Kirbyyirby
Lord of Altera
Read Chekhov. He's probably one of the best short story writers ever.
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Short Stories Thread
- Thread starter The Living Ghost
- Start date
... That isn't what this thread is for, you post a short story, not advertise othersKirbyyirby said:
Trouble Kelp
Loyal Servant of Altera
Write a short story about a man during a war searching for his lost son.
MRPolo13
The Arbiter of the Gods
Swamp Man
Edith jumped once again, nearly slipping on the rock that he tried to land on. Vicious toads looked over him, as he took another jump, clearly hungry for something more than just dragonflies and wasps. He's one of the King's highest servants, he thought to himself, why by Nether did he have to go to some swamps to find an old, crazed fool.
He managed to jump over the large, greenish river and sighed with relief. Edith looked back at his servants; a Dwarf and 2 Humans. They struggled even more than he did. Their shoes were worse... shoes are the most important.
After they eventually made it across, the Royal servant and his men made their way further into the dark swamps. The wildcats watched from bushes, invisible themselves.
Suddenly, a creeper jumped out and charged towards the 4 men, but before it could do anything, an arrow whizzed through the leaves of a nearby tree and literally exploded inside creeper's head, leaving a mush of green goo. The 4 servants looked up at the tree, but saw nothing and heard nothing...
It took them another 3 hours to find the small hut, in middle of Korigon knows where. The hut was kept to an acceptable standard, with clay covering up small holes in the ancient thatched roof. Edith sighed. He was still quite young, hardly in his 20s, and had to face an old man, but there were legends going around of his strength...
He walked over to the door, his hand on his sword, and knocked on the door. A loud crack of presumably wood, or maybe old bones, could be heard. The 3 servants took a step closer, they were too foolish to know who they were about to meet.
Edith was sitting by a table, facing the old man. Though his hair was still light brown, streaks of white could have been seen making their way to the light, as if thinking it could restore their colour.
"So, what's that ye may need, strange fella?" asked the old man. He was at least 59, if not more. Though it may not have been a big age in Altera, Edith knew the man never wanted the Sisterhood to keep his vital powers. "Ain' much ye can see 'round these parts eh?"
"Nothing, good man. My wife is deadly sick of the tear of corruption, and I need a cure. I have heard you are famous for your potions and artefacts that could heal such," Edith answered. "I am ready to pay any price".
"Well," the man dragged that word, "I may have me a cure for that. However weird 'at may sound though, I want 5000 Radiants, in cash because I never find meself time to visit 'em banks".
"As I have said, money is not a problem. I am willing to pay 5000".
The man smiled and went over to the cupboard. He took out some ingredients and mashed them together.
" 'ere ye 'ave it," the man said and coughed quietly. "put it on 'er twice a day, an' she'll be just fine after a week. Now, what did you really come 'ere for?" the man's tone suddenly changed to quite hostile. Edith shivered. His men were outside, by the small fire. Now or never, he thought to himself.
"Lord Polo, you are hereby arrested for going against the King and the Royal Family. You shall meet your friends' faith, you filth"!
The man smiled and took his staff, that clunked quietly whenever it touched the ground.
"Well... 'at's interestin' to see eh? A simple swampman, turnin' to a Lord? The way this is goin' ye may already give me ye crown!"
"We know it is you. Your friends have revealed everything during the tortures. Boys!" The 3 servants ran inside, the Dwarf with a hatched, one Human with a club and the other one with a long dagger. Edith himself took out his fencing sword.
What happened next was like a lightning. Swamper twisted the top of his club to reveal a spear, that he stabbed the Dwarf with, right in the heart. He twisted, to reveal yet another weapon coming out of what used to be a staff, this time a flail. He whacked the one with the dagger in the head. He spun around the other way, and already had a sword. Edith couldn't believe it, as he saw the club fall to the ground, accompanied by the sound of a man drowning on his own blood.
"Ahem... Well it is always good to move your bones around, would you not agree, Duke Edith?" his accent was even better than Edith's. Edith, in sheer terror, dropped his sword that seemed like a toy in front of the old man, that now looked like a giant. "So, what was that you were trying to say about arresting?" Edith didn't respond..
"I shall spare your life. I am not as much of a "filth" as you described me as. However, there is always that... Price of a mile," he smiled evilly.
Edith returned home, with his middle and index fingers missing from his left hand. 'Next time, it'll be the right hand' Swamp man said. Edith also returned for cream that would save his wife's life. The irony. A man that kills so easily, but loves helping so much... Crazy times bring around crazy people.
I write about the future of Altera however I portrait it, usually during or after the Games of Crown. I also write two interpretations, if the two major contestants win, so don't worry about it xD
Edith jumped once again, nearly slipping on the rock that he tried to land on. Vicious toads looked over him, as he took another jump, clearly hungry for something more than just dragonflies and wasps. He's one of the King's highest servants, he thought to himself, why by Nether did he have to go to some swamps to find an old, crazed fool.
