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  1. #1
    Nev
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    Short Story of the Week # 1

    Same as the signature of the week, we'll give you a theme, and you have to write a short story (no more than 10 paragraphs) around it. Voting will take place in the Spam Pit, so try to be funny and interesting, while also using a proper writing style.

    This week's theme is imprisonment.

  2. #2
    Veteran Enthusiast Yadda's Avatar


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    Re: Short Story of the Week # 1

    My name is Jeff Hansen, I was once charged guilty for Armed Robbery, for a crime I never committed. When the final word was given, a bitter and numb feeling blocked everything out. I tried to pretend it was a dream just seconds before waking up. I never woke up though, and I was brought to the reception. They literally erased my identity, shaved my hair, binned my clothes, and searched every square inch of me. I was 'processed', like meat in an abattoir.

    They then threw me in line to get my clothes, standing there with people crying in shock. I was frozen in fear, half the people in line were considering suicide, god knows what they were sentenced for. Two guards left and right immediately took me to my quarters. They can hardly call it 'quarters' though, quarters are the kind of rooms that hotels have, separated by plaster walls and doorways and a nice clean carpet to keep your bare feet warm. All of the cells were poured with concrete, the only things considerably soft in the penitentiary were the beds, and yet they were the worst beds I could ever sleep on.

    I was warehoused with an inmate that I had hardly known before, I wasn't told what he had done, but I hoped to god that he didn't kill anyone. He never stared at me, as though lost in his own thoughts thinking about what he had done. I kept my distance and never talked to him. I never slept on the beds, and kept my back against the wall nearly all of the time. I had the worst sleep in years

    By the third day in prison, there was already one prisoner murdered by his inmate. The man who was killed was a convicted rapist; he was pushed into the bars of the cell until he reached the other side. My inmate didn't even stir when he had heard the news, he just sat still thinking.

    By the fifth day I felt like I was about to break, I was never meant to be a serial killer, or an armed robber. I haven't seen my mother in a week, she must miss me. I had hoped that she would visit me soon; I needed all the help I can get. That's when my inmate spoke up,
    "You shouldn't be upset."
    I turned, as though the choked voice he had belonged to someone else.
    "Don't wreck yourself for something you aren't, you're going to make it out soon"
    It struck me as curious to how he knew this, as we haven't spoke once since the day I set foot in this cell. I noticed that I wasn't shaking anymore, as though god himself was talking to me. I nodded slowly, smiling a little. He gave me a dry smile, and then continued the way he was before.

    Be it a miracle, the next day I was released from prison. They managed to find the real suspect from the robbery. The rusty cell door slid open to a halt with the same officers that had brought me in holding it open. I stood up slowly and trembled with joy as I walked to the door to the cell. Then I had noticed something, I looked at my inmate, he was smiling at me again, the same way he had before. I walked back towards him and said "Thank you," and for the first time, directly. He nodded again.

    By the second week, I had finally built up the courage to set foot inside the prison again. I met the reception and made arrangements to bail out my inmate. I didn't care what he was in for; someone that could give such hope didn't deserve to be rotting in a prison. When the officer asked "Any message you want to give him?” I paused and said, "Thanks... Thanks for saving me".

    -----------------------------------------------------------------------

    Good idea BTW.


  3. #3
    Dedicated Member eszra's Avatar

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    Re: Short Story of the Week # 1

    Wow, yadda deserves this. His has to be the best story in the world.

    Skype: I love the way you jump to shove your tongue up his ass.
    [img]http://**********.com/img/1255480693.jpg[/img]
    my thread

    http://darkdemon.org/viewtopic.php?f=2& ... 8#p1189878

  4. #4
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    Re: Short Story of the Week # 1

    i love the way this story was written...it is very straight forward and descriptive

    and my story is in blue (credits for kaycee for editting...i love u kaycee thank you!)


    “GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME!” I shrieked. I would have turned to any defensive strategy had he not pushed me into the cell and slammed the door with a deafening crash. I held up my violently shaking hands and almost hurled at the intensity of the smell from the dry blood now caked onto my wrists. My body grew tense as I rigidly observed my filthy dark cell which displayed no hint of familiarity, lacking windows, beds, and water. I was horribly and undeniably alone with only the knowledge of how much hate was in this cold and dark place.

