Short Stories

Post any of your TYPE-MOON related stories, artwork, etc. This is a spoiler zone, so spoiler tags are NOT required as fan fiction is bound to be full of them. You have been warned.

Moderator: Staffers

Short Stories

Unread postby AddleBoy » May 28th, 2008, 2:37 am

It's OK to post original stories, right? Here's a short story that a wrote a couple months ago called Russian Roulette.

------

Have you ever played a game of solo Russian Roulette? The idea may sound idiotic at first, but there's benefit if you're not exactly lookin' to win.

A bullet to the head. The fast way out. They say that a bullet straight to the head shouldn't hurt at all. A painless death, or so they say... It's not as if there's anyone left to tell the tale. Frankly, I don't give a damn if it's painless or not.

I load a single bullet into the chamber of my magnum revolver, spin it, and lock it in place. The muzzle goes to my head, the gun is cocked, and my finger pulls the trigger.

CLICK!

Nothing. I guess I lucked out, though it's not surprising. This gun being a six-shooter, I have a one out of six chance of blowing my brains out. No problem, though. All I have to do is keep going; keep pulling the trigger. It may take a while, but again no problem. I've got all the time in the world.

The steps are easy:
-Put the muzzle to your head.
-Cock the gun.
-Pull the trigger.
-Repeat.

A four step method for killing your self with guaranteed results.

CLICK!

Again, no bullet.

Those who know me would say that this way of death is pretty ironic. This isn't the first time I've played Russian Roulette, you know. Of course, I wasn't playing alone those times. And needless to say, I won each and every time.

Poor bastards. Their only fault was thinking that Russian Roulette was just a high stakes game of luck. If you don't pay enough attention, you'll lose your life, among other things. Some would call it cheating, but I'd call it not putting a bullet through my head.

I wouldn't have imagined putting the gun to my own head with the purpose of losing.

CLICK!

Empty.

I guess you could say that my whole life was just a big game of Russian Roulette. I've made many life or death gambles; cocking the gun and pulling the trigger repeatedly. I guess my luck just ran out today.

CLICK!

The process is taking a little longer than I thought it would. I repeat the algorithm, regardless.

CLICK!

For those of you who lost count or just didn't give enough of a damn to pay attention, that "CLICK" signified the fifth shot. This gun is a six shooter loaded with one bullet. Five of those six shots have already been fired. Are you keeping up with me? That could mean one of two things: Either the bullet I loaded was a dud and I've already fired that shot or the bullet is waiting for me in this last shot.

Either way, this will all come to an end in the next shot. I repeat my steps for the last time.

Muzzle to head.

Gun cocked.

Trigger pull--

"Wait!"

I hear an unfamiliar yet pleading voice from nearby, and my finger stops moving. That's when I realize that one of the maids working for the hotel I'm staying at is standing in the doorway to my room. She must be here to change the bed sheets, or something.

"Stop! Don't do it!" she orders.

"Why?" I ask in my dead-pan voice. "You're not going to tell me that I've got a lot to live for, or some crap like that are you?"

"No! Who the hell do you think is going to have to clean this room up after you make a bloody mess out of it?! Picking up little chunks of brain and skull were not apart of the job description." She answers firmly as she comes into my room, scoots me off of the bed, and begins to hurriedly change the sheets.

I do nothing but stand out of her way and watch her work. I think her hands are trembling. I'm still holding the cocked gun in my hand.

When she's done, she takes the dirty sheets and leaves one final warning before leaving the room. "This room better be clean when I get back or there'll be hell to pay!" Leaving her threat behind, she closes the door.

I'm sorry Miss Maid, but that's something I can't guarantee. I sit back on the bed and put the gun to my head once more....



CLICK!


God must either love me or hate me....
Last edited by AddleBoy on August 28th, 2008, 5:11 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Then you realize... That there is no loli. And it's not the loli you're molesting, it's yourself.
User avatar
AddleBoy
Crack Desu!
 
