Author Topic: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!  (Read 12031 times)

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Offline Mylo

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #75 on: October 01, 2012, 03:19:54 am »
Ha ha! Well, nothing is exactly what your word is. Write...nothing! 8)

I've got one: wings.

I think wings is a pretty word, after you do that one, here's another! :Alone:  I'd like to see your writing skills, sir (:

Here is a story I wrote for all three of those words.  I wanted to get the entire story down in one sitting, so it may feel rushed, and I apologize for that.  

...

     There was a time when I couldn’t spare a thought on the (what I thought of as trivial) happenings surrounding me.  Little did I know how much I would change based on adversity; little did I know that my future was not as concrete as I had imagined.
     A few days after I had turned nineteen, the northern border was crossed by our enemy.  We were almost a thousand miles away.  I had nothing to fear at the time; we were raised on the belief that our nation was the strongest in the world, that the will of God was on our side, and that our soldiers and army were the best in the world.  We were invincible.  
     That changed when I heard the first bomb go off in the middle of the night.  I awoke my brother who hadn’t heard the distant blast.  A few seconds later, my parents came into my room telling us to go down stairs into the basement.  I was afraid then, and I quickly escorted my brother downstairs.  He hadn’t the slightest idea of what was going on.  It was probably nothing, he must of thought.
     The night subsided with variable blasts echoing in the distance, but none so loud as to indicate that it was at any distance to do damage to our home or our neighbors.  That didn’t stop us from gluing our eyes to the television, checking the Internet for any developments, seeing just how far the invaders had come and how well we were holding up.  Just a few days later, an alert was issued ordering those living in a string of cities, including ours, to leave for the south.  My mother and father quickly packed their belongings as I packed mine and my brother packed his.  As we were zipping up our bags, my mother came into the room and told us that we needed to bring much more than that.  She pulled out our large traveling bags from beneath my bed, set it on my blanket, and told me to stuff it with anything that would fit.
     That would be the last time I would see my house for a long time.
     We arrived at a hotel along the sea after several hours of driving, several hours of listening to the radio and browsing the Internet on our smartphones, several hours of watching army vehicles go to battle in the opposite direction.  The crowd was horrendous…this hotel had been fitted as a shelter.  I overheard some people talking, something about a boat that was going all the way to Indospha.  I followed my parents to the army clerk that was directing people to appropriate settlements.  He told us that we would be at a ground level room with four other people, a variable number depending on how many people would show up over the coming days.  There, we waited.  The cell network was still operational.  The television worked; all the channels were broadcasting some sort of news about the invasion.  My mother would hug my brother tightly whenever he was scared; my father would converse with our suite mates about the invasion, army strategy, rumors.  The war was real, but it seemed so distant…  
     And then we awoke to a blast.  The window had been covered partially with some wood planks, but it was not enough to stop the glass from firing into the room as the heat filled the suite.  My parents told us to sleep in the back room of the suite, just in case.  Their suspicions were proven right that early morning, just minutes before the sun would rise, for the back room was protected from the window by a door and wall.  I quickly got up to see if my brother was okay and then rushed to open the door to the front end of the suite; I quickly closed the door when I saw that the windows had been blown in and that a fire was brewing just outside.  We waited in that room until a soldier opened the door, telling us to face the wall and walk out.  I didn’t see my parent’s bodies, but I knew they were dead; this was confirmed by a soldier taking role outside.  
     From then on, I only partially remembered what happened.  My mind was wandering between reality and my thoughts to the point where I could not distinguish the two.  I had the sanity to keep my brother with me, safe, to get on the boat to Indospha, to live in the poor country in poverty rather than death.  I had the will to survive for my brother and for my family.  Our memories seemed as distant as the war in the early days, slowly becoming a fantasy, something exciting to see as we kept up with the developments on the Internet and the television, until the war came home.  I was starving, scavenging through the garbage to find something for my brother to eat.  How quickly we had changed.
     I’ll never forget the dream I had before I woke up on that humid day to a foot in my gut.  My father, mother, brother, and I had gone shopping in the mall.  The walls were white, the stores were shades of red and white, and the merchandise was gold.  As my mother and father entered one of the flagship stores, I looked behind me, realizing my brother had gone missing.  I ran up to my mother, who didn’t seem to care…she told me he was probably somewhere else.  I went to look, but in the back of my head, I knew I was going to get lost, a premonition that would soon come true in my dream.  The lights in the mall went dark, and I didn’t know where to go.  Everyone had disappeared.  Then, my phone rang and the voice on the other side, my father’s, asked me where I was.  They were waiting for me at home, with my brother.  I was completely and utterly lost, and I didn’t reply back to my father…instead, I just stopped using the phone.  I had traveled here by car, and there was no way I could walk home.  And then, my vision faded to black as I realized that I was lying on the dirt ground, out of breath and clutching my stomach from the blow I had received to it.
