Short story... thing

So… yeah… some random thoughts jumped into my head before I fell asleep. Thought I’d just toss a short story (or whatever) up here and see how well it does. Bear with me, though. I’ll be making it up as I go along, based on the small framework I envisioned in that little lucid dreaming stage before sleep. It might rock, it might suck, so join me, won’t you, as we venture into this little story. (Author’s note: I think it might eventually contain graphic stuff, so beware? I dunno.)

The room is silent except for a few breaths that stoppingly make it past a man’s lips. A man limps towards him, leaning on an alabaster cane for support. The prostrate man tries to stagger to his feet, but collapses in pain, clutching his leg. He looks up to speak, but before he can, the figure speaks, “He’d always said he wanted to be a bit more muscular, a bit more trim and fit. Guess it worked out for him in the end, y’know? Ten fucking years of hard labor at a factory will do that to ya. Wasn’t none of that pussy assembly line bullshit. Day in and day out, lift a crate of some poor dead fucks, throw 'em in the truck. Lift and move, lift and move, sit and eat, lift and move. What a way to get trim and fit, huh?! Yeah! It’s fucking brilliant, right?! It really rends a man, y’know. A goddamned boring life, that. He uses it as an explanation for his awkward pastime, but I’m getting ahead of myself. You look confused, like you don’t know why your sorry ass his here…” he trails off and stands up to walk away.
The man gulps air and yells, “Who the hell are you?! What the hell’s going on?! Why the f-”
“It all started about a hundred years ago,” he chuckles at this jest. Then, waving his hands in dismissal, says, “or some shit, it’s not important. I could have swore I told you this before,” he shrugs, “‘Auld lang syne, my dear.’ I won’t give you much detail, don’t want to present pearls before swine. Ah, dammit, I’m forgetting myself. Now, where was I,” he queries, mopping his beetled brow with a handkerchief he fished from the pocket of his oversized windbreaker.
The young man gasps, looking up at the man and coughing up a little blood, “You were going to tell me why the fuck I’m here, then you were going to let me go you piece of shi-” the man stops short, gasping for air. He yells out in pain, clenching his teeth and nursing his leg again.
The man turns, and his expression lightens to that of joy.
“You know, Thomas Edison once said, ‘Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration,’” he limps towards the man once again, his expression becoming more and more overjoyed. He stops a foot or so from the man, grinning madly, “Now I know many people have taken me for a genius, so if I were to take this saying and, maybe, apply it to myself, there’s a whole lot of sweating that could go into mutilating you worse than you are now. Don’t you ever fucking interrupt me again, you sniveling bastard. I try to be nice, and you keep going on and on about how I killed your goddamned wife,” the man begins to yell, “Do you think that fucking bitch didn’t deserve everything that she got? Of course she did. I’m a goddamn righteous man. I have good reasons for killing people. I don’t need to explain myself to a man who’s ugly as a bulldog choking on a goddamn cat,” he stops short, coughs shaking his body. He slowly hobbles to a chair and sits, coughing and waiting for his body to catch up with him. As the coughing stops, he looks over at the man and smiles.
“You’re good. You almost got me,” he stands and shambles over to the young, battered man. Looking down at the thing pitifully, he commands it to look at him.
The man looks up, his mouth open and dripping blood. He is dismayed to be greeted with a cane tip being jabbed into his teeth. A loud crack can be heard as the calcite-cane meets the enameled armor. The man pulls the cane back before it goes too far, and backs away slightly. The young man pushes himself backward, his back meeting a wall only a foot or so behind him. He yelps and covers his mouth, screaming through his makeshift, fleshy bandage. The weak man smiles, then laughs.
“It was a rhetorical question.”
He returns to his saunter around the dimly lit room.
“Now. If I do recall correctly, I was getting to finally explain this whole experience you’re going through. I don’t know why, but call it my egocentricity if you must, I really love hearing my voice talk about everything that’s wrong with you.”