    The anger inside of me erupted like a bubbling volcano. I was panting and my heart raced so fast that any small movement on my part threatened to cause it to explode. I raced to the door and began hammering it with my fists and with what breath I had left I screamed, “I DIDN’T DO IT! Y-YOU HA-HAVE THE WRONG PERSON! LET ME OUT! I- I’M INNOCENT!” My words at first confident soon lost their menace and were traded with words of consistent plea. My hands now bruised and cut, were covered in a mixture of both dry and wet blood from my various wounds and the door was now decorated with streaks of red dye that eerily depicted the amount of blood I had lost.

    My cries continued in anguish for what felt like hours.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    I sat lifeless and numb with my back against the cold barren wall, facing the only exit that was to forever remain unreachable. When I first arrived here in this desolate place I felt the need to grasp the thoughts of my former life, of freedom, of love, everything that seemed unattainable now. I attempted to remain sane trying to remember faces of past loved ones that had slowly dissipated years ago, not securable even by memory. I chuckled maliciously at former attempts for myself to remain at least a shell of what I once was.

    I stared indifferent at the door understanding that it would only open for my “feeding,” of stale bread that tasted like ash and water that was stagnant. I wanted nothing more than to heave the foul “food” up and out of my stomach, to not feel it residing in my body.
    The man who walked in with my tray of “food” today was lean and muscular but I knew his stature was easily breakable for he was young. He set the tray down in front of me and turned to leave until I threateningly whispered, “You’re next.”

    “Excuse me?” he turned to look at me and I could see him wince under the flaming heat of my glare.

    “They told you why I’m here didn’t they?” my voice was snide and my eyes lit up dark, foreboding, and unforgiving. “They say I killed all of those girls. Just you wait. The second I’m out of this cell I’m coming after you.” I wasn’t able to control my insanity anymore. “WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE, I’M GOING TO RIP OFF YOUR LIMBS ONE BY ONE BEFORE I PULL YOUR HEART OUT FROM THE MIDDLE OF YOUR CHEST! I WILL LEAVE YOU HERE TO ROT!!” and I burst into maniacal laughter as he uncomfortably strode away. I presumed he was going to tell the one who was in charge of this hell-hole. Ahhh. I was going to have company soon.

    As my crazed laughter continued, I found I couldn’t stop it from bursting from the very depths of my chest. I finally realized nothing mattered anymore; there was nothing and no one to live for. I was my very own master, the only one who could end this altogether. I kept laughing realizing that they were so foolish to believe me to be under THEIR control when in fact I was the ruler of my own fate. They could not contain me, they could not rule or win over me, and they meant nothing. I raged around the room, clawing at everything around me and at myself, pulling at my hair and face finally reaching my throat. I clawed at my jugular until a warm thick liquid spilled out onto my hands and under my nails. I collapsed beneath my own weight exhausted, unable to move or feel anything around me but still with a vengeful and malignant smile of dark and foreboding happiness. The blackness soon swirled around me and as I heard the guards breaking down the door I was able to gasp two more words before losing sense of everything. “I won.”
    [img]http://**********.com/img/1230967952.png[/img]

  5. #5
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    Re: Short Story of the Week # 1