Posts: 267
Joined: January 16th, 2008, 4:00 am
Location: At the end of the world, upon the Hill of Swords.

Re: Short Stories

Unread postby zweiterversuch » May 28th, 2008, 11:17 am

I think the one god loves is the Maid, who has to clean the room.

:D

Amazing. So short and yet so good...
http://visualnoveldai.com/
If you want to create your own visual novel go there!
Try it out, no compromise!
8 inches in a week!

btw Princess Tutu is still Awesome!!!
zweiterversuch
$dead
 
Posts: 1424
Joined: February 7th, 2008, 6:53 pm

Unread postby ayadew » May 29th, 2008, 1:57 pm

Was alright, the maid-thing took focus off the point of the ironic end, so I had to re-read the beginning to get the point.
The instant I tear off your limbs, rip open your chest and pull out your intestines, biting into your neck as you ask for mercy, chewing through your eyes and spreading your brains on the ground like butter-------!
User avatar
ayadew
Totally hardly posted
 
Posts: 601
Joined: December 11th, 2007, 9:25 pm
Location: Sweden

Unread postby abscess » May 29th, 2008, 9:53 pm

A nice story to be read when you have time to spare.
"I settled for that shriek. Those dull vacant eyes... oiled cabbage stench of her...! [...] You know what? I'm sorry if I'm not gonna do this the way you want me to or the way you might. But I will not make an angel out of someone who wasn't an angel...!" -Chief Tyrol, on his beloved wife.
Have you heard about the saying that goes something like "drunk people and kids tell no lies"? Well, that's just a fallacy.
User avatar
abscess
I can haz postingz nao? K thx
 
Posts: 1939
Joined: April 25th, 2008, 10:08 am
Location: Parmistan lol

Unread postby AddleBoy » June 25th, 2008, 9:55 pm

Another very short story that I wrote. It's a little weird :?


This cold and lonely place has become my prison for the past five years. Spending five years alone can take its toll on a person.

Well, I'm not completely alone. There's also Harry, but he doesn't say much of anything. All he does is huddle in the corner, not moving a single inch. Sometimes I question whether or not he's still alive. But he is still living.

If you were to ask him why he stays in the corner, unmoving, he would answer, "I am an orange. If I move I will burst and my juices will leak."

Actually, that's the ONLY thing he says. He repeats the statement as if to make it true. Whether he's saying it to me, himself, or no one at all, I don't know. Well, I don't remember seeing him eat a single thing since we've been in here. Maybe he's living off photosynthesis from the minimal sunlight we actually get in here?

I, on the other hand, have been without food for several days, and it is agonizing. Our food stores have run dry almost half a week ago, and I fear death from starvation.

Times like these can make a man do horrendous things...

I approach Harry, who is still curled up in his corner. It's either you or me, Harry...

I take a satisfyingly large bite, and I fearfully think to myself how delicious it is. I continue to bite, and bite, and bite, and bite...

Still, Harry moves not an inch of himself. Instead, he continues to repeat his mantra as if it's the only thing keeping him in this world.

"I am an orange. If I move, I will burst and my juices will leak. I am an orange. If I move, I will burst and my juices will leak. I am an orange..."

Eventually, I even steal his voice away from him, and all that came forth were harsh gargles and spurts.

Harry was right about a few things, though. He moved, and he did burst and the juices did leak...everywhere. Scattered about the room were the remains of the being who was known as Harry.

But if there's one thing I'll remember about Harry, it's that he didn't taste anything like an orange.
Then you realize... That there is no loli. And it's not the loli you're molesting, it's yourself.
User avatar
AddleBoy
Crack Desu!
 
Posts: 267
Joined: January 16th, 2008, 4:00 am
Location: At the end of the world, upon the Hill of Swords.