     I saw a fallen woman near me…she had tripped on me walking through the crowded city.  It was particularly crowded that day.  I turned around to wake my brother…
     There was nobody there.  I turned around.  Nothing.  The woman had gotten up and walked away, but I didn’t care…  I shouted my brother’s name, searching every head in the crowd for him.  It was suffocating; my stomach hurt more from the intoxicating anxiety than from the woman’s foot.  I shouted and shouted; people gave me weird stares.  As I maneuvered through the crowd, I became frustrated and I shouted.  I felt a lump in my throat, and then a person shoved me to the side to make way for a never ending stream of people.  That’s when I lost it; I turned around and pushed him with all my strength, what little I had left.  I wanted all these people to just die.  I wanted them all to disappear, go away, something…why were there so many people!?  They all looked the same and gave me the same cold stares…they were poor, but not as poor as me.  
     The man turned around and punched my square in the face.  I fell to the ground…I could feel the blood from my nose seep down into my throat, like swimming underwater with your head facing the surface.  I got up.
     The man who had punched me had meshed in with the crowd.  I looked around, tired, starving, bruised, my eyes glazing over.  Maybe he had just gone out to look for food, or maybe he had…  
     I fell into a half sleep from a lack of it…my dream resumed.  The mall had changed now to resemble the street of clay buildings that my brother and I had called home.  The gold merchandise was still there, the wood supports of the buildings were red.  The sky was blue and white.  I found my brother (I had disregarded what my parents had said on the phone earlier); There you are!, I said.  But now it was a matter of getting home.  The ceiling to the mall was gone, and so, I rotated my arm in a circle like fashion, like a softball pitcher.  We rose of the ground, my hand clasped onto my brothers, my arm acting like a wing propelling us over the clay buildings.  When we rose, there was not another person beside us.  However, when I looked down, the street was filled with people.  I could fly, and we were going home.  I hoped that our parents wouldn’t notice that we were gone, and I was wondering how my life would change now that I could fly.  And then I looked down at my brother, who started doing the same thing with his arm.  He began to fly, too!
     I woke up.  The crowd was still there; my brother was not.
     I desperately searched the city for him over those next few days.  Every day, I would return to the same spot, hoping to see him there.  Every time I would leave to search, I would be afraid that he would come back to find me gone.  As my search dwindled, my fear overcame me and I decided to stay at that spot, the spot we had slept in for so long, and wait for him.  
     Days passed.  
     Days passed.  
     A man was looking for people to work for him…he offered me rice and a few coins.  It had been weeks since I had seen my brother, and by this time, I knew he was….
     I didn’t want to believe it…I took the job offer, stepping in a pot of murky dye for hours on end to crush the berries beneath.  Days passed.  My employer gave me another job to replace this one.  Days passed.  He sent me back to the street after he himself went broke.  Days passed.  I starved in the streets and awaited the return of my brother.  Days passed.  Another man wanted me to work in his factory for food, or at least, what he called a factory.  Days passed.  He sent me to another man who had bought the workforce of this factory.  Days passed.  The workforce was sold to a foreign woman who was supervising a large manufacturing lane, where I was the cog that snapped a small L-shaped plastic piece to a small T-shaped plastic piece.  If any broke, which they often did because the plastic was so cheap, my pay would be deducted.  I didn’t want to lose this job, so I avoided doing what my colleagues were doing: stuffing the broken pieces into their pockets to avoid being caught.  Only one person was fired for doing this…the workforce was always plentiful, our manager said.  Because of this, I began to do it, too.  I was very careful not to make the same mistakes that that one worker made.  
     I worked at that factory for nine years, making friends, talking aimlessly, watching people get severely injured by the machinery.  I was lucky to be healthy during those years; I was lucky to survive.  I normally didn’t pay attention to the date, a luxury that I had abandoned so long ago, instead only looking to the hours and minutes of my shifts.  My job was simple…snap those two pieces of cheap plastic together, then snap two other pieces of plastic together, then snap two pieces of plastic together to form a hinge, then check to see if other people snapped plastic together correctly and fixing it if they didn’t.  But one day, I looked at the calendar, realizing that just a few days before, it had been ten years since the day the bomb landed just outside that hotel by the sea, ten long years that had culminated into my life, being just shy of my thirtieth birthday.
     I had saved enough money to go back to my home country long ago…rumor had it that the war had ended and that reconstruction was nearing completion.  One day, I didn’t return to my post, leaving the factory for the port where I had scheduled to leave for home a few weeks ago.  I looked back at the coast, the grey sky.  I kissed my hand, sentimentally regarding it as my brother, and then watched as the smog engulfed the city far off in the distance behind the growing plane of water separating me from my past.