    Downtown London, Archberry Road, Deep within the cement walls and rooms of the Archberry prison, a practical maze of steel enforced doors riddled with scratches and bullet holes. God knows I haven't enjoyed my stay. The cold, wet, blood-stained walls of the small cells didn't provide much welcome to a newcomer in any case, and my next-door inmate screamed to the world every night, making for a huge echo spreading through the large encampment like a plague.
    I was charged for murder, a crime that I thought was perfectly appropriate. My best friend Jeremia had recently started dating a girl named Penny, who I had loved since the day I first saw her in second grade. He knew I loved her, and he didn't like her at all. He just thought she was pretty. When I heard that he was engaged to her, I walked to his house with a large butchering knife, and cleaved his left leg off in his sleep. He died of blood loss in about two hours.
    So again I say that this crime should have been overlooked, and I'm sure you agree with my judgement. I tried to tell those cops, but they wouldn't listen. The second they saw me with a bloody knife hanging over Jeremia's dead body, they put me in cuffs and shipped me directly to court. I was sentenced to imprisonment for 2 years, and a trip to the gas tank, where my life would be brutally and painfully ended.
    The door to my cell slowly creaked open, and a large man wearing steel armor, a helmet, and armed with an ak47 and two hand grenades walked into my cell. " Your time has come," he said in a low, dark voice. He then led me out of the cell to a large, garage-like room, with a large steel tank in the middle of it. Two burly men guarded the door, showing know emotion, their eyes covered with dark shades. The man pushed me into the tank, and slammed the door aggressively. He pressed a few buttons on the outside of the machine, and a dense white gas entered the room from a small pipe. Two minutes passed, and I felt nothing but a shiver tingling down my back. Then, a feeling of suffocation assaulted my lungs, a racking pain shot into my stomach, and my left ear began to bleed. Another minute passed, both my ears had started to bleed, and I was lying on the floor, near to bursting. Blood trickled down from my mouth. I then thought over my life. Should I have killed Jeremia? Should I have told Tracey how I felt about her sooner? Should I have let my life fall into chaos the way it did? And then, almost to a conclusion to these questions, I died. I had lived a full life. My revenge on Jeremia was satisfying. My life was without love, but the sweet nectar of revenge coursed through me until the very instant I died. The only thing I would have done diferently was to tell Tracey... Tell Tracey that I loved her.
    [center:3os0a0g2]KATY PERRY DRESSES LIKE A FREAKING CLOWN. [/center:3os0a0g2]

  6. #6
    Fanatic Enthusiast Deimos's Avatar

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    Re: Short Story of the Week # 1

    It was World War 2... My name is John McCain.. I was being held captive by the mean guys who have guns, both my arms and one of my legs were broken from the force of which I was ejected from my plane. They brought me to this cell and thrust me inside, my arms and leg ached constantly like a raging fire. They did not give me treatment immediately, so it looked like I would have to treat my injuries myself. I looked around the cell that stank with the stench of death. I managed to gather together some strong pieced of wood that someone seemed to have pried off the door. I made made a sort of brace out that and some strips of my clothes. Now hopefully, my arms and legs would heal.

    It was many months later, after constant questioning and harassment that my legs and arms seemed healthy again, the guards had seen my braces, but just laughed as if it was futile. The time it had taken my limbs to heal, had also given me time to formulate a plan of escape, and now it was time for the plan to become reality. Once again, at 8:00 sharp, the guard brought me my food, he had always enjoyed harassing me, throwing my food everywhere, but not today. He bent down to initiate the harassment, but I decked him across the face. He fell backwards and reached for his gun, but once again, I was too fast, in one fluid motion, I had snapped his wrist. I grabbed his gun and headed to the door, but before I got there, I heard a voice saying "What was that racket? I'm coming in! Don't try anything!" Before he could even enter the room, I opened the door fully, grabbed his arm and wrenched him halfway in, then proceeded to slam the door on him, knocking him unconscious. Then, after I had confiscated his weapon, I headed down the hallway, to the exit.

    When I went outdoors, the sun blinded me for an instant, but then my pupils adjusted to it's glorious warmth, much different than the dark, dank environment of the cell. It took me just a little while to asses how many men were standing before me, armed with weapons, they numbered 10. It seemed as though most of the other troops had been moved somewhere where they were needed in the war. They were waiting for me to make the first move, so I quickly calculated my advantages, then began. ( this next part of the story will seem so much more epic with the song: Battle Song by Ensiferum playing behind it.)

    I dove to the left, avoiding a spray of bullets from the enemy, I fired my gun at will, felling 2 of my enemies, their yells of pain quickly died to nothing as their last breaths came. By now, I had rolled behind a wall for protection. My ears perked at the sound of slowly advancing footsteps, coming from either side of the building I was using as a defensive fort. They were coming around to catch me from both sides, my ammunition supply was low, I did not have more clips ready like they did. By now, I decided I would have to wing it, I tensed, ready for them to spring out. The waiting was intense, then, two men came out from either side of the building and yelled, then released a spray of bullets, thinking quickly, I fell to the ground, letting the hail of bullets take out the people on opposite sides, their faces held the expression of pure surprise at that, then they fell over. Smugly happy with this I remembered that there were yet more people to come, now at this, I readied my weapon and ran out to the right, spraying as I went, managing to take the two men left on that side by surprise, finishing them instantly, but now my gun was out of ammunition, now I would have to rely on my strength alone.

