Random one-shot short stories

[Inactive Account]

Unlike everything else I've written that I wrote because I thought it would be fun or cool, the stories and other writing in this thread are just random short bits I wrote either for class, without a topic, or because I felt like writing and didn't know why. As a result I think they've ended up better. I'll post more of them later. Comments please (feedback thread: http://serenesforest.net/forums/index.php?showtopic=19101)

So, here goes the first one:

Rest Stop (written for class)

The cashier at the McDonald’s stared around. Same old building. Here was the chipped counter that smelled forever of fries of ages past, there on the left were the ever-disgusting restrooms, and in the corner stood the old vending machines, there since time immemorial, clanking and groaning forlornly. Behind him was the kitchen, a greasy pit with two cooks, at least one of which would be absent at any given time. There was the familiar bench by the wall, bolted into the cracked floor. He had wondered before why anyone would ever want to steal the miserable thing.

His gaze turned to the window. Across from a tiny parking lot lay the interstate. Cars and trucks flashed by, ignoring the dilapidated rest stop. Only occasionally did one turn in to the stop. Nobody ever bought anything.

The bored cashier’s eyes rested on the highway and his mind quietly checked out, imagining for the millionth time where he could have been if he had done things differently. He saw the cars go by, but he noticed them as little as they noticed him.

His focus snapped back to an extraordinary sight: three huge, white buses had just turned into the lot and parked. Exhausted-looking teenagers were spilling out, herded by a few adults.

There must have been a hundred of them, no, more, rushing toward the dingy glass doors of the rest stop. They looked hungry, animal hungry, he could see it in their faces. With horror the cashier realized that both of the cooks were out today.

He didn’t know what to do. He eyed the room, looking for a solution. He knew that he couldn’t possibly flip a burger, let alone several hundred. A glance outside told him that the one in charge of the group, a middle-aged man, already looked bad-tempered, liable to explode. What was there to do?

The cashier could not take it. As the front door of the rest stop opened and chatter spilled in from the outside world, he dropped beneath the counter and fled, scurrying out through the kitchen.

Edited February 21, 2010 by _____

[Inactive Account]

No feedback yet... Aw.

Anyway the topic kind of lied. There will also be crappy poetry. Such as the following. Feedback on that too please.

Night Passage

Sailing on a sea of dim glittering cloud

watching the lights of stars above and, below, the airborne snowflakes, earthbound.

The collected snores of passengers and engines calm the senses,

the blink of wingtip lights recalls a gentle heartbeat.

Sleep ought to come, but for one who refuses,

harried by uncomfortable seats and caffeinated soda,

there are rewards as well:

the sea of stars above,

the sea of cloud below.

[Inactive Account]

Further topic lies: The following is not quite a one-shot (it's in three parts, as three different perspectives on an event), and it is based in a published universe. Specifically that of Fullmetal Alchemist. Spoilers are involved (and sort of necessary to make sense of it).

Read this description if you have read FMA through Chapter 104, or are familiar with it (manga/Brotherhood storyline) and don't mind spoilers

Okay, so, Chapter 104. OH GOOD LORD. Circle activates, everyone dies has their soul forcibly removed. Then the internet exploded. Or something.

So following the chapter-induced fit of screaming, I recovered and thought, "Well, we see everyone's faces and they say a little before they keel over, but we don't really know what the experience was like (except for the 'traumatizing' bit.)" So I tried to imagine how it might go-- a little like a trip through the Gate.

I didn't feel comfortable writing from anyone canon's perspective; past attempts at writing someone else's characters have not gone particularly well. I did have a few OCs lying around, though, so I wrote it through their eyes. None of them really know what the crap is going on...

Read this one if you aren't familiar with FMA but don't mind spoilers:

So basically, in the latest chapter of the series, the big bad's activated his plan, resulting in the deaths of all but ten characters (or at very least, everyone's lost their soul). Several pages are devoted to all our beloved side characters reacting to the event and then passing out. It basically goes: big bad activates reaction, eclipse, earthquake, rocks fall everyone dies.

I started wondering what everyone was actually experiencing at that point. I guessed it might be something like what several individuals had experienced during alchemic rebounds: nightmarish.