     And there I was again, back home, but upon closer examination, it wasn’t quite home.  I had visited the city where the boat had landed every year back before the war, but this time, it looked different.  There were more buildings, and the current ones had been revived with mirrored glass.  The billboards were animated, like moving paintings.  The soldiers who greeted us as we stepped off from the boat wore slightly different camouflage, and the flag, which had previously been red, white, and gold, was now red, white, and blue.  They aimed a strange camera at me, with a lens that looked horizontally elongated, and took a photo.  Directing me to a building on the pier, they told me to sign the necessary paperwork to gain access into the country; apparently there were so many refugees returning that the process was simplified.  I signed my name on a touch panel with my finger, typing information onto the onscreen keyboard.  After I submitted the form, a receptionist gave me a plastic ID card.  The picture on the front was a small video screen which displayed an image of my head; rotating the card while holding down my finger on the new seal of our country would rotate the image of the head in 3D.  At one time, I would have been amused by this, but I quickly slipped the card into my pocket and went about the next rounds of gaining access to this country.  
     I was told to give all of my foreign money to the teller so that they could put the corresponding dollar value onto my ID card.  It was convenient.  After this small transaction, I was free to go.  
     The city had a train now; it looked more like an airplane than a train.  I took a sip from the public fountain and bought a ready-made lunch for the trip, which ten years ago by car took about thirteen hours.  I wanted to go back to my city, back to my house, just to see what had become of it.  As I sat on the train waiting for it to take off, I noticed the people.  Some were from the invaders, some were of my race.  All were dressed in clothes that looked…odd.  One of them took out what I thought to be a glass plate, until of course the plate turned into a multicolor screen; a smartphone.  I looked outside.  There were people sitting on the public benches, homeless people sleeping on the public benches, people in rags, people in T-shirts, couples, people in strange clothing with material that resembled satin, people with clothes that illuminated and displayed moving images.  There was even a person whose face was animated.  But one person stood out in particular: a young girl with a ready-made lunch, standing by a support pylon, waiting for something.  Her mother and father came up to here, and the little girl greeted them with smiling face, holding the lunch up to her father.  Perhaps she was holding it for him.  The mother smiled and rested her hand on her protruding stomach.  The little girl put her ear up to it, her brow furrowed, her eyes aware…and then she jumped back and smiled.  I couldn’t help but smile as well as the train took off.  We accelerated faster.  Faster.  Faster.  I was getting frightened myself, and so I asked the person sitting next to me that we were going a little too fast.
     He replied, “Not so much.  You’ve never been on the train before?  Wait until we hit 500 mph, then you’ll see.  Don’t worry.”
     A few minutes later, we rounded a turn.  I wasn’t aware of it from the g forces…I looked out my window to see the ground from above as the train angled fifty or sixty degrees from the vertical.  The person beside me took a sip from their coffee as I stared in amazement at the ground.  He chuckled.
     So much had changed.  So little had changed.  
     Just a couple hours later, I arrived home.  My city had not changed so much over the years, although the scars of war were still evident in some of the buildings.  There were cranes everywhere, and army vehicles were present along the roads.  The cars all looked a bit different.  Two flags were waving on every crane.  The streets were black, repaved.  The traffic lights were not the circles I had grown up with; they were three bright bars.
     I walked on to my house…I was surprised at how my memories were flowing back so effortlessly.   An hour later, I rounded the corner of the familiar brick wall to gaze upon the hill where my house effortlessly stood.  I was nervous, imagining all of the possibilities.  It could be gone.  Perhaps rebuilt.  It could have been bought by someone else.
     My eyes met the familiar house, this time surrounded by an unfamiliar black gate.  I walked up to the gate, amazed that just behind this black metal stood my home, untouched by the war.  What had happened in ten years?
     A few minutes later, a black car drove up the road that led to the house.  The car pulled up beside me, and the window rolled down, revealing a woman perhaps in her early forties with white skin and jet black hair.  She wore a grey sweater that matched her grey eyes.
     “What is it Mommy?” said a high voice from the back of the car.  There sat a little girl in a car seat with the same jet black hair, dressed in pink; a cow jumped over the moon endlessly on the front of her shirt, with the moon occasionally smiling.  
     “Who are you?” asked the woman.
     “I’m so sorry that…that I…” I stammered.  I didn’t know what to say.  This had been my home, but in the back of my mind, I had been preparing for this moment.  
     “I can give you some money if you want,” she said.  “That way you can go buy some food.”
     “Mommy, who is he?” asked the little girl.  She held onto the paw of a stuffed bear dressed in the uniform of our invaders.  
     I hesitated, and then smiled.
     I told them my name, and where I was from.  I told them that at one time, I had lived in this house; that at one time, I couldn’t spare a thought on the (what I thought of as trivial) happenings surrounding me.  That I had a family and a brother.  I tried not to weep in front of her; she only apologized.  I thanked her for her offer in kindness, and then I turned around and walked the other way.  

...

Offline Old Rabbit

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #76 on: October 01, 2012, 11:51:35 am »
Unfortunately a story that many victims of war could relate to..

Nicely written Mylo :orbunny:
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Offline Mylo

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #77 on: October 01, 2012, 02:21:30 pm »
Unfortunately a story that many victims of war could relate to..

Nicely written Mylo :orbunny:

Thanks for reading it Old Rabbit; it was kind of long...  I don't feel like I did this story justice after reading over it, but how am I to know when I'm just imagining everything?

Offline Iara Warriorfeather

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #78 on: October 01, 2012, 11:32:49 pm »
I read this short story this morning. I loved the imagery invoked and the sadness is gripping. You ought to be published, sir!  (: I also liked the way you included the word wings.

If you have the time, please write a story around the word pugmarks(: (Those are pawprints btw)
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Offline Mylo

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #79 on: October 01, 2012, 11:43:11 pm »
I read this short story this morning. I loved the imagery invoked and the sadness is gripping. You ought to be published, sir!  (: I also liked the way you included the word wings.

If you have the time, please write a story around the word pugmarks(: (Those are pawprints btw)

Thank you Iara.  I'll work on your word sometime! ;)

Offline The Wise one

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #80 on: October 08, 2012, 03:03:09 pm »
I love the stories so far. New word. How about Dragon?
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Offline Mylo

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #81 on: October 30, 2012, 12:57:56 am »
I read this short story this morning. I loved the imagery invoked and the sadness is gripping. You ought to be published, sir!  (: I also liked the way you included the word wings.

If you have the time, please write a story around the word pugmarks.  (: (Those are pawprints btw)

I love the stories so far. New word. How about Dragon?

I'm glad you all like my stories.  :)

Here is one combining the two words:

...

Amerie and her husband of two years had made the decision long ago to leave their country, the day she became pregnant.  Mark was against it at first considering the sheer danger there was of crossing the border through the misted forest, but Amerie...she was set on leaving before her child would be born.  

The moon shone its hazy light through the mist of the forest as husband and wife quickly walked among the trees, being careful to not step on the pine cones or the fallen sticks.  Mark led the way scanning the cast shadows for any sign of movement; Amerie followed behind looking across her shoulder every now and then.  This was escape; their hearts were beating from their physical exertion, but their chests were bursting from the anxiety of the possibility of being seen. Step by step, they moved forward, hoping that this was the right way, that the rumors were true and that this was the path. Step by step, they moved closer to freedom.

