Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion

Weekly Short Story Contests > Week 110- (Jan 28th-Feb. 4th) Stories--- Topic: Morning DONE!

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message 1: by Saira (new)

Saira (Herumouni) | 667 comments Nothing's coming this time. Guess I'll take a week off. One week was good, but two was pretty awesome for me. XD I'ma go work on those for a bit. :D

message 2: by M (new)

M | 10127 comments I can’t crank out a story a week, either, Saira--or even one a month. It’s not that a week isn’t long enough. I usually write a story in an afternoon or two. It’s as though my muse puts her hands on her hips and says, “Look! I coughed up a story for you last week.” I may see if I can write another Orchard Bay installment or two.

message 3: by Hanzleberry (new)

Hanzleberry (Doughboyissweet) | 1065 comments It's great so far! ;D

message 4: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments ... Preston?

Anyway, thumbs up from me. I like how Preston told Kirte that Eris was dead. I took a moment to consider that sentence, since it seemed rather insistant, like he needed Kirte to believe it up front - in other words, it was a natural hint of a lie, without certainty.

message 5: by Saira (new)

Saira (Herumouni) | 667 comments Sorry, Al, but I seem to have exhausted my creativity at the moment.

message 6: by Saira (new)

Saira (Herumouni) | 667 comments Good story. :)

message 7: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments I just finished reading One Door Away from Heaven hours ago. The antagonist in that was named Preston.

message 8: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments Of course, "morning" would prompt pleanty of mentions of coffee.

message 9: by Hanzleberry (new)

Hanzleberry (Doughboyissweet) | 1065 comments I didn't pick the name Preston. :/ I picked Marcos.

message 10: by Saira (new)

Saira (Herumouni) | 667 comments Do you have more to that story? I'm intrigued as to why Eris would kill her husband. Even though I barely know the characters.

I could try some funny conversation about Deniol hating mornings...Ooh, I think I got something, but I gotta finish my Russian first! Yes, I've taken this long to actually get to it...>.<

message 11: by M (last edited Jan 30, 2012 05:57AM) (new)

M | 10127 comments Definitely a shocker! This makes everything in the seduction thread look tame. In the initial scene, I couldn’t tell who was who at first, and thought there were two women and a man. The ending took me completely by surprise, but where does the blood on the knife come from? And why would Preston have killed him out in the open, where it could be witnessed, when he could just as easily have killed him in the house?

message 12: by M (new)

M | 10127 comments It really builds the tension! You’re very good at this.

message 13: by Saira (new)

Saira (Herumouni) | 667 comments I wasn't confused...yeah, I was too tired to mention most of what M did. XD But I really liked it. Still tired and have the long bus ride to Russian today...XP

message 14: by Saira (new)

Saira (Herumouni) | 667 comments That sucks. I'd probably enjoy it, though. I always leave thing for the last minute. Why is that last word not looking right to me?! DX

message 15: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments I shall write today ... probably in English class; if there is anything I actually need to take notes on I'll write 'em in the margins.

I shall also begin with coffee.

message 16: by M (new)

M | 10127 comments I almost always begin with coffee. I say “almost” because I got up one morning about a year ago, only to discover that I had forgotten to buy more and was out. I drove to the store at five o’clock in the morning.

message 17: by Edward (last edited Jan 30, 2012 08:03AM) (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments Then you found out that they don't open until eight and start banging on the front door, screaming, "Let me in, let me in! I need my morning fix!" The police were shortly thereafter brought in, during which they searched you for cocaine and methephetamines.

... or not.

message 18: by M (new)

M | 10127 comments Actually, I found the police and said, “I’m out of cocaine and methamphetamines!” After searching a couple of suspicious-looking characters who happened to be lurking, they came back to me and said, “Will this do?”

message 19: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments Well ... was it enough?

message 20: by Caitlan, lioness rampant (new)

Caitlan (psych-enthusiast) | 2863 comments Mod
Nice job, Al. I don't think I'll participate in the story part, but I have a poem :D

message 21: by Caitlan, lioness rampant (new)

Caitlan (psych-enthusiast) | 2863 comments Mod
I think my creative juices have been used up XD

message 22: by M (new)

M | 10127 comments I’m on my third cup. Life’s just fine.

message 23: by Caitlan, lioness rampant (new)

Caitlan (psych-enthusiast) | 2863 comments Mod

message 24: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments I know what the Kama Sutra is. Haven't read it yet and probably won't for years.

Alex rants are welcome here.

message 25: by Hanzleberry (new)

Hanzleberry (Doughboyissweet) | 1065 comments Gross. Alex, you need some sister time to rant and talk strange. ;)

message 26: by Saira (new)

Saira (Herumouni) | 667 comments Yay, more. ^_^

I'm taking a friend to a cafe after our French test tomorrow. Sorry, all the coffee talk reminded me and I really can't wait! XD

No idea what the Kama Sutra is...

I'll try something if no one else posts, but it won't be much and Al would still win anyway...

.....I lost my train of thought. Tired from PT. Going to take a shower, eat dinner and go to bed. Actually, I need to see if I have any Spanish homework...

message 27: by Hanzleberry (new)

Hanzleberry (Doughboyissweet) | 1065 comments LOL! Dance your little heart out, man! :D Lovelovelovelove

message 28: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments You would not want to hear my rant today. My English professor said some things about the military that he thought was sympathy, but was really arrogant pity.

Oh, yes, I must write now. Make myself feel better.

message 29: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments Already did to a few people. Mostly he assumes that our troops are brainwashed idiots being used by the government as pawns and that they need to use their outrage to force the government to do more to protect their psychological state.

This in spite of the facts that military suicides are lower than that of the general population (even during wartime spikes), government psychologists are as good as their job as DMV employees, and that troops understand that they're being used as pawns; that's part of the sacrifice. They aren't idiots (genreally ...) and any brainwashing is the same as going to school - you learn what you need, then commit it to memory. The "commit to memory" is just much more aggressive than what's appropiate for school.

message 30: by M (new)

M | 10127 comments Goodnight, pirates! I’m off to my bunk. Tell the lookout not to spot any Spanish galleons to plunder until tomorrow morning after I’ve had a cup of coffee.

message 31: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments I don't get angry easily. At first I was confused, then I became annoyed, then I determinedly stopped listening. I don't think the girl next to me liked it very much either.

Ho, ho, ho to the bottle I go
To heal my heart and drown my woe
Rain may fall and wind may blow
And many miles be still to go
But under a tall tree I will lie
And let the clouds go sailing by.

message 32: by Saira (new)

Saira (Herumouni) | 667 comments I would have raised my hand and then politely told him to go say that straight to the faces of a bunch of Marines. I'd LOVE to see that. XD

message 33: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments I would've gotten angry if I continued to listen, probably. I was on the verge of saying something, but decided against it. Maybe I should've spoken up ... not sure.

message 34: by Saira (last edited Jan 30, 2012 06:45PM) (new)

Saira (Herumouni) | 667 comments Yes. Next time, tell him he's insulting Papa. Plus a little more, but that should be enough for him to realise he needs to shut up.

message 35: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments I finally started writing for this week. It's very ... Well, it's bigger on the description than I usually indulge in.

message 36: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments I have five or six hundred words left, but I'm about to head to a birthday party. Ah, all that time I wasted on studying when I should've been writing. Or maybe the comedy article readings were the wasted time, I'm not sure.

message 37: by Cheyenne (new)

Cheyenne | 815 comments Wow, I missed you guys! This semester is craaaazyy for me, hours and hours of homework. How is everyone?? Hopefully I'll think up a story tonight or tomorrow. If not I'll try a poem for next week :p

message 38: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments Okay, I just now got back. (Yes, that kind of party ... or, rather, that kind of partier.) I'll work on finishing my story now. Then my (poor advised) homework.

message 39: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments The Coincidence of the Bus
by Edward Th'ere`se Jr.
Word Count: 2,996

Aidan Hunt took a gulp of bitter brew as he waited for the two inevitabilities of every morning: The rising sun and the trundling bus. The paper cup in his right hand held a dark liquid, pure, without any sort of adornment, intended to wake him and keep him alert. He couldn’t say one way or the other if the caffeine kept its promises; nerves had kept him keyed up since midnight.

Even as dawn approached, the night was blacker than the superfluous coffee he continued to force down his uncooperative throat. Blinded thus, Aidan wasn’t surprised when he heard her before he saw her, though he mistrusted both senses initially. The nearest neighborhood built up a half mile away with its back turned to the lonely bus stop. The first bus wouldn’t arrive for another fifteen minutes. Who would reasonably wait at this stop now?

Of course, Aidan was waiting there in the chill darkness, sipping disgusting coffee, but he didn’t do so out of reason.

The woman was probably in her forties with dark skin wind-burned from decades of waiting on the unhurried bus. Her cheeks had firmed into a perpetual smile which Aidan regarded more as a grimace. She clutched a big carpet bag to the front of her third layer of coats and studied him with eyes wide in the middle and sharp towards the edges, like some demented eagle facing a threat beyond her comprehension. Aidan let her size him up without comment. After a silent moment she sat down on the bench that Aidan ignored earlier, looking either like a person in a bear suit or simply a bear trying to follow the suit of people.

With nerves that had nothing to do with the arrival of the woman, Aidan took a long drought of coffee, which scalded his throat not from heat but from acid undiluted by either cream or sugar. He swallowed without hesitation, paused for less than two seconds, and then took another long draught. Twenty-four ounces scurried from the cup, the last drop draining past the plastic lid when the bus still had ten minutes to make its deadline. Aidan grimaced soundlessly as he felt the coffee rush through his system, burning everything in its wake. He released a quiet sigh and passed the bear-like woman to discard the empty container properly.

The long wait was a bow playing across the taut strings of his nerves. What it played, Aidan couldn’t adequately describe. It wasn’t some soothing instrumental imitation of pouring rain nor the aggressive screeching of the bars in Hitchcock’s Psycho, yet the tune now reverberating throughout his emotions had all the quiet drama of the former and all the acute despair of the latter.

Perhaps he could find a simpler way. He paused at the trash bin to carefully scan the buildings nearby. They were only visible by pinpricks of lights from half lit interiors, but it didn’t matter. Everything within a mile was some type of store, two-story home, or three-story office building. None would serve him well enough. He could return home, attempt his task there, but he heard such methods were ineffective. Of course, there was always the long walk. He supposed the illusion of movement would make it easier temporarily, but he knew it wouldn’t last forever. The long walk would take longer. Eventually the illusion of progress would fail and he would be off for the effort.

Always worse, it could become.

The bus finally arrived, bringing with it clear direction. Aidan followed the bear-like woman on board. After she swiped her monthly pass through the machine, Aidan fished out the only things he put in his pocket for this trip: Fourteen quarters. He deposited half of them in the machine, returned the other half to his otherwise empty pocket, and shuffled towards a random seat without glancing at the faceless driver.

In addition to Aidan and the bear-like woman, four other people filled the bus; four more than Aidan ever imagined would take the bus at this time. The bus rolled away from the stop noisily. After the bus paused at the first red light, a dead electronic voice, poorly mimicking a human female, redundantly informed them to have their exact fare ready before boarding. Aidan rested the back of his head against the unnecessarily tinted window. He rolled his skull along the plastic-glass composite to turn his stare toward the intersection, where their progress was blocked by the eight inch glow of the traffic light. No cars crossed the perpendicular street. Aidan bit the inside of his cheek. His left leg started shaking.

He jerked his head away from the window and started glancing around for something to occupy his time. The only thing he found, the only thing that existed in the eight-by-forty foot world he trapped himself in, was his company; the other passengers.

First, he noticed a tall man in a corner seat on the platform raised above the bus’s back tires. He wore dark jeans, black sneakers, and a grey hooded sweatshirt. His face was turned to the wall and his hands were looped through the shirt pocket, so Aidan couldn’t guess so much as his complexion, but he could guess his state-of-mind. The hooded man may have seemed asleep to the casual observer, and indeed Aidan had mistaken him so upon first glance, but now that he scrutinized the vaguely human shape, an effort he found distracted him impressively from his grim task, Aidan realized that the man was very much awake and very tense. He breathed far too shallowly for a dreamer and fiddled with something unseen in his sweatshirt pocket. Aidan stared long at this ominous agitation, but learned nothing more.

The bus finally roared, signaling renewed movement.

Another passenger had her nose stuck in a fiction book. The book was one of the fashionable young adult novels of unusually thick content and unusually thin meaning. She was thin herself in both body and experience, with blonde hair and skin to match, the hair held back by a clip of the same light blue as the glasses that rested between her narrow eyes and the page before her. A purple book bag waited on the seat beside her. At a school or in a neighborhood park this image might be uplifting, a reminder of proper upbringing, higher education, and many good things in life. Ripped from its proper sunny context and dumped in a dark bus coming from a shady part of town, the young girl reading the age-appropriate book with abandon that tricked her into remaining oblivious to everything around her suggested a much darker story awaited her.

She looked up briefly from her undoubtedly thrilling story and gave him an adorable smile before promptly returning to some unknown land.

The last two passengers were a mother and a daughter. The daughter played on a handheld game system. Her mother didn’t take her eyes off her phone. Neither looked at Aidan or at each other.

The man in the corner fidgeted restlessly and started muttering to himself.

Somehow, Aidan mused, this unnerving mumbling man, this sad bear woman, this painfully naïve girl, and these disconnected parent and child made suitable company. Suitable company, that is, for one heading to commit suicide.

The bus driver, whom Aidan still hadn’t glanced at, applied the brakes slowly on a long stretch of road, apparently spotting yet another fare. The ten ton synthetic mammoth pulled to a stop with a screech that, while it lasted for last than half a second, would have drowned out anything short of a gunshot. Although he hadn’t requested the stop, the grey hooded man abruptly shot to his feet, maintaining his balance in spite of the bus’s slow roll in place, and darted to the front of the bus. The new passenger had started to pull himself up on the hydraulically raised platform, but found his path blocked by an apparently late rabbit. The grey hooded man shoved the new passenger on his way out.

The new comer paused for a moment, looking after the mad hare desperate to find the Queen of Hearts. Aidan couldn’t see his face through the distorted plastic-glass, but he could imagine it.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. This neighborhood can be a little shady.”

Aidan started. It wasn’t the words that caught his attention – they were more or less nonsense in context, as far as he could tell – but the tone. Rather than sounding angry, or indifferent, or exasperated, or any of the other reasonable emotional reaction, this new fare sounded amused. He stepped onto and into the bus, the smirking trace of a laugh still on his face. He was either short or young. His face looked like one that would take a full decade to age a year past sixteen, completely round with wide, bright blue eyes. A mop of blonde hair covered the tops of his ears and much of his eyes. He had to brush the mess off his forehead to properly enter in two dollars, one quarter, four dimes, and two nickels for a day pass, all while apparently close to laughter.

He traded a few words with the driver, referring to him as, “Sir Captain.”

He took his pass and took his seat opposite of Aidan. He grinned widely and unnecessarily. Aidan looked away. This blonde haired boy would not be helpful company to the River Styx.

Aidan’s self-induced trip to that afterlife channel involved a mirror channel in this world. Another bus route, which shared a couple of stops with this one, would carry him to the start of the Benjamin Franklin Bridge. Twenty or thirty minutes of walking would bring him halfway across and a hundred thirty-five feet above the water.

His plan was solid. He knew it took a skilled athlete to survive a drop from that height. If he kept his feet pointed down … if he avoided any kind of graceful dive …

He leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. He had to do this. It was the only way to stop the downward spiral. He thought he could make it better at some point, thought he could turn it all around. Thought it couldn’t get worse.

Always worse, it could become.

The blonde haired boy started whistling Duel of Fates. Aidan lifted his head up to glare at the irrepressible spirit of joy, the taunting lie. The mere idea that someone could pretend to be this happy in this world of despair stirred a beast Aidan didn’t know live in his heart. Who was this guy, to sit there utterly content with a world east of Eden? Who was he to suggest that anything in this land was worth staying around for?

He was being irrational, he knew, but the hateful thoughts poisoned his already sickly mind nonetheless. Perhaps, he thought, the Grim Reaper could ferry two that dawn.

Abruptly, the bus pulled to a stop at the transfer station. Aidan and the blonde kid stood up in the same moment. The blonde kid smirked and nodded for Aidan to move ahead of him. Less than appeased, Aidan yet accepted the offer. He stepped off the bus, once again passing the driver without really looking at him.

message 40: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments The twilight of dawn came as a surprise. Even through the tinted windows, he should’ve seen the lightening of the sky gradually dispel the stars, yet now the sky mimicked the blue of midday without the harsh glare of the sun. He slowly stumbled away, moving from one bus stop to another fifty feet away. Much to his apprehension, another person already sat in this shelter, slightly curled, biting his nails, and quite possibly muttering to himself. Much to his annoyance, the blonde kid followed him and even walked beside him, matching him step for step.

Aidan gave the boy his fiercest glare. “Is there something you want from me?”

“Yessir,” the boy replied in a thick Southern accent. “Mostly I want you to pretend like you know me, so that the man on the bench doesn’t recognize me when I come up. How’re you, Mr. Lynch?”

The Southern boy directed the question at the pathetic man on the bench. Baffled, Aidan looked at the man who was surprisingly good looking. He was tall, though currently half way to the fetal position, dark, though at the time too dark under the eyes, and handsome, though in that moment he had a heartbreaking expression of anguish – an expression that mirrored Aidan’s own mind. The man started when he heard his name, Lynch, and looked at the Southern boy with no small amount of shock.

“Y-you,” he stuttered. “You w-were at the parking garage. With her … and the scary man.”

The man named Lynch was babbling, but the Southerner apparently understood. “That scary man is my partner. Lord bless him, he sometimes has a strange manner of doin’ things and don’t always understand how to deal with people, but he has a good heart and a good mind. I’m here on his behalf.”

Aidan stood awkwardly to the side of the scene. He didn’t want to witness their private business, but they conducted it at his waiting post. He looked away, observing the overwrought station with no less than four bus shelters, spread around a courtyard like circle of asphalt where the buses turn about. The side they waited on was at the base of a hill which had a long staircase marching up it, leading to some middle class neighborhood. Nothing was sufficiently interesting enough to distract him from their drama.

“Go away,” Lynch moaned. “You don’t want to me near me. I’m a monster.”

The Southerner, incongruently, seemed amused. “A monster, eh? Odd, that a monster’d take the route 24 bus. Got some business to take care off around the Franklin Bridge?”

The look on Lynch’s face told Aidan that he and the poor man had the same business waiting for the bus.

“I have to. I have to. I have to. If I don’t … if I don’t …”

“Are you goin’ to repeat that too?” the Southerner asked rather belligerently. “You don’t have to do this at all. You’ve always done what you’ve had to – this ain’t it.”

Lynch’s anguish shattered Aidan’s defenses; the blow came from nowhere and knocked his anger out cold. Every concern he had against the Southerner shifted to concern for this Lynch. He didn’t know what the man’s problems were, but he immediately sympathized with him.

Yet, in a world as corrupted as this, does sympathy really mean anything?

“There was a girl last night,” Lynch muttered so quietly that Aidan caught himself straining to hear. “I thought she wanted it. She acted like she did. But after … she couldn’t look at me. She broke a mirror so she wouldn’t have to look at herself. We were both dirty. We both …”

Although he could make neither heads nor tails of his statement, Aidan found his attention riveted in spite of himself. The Southerner’s voice softened.

“We can help you.”

The simple statement smote Aidan’s heart like that white star did Samwise’s on the slopes of the dreaded mountain. A strange beauty provided foundation for the blonde kid’s ridiculous voice when he spoke a simple offer, a helping hand.

Lynch looked more cautious. “You help me. Right, just after I help you. That’s why your partner when through all that effort last time, just to let me go.”

Smoke of Mordor covered the star, taking it from Aidan’s sight as quickly as it arrived. Of course, this wasn’t some charitable act on the Southerner’s part. It was what Aidan took it for from the start: business. The blonde kid was working some angle.

The Southerner smiled ironically. “Yes, we help you if you help us help others.”

Aidan blinked.

“We want your assistance in somethin’ that could save dozens of lives.” The blonde kid paused, clearly thinking. “You may think of it as redemption. And we can help you. You do want help, right?”

Tears began to fill the grown man’s eyes. Lynch didn’t wipe them away, but nodded silently. The Southerner smile the goofiest smile Aidan ever laid eyes on and helped Lynch to his feet. Without another word, without a second glance at Aidan, they shuffled away together.

Aidan opened his mouth to asked the Southerner his name, but at that moment the 24 bus pulled up with a mighty screech, pulling him back to the reality of the choice he made less than four hours ago. He stood there, gaping for a few seconds at the horror, seeing less of the bus and more of himself. Then the bus doors opened and a woman stumbled out, crying.

Perhaps it was the emotional high. Perhaps the impossible scene that played out before him molded his thoughts in that direction. Dopamine flared through his brain, attaching the highest preference to the first thing he saw.

Whatever the reason, Aidan instantly fell in love with the soul contained within that broad shouldered body, capped with a mane of bushy brown hair and adorned with puffy blue eyes.