So this is the event, as the entire country dies, through the eyes of a few OCs. They, like the rest of the general populace, don't know what the crap is going on. (I thought about writing some of the canon characters, but past attempts have shown I'm not very good at writing other people's characters.)

If you care about spoilers... it doesn't give too much away, but makes less sense if you don't know what's happened in the series.

I'll stop jabbering now and post the damn thing. Criticism on writing style, plzkthx.

It wasn't supposed to be a day too far out of the ordinary. There was going to be an eclipse; a lot of people had taken off work to see it, but she hadn't seen a point in doing so.

The streets were dim as she walked along; the sun was nearly covered by now. People were crowded outside, darkened glasses and other eye protections at the ready. Some waved as she passed; the Clockwork Alchemist was becoming more well-known. She smiled and waved back, continuing on her way.

The crowd's chatter crescendoed as the moon slid into place directly in front of the sun. Suddenly the "oohs" and "ahhs" turned to cries of fear as a tremor rippled through the ground. She stumbled, but did not fall. "Earthquake!" someone yelled.

She took a quick look around to see if anyone was badly hurt. People seemed to be all right. She began to scan again, to look for any imminent danger, finding none--

And then it hit. A sharp pain ran through her chest, like something was ripping her insides apart-- she gasped, her eyes widened in fear, her hand went to her chest, she stumbled-- people around her were acting similarly, falling like dominoes-- then she was tumbling forward

and her senses went mad

light, dark

screaming, silence

multitudes, desolation

all, one---

Her body hit the ground.

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There was something horribly wrong with today. She didn't know what; there just was. The town dogs and horses were all going crazy. She figured they must be worse off than her, having the full intuition of animals; she only had traces of it. Which was more than enough; she was all jumpy, the hair on the back of her neck wouldn't go down, she could hardly keep from transforming and running for the hills. It's just an eclipse, you idiot, you're not in danger. It's not even showing here.

The normals in the slums were all well and happy, discussing how they'd like to be in Central to see the event. She paced back and forth down the alley. Sense told her to stay inside if the eclipse was screwing her up so much, but nerves had made her claustrophobic.

It would be happening right now, they were saying.

A wave of animal terror ran washed over her, her shoes were off, her ears swiveled every which way, trying to pick up the threat. The ground shook, pitching her forward off her hooves. She was back up in an instant, listening for threats over the screaming of the humans.

Pain ripped through her, pain much like what she had felt when the shots had hit her-- those bastards in Central, this had to have something to do with them-- she was hit, falling on the battlefield

she kicked at the hands that grasped her

kicked at the air as she fell

she was everywhere---

She lay in the street.

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His boss had no sense of fun, he thought; keeping everyone hard at work during the eclipse had been a mean sort of move to make. He chucked the now-empty crate up onto the bed of the truck. His buddy was dealing with the customers, so he leaned against the truck for a moment, sneaking a sideways look at the sun through his sunglasses. He knew it was a bad idea, but it was so tempting to look... The sun was nearly gone now.

He got into the passenger side of the truck, waiting for his pal. On to the next delivery... His friend returned, starting up the truck. As they drove along, the sun vanished behind the moon. He echoed the cheers of excited passersby.

The ground bucked and the truck lurched; the driver slammed on the brakes, cursing. People were panicking, running out in the street; they couldn't go anywhere. "Turn on the truck, we're gonna be stuck here," he suggested.

"Yeah. I'm gonna go see what's going on." The driver tossed him the keys and got out; he sat staring out the window, wondering what could have caused the quake.

Suddenly it felt as though he'd been stabbed; he pitched forward, grabbing onto the dashboard for support-- something was very, very wrong-- the pain increased and his face hit the dashboard

his mind was exploding

a cacophony of light

he felt screaming

heard eternity---

The truck's keys dropped from his hand.

Edited March 5, 2010 by _____

[Inactive Account]

ARG BLARG I WANT CRITICISMS. 'Nother one written during creative writing class, and thus BAND SEASON WHY DO YOU KEEP WRITING ABOUT THE BAND BUS DAMMIT KIRYN. (It also dates this thing; that was... over a year ago (FFFFFFFFFFFFFFF) also if this is too sappy please inform me via punching me in the face

[/explanation]

[story]

“Dang… still can’t see anything.” She pressed her face to the window as if it would help her see out.