    Now with only two enemies left, I discarded my gun for it was useless. Then I peeked around the corner to see the last two men running my way. Seeing this, I rolled in front of them, reached down an pulled some of the luscious green grass out by their roots. Caught by surprise, they were stunned, so I took advantage of that 2 seconds and commenced a backflip, halfway through it, I launched the blades of grass that them, it tore them apart like shrapnel, their uniforms were torn to shreds in the razor sharp hurricane of grass that was propelled towards them by my incredibly buffed arms. Pieces of them fell to the ground. I took this time so savor my victory, looked up at the sky, and enjoyed the warmth from the sun, before I set off, to further my quest. The End.

    This story is some-what glorified.
    v The Thread v

  7. #7
    Fanatic Enthusiast Xenomorph's Avatar


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    Re: Short Story of the Week # 1

    Davidson's eyes slowly blinked open, and all he could see was black, the little light that was there making the scene darker. He tried to wipe at his eyes, but his arm wouldn't move. He wondered for a moment, then figured it out.
    My arm must be asleep, that's it. Let's just try the othe-
    Both of his arms were immobile. A few more blinks, and his vision was clear enough to see where he was; he was here before. The stench of death...the shapes moving, blending, becoming one and none countless times...
    The hive.
    A bolt of hopelessness shot through Davidson. What his waking ignorance shielded him from now hit him. He was in the hive. And he knew exactly what happened within the hive. He'd seen the vids, done his time as a XE-EX, and he knew how it ended.

    As if his body refused to listen to his mind, he resisted. He pulled against the material, trying with every ounce of his physical being to get out, to escape. His muscles burned with the strain, every movement more painful than the last, but his mind dulled further. He tried until he couldn't any more. Sorrowful, he hung his head down and wailed in pure agony, pure grief. This was it. He closed his eyes and broke down. Nothing mattered anymore.

    Sounds in the distance played with his shattered mind. The clattering of talons, the hisses of nightmares, his name called out by those he cared for. The sounds mixed and changed. Shrieks of the darkness met by a sharp rattle. Thuds, cries, and the signature trill of the M41B Pulse Rifle...

    "Davidson! Where the hell are you?"

    Rescue? But how? I'm surely infected, surely doomed even if they save me here.

    But his body wouldn't have that thinking. "I'm over here! Get me outta this thing!"
    Seconds and a few gunshots later, a face from the darkness. The face of an angel.
    Lara.

    Lara looked up at Davidson, who must have been a foot off of the ground. "Hey, you all right?"
    Davidson managed a weak nod, and Lara turned to the Marines following her. "Minh, over here! He's all right! Let's get him down from here!"
    Minh surely enough walked up to Davidson, and placed some device on the webbing which held him steadfast to the wall. Several beeps, the sound of processing.
    A green light.
    "He's...not infected." said Minh as he tore off the device, and began to work on the material affixing Davidson to the wall. "I guess we got here right in time, eh?"

    Not infected? I might live?
    The floor dropped from under his feet, and Davidson fell roughly towards the ground, caught by both Lara and Minh.
    "I guess you were...how long was I gone?"

    Lara looked towards him. "A few hours. It's a damn miracle you haven't been implanted yet. I guess the bitch was too busy with us to care about you. Count your blessings, David."

    Wait, did she call me David?
    Davidson glanced at her, then the floor again. "Lara...I don't know what to say. I was so close to dying...and you saved me. Nothing could possibly make up for that. I...I love you."

    At this, Lara backed up a step. Minh let go of Davidson, and stepped to Lara's side. Davidson was puzzled, confused. Minh pointed his rifle towards Davidson, and Lara looked away in sadness, in shame, in guilt.
    "You guys? What are you doing? Let's get out of this-"
    A shot rang out, hitting Davidson square in the chest. But there was no wound. Instead of caving in, the skin bulged out obscenely. The pain was tremendous, and he awoke to it, eyes brimming with tears.

    Davidson screamed out, his chest tearing open. The chill in his body set ablaze by the warmth of blood, the fiery pain driving him to his extreme. His pain was unbearable, a molten rod pushing it's way out, ignorant of whatever might lie in it's way. Davidson let out a bone piercing scream, fueled by untempered rage and sadness.