Suddenly, Mark stepped on a pine cone, the little seeds crunching together mashing the pine needles between them.  The sound bounces off the trees and into the night, into the mist. Amerie contracted her breath silently, still walking with Mark who ignored the sound and was instead looking down at a set of paw prints in the mud.  He was confused and looked ahead…to his surprise, there was a black figure standing against one of the thousand trees.  Amerie felt light-headed, not realizing she was holding her breath, while Mark stood very still, the moonlight only touching the bridge of his nose and the back of his hand. The figure was still at the tree.  Amerie was as still as the air.  Mark was as still as the night.

And then, the figure slowly stepped out into the night, revealing two black scale-covered legs.  But that was all they saw of the figure at the moment, as he drew back into the shadows upon hearing a shout in the distance.  Mark and Amerie knew that this was a dragon and that it was such a coincidence for three escapees to meet at this exact same time and in this exact same place.  

But then they all heard a shout again.  Mark pulled Amerie towards the thick areas of trees, trying to find a dense patch of mist to conceal them.  Amerie looked back, making out the dragon still standing in the shadows, its scaly skin camouflaged well with the bark but only given away by the small star of light reflected in its eyes.  Then, Mark stopped.

Just ahead of them, three officers had turned on a flashlight and were shouting just beyond the other side of the trees.  Amerie prayed that the officers had not seen them, and Mark could only stand still, crouching down slightly out of fear of being captured.  He took Amerie and hid behind one of the closest trees, but he knew it was too late.  She knew that they would be caught any second.  The crunching of branches, pine needles and cones, and dirt flakes coupled with heavy breath and talking amplified in volume as the officers grew closer and closer to the couple.  Mark hugged Amerie as tight as he could, and Amerie shed a tear while concentrating on not breathing.  Both of them began to feel lightheaded, wanting desperately to take in more air than their minds would allow.  And then, they heard a crack right behind the tree.

Suddenly, Amerie heard a blast and opening her eyes, she and Mark saw a fireball rise up into the night.  One of the trees caught on fire, and the branches were immersed in red flames.  The couple knew, but why?  Why would he do such an irrational thing?  The officers quickly barked at each other while running to the flaming tree, their flashlights making visible beams in the humid air.  Amerie and Mark could see their backs now, but only for a second as they disappeared behind the trees.

Nobody knew how it happened.  Suddenly in this small country, human women began giving birth to half dragon offspring.  The degree of humanity and dragon in their DNA always varied, but their intelligence was deeply affected to the point of retardation.  Some were more dragon than human, some more human than dragon.  Some were almost indistinguishable from humans aside from their rough skin and tails, but the government mandated that all its citizens were human or dragon.  There were no degrees.  So, it was ordered that all pregnancies be registered with the government so that at the end of the first trimester, the species of the baby could be determined.  If the baby was a human, then they would live a human life.  If born a half-dragon, then they would be taken away from their parents and subject to an alternate future, one that some people, including Amerie and Mark, were more than repelled with.  Whether their baby was born a human or a dragon, they would raise him or her as their son or daughter.

...


Offline Old Rabbit

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #82 on: October 30, 2012, 11:37:38 am »
A tragic, but interesting story.  One could say to a dragon wife.
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Offline typingwithpaws

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #83 on: November 01, 2012, 07:14:00 am »
you have a really good way of describing things, something i seem to lack. :-[

Keep up the great work Mylo  :D
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Offline Iara Warriorfeather

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #84 on: November 01, 2012, 10:10:10 pm »
Nice work! Love the dragon-human element!  :D
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Offline Scarlegs

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #85 on: June 17, 2013, 05:43:41 pm »
Awesome work Mylo!
Can I suggest a word?
I'm not sure this would qualify as a word, it's actually a condition. Post-Encephalitis.
I think that might be a little hard, given there's almost no info on the topic so......Colours
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Offline Mylo

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #87 on: June 19, 2013, 11:01:39 am »
Wow...I wrote my last story several months ago...

Perhaps I can start up this thread again. :)

Offline Jackie

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #88 on: June 19, 2013, 12:28:06 pm »
Mylooooo! Arctic?
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Offline Sergalicious

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You are someone else
I am still right here



Offline Sergalicious

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #91 on: June 20, 2013, 10:34:15 am »
really really strong engines (not meant to be realistic just to get the idea of advanced technology but no electricity, its all gas and steam powered.) the leviathan series is a great example of steampunk if you have read it. its by Scott westerfeld http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=PYiw5vkQFPw it has 2 books after it if you are interested in reading them if you haven't
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Offline typingwithpaws

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #92 on: June 21, 2013, 06:19:27 pm »
get back in the game mylo :p
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Offline HazardJackal

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #93 on: June 21, 2013, 07:42:07 pm »
ricochet.  lots of possibility there.  keep up the good work. :D

Offline Mylo

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #94 on: June 28, 2013, 11:04:07 am »
I think that might be a little hard, given there's almost no info on the topic so......Colours

This thread is going to go slow, if at all.  But here is the story for colours to start it again. ;)  Or rather, just a descriptive paragraph.

...

I remember when the colours of the world seemed brighter.  People’s faces seemed to glow like the lampposts that lit the boardwalk as our fiery sun met the orange water in the distance, the passion of the world sinking beneath the sea.  The neon lights would spark to life, advertising happiness in exchange for glittery coins that sparkled in your hand, just like the goods the eager shop owners were selling, and the cars that glided so smoothly along the road.  Life was simple;life was fun.  Nature was among us and we were all together, and I longed for that moment before I came into the world of the future. 
Bleak.  Solo.
Nothing could compare to the rain clouds that touched the mountains, the mist that coated our faces in a cool film as we drove in that beautiful white car down the road they built into the cliff.  You were with me and the sun was shining.
And then the future world fades back, and I can’t do anything to step out of it and back to this peaceful world where the sky sheds its colors for the points of light poking through the black of nightfall.     
I couldn’t go on nor could I go back, so I would reminisce of and for that unforgettable week, quietly ignoring the flaws in my painted picture.  It was easy to mark over those...small…flaws in that memory.  There are so many shades to choose from, to distract me from the rotting canvas below. 
But I cherished this canvas nonetheless, this picture that hanged prominently in the wall of my memory, its many colors so tastefully echoing among the subtle hues of the room.  Even as I let it fall apart, as the linen came undone and the colors began to peel, revealing the mistakes beneath, I held this masterpiece centerpiece for my mind to enjoy and cherish.  Because to me, it was the most beautiful painting in the world. 
But no…those are the colours of nostalgia that distort our views of the past...we colour-blind ourselves in a way it seems.  Then again, aren’t all colors beautiful in their own way?

Offline Gauthar

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #95 on: July 07, 2013, 09:52:02 pm »
Lygon or um Panda or um um OH OH I KNOW  Box

Offline Mylo

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #96 on: July 29, 2013, 03:58:49 am »
apocalypse? :3

July 11, 2019.  Tropical Base.

Beads would be an understatement to describe the rivers of sweat flowing down the soldiers’ faces as they kept guard at the gate, weapons at the ready, eyes on watch.  Even the heavy sun struggled to send its rays through the dense air, let alone a soldier’s breath through his mouth and into his lungs.  A truck rumbled through the shrubbery to the gate of tropical base, and its driver wore the uniform of the army.  The driver rolled down the window.
“Hot day,” not knowing what else to say as he pulled out his identification. 
“Certainly, sir,” replied the officer, scanning the identification badge.  “All clear.”
The driver of the truck turned to his partner, wiping the sweat from his forehead.  “Thank God, only two more days in hell.”
“Thank God indeed,” replied the second officer.  He noticed the still bleeding cut on the other soldier’s forehead, the blood mixing so slightly with the sweat to make it seem like it was bleeding more than it was.  But it was just a small cut, nothing to worry about, the kind that would heal by tomorrow.  It was just the humidity that was making it seem worse, so thought the soldier as they drove into the base, ready for dinner that evening, the thought leaving his mind as fast as the sweat from his forehead. 

September 21, 2019.  Dallas, Texas.