He managed to jump over the large, greenish river and sighed with relief. Edith looked back at his servants; a Dwarf and 2 Humans. They struggled even more than he did. Their shoes were worse... shoes are the most important.
After they eventually made it across, the Royal servant and his men made their way further into the dark swamps. The wildcats watched from bushes, invisible themselves.
Suddenly, a creeper jumped out and charged towards the 4 men, but before it could do anything, an arrow whizzed through the leaves of a nearby tree and literally exploded inside creeper's head, leaving a mush of green goo. The 4 servants looked up at the tree, but saw nothing and heard nothing...
It took them another 3 hours to find the small hut, in middle of Korigon knows where. The hut was kept to an acceptable standard, with clay covering up small holes in the ancient thatched roof. Edith sighed. He was still quite young, hardly in his 20s, and had to face an old man, but there were legends going around of his strength...
He walked over to the door, his hand on his sword, and knocked on the door. A loud crack of presumably wood, or maybe old bones, could be heard. The 3 servants took a step closer, they were too foolish to know who they were about to meet.
Edith was sitting by a table, facing the old man. Though his hair was still light brown, streaks of white could have been seen making their way to the light, as if thinking it could restore their colour.
"So, what's that ye may need, strange fella?" asked the old man. He was at least 59, if not more. Though it may not have been a big age in Altera, Edith knew the man never wanted the Sisterhood to keep his vital powers. "Ain' much ye can see 'round these parts eh?"
"Nothing, good man. My wife is deadly sick of the tear of corruption, and I need a cure. I have heard you are famous for your potions and artefacts that could heal such," Edith answered. "I am ready to pay any price".
"Well," the man dragged that word, "I may have me a cure for that. However weird 'at may sound though, I want 5000 Radiants, in cash because I never find meself time to visit 'em banks".
"As I have said, money is not a problem. I am willing to pay 5000".
The man smiled and went over to the cupboard. He took out some ingredients and mashed them together.
" 'ere ye 'ave it," the man said and coughed quietly. "put it on 'er twice a day, an' she'll be just fine after a week. Now, what did you really come 'ere for?" the man's tone suddenly changed to quite hostile. Edith shivered. His men were outside, by the small fire. Now or never, he thought to himself.
"Lord Polo, you are hereby arrested for going against the King and the Royal Family. You shall meet your friends' faith, you filth"!
The man smiled and took his staff, that clunked quietly whenever it touched the ground.
"Well... 'at's interestin' to see eh? A simple swampman, turnin' to a Lord? The way this is goin' ye may already give me ye crown!"
"We know it is you. Your friends have revealed everything during the tortures. Boys!" The 3 servants ran inside, the Dwarf with a hatched, one Human with a club and the other one with a long dagger. Edith himself took out his fencing sword.
What happened next was like a lightning. Swamper twisted the top of his club to reveal a spear, that he stabbed the Dwarf with, right in the heart. He twisted, to reveal yet another weapon coming out of what used to be a staff, this time a flail. He whacked the one with the dagger in the head. He spun around the other way, and already had a sword. Edith couldn't believe it, as he saw the club fall to the ground, accompanied by the sound of a man drowning on his own blood.
"Ahem... Well it is always good to move your bones around, would you not agree, Duke Edith?" his accent was even better than Edith's. Edith, in sheer terror, dropped his sword that seemed like a toy in front of the old man, that now looked like a giant. "So, what was that you were trying to say about arresting?" Edith didn't respond..
"I shall spare your life. I am not as much of a "filth" as you described me as. However, there is always that... Price of a mile," he smiled evilly.
Edith returned home, with his middle and index fingers missing from his left hand. 'Next time, it'll be the right hand' Swamp man said. Edith also returned for cream that would save his wife's life. The irony. A man that kills so easily, but loves helping so much... Crazy times bring around crazy people.
I write about the future of Altera however I portrait it, usually during or after the Games of Crown. I also write two interpretations, if the two major contestants win, so don't worry about it xD
The man is in a war looking for his lost son? Alright, I accept the challenge, but does kk?Trouble Kelp said:
Kirbyyirby
Lord of Altera
Honesty is the best policy. This is what I can cook up when I'm not on a sugar rush 
This story was made while I was almost falling asleep, and it may be terrible. :/ I guess you'll be the judge of that, I have never written a short story like this before.
He closed his eyes and listened. Hearing the deceased's final words marked the beginning of his investigations, and he felt more than obliged as to find out the cause of the living's demise. His relaxed and steady take on his profession baffled many, giving him the alias "Corpse Whisperer".
Upon opening his eyes, he sighed and drew upon himself a sense of awareness. So began his final search for truth.