Unread postby zweiterversuch » June 25th, 2008, 9:59 pm

I wonder what was your reason to write this...it is so, soo, sooo Nice that I must just know it.
I am looking foward to your next SS (Short story)
http://visualnoveldai.com/
If you want to create your own visual novel go there!
Try it out, no compromise!
8 inches in a week!

btw Princess Tutu is still Awesome!!!
zweiterversuch
$dead
 
Posts: 1424
Joined: February 7th, 2008, 6:53 pm

Unread postby abscess » June 25th, 2008, 11:52 pm

Ahahahaha! aaaah! Is it bad that this makes me laugh? I don't laugh AT the story, but how the character acts. And the part "He did burst and leak his juices" was lulzy. I was expecting for the narrator to say that Harry didn't taste like an orange and did get it. hahaha! Nice one.
"I settled for that shriek. Those dull vacant eyes... oiled cabbage stench of her...! [...] You know what? I'm sorry if I'm not gonna do this the way you want me to or the way you might. But I will not make an angel out of someone who wasn't an angel...!" -Chief Tyrol, on his beloved wife.
Have you heard about the saying that goes something like "drunk people and kids tell no lies"? Well, that's just a fallacy.
User avatar
abscess
I can haz postingz nao? K thx
 
Posts: 1939
Joined: April 25th, 2008, 10:08 am
Location: Parmistan lol

Unread postby ayadew » June 26th, 2008, 6:12 am

Lol, that was great.
I think you'll have a hard time writing a serious dark story with your style of writing though, it's too light hearted. :p
The instant I tear off your limbs, rip open your chest and pull out your intestines, biting into your neck as you ask for mercy, chewing through your eyes and spreading your brains on the ground like butter-------!
User avatar
ayadew
Totally hardly posted
 
Posts: 601
Joined: December 11th, 2007, 9:25 pm
Location: Sweden

Unread postby abscess » June 26th, 2008, 8:40 am

Well, I think it is leaning more towards dark-comedy. At least that's my opinion.
"I settled for that shriek. Those dull vacant eyes... oiled cabbage stench of her...! [...] You know what? I'm sorry if I'm not gonna do this the way you want me to or the way you might. But I will not make an angel out of someone who wasn't an angel...!" -Chief Tyrol, on his beloved wife.
Have you heard about the saying that goes something like "drunk people and kids tell no lies"? Well, that's just a fallacy.
User avatar
abscess
I can haz postingz nao? K thx
 
Posts: 1939
Joined: April 25th, 2008, 10:08 am
Location: Parmistan lol

Unread postby AddleBoy » August 28th, 2008, 3:35 pm

Another one I wrote, though it's not completely finished, yet.

------

I sit there on the church bench, fumbling with the book in my hands. As I stroke the leathery cover with my thumb, I can feel the embossed words "Holy Bible". I've never been a very religious person, but I always find myself flipping through its pages whenever I happen to find one. I skim through Genesis as I wait for time to pass.

The only reason I'm in a church right now is that there is a visitation today. That time a day or two before someone's funeral, in which relatives and friends of that person can come in, see the body, and talk among each other.

Who is this visitation for? Is it a relative of mine? Is it a close friend of mine? Or maybe just an acquaintance?

The answer to these questions is no. In all honesty, I do not recall ever meeting this person face-to-face. All I know is that she is the mother of a girl that used visit my aunt's house when I was a kid, and I only knew that because my mother told me so. Even the face of the girl I used to play with is forgotten. I know that she's here somewhere in this room, but I wouldn't be able to point her out. It's been quite a few years since the last time I've seen her. She must have changed a lot.

I'm sitting there on the long church bench. My niece is sitting there next to me silently. The coffin and the body are sitting at the front of the room.

My niece tugs at my shoulder and asks me quietly, "Do you want to go see her?" Of course she's referring to the body in the coffin. I know my niece well enough to understand that she really means "Can you go with me to see her?" since she's too afraid to go by herself.