She pushed unseeingly past him and jogged up the long staircase behind the bus shelter. He watched her go, admiring her every move and aching as if he felt her unknown pain. The bus driver demanded to know if he’d get on. Aidan looked hazily at the driver, taking in his impressively thick and white eyebrows and prominent chin. The pain that brought him there, though diluted by the impossible high of inexplicable joy, still froze the core of his heart and made his decision just as absurd.

As the sun began to dominate the sky, Aidan turned away from the bus that would take him down the highway to Hell and started up what he hoped was the staircase to Heaven.

message 41: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments There are only two stories this week?

Al, I think your story was better before that additional paragraph at the end.

message 42: by Saira (new)

Saira (Herumouni) | 667 comments Yeah, it was...It's so hard to choose.

message 43: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments Should I post the polls or wait for Cheyenne?

message 44: by M (new)

M | 10127 comments Edward, on a first reading, though I think I more or less follow the plot of “The Coincidence of the Bus,” I can’t make much sense of it. Is it a bus for people who have knowingly or unknowingly decided to kill themselves, or who are simply destined to meet death? That the blond kid is the one who knows the bus driver should tell me something, but I can’t put it together from other things in the story. I wonder if the blond kid’s partner, “the scary man,” is the Grim Reaper, but Lynch doesn’t appear to have killed the girl who broke the mirror, and the girl he was with in the parking garage isn’t explained. To me, the story’s shortcomings are that it leaves me wondering about small things the plot should explain; but the story also leaves me wondering about bigger, philosophical issues--in this case that have to do with death and choices one makes. That gives it substance and potential. In many ways, this is my kind of story.

Here are some of my favorite passages:

“The long wait was a bow playing across the taut strings of his nerves. What it played, Aidan couldn’t adequately describe.”

“Another passenger had her nose stuck in a fiction book. The book was one of the fashionable young adult novels of unusually thick content and unusually thin meaning.”

message 45: by M (last edited Feb 06, 2012 01:50PM) (new)

M | 10127 comments I did! Thanks, Alex. I finally got around to watching the last, and worst, of the Harry Potter movies. All I can say for it is that it has the most lavish elevator music I’ve ever heard. The same night, by coincidence, I watched another movie that has Ralph Fiennes in it, The Reader, and it was excellent.

message 46: by Edward (new)

Edward (EdwardThereseJr) | 2434 comments It was an ordinary bus. Aidan was taking it to find a good place to kill himself. Everyone else was there for a different reason, though what Aidan couldn't really know. The coincidence comes from someone who has despaired of this world and the people who live in it catchs a glimpse of someone else's life, a life of pure charity and apparant joy.

It was inspired by taking the bus every other day to school. Some of those people look depressed enough to commit suicide. They stare off for the sometimes hour long ride with a blank look on their face. Some of them are quite clearly listening to music without enjoyment, which is a concept I can't really understand. And there's usually that creepy guy in the hoodie. At least once I've seen someone trying to hide a gun.

My character equalivilant in this story is the naive girl reading the book, although I prefer Koontz over what The Lightning Thief.

Also, the blonde haired kid and Lynch are the same characters from my last story. The kid's partner is Septimus. Hence, further coincidence from the last story unwittingly provide climax for this story.

Hm ... I still need to finish that story.

I'm glad y'all enjoyed it.

message 47: by Saira (new)

Saira (Herumouni) | 667 comments I had no trouble determining all that, but that's probably because I know your characters better...

message 48: by Saira (new)

Saira (Herumouni) | 667 comments I know the feeling. We've been awake to the point where everything is funny before. XD

message 49: by Caitlan, lioness rampant (new)

Caitlan (psych-enthusiast) | 2863 comments Mod
XD My sister and I have done that many times before XD

message 50: by M (new)

M | 10127 comments If it’s necessary to know anything from another story to make sense of the story that’s been posted, that fails it as a short story for me. In a weekly contest, if none of the entries are short stories, I’ll judge them equally on writing, description, character delineation, pacing, etc., but I’ll pick the worst-written short story any week over a story that isn’t complete in itself, no matter how well it’s written.

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Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company!

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Books mentioned in this topic

Psychological Types (other topics)
C.G. Jung: His Myth in Our Time (other topics)
Modern Man in Search of a Soul (other topics)
Analytical Psychology, Its Theory and Practice (other topics)
The Great Mother: An Analysis of the Archetype (other topics)

Authors mentioned in this topic

Von Franz Marie Louise (other topics)
Erich Neumann (other topics)