"I will see the one who shuffled off your mortal coil...the truth will eventually unfold itself..."
"...I will pray for you, my love," he added.
He gave a small sigh, and called upon his assistant. Together, they walked out into the bustling metropolis of glass towers, concrete floors and the busy populace, all of which seemingly greeting their arrival. The detective looked out,taking in the views of the spectacular city. Suddenly seeing the emotionless ghost of his fiancé,he closed his eyes and nodded. They then made their way to the crime scene, his source of sorrow, his home. On the way there, he began to notice the frequent, multiplying visions of the apparition. Little did he know, she was trying to tell him the whole truth, only supported by her dying light.
During his investigation, he kept an emotionless face. The more time he spent doing his job, the more the grief he contains kills him inside. He spent the day thoroughly investigating, gathering even the smallest amount of information; his senses alert and perceptive. He was close to ending this chapter of his life.
Finally, he gathered enough evidence and information to finally come to a conclusion of how this unfortunate life was put to death. He stood above his wife's grave, and pulled out a small, golden recorder. He pressed the button, and took a deep breath.
"The truth must reveal itself. No longer will it be covered by the dense fog we call the unknown. Her legacy shall be known...let us begin.
Thirty days ago, a woman named Serah Reni was killed by a bomb in her own house. The bomb was hidden inside a small box which contained her wedding ring. The ring was purchased from a jewellery store which is located in the centre of the city. However, this ring was placed into a box that contained a small bomb that triggered upon opening. This box shows the fingerprints of someone not on our database, which we are soon to find out. The customer purchased this ring to propose to his beloved fiancé, now deceased. When he proposed, she noticed the explosive danger waiting to strike. Calmly, she took the box and ran off. It then exploded, with the distraught man sitting there, his mind full of confusion and shock. Her final words leave her last message, and prove my conclusion."
He finished the recording, and rubbed his face. He became taciturn and despondent, as he was dissatisfied. His reason for dissatisfaction was unknown to him, but deep inside, he yearned for something else.
His fiancé appeared next to him, smiling warmly at him. They exchanged looks with one another, and for a moment they simply stared at each other. She was departing, and she desired one more thing, her last actions in the world.
They silently embraced each other, and she whispered her last words, the last words she ever spoke before she died.
"Don't cry."
And with it, she vanished into the setting sun.
I guess this is the power I want my character to have. Listen to someone's last words...awesome.
I hope you like
This story was made while I was almost falling asleep, and it may be terrible. :/ I guess you'll be the judge of that, I have never written a short story like this before.
He closed his eyes and listened. Hearing the deceased's final words marked the beginning of his investigations, and he felt more than obliged as to find out the cause of the living's demise. His relaxed and steady take on his profession baffled many, giving him the alias "Corpse Whisperer".
Upon opening his eyes, he sighed and drew upon himself a sense of awareness. So began his final search for truth.
"I will see the one who shuffled off your mortal coil...the truth will eventually unfold itself..."
"...I will pray for you, my love," he added.
He gave a small sigh, and called upon his assistant. Together, they walked out into the bustling metropolis of glass towers, concrete floors and the busy populace, all of which seemingly greeting their arrival. The detective looked out,taking in the views of the spectacular city. Suddenly seeing the emotionless ghost of his fiancé,he closed his eyes and nodded. They then made their way to the crime scene, his source of sorrow, his home. On the way there, he began to notice the frequent, multiplying visions of the apparition. Little did he know, she was trying to tell him the whole truth, only supported by her dying light.
During his investigation, he kept an emotionless face. The more time he spent doing his job, the more the grief he contains kills him inside. He spent the day thoroughly investigating, gathering even the smallest amount of information; his senses alert and perceptive. He was close to ending this chapter of his life.
Finally, he gathered enough evidence and information to finally come to a conclusion of how this unfortunate life was put to death. He stood above his wife's grave, and pulled out a small, golden recorder. He pressed the button, and took a deep breath.
"The truth must reveal itself. No longer will it be covered by the dense fog we call the unknown. Her legacy shall be known...let us begin.
Thirty days ago, a woman named Serah Reni was killed by a bomb in her own house. The bomb was hidden inside a small box which contained her wedding ring. The ring was purchased from a jewellery store which is located in the centre of the city. However, this ring was placed into a box that contained a small bomb that triggered upon opening. This box shows the fingerprints of someone not on our database, which we are soon to find out. The customer purchased this ring to propose to his beloved fiancé, now deceased. When he proposed, she noticed the explosive danger waiting to strike. Calmly, she took the box and ran off. It then exploded, with the distraught man sitting there, his mind full of confusion and shock. Her final words leave her last message, and prove my conclusion."
He finished the recording, and rubbed his face. He became taciturn and despondent, as he was dissatisfied. His reason for dissatisfaction was unknown to him, but deep inside, he yearned for something else.
