• Short Story Compendium: Unnecessary and Unrelated Subtitle
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I wrote some short stories on an especially boring day. These are they. Do try to follow the complex undertones to these stories, and take a few moments to contemplate their deeper philosophical meanings after you are finished. More will be posted once you've had an appropriate period of contemplation. [u]I AM LEGEND[/u] [i]Angel of the Shadow Lair[/i] Will Smith wakes up in a bathtub full of oysters. "The fuck is with these oysters?" Sam barks in agreement. [u]SAW VIII[/u] [i]The Tomb of Kal-Thutu[/i] The industrial lights flickered momentarily before bathing the factory floor in their unforgiving glare, temporarily blinding the girl chained to the water pipes below. "Help!" She screamed. "Please, anybody!" A banshee whine of feedback from the factory's speakers silenced her yells. "Rose," the distorted voice announced, "You want to play a game?" "Not especially," she retorts, with a sly grin. "All your life you've been an undertaker," the voice continues, "You make a living gussying up the dead, and are proud of your ability to trick their family members into thinking their beloved so-and-so ISN'T a fucking ugly dead bastard." To her right, a conveyer belt lurched into motion, it's bearings squeeling rusted protest. It carries a jar towards Rose, glare from the lights obscuring the object floating in its green liquid depths. "If you want to leave this place alive," the speaker voice continued, "You must learn to suggestively swallow your pride." Suddenly, Rose saw what the jar contained. "No," she protested weakly, "Please, not that. Anything but-" "If you'll look above," the voice interrupted, "you'll see a heavy crate suspended from a thin wire. If you win, you go free. However, if you fail to do what I ask, I'll detonate the C4 I've planted in the center of your brain. You have one second. The clock is ti-" Rose's brain exploded, killing her instantly. [u]HARRY POTTER[/u] [i]Lord Buxton's Pocketwatch[/i] Harry looked up at Hagrid from his position in his lap. "Hagrid, your hairy beard is tickling me!" Hagrid laughed heartily and said, "Don't be silly, Harry Potter! Your shaven face belies a beard many times the hairiness of mine, and I do believe that [i]yours[/i] is nested on your loins!" Harry Potter nodded in acknowledgement. It was true. Lord Voldemort's [i]pubius sproutus[/i] curse, cast two months ago during a particularly adventurous game of wizard truth or dare, had yet to lose its effect, and young Master Potter's netherhairs had grown into an eight pound mat of briar-like tangles. Hagrid growled lustily, "But now that I've mentioned it, I wouldn't mind a little game of hide-and-seek!" Harry smashed a wizard brick into Hagrid's face, killing him instantly. Hermione enters the common room by way of wizard door and loudly exclaims, "WHAT THE FUCKING SHIT IS THIS, HARRY? YOU KILLED HIM! HE'S FUCKING DEAD!" "Yeah," Harry chuckled ruefully. "He certainly is!" [u]THE CRUCIBLE[/u] [i]Billious Potash, Private "Eye"[/i] Ann Proctor sat at her kitchen table, staring into the murky depths of her oatmeal. "Ann," her father inquired, "What's the matter? Is it too hot?" Ann shook her head in negatement, golden hair bouncing over her shapely shoulders and spilling over her gigantic bossom in a flood. "No, father. It's not that. I've much on my mind, is all." Her mother, listening from her rightful place by the small kitchen's stove, reminded young Ann (not without a touch of scorn, I might add!), "Things could be worse, Ann! Your oatmeal could become cold, and freeze to your balls!" "MY BALLS!" End Act 1.
I think the first one can apply to all of us. :golfclap:
[QUOTE=daijitsu;23387076]I think the first one can apply to all of us. :golfclap:[/QUOTE] I believe that the most emotionally stirring pieces of fiction are often the shortest. [u]Winston Checkworth in:[/u] [i]The Mystery of Skull Island[/i] Winston Checkworth plodded into his study and allowed himself the luxury of collapsing into his well-padded lounger by the bookshelf-- his favorite place in the large manor. He sighed contentedly and lit his pipe, drawing deeply. "I do believe this is the smokiest you've ever been, old girl," said Winston to his pipe. The smoldering tobacco in his pipe's bowl crackled quietly, perhaps in agreement. Winston savored the good tobacco, content for the time being to simply listen to the rain softly pelt his study's windows. His troubles seemed to smolder with his tobacco, and with each smokey ring he exhaled Winston felt as if his very soul were thanking him. Suddenly, an attacking vampire lunged from behind Winston's lounger, attemping to sink it's poison fangs into the unprotected flesh of Winston's neck! "Gadzooks!" Winston exclaimed! "An attacking vampire!" But just as quickly, it was gone. Lord Checkworth exhaled a gusty sigh of relief. [i]Perhaps just a trick of the light,[/i] Winston thought, eyeing a suspect peanut butter cup on his desk. [i]And I doubt very much that the sheet of LSD melting in my shirt pocket mayn't have contributed as well![/i] (Wiiiiiiiiinston!) As if from far away. (Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinston!) The spirit of Gay Dumbledore passed into Winston's Study by way of ghost door. "What the fuck do you want, Dumbledore?" Dumbledore's spirit suggestively tweaked his nipple, tipping old Winston a lecherous wink. Winston grinned in reply, powerless to resist the old spirit's cajolery. Winston Checksworth took the dead gay wizard's unfulfilled soul by the hand, and led him to his bedchamber for a night of some seriously fucking hardcore spirit sex. Before the night retired (but long after our exhausted hero and his guest did), a meteor struck the manor, killing everybody inside. Except for Winston. "What luck! I have survived!" Winston cheered! Winston Checkworth explodes. Also, Dumbledore didn't make it either. It was a ghost meteor or something.
That SAW story was just... what...
[u]RUNNINGBEAR'S REVENGE[/u] [i]For this land, I weep. The white men came, and with them came pestilence. They do not treat this land with respect, do not thank it for their harvest. Their waste goes into rivers and ponds; and Acorn weeps for his tree-mother, who was split by their foresters. They put shopping mall in corn. I am John Runningbear. Today, I saw a sign while thanking brother beaver for lessening the chance of light flooding. I saw brother bear, the protector of the woods. I followed him for some time, and watched as he evacuated an intestinal presence at the foot of a great oak tree. Bear shit under tree, sign of REVENGE. I know what I must do. I came back to three room home and woke my children. I thanked them for being my children. I told them that there was something I must do, as a warrior of my people. I cashed in my stocks on E-Trade. I thanked my stocks for their bounty. I used every piece of my stocks to buy supplies to armor plate my Ford Pinto. I go now, into white man territory. They will know how they have hurt my people and these lands. I leave at first light. With a warrior's spirit, I say farewell. John Runningbear. July 15, 2010. My car broke down. Fuck this, I'm going home. John Runningbear. July 16, 2010.[/i]
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