“Marty, come back inside!” called a mother from her patio, her son kicking a plastic ball, enjoying the fact that it changed colors as it rolled. 
“Mama…” yelled the kid in disappointment.  “But I wanna stay out here…”
“Come one honey, we’ve got to go pick up your father at the airport,” she said.  “Let’s fix you up and then we can get in the car and go.  You want to see Daddy don’t you?”
“Yeah…” said the kid, as he looked at the ground, then the ball, then to his mother, and back to the ground. 
“Yeah?” said his mother.  “Come on Alex, let’s go inside and get you cleaned up.”
The mother bent down as her son walked to her with struggling legs, and then she picked him up to go inside…he seemed very tired from the heat outside.  The news was on in the kitchen, talking about the terrorist attack in London two days before and its potential impact on the upcoming Olympics in Tokyo.  As she was putting on her favorite shirt, the news switched to a segment about two other soldiers who had died in Virginia from an as yet undetermined disease.  They didn’t know if it was at all connected with the other soldiers who died in mid-August, shortly after returning to the United States.

December 21, 2019.  New York City, New York

“There’s a pandemic among us!” yelled the burly man with his short, unkempt brown hair rustling in the cold breeze.  “The United States has gone too far this time!  I’ll tell you why all those people are dying!  Operation Lasting Freedom!  That’s right.  We’ve pushed too far and now we’re all being cursed for it.”
Some people stood to listen, although whether or not it was through legitimate interest to his cause was not apparent.  Most people walked quickly past him as it was the holiday season, and they were all scouring for gifts on this bustling, cold Saturday afternoon.
Two police men on patrol took notice of the man. 
“Sir, you’re gonna have to come with us.”
The shouting man took no heed, instead continuing his monologue maintaining eye contact with the sum of the people who didn’t seem to care. 
“We don’t need people fear mongering so close to Christmas,” said the officer in a more firm voice.  “Now if you’ll just come with us.” 
The man pointed at the police officers.  “You see this?”
“Sir, put your hands down.”
“Put your hands down!” said the other police officer.
“Put your hands down now!”
Another officer had heard the commotion and took a baton from his belt, pressed a switch on the side, and immediately, all the surrounding smartphones went dark. 
“Hey what gives?!” yelled an angry passerby on the sidewalk.
But the officers ignored them.  Instead, an officer took out another black baton, stabbed it into the man with the pressure of a light punch, and instantly, the man fell to the ground incapacitated. 
“Damn, I’m gonna have to recharge this thing now,” said the officer with the baton as he turned the man over to examine his face for injuries. 
The people had paused as their phones were shut off, staring at the scene with empty and frustrated looks on their faces.
“I’m sorry, please, Merry Christmas everyone,” said the police officer as he put the baton back into his belt.
The man’s eyes were scanned as the people began to use the phones again, walking down the streets, focused on the near holiday. 

April 2, 2020.  Baltimore, Maryland.

I stayed in my room, alone, my back against the furthest wall from the window.  I had never felt true fear in my short and safe life, but I heard the loud noises outside, and suddenly the walls around me did not feel safe as they once did.  I heard glass breaking, some kind of explosion.  Then quiet.  Then shouting.  All I could do was sit there paralyzed…a bullet had been shot through my wall and out the ceiling.  I didn’t want to go out…I didn’t want to stay in. 
The disease had killed so many people so mercilessly, and so many people couldn’t commit to their social services.  All the television channels had a red bar on the bottom recommending everyone stay indoors as it was unknown just how contagious this disease was, considering it had such a long incubation period and the fact that at the moment, it could not be detected until minor symptoms occurred. 
Every sneeze I had, every time my throat went dry, my stomach sank as the thoughts raced through my mind…could I have this disease already?  Will I die tomorrow or today? 
More shouting and a loudspeaker.  Things seemed to be calling down from the morning. 

Offline Old Rabbit

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #97 on: July 29, 2013, 12:51:13 pm »
Though apocalypse is often thought as some approaching terrible
event. It also has the meaning to reveal or a discovery of knowledge.

Nicely written Mylo.

How about "cavern"  :orbunny:







Avatar drawn by me.
oldrabbit.com

Offline typingwithpaws

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Re: Mylo's Short Story Challenge!
« Reply #98 on: July 31, 2013, 07:45:38 pm »
missed your stuff mylo!

love the structure of how it's all set out, clean, crisp. makes it look very professional  :D
"Nothing will ever surpass the beauty and elegance of a bad idea"