    As the creature made it's way through his very soul, Davidson's final scream echoed on the walls of this hell, falling only upon the deaf ears of the creatures of nightmare.

    [center:17hbng0t]__________________________________________________________[/center:17hbng0t]

    Well, there's my entry. Slightly over 10 paragraphs, but most of them are short to enhance the effect. I think this will actually become part of my story later on, now that I've written it. I've seen a lot of first person here, and I wanted to break the monotony. I hope you enjoy.

    Oh, I assume it's all right to make small edits before the due date, correct? If not, tell me.
    SA$_/AI%20has log[d in.
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    >> S##t m_ Rebooting. Hello, Samuel.

  8. #8
    Fanatic Enthusiast James's Avatar


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    Re: Short Story of the Week # 1

    Deleted seanie's post, it was just a load of bollocks.
    Anyways, how much longer have we got for this, because I am going to write a story that I want to enter, if it's not too late.
    Also, Xeno, that story was a masterpiece.

    EDIT:

    Here's my entry:

    I couldn't bear the pain that I was in. Shackled up to the wall, hanging by my hands, and begging for mercy, and begging for help. Everyone in my close company had already succumbed to the poor conditions of the prison, and had either died of disease or hunger. I was resilient though, and I felt that the longer I stayed alive, the more chance I had of escape. My ideas of freedom and leaving this hell-hole were soon to be short-lived, however, as a large, heavy-set man unchained me, and tied a thick rope tight around my hands. He pushed me out of the room, and into the walkway outside.

    The tight, coarse rope scraped every layer of skin from my wrists as I was wrenched through a seeming labyrinth of cells, a maze in a horrific death house. A large man with a sullen expression on his face pushed me with no effort at all, through each corridor, past endless, grim-looking walls that echoed the painful purpose that the building served.

    After many minutes of winding through the masses of walkways, we reached a tall, heavy wooden door with an iron handle on it that looked as though it required ten men to pull it open. The guard wrenched it open with force, but yet no hassle, and continued to push me into the room, relieving me of moving under my own power.

    The room was dimly lit and sickeningly unclean, stained with the blood of many criminals. I was shoved onto a makeshift bed, and laid down, trying to empty of my mind of the unimaginable torture I was about to face. This place had a reputation for making even the most hardened man scream in fear and pain, and I couldn't imagine what I would make of it.

    My captor made his way to the corner of the room, and he rummaged around in a large wooden box, pulling out a large wooden thumbscrew. He ordered me over to where he was, and he held my thumb in position. He began winding, and I could already feel it pressing down on my thumb. Moments later, my nail cracked, and blood seeped through. Pain started coarsing through my hand, and up my arm, and I screamed limply, as I had barely any power left. I cried as my thumb broke and cracked, but still he pushed down, causing me more pain than anything had ever done before. He asked me questions in a foreign tongue, and I could not understand a word that he said. I tried to answer him, but I did not know what he wanted, or what he needed to know. He kept on screwing, and, unsatisfied with his result, he pulled out a dagger, and stabbed me in the stomach.

    I collapsed backwards in an awkward tumble, and my clothes quickly became stained with stomach acid and blood, as it seeped out of the gaping wound. The man left the room, and left me to die, and I slowly swung in and out of consciousness, the room spinning around me, the ceiling slowly disappearing from above me, and all my lifetime experiences flashing before my eyes, then the pain in my thumb felt painless, and I was gone.

  9. #9
    Fanatic Enthusiast Xenomorph's Avatar


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    Re: Short Story of the Week # 1

    Quote Originally Posted by seanie502
    What??I wrote a story about inprisonment LOL
    No, you didn't. What you wrote, and continue to write, in fact, was pure spam. It served no purpose, and you know it. Now you're just compounding on the error. As a general rule of thumb, my friend; If you know that something has literally no value to the thread, don't post it. Don't even think about posting it, or you're not going to last long.

    But, back on topic, please. The stories.
    SA$_/AI%20has log[d in.
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    > P_s word?
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    >> A^e_%20_u su!e? (Y/N)
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    >> S##t m_ Rebooting. Hello, Samuel.

  10. #10
    Nev
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    Re: Short Story of the Week # 1

    viewtopic.php?f=56&t=51799&p=813101#p813101

    ^ Voting thread. Feel free to lock this.


 
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