“No, it’s all gray. It’s creepy. We’re definitely not going anywhere anytime soon.” He sighed, a fraction of a second before she did.

“Of all the times for this to happen… well, I guess we don’t have to march the parade tomorrow. Still… I used to live out here, stuff like this would happen in May, but never in September. It’s so weird.” She shifted in her seat, rearranging her jacket on her lap.

“Wonder how deep it is now?” he asked, just to keep talking.

“Can’t tell, but it looks about three feet at least.” There was a pause, for a while, then finally she said:

“So cold… Wish the bus heater was still working.”

“At least we’re inside.”

“This is true.” Another pause. “It’s really late, isn’t it?”

He checked his phone, the screen casting a glow momentarily onto his face.

“Yeah. One in the morning. No wonder everyone’s asleep.”

“We should be.”

“I couldn’t. It’s so quiet.”

She stared around the dark bus. Every other teenager was asleep. So were the chaperones. Most were unrecognizable under their piles of hoodies, coats, and anything else warm. A few still shivered in their sleep.

“There’s something terribly ironic about this, I just can’t tell what,” she said finally.

This earned a small chuckle. “Yeah.”

She yawned. There was silence for a while. There was nothing really to look at.

Soon she heard a noise from across the aisle. Her eyelids flickered open—she did not remember ever closing them—and she looked over. He was shivering uncontrollably. “Hey, you okay?” she asked. No answer came: he wasn’t quite asleep, nor was he properly conscious.

When he awoke, he found something gray and soft draped over him that hadn’t been there before: a girl’s sweatshirt, and of a variety not usually found on band buses: clean. Weak light filtered vaguely through the windows. A dim sky was visible. Across the row, she shivered a little in her sleep. In a moment she stirred and looked up.

“Hey, the sun,” she observed nonchalantly. It was true—the storm was over.

[Inactive Account]

REVIVING because holy shit, I wrote things.

I started out scribbling a little bit during finals and ended up fleshing out the backstory of one of my characters for the Lord of Azure Flame RP. Considering the series of events I was following, it got pretty ridiculously depressing, so I felt compelled to write until it got less depressing. (It's not even the full backstory, it was just too long to go all the way to right before the character's entrance...)

I'd like to do a couple more of these, for different characters. I also would like some writing criticism, since I haven't had much of that in ages, so get at me

Also, yes, this character is from the LoAF RP, but the RP hopefully shouldn't be necessary for context. Hopefully, meaning tell me if you think it is.

[/administrivia][story]

Kelas: Waking up

She wakes up and it hurts. She's draped over the front of someone's saddle. The horse is limping and jostles her with every step, but that doesn't even bother her when compared to her injuries. Her back is on fire and she flails and screams and tries to put it out, and the rider halts and pulls her down and sits her on the ground. People are talking, horses stop, there's a blanket wrapped around her to stop her uncontrollable shivering. Someone tries to give her some water but she can't even tell what they're doing, and she punches weakly at them when they get close. They hold her still and she has to drink the water anyway. The water is cold and soothing and she eventually recognizes through her delirium that she needs it, but it's gone all too quickly. It's not too long before everything goes dark again.

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The Sisters of Her Charity were none too happy to see the handful of riders heading towards the gates of the monastery complex, in the middle of the night, no less. The nomads in this area weren't particularly violent, but they were hardly respectable either, and their heathens' talk of four gods separate from the Lady was not at all welcome there. But the Sisters were sworn never to turn away a patient, even one of those sandrunners, and it appeared that every rider in the sorry group that approached was about to benefit from that oath.

The Superior instructed several clerics to get ready to treat the newcomers, but when she walked out to the courtyard to assess what injuries needed treating (and also to find what threat level their decidedly scruffy horses posed to her carefully tended property) she immediately found that much more help would be necessary. The few sisters she'd summoned would barely be enough for the tattered, burnt scrap of humanity the leader carried over his saddle, let alone the battle injuries the adults and horses bore.