I’m out of ideas tonight. I’ll pick this up later. thank you in advance for any critique you have :slight_smile:

Aeris dies :open_mouth:

“And then the… RUST MONSTER ATTACKS!”, is what I’d like to say, but they’d totally ruin the whole semi-horror feel you had going there. In any case, it’s good enough to make people want to read further. Good hook.

I actually enjoyed it, kind of suspenseful… so I read through it all :open_mouth:

(quick update, just to keep the thread alive. I might have more later today)
Edit: I’d like a bit of critique on this, please. Or at least be told if anyone’s actually reading it.

The limp figure on the floor springs to life once again, bandaged and clean. A splint reflects light from the fireplace nearby, and a beautiful, ornate wooden table that’s complete with a dinner set can be seen on the other side of the room. A man is hunched over the table, and there’s blood pooled around him, dripping to the floor. The young man attempts to stand, but pain shoots from his knee up the rest of his body, causing him to cry out and fall back onto the wall. His staggered breaths can be heard over the crackle of the fire as he slowly tries to stand again. A droplet of blood spatters onto the floor next to the the presumably dead man. He sidles his way over to a chair and sits down, shaking from exhaustion, pain, and a cocktail of many other problems.
A loud crash can be heard from somewhere outside the room, muffled but audible. His head jerks up at the noise, and he instinctively begins yelling for help. Another loud crash, and a softball sized chunk of wall shoots outward, straight to the opposite side of the room. It crashes to the floor, and the room goes completely silent, save for the crackle of the fire. He breathes in and out slowly, anxious for anything else that might come. The pain in his knee begins to slowly dull, and his eyelids grow heavy. The room changes a bit, and the hole widens immensely
Just then, through the hole, pops a small rabbit. It hops across the floor and begins sniffing at something. He leans around the table to get a better view, and sees a peculiar carrot lying on the ground. The rabbit begins gnawing on it, and the pain in his knee begins to grow again. The room darkens, even though the sound of the fire can still be heard. The rabbit begins changing shape, and it glares at him menacingly. He can’t move for fear that the rabbit might turn on him. The lights dim so that he can hardly see, but it seems to take the shape of a man. The face smiles at him, and stares. He feels light hands moving over his body, but he sees no one. His clothes quickly disappear from his body, and time seems to be going in overdrive. All the while, that damn familiar face continues looking at him. Boring its way through his face, into his mind.
The pain in his knee begins to filter its way back into his mind. For some reason his knee is bent instead of straight, and his jaw begins to pain him as well. The hands stop touching him, and the figure before him suddenly seems older. It’s hunched over, and is now holding a cane. He’s no longer in a chair, he’s on the ground, against the wall, and he can taste blood in his mouth. Come to think of it, there’s no chair or fireplace in the room now. The figure before him looks like it’s attempting to communicate with him, but he can’t understand it. The words are garbled and backwards. The figure stops talking for a moment, and turns around.
Time begins returning to normal, and the figure spins on his heels and crushes the cane into the man’s knee. The man’s bandages have disappeared, and the pain comes full force. His face explodes into a collage of pain and confusion. The old man seems surprised, and backs away from him very quickly. Before the old man makes it away from him, the young man takes his feet out from under him with his good leg. He grabs the cane, and swings hard into the man’s crotch. The old man throws up almost immediately from the pain, and passes out. The young man stands up, holding the bludgeon in his hands, he swings it downward, crushing the man’s skull. He wipes the bloody cane onto the man, and begins limping off.
“I didn’t give a damn about your story anyway old man.”

I liked it. I couldn’t stop reading it :open_mouth:

Alrighty… I’m still working on it, people, I’ve just been really distracted lately…
smacks FF7, 8, and 9

It’s pretty good, but I do have a word of advice for you: avoid adverbs. Try to show what is happening rather than tell. This could develop into something that’s very interesting.

I’ve finally got around to posting in here… but you already know what I think.