chance.

And feel free to answer those questions at the end. I need to get this out somewhere, and this seemed like the best place.

Writing Back to Short Stories, Enjoy The Latest One!

Democrat to the End

Aspiring Trainer

Democrat to the End

Yes, sir. Of course, sir.

Democrat to the End

Yes, sir. Of course, sir.

Democrat to the End

Yes, sir. Of course, sir.

Democrat to the End

Aspiring Trainer

Democrat to the End

Goin Rogue Baby :DDD

Democrat to the End

Goin Rogue Baby :DDD

Democrat to the End

Goin Rogue Baby :DDD

Democrat to the End

Aspiring Trainer

Democrat to the End

Democrat to the End