The adults were treated in short order. They'd been fighting, so their injuries at least made sense. The Superior hardly knew what to do with the child though. The Goddess would only do so much at one time for one person; the Superior used as much healing magic as she could, then set to work with bandages. She let the older nomads sleep, excepting their leader: she had plenty to ask him. What could possibly happen, she wanted to know, to cover a ten-year-old's back with such severe burns? It was a miracle that the girl was even alive, what sort of preternatural stubbornness had kept her breathing? And why had they not treated her immediately?

Bandits, the man explained in halting Common, and the Superior found she had to sympathise at least a little. They had struck the nomads' camp unexpectedly, setting the tents alight and slaughtering the rest of the tribe. He thought they might have had help from within, given the number of people who had been missing after the smoke cleared, but he couldn't be sure if they had fled with the attackers, fled from them, or been taken by them. Their healer, the girl's mother, had been lost, and the other children had been killed or carried off. The girl had been struck by a burning piece of tent, and left for dead. These people might only be sandrunners, but the Superior wouldn't wish bandits on anybody.

She could at least be satisfied with the work she had done. All of the adults would make a full recovery, and their horses had also been seen to. The girl was bound to have no small amount of scarring, but she would live.

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She wakes up and it hurts. It hurts, but not as much-- she can tell she's not actually on fire-- and that means she can think again. Sort of. She's got more important things to be doing than lying down... wherever she is... where is she? Where's...

"<Where's my brother?!>" she shouts, and the nurse dozing next to her jumps in alarm. Patients are supposed to sleep, not struggle and scream in unfamiliar languages. "<Where's Arrin? Who took him?>" She's struggling to sit up, but her back won't let her. The bandaging keeps her from moving freely, but more than anything it's the dual pain of her injuries and failure that keeps her down. "<I'll kill them!>" She's crying. She was supposed to protect him. "<I'll kill them!>" It seems like it's only been a few minutes since Ma woke her up in the middle of the night by depositing Arrin in her lap and telling her to keep him quiet, she'll be back in a few minutes, just keep him from fussing too much-- only Ma doesn't come back, nor does Da, and the tent catches fire and she has to carry Arrin outside before it kills them.

She notices the nurse, who has put a respectable distance between herself and the yelling little girl she was supposed to be watching. "<Where's my ma? Where's my da?>" They'll be angry with her-- she was supposed to protect Arrin, but she couldn't hold on when the bandit grabbed him as she stumbled out of the tent with him, couldn't shoot straight enough to stop them when she grabbed a bow and ran after them-- but she can face that, she needs them right now. It's her fault, but she doesn't know what to do without them.

Her cries get more desperate until there's no more meaning in them, only pain and fear.

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The Superior was distinctly unamused by the report that the sister watching over the burnt child had fainted shortly after the girl woke up. She had been up very late working on her patients, and she didn't see why someone else shouldn't deal with them now. She picked a couple of sisters at random and sent them to pick up the fainted nurse and try and calm the child.

They couldn't calm her, of course. None of them even had any idea what she was saying when she got out words, so they woke up the leader of the nomad group and asked him to do something, anything; the child was starting to wake people up.

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He didn't know what to say to her. How could he explain to a child that her parents-- his brother and sister-in-law-- were dead, that her little brother was gone? That almost everyone she knew-- almost everyone he was responsible for-- had fallen or been captured? He couldn't answer those questions, not yet. Possibly not ever. Having to tell people bad news came with being headman of the tribe, but he'd never had to tell anyone anything that even came close to this. He couldn't freeze, though. He couldn't let her wear herself and everyone else out screaming, and he owed her as much peace as he could give her.

She recognized him when he came in, which was a good sign. She hadn't recognized anyone in her fever and shock the night before, as they ran themselves ragged looking for someone, anyone to help them. "<Uncle where's Ma and Da and Arrin and-->" she began to ask as he entered, but cut off with a sort of choking noise when she saw his expression.