I dryly reply, "Sure," and we both walk down the isle towards the coffin. A group of adults are standing at the foot of the coffin. Their conversation is interrupted only momentarily by our presence. We are standing silently at the side of the half-open coffin, looking at what was inside.

It was a body. The body of a woman dressed in the last clothes she would ever wear. Looking at her face didn't strike up any particular emotions. I still couldn't remember that face no matter how hard I tried, but there was something else, something unnatural about the body.

Just by looking, I could tell that those arms would never uncross themselves and hug her daughter again, that those eyes would look upon anyone else ever again. She was dead.

I take a moment to look around the large room. The adults are scattered about the room in random groups, talking and laughing amongst themselves. Times like these used to confuse me.

I think back a few years ago to my uncle's visitation. I sat alone at the back of the room. It was the same situation then as it is now: Adults scattered about the room engaged in light conversation, the body in the coffin up front.

Back then, I asked my mother, "How could people talk and laugh so casually when my uncle's dead body is just sitting there?"

My mother told me that visitation was a time for people to come together and remember the happy memories. My mother told me that the funeral was the proper place to mourn.

Sure enough, all the adults who were laughing and talking so cheerfully the day before were crying hysterically at the funeral the next day. Unfortunately, I won't be able to see the result of this visitation and attend tomorrow's funeral.

It made me wonder: Where people so cold as to cry their salt-less tears only when convenient, or do they hide their natural tears behind faux smiles?

As I stand there looking down into the coffin, I can feel moist drops land on the back of my hands. For some reason, I'm crying.
Last edited by AddleBoy on August 28th, 2008, 7:37 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Then you realize... That there is no loli. And it's not the loli you're molesting, it's yourself.
User avatar
AddleBoy
Crack Desu!
 
Posts: 267
Joined: January 16th, 2008, 4:00 am
Location: At the end of the world, upon the Hill of Swords.

Unread postby zweiterversuch » August 28th, 2008, 4:50 pm

Wow......
REally, really nice story.
I had begun to miss your writting already.

This one as the others is very dark but...how should I say it....
It lacks something the other two had.

Maybe because it isn't complete...

Anyway, it is a very enjoyable lecture..
http://visualnoveldai.com/
If you want to create your own visual novel go there!
Try it out, no compromise!
8 inches in a week!

btw Princess Tutu is still Awesome!!!
zweiterversuch
$dead
 
Posts: 1424
Joined: February 7th, 2008, 6:53 pm

Unread postby AddleBoy » August 28th, 2008, 7:38 pm

I went back edited in the complete story.
Then you realize... That there is no loli. And it's not the loli you're molesting, it's yourself.
User avatar
AddleBoy
Crack Desu!
 
Posts: 267
Joined: January 16th, 2008, 4:00 am
Location: At the end of the world, upon the Hill of Swords.

Unread postby Henza » October 21st, 2008, 10:55 am

Uhhh... You are one hell of a prolific writer...
Good writing!

Is that a role model I should aspire to?
User avatar
Henza
Posting more than n00bs
 
Posts: 29
Joined: October 7th, 2008, 1:40 am
Location: By Your Side

Unread postby abscess » October 21st, 2008, 6:25 pm

I just gave myself some time to read this short writing after.... who knows how many months of being posted. It's good. I'd like to know what else would follow but... since this is kinda old, I wonder if you will continue working on it.
"I settled for that shriek. Those dull vacant eyes... oiled cabbage stench of her...! [...] You know what? I'm sorry if I'm not gonna do this the way you want me to or the way you might. But I will not make an angel out of someone who wasn't an angel...!" -Chief Tyrol, on his beloved wife.
Have you heard about the saying that goes something like "drunk people and kids tell no lies"? Well, that's just a fallacy.
User avatar
abscess
I can haz postingz nao? K thx
 
Posts: 1939
Joined: April 25th, 2008, 10:08 am
Location: Parmistan lol


Return to TYPE-MOON Fan Fiction

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests