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Rauch|Drogen

I've written a few things.. Mostly just when I get bored (although a couple of these were class assignments). I consider myself a decent writer, though by no means the best. Typically my stumbling block is thinking of something to write about. The rest is easy. =P

I'm gunna put each one of them in a separate post, I hope that's alright.

#1 - This is what I originally envisioned to be the beginning of a rather long novel, but I gave up on it.. I may revisit it in the future, I don't know. My inspiration came from a mock-religion I created as a prank on another message board called "Neuneism."
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I was going to die. I’d slowly grown to accept it. I had been in the hospital for nearly ten weeks, now, in this very bed for nearly six. I knew my time was nearing, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. I don’t remember a lot about those last few moments, just that I closed my eyes, and folded my hands. I knew I was dying, I just knew. I could feel my systems shutting down. It was a very strange experience. It started from the outside, with my skin. It just felt like something was missing, like I was vastly naked. It moved inside, slowly hitting muscles, other tissues, and the vital organs. I seem to remember my brain being last. Although, I suppose it could have been the first, and just seemed like the last because nothing could get through after it shut down. Nothingness. Entirely impossible to explain to a First, having never experienced it themselves. Just.. Nothing.

My name is Lance Stewart. And this is my story.

A flash, a pop. Voices, hands.. Something soft. My eyes slowly adjusted themselves. I was surrounded by strange forms, human-like, but entirely not. I tested my voice, “What.. What are you?”

“Listen carefully. We will not want to repeat this to you. Understand?”, came the reply.

“I.. I understand”

“Good. This is Earth-two. What you have known up until now, we now call Earth-one. When you parted from Earth-one, your conscious self was born again here. You are but an infant to us.”

I was confused. I am a forty-eight-year-old man. I have not been an infant for a very long time.

“I’m forty-eight,” I corrected him, “not an infant.”

“You may have been forty-eight on Earth-one, however here you are zero. You are a newborn. Now, stand up.”

It was then that I became aware of my own body. It did indeed seem quite miniature, in comparison to those around me. I was on some sort of bed, although judging by the stooped-posture of the others, I realized I must be very low to the ground. I tried to put my hands under myself, to boost myself off the bed. I couldn’t. I tried to move my legs, swing them around. I couldn’t. It was deeply frustrating.

“I can’t.” I explained.

“Okay,” came the familiar voice. I realized he must be the leader of those present. He touched me. “feel this?”

“Yes.”

“Focus your attention on that part. Will your mind to move that part.”

I did, and I felt it start to move.

“Good,” he said, “now this one.”

Again, success.

“You have power of your hind legs.”

Hind legs?! Does he think I’m some sort of dog, or something? We did this process twice more.

“There. You have power of all four legs. Imagine you are a dog, and think about how you would stand up. Then, try it.”

I imagined a golden retriever, laying on it’s back, as if begging for a belly rub. I visualized it first rolling over, then pushing itself up on it’s front legs, then finishing with it’s hind legs. I tried it. I got up, and somewhat stable, but the bed I was standing on was not at all willing to let me stay. I lost my balance, and fell.

 

Rauch|Drogen

#2 - This is a really silly story I wrote upon request by my sister (it wasn't what she wanted, but I kept it anyways).. I called it "The Unicorn."

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“But, mom,” whined Vanessa, “why do I have to be grounded tonight??”

“’Nessa, if keeping you home on halloween is the only way to get you to learn, then I have to do it!” replied her mother.

“Ugh!” grunted Vanessa.

“Okay, well your father and I are going out Trick-or-Treating, now! Have a good night, dear!”

This stinks. Her parents are going out, and she has to stay home and watch TV the whole time. “Well, might as well make the best of it.” she thought, and she went and got her stashed bottle of rum. She took several large gulps, then drank down the rest of the half-full bottle. Then, she just sat back and waited for it to kick in. So, she sat down on the couch, and turned on the TV. She was watching for about, like, 46 minutes, when she glanced over at the window. Looking back at her was a black unicorn with red eyes, and three-meter-long single horn protruding from the center of it’s head. She was terrified.

She ran to the phone and called 9-1-1. It rang twice, and then she heard the creepy unicorn on the other end, “MrrAwwwRRrrAaawwwrruuurrgghhhh...”!!! “OH MY GOD,” she exclaimed, “THE CRAZY UNICORN IS A COP!!”

So, she dropped the phone and ran to the basement. Except, as soon as she turned on the lights, she was surrounded by even more crazy unicorns, except that these ones were an eerie shade of green, instead of black. She ran back upstairs, only to be greeted by the original unicorn, wearing a trench-coat and smoking one of those bubble pipe things. She screamed, and collapsed on the floor. “Vanessa.. Vanessa.. Wake up, you big oaf!” she heard. She woke up screaming, and soaked with sweat.

“Be good tonight, ‘Nessa, you father and I are going out trick-or-treating, now.”

DUN DUN DUN!!! The End!

Rauch|Drogen

#3 - This is a depressing little story I wrote on a whim. I've no idea where the inspiration came from. I call it "Lindsay."

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Lindsey looked up at the moon, then down at her makeshift calendar. Sure, it was just notches carved into a tree, but it worked. She’d only been on her own for a week, now, but it seemed like so much longer. She knew she wasn’t getting enough to eat, and she could feel that she was getting weaker with every passing day. She knew she’d have to do something about the food situation soon, or she’d surely starve to death.

So far she’d had very little trouble with animals, but she knew they were out here, everywhere. All around her. Watching her, stalking her, waiting for their chance to attack. She’d be ready, though. She had her survival knife, and she’d thought about how to use it against wolves, and bears. “Just go for the throat”, she thought. She needed to get to sleep. She knew she’d need to work for her sustenance the following day.

Just as she laid down her head on her makeshift pillow of leaves, moss, and twigs, she heard a noise behind her. “It’s just the wind”, she told herself. She forced herself to believe it was nothing unusual. Even so, she tightened her grip on her knife, just in case.

It had only been a couple of minutes, she was still insisting to herself there was nothing to worry about, as she had each night since she’d run away from home, and took refuge in this dark, damp forest, when she heard a low growl, accompanied by what could only be a warm breath on her neck. From the sound of the growl, and the proximity to the ground, she figured it to be a wolf.

She could tell where it was from the sound, and acted almost without thinking. The knife came up, and she felt it make solid contact with something soft, fleshy. She retracted the blade, and struck again. And again. She withdrew her weapon, grabbed her backpack, which contained everything she currently owned, and ran.

Her only hope was that this particular wolf would go against it nature, and hunt alone, rather than the usual pack of three or four. This, however, would prove to be untrue. The wolf, in fact, was in a pack of five. She knew it soon enough, when she heard the quick, panting breaths, and the barely audible footfalls. She started doubting her chances of survival. One, or maybe two wolves she could handle, but she could tell, from close listening, that there had to be at least three wolves following her.

She noticed a low branch up ahead, and quickly formulated her plan. She tapped deep into her strength pools, increased her speed, and leapt for the branch. She tried to pull herself up with all her might, but the wolves were too quick. They savagely grabbed her ankles with their mouths, and pulled her down. The pack leader was on her neck long before she realized what was happening.

Her body would never be found.

Rauch|Drogen

#4 - This is the first of my two "class" pieces. The assignment was to write a narrative, to be delivered orally, in which a character experienced an "epiphany".

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James Jones was young. Too young to die, but unfortunately he was probably going to anyways. He was laying in a bed, in the oncology ward at Winterfield General Hospital. His son, Arnold, was having trouble coping.

“How are you feeling, dad?”, he asked, standing at his father's bedside.

“Not good, son. Not good.”, he replied weakly, visibly struggling with every word, “I think my life has finally caught up with me.”

“Don't talk like that, dad. Everything's going to be fine.”, Arnold lied. “I'm going to step out for a smoke, dad. I'll be back in ten.” He gave Arnold a look of disapproval, then nodded in acknowledgment

Arnold had been smoking for twenty-two years, since he was sixteen. He knew it wasn't good for him, he'd read all the statistics about how much time it cuts off your life, how much it increases the chance of getting lung cancer, but as far as he cared, none of it was relevant to him. He'd gone twenty-two years without any visible affects on his health, so he figured it couldn't be that bad for him.

As he stepped outside, he saw his sister, Bernette, getting out of her car. He was expecting her, but not for about half an hour. He quickly stashed his cigarettes in his back pocket; She always nagged him about smoking. He leaned casually on a pillar outside the doors as Bernette approached.

“You're early,” he greated her reproachfully.

“Sorry, my meeting got out early. I didn't think it would be a problem.” She shot back, full of sarcasm. “Go home, Arnold. Get some rest.” Arnold smiled, and without another word walked off in the direction of his van. His mother, his sister, and him were taking turns staying with James. He drove him silently, and, as it was late, got ready for bed and proceeded to sleep.

He was awakened in the night by the phone. Confused, he barely managed to grab it before the answering machine picked up.

“Hello?”, he answered groggily.

“Arnold. It's Bernette. Dad's not doing well. The doctors don't think he'll make it through the night. He wants to talk to you, could you come down?”

Barely comprehending, Arnold formulated the best reply he could, in his half-asleep state; “Uhh.. Yeah.”

“Good,” Bernette answered quickly, “hurry up.” Arnold got up, threw on some clothes, and went out to his van. He made the drive to the hospital miraculously quick, mostly because of the lack of traffic. Arriving at the hospital, he hurried inside and to the elevator, taking it up three floors to the oncology ward. He ran down the hall to his father's room, and rushed to kneel beside the bed.

“I'm here, dad,” he whispered, gasping for breath.

“Look at me, son.. I'm sixty-three, and I'm laying on my death bed. It's too late for me, son, I can't take back what I've done to put myself here.. But I want to tell you, Arnold.. I want to make sure you don't make the same mistakes for yourself.”

“I won't, dad. I won't,” Arnold replied, feeling bewildered.

“Promise me you'll stop smoking, son. We all know that's why I'm here,” finished his Father, bringing clarity to Arnold. Arnold sat silently, thinking about what his father had just said. He couldn't avoid it any longer. The danger had become real, now. He realized he had to quit, and he had to do it now. He looked back at his father. His eyes were closed.

“Dad?”, he said quietly. No response was to be seen. He looked up at his sister, and though neither of them spoke, it was obvious that they both knew their father had passed.

“I promise, dad,” whispered Arnold.

Rauch|Drogen

#5 - The second of the "class" ones. The assignment for this was also an oral narrative, however with the only guideline that it had to be written in second-person.

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You're sitting at a long table, eating chili. Five alarm. Very good. You have another spoonful on the way to your mouth when the alarm rings. You and the ten other men and women around you get up and rush out the door to the large garage. You get on your gear and jump in the truck. Sirens blaring, you drive down the road at a blistering speed. You fly past stop signs and traffic lights, and narrowly miss numerous cars. Arriving at your destination, you hurriedly get out of the truck and act quickly to get the hoses unrolled and attached to the nearby hydrants. You hear yelling from inside the house. You and three others react, moving to break down the door and help the people trapped inside. Getting inside, you're nearly overcome by fire and smoke. Unable to see through the smoke, you strain your ears to hear the coughing and yelling. You think it's coming from a door to the right. You approach the door, knocking aside a burning two-by-four with your axe. You try to open the door, but find it to be jammed. Again using your trusty axe, you carefully break away the blockage, and open the door. You see a young girl huddled in the corner, looking terrified. You tell her it's okay, and pick her up. You take a big breath, filling your lungs, before putting your oxygen mask on her face. You carefully make your way back through the smoke-filled house. You emerge into the fresh air and hand her to the thankful arms of her mother. You ask the mother if there's anyone else in the house, and she tells you her son is still inside. You rush back inside the house, and after a quick sweep of the main level, realize he must be upstairs. You make your way carefully up the burning stairs, testing the strength of each step before putting your weight on it. Reaching the top of the stairs, you see a doorway to your right, and a hallway extending out to your left. You signal one of the other men to check that door, before moving a little ways down the hall to another door. You try the doorknob, and it opens. Air flows into the room from the hallway, causing a massive fireball to come hurling out towards you. Flashover. One of the most feared phenomenon of firefighting. You are killed instantly.

 

XT Dream

"FUCK.
I'm sorry, I couldn't read it entirely, but I saw the word axe when I scrolled down... that shits funny! and the last sentence, you are killed instanly... wow... Like I'm watching a movie At The Drive-In ~,~"

__________________
" Jobs and Haircuts.
Two of my greatest fears.
Reality too.
Amen.