He picked her up, being very careful to avoid the burns that now hid under a layer of bandages and an outsized borrowed shirt, and let her cry on his shoulder until she couldn't anymore. "<Kelas, you're going to be all right,>" he lied. "<It's not your fault,>" he told her over and over when she tried to tell him about Arrin, and again tried his best to tell her that everything was going to be all right (of course it wasn't, but he didn't want to tell a child that). He doubted she believed much of what he said. She'd been incredibly stubborn about protecting her brother even before there had been anything to protect him from; it would not be surprising if she were even more adamant about her responsibility now.

Eventually she became quiet again. She'd worn herself out; she hadn't had much energy to begin with. He put her back on her cot and looked tiredly to the nurse, getting directions on how to care for her injuries, his injuries, the others' injuries. They wouldn't be able to stay here very long. He went back to the others, the five people he hadn't completely failed, and talked about where to go from here. They'd all seen the world nearly end, so they knew that this was not the end. But it certainly seemed close.

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She wakes up from another nightmare. Waking up always hurts now, whether it's her scars aching, or just the pain of loss and failure. The scars on her back may eventually become less painful, the last healer she saw said, but she doubts her memories ever will.

It's been almost two years now, two years of wandering, of barely living. After they heard of the attack, the other tribes changed their traveling patterns as a precaution, so it's taken a while to find them. Even now that they have, it turns out that nobody wants you around if they think you're cursed-- joining up with another tribe hasn't worked out so far.

There are five of them, now, when there had been seven before. Heran had been one of the elders, and even though he'd been fit, it was hard to stand against winter with barely any food. Salina had been sickly to begin with. Sometimes Kelas wonders who will be next-- they're still low on food and shelter, and sometimes water.

Sometimes she hopes it's her.

She knows it's not right. The gods didn't give life just so that people could throw it away, and they won't be at all happy with her if she does, especially since she hasn't done much yet to make up for her failures. She tries not to think about that, not because she's afraid, but because it reminds her of her mother's lessons and stories about the gods. She misses her too much to think about it. It just seems like there's nothing left, just the eventuality of wandering aimlessly until it kills her.

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He didn't notice the others begin to give up, because he'd given up a long time ago, consigning himself and the others to days of empty wandering. It wasn't the knowledge of their past that kept other tribes from welcoming their small group in, nor the scars they all bore. Any of them would have taken Kelas in in a heartbeat; no nomad would leave one of their own children to die. The others would likely also have been welcome. No, it was the deadness in his eyes that spooked normal people, that kept people from taking in a few lost ones for fear of their leader's madness. They thought the demons had taken his soul.

For all he knew, they might be right. Demons sometimes wore human faces.

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She wakes up in the middle of the night to shouting and torches. Have the bandits finally come back to finish the job? No, these are different enemies, the fire shows: well-fed villagers, less accustomed to the sport of killing. She's picked up enough Common by now that she can understand what they're saying: bandits, bandits. "<LIARS!>" she yells, even though it's futile. Even she knows it was a risk for the three of them (two of the others have left them by now, which is hardly surprising, really) to go into a town this far south, this close to where the bandits struck last time, in an area where no villager will ask questions if someone takes a dislike to a handful of sandrunners. She doesn't know what her uncle was thinking.

She's scrambled to her feet and grabbed a bow, even though she knows a scrawny, underfed twelve-year-old can't do much more than a sleepy, panicking ten-year-old (look how well it went last time you tried to defend anyone, says part of her mind, why don't you just give up now?) Imeda grabs her and pulls her up onto her horse behind her, and she has to hold on or else fall and be trampled. The others aren't keeping up, but she hears her uncle yell for them to go, and the sounds of fighting. She's hidden her face, but she can hear a few arrows fly overhead, and when she manages to fling a glance back over her shoulder she can see that Uncle has fallen.

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The sister on watch in the church in the little village of Hillcrest had seen wounded riders show up in town many times, but she never expected to see one of the same nomads who had shown up at her previous station again. Well, two: one of the women, and the child. The others were nowhere to be seen, and she learned with sadness but not surprise that they had all left or died.

The report came in the next morning that the next town over had put down a couple of bandit sandrunners, but by then the woman and girl had gone, and the sister was left to wonder whether it was true. She didn't think it could be. In both of them she had barely seen the will to live, let alone the will to live at others' expense.

She prayed for them, and went on with life as usual. Eventually her memory of them faded.

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They say the funeral prayers for Uncle even though they don't have his ashes. She wonders how much longer she's got, and where they're going to go.

Imeda says she's going to go back to her husband's old tribe, and does Kelas want to come with or should she take her somewhere else first? Kelas doesn't care, wherever Imeda wants to go is fine. She doesn't care about much now. She doesn't have the energy to care.

She hasn't been counting the days but they arrive, and even though she thinks there's more evidence than ever that they're cursed, the Tuorchi tribe doesn't seem to be as afraid of that as they were the last time she saw them. Maybe two cursed people are easier to accept than five, she thinks. Imeda goes off to her in-laws' tent, and the headwoman eventually places Kelas with an older couple who have room to take care of her.

She wonders how she'll ever be able to fit into a normal life now.

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She's getting better at pretending.

Her foster parents don't know how to handle her nightmares or the way she doesn't seem to feel anything sometimes, but they're trying. The other children in the tribe don't know how to approach her, but most of them try to be polite. What do you say to someone who lost almost everyone she knows? How do you even begin to approach? She can't blame them for hanging back.

She hadn't thought she'd be able to adjust to a normal routine again, but she has, and it's a relief to be able to stay in one place for a few months at a time, instead of traveling every few days. Moving camp is almost enjoyable again.

It's past time for her to get a horse, her foster parents say. They take her to the pasture outside camp. She's not hopeful; all the good ones will have been taken by this time of year.

She winds up with a runty little filly who doesn't seem to get along with the other foals her age, and she figures they fit together. Misfits ought to stick together, and all. She finds out that the filly's name is Amari: "flame". It suits her, somehow.

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They had been at their wits' end trying to get her back on her feet. Every day had brought a new and disheartening challenge: a new nightmare, or a new trigger for panic attacks inadvertently found, or a visitor scared off when they asked her what she wanted to do when she grew up, and she didn't say she wanted to be a shepherd or a weaver or anything like that, but instead told them in the same dull voice as always that she wanted to kill every bandit alive. They knew they couldn't blame her, though it was hard not to sometimes. Others often did so anyway.

They had tried to do things normally with her, as they had with their own children years before. They took her to pick a horse, like her parents would have more than a year ago had they been alive, and tried not to say anything when they saw which one she picked. They didn't have the heart to tell her that the animal she'd set her heart on was likely untrainable, and they recognized that stubbornness sometimes acted in unexpected ways.

Amari, it turned out, was the answer to their prayers. Kelas didn't trust humans at all, but with a young animal to take care of, she began to come out of her shell a little. The skinny foal had apparently decided that her human needed looking after as much as she did, and followed her everywhere.

Over time, she began to smile again. She made a few friends her age, and with a horse, even a small one, to back her up, was able to join the other children in watching the tribe's flocks without worrying that the more mean-spirited sheep would bother her.

They still worried. She still had the nightmares sometimes, still seemed a bit off sometimes. But they thanked the gods every day for the transformation in their young charge.

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She wakes up with the sun on her face and Amari lipping at her fingers. Dara is laughing at her for falling asleep on the job, even though Hainam does it all the time, and is probably out cold on the other side of the hill even now. She gets up and gives him a friendly shove, starting their usual routine of good-natured bickering. The flocks are grazing peacefully, and there's no danger in sight.

It's been three years since she got here, five since the bandits, and it's almost like everything is normal. Almost, because she still has the scars and sometimes the nightmares. Almost, because she still has no blood family left, as a few of her less friendly peers remind her whenever they get the chance. Almost... but she's glad to be able to get even this close.

She clambers up onto Amari's back and they amble around, occasionally herding sheep that have begun to stray, or looping back to talk to Dara, or around the hill to wake up Hainam and run off laughing. She's gotten used to the routine: everyone her age takes turns watching the sheep, learning jobs from the adults, and practicing riding and archery or swordfighting. She's not too bad with a bow herself now, though Hainam can always outshoot her if he wakes up for it, and she's one of the better riders. She's got things to distract her from the past so that she can look forward. Almost all of her problems now are ordinary ones.

Nothing can erase the marks the past has left on her, but now she can almost look forward to the future.

Edited January 12, 2012 by Kiryn