His fiancé appeared next to him, smiling warmly at him. They exchanged looks with one another, and for a moment they simply stared at each other. She was departing, and she desired one more thing, her last actions in the world.
They silently embraced each other, and she whispered her last words, the last words she ever spoke before she died.
"Don't cry."
And with it, she vanished into the setting sun.
I guess this is the power I want my character to have. Listen to someone's last words...awesome.
I hope you like
TheAllBlackMan
Adorable according to Michcat
Challenge Accepted
Nice one Kirby, I told you you could do it!
Kk, it is so on
Backstay, I laced those cookies with rat poison in the irrational fear that someone else may have eaten them.
I just beat your story in length with one line, put some more effort into it please
Kk, it is so on
Backstay, I laced those cookies with rat poison in the irrational fear that someone else may have eaten them.
I just beat your story in length with one line, put some more effort into it please
TheAllBlackMan
Adorable according to Michcat
Ghost I think to avoid one of us having an advantage we should post our stories about the same time so one won't read the other's and write something specifically to counter it. And we should let the readers decide who the winner is, because that's who we're writing for. Your likes will be your votes for the winner. Most likes wins and I have to ask that each person limit themselves to one vote.
Agreed, when is this magical time where I can punch your face into the next universe with my stor- I mean win of courseTheAllBlackMan said:
Should there be a limit on words?
TheAllBlackMan
Adorable according to Michcat
Yeah... 1,000 words is excessive, so let's put the cap at 850.
I have one written that's currently 577 words and it's not done, so 850 is a good upper limit, the way I see it. It's not a DQ if you go over, just a suggestion to try and stay under. As for the time I say sometime tomorrow we should meet up on TS and post at the same time. Maybe about 3:00 PM GMT.
I have one written that's currently 577 words and it's not done, so 850 is a good upper limit, the way I see it. It's not a DQ if you go over, just a suggestion to try and stay under. As for the time I say sometime tomorrow we should meet up on TS and post at the same time. Maybe about 3:00 PM GMT.
I still need to write mine out, only the story has been planned so far, and il try to get on ts as soon as I can
TheAllBlackMan
Adorable according to Michcat
I couldn’t have been more proud when my son joined the Marines. He was following in my footsteps and I knew in my heart that he would excel. A week later we would both be deployed to Somalia, however we would be with different platoons in bases miles apart. We exchanged letters whenever possible and even fought alongside each other once. We were always trying to outdo each other in every facet of life on base. Who was the better marksman? Who could bench more? Once we even tried to figure out who could peel more potatoes on KP. I’d heard he had a mission and the next day I waited for a letter describing it. It never came. What I got instead was a communique from my commander saying my son had been captured. I immediately requested to be on his rescue taskforce and was allowed on. There were only two places where they sent POW’s and I was sent to the larger of the two, codenamed Camp Dean.
Under the cover of night I rendezvoused with the 416th marines, Echo Company. We all piled into the UH-1, a model we all affectionately called the Huey. It was all we had available but it had a major problem. It had a loud, recognizable sound that would immediately let the guards know of our presence. So four of the choppers would take off, circle, land at the same time, take off again, and provide air support until they reached bingo point on their fuel. They wouldn’t know where to shoot until it was too late. I used an M16 set on semiautomatic with a suppressor, ACOG sight, flashlight, and lightweight stock. We came in from the northeast.
Just like we had rehearsed we fanned out through the trees and I noticed two guards. I was able to hit the first, but missed the second. He immediately turned in our direction and opened fire with his AK-47. The man next to me was hit in the K-pot, knocking him over, but the helmet itself stopped the bullet from injuring him. He got back up and immediately opened up with fully automatic fire. I gritted my teeth and got ready for the firefight of my life. Three men dashed out of a jailhouse and took out two of our boys before taking cover to my right. Those were the only ones I really saw before bullets started whizzing all around me. I promptly dropped to a prone position to make myself as small of a target as possible. I then used surgical fire to take out three of their men before going up to a crouching position and advancing. I sprayed oxidizer on the fence and it fell open allowing me to get through. Before I knew it I was alone, separated from the rest of my platoon. I went from room to room, building to building shooting every threat I saw. It was at that point I found my son in a shallow grave. I found the keys to the cell doors and freed about thirty American soldiers and many more Somali civilians. My son would have wanted me to ensure as many people were saved as possible. Six of the nine men in our taskforce were killed and approximately eighty men’s lives were saved. We all piled in the four helicopters and headed for home. Once back on base I laid on my bed and cried myself to sleep.
That afternoon I was still on base when they sent a crew in to get the bodies of the men killed in the camp. My son was among them. I was granted leave to attend his funeral. Another American soldier described how he tried to escape with my son and ten other men the night before. I was devastated. We were so close to saving my son yet we couldn’t. It was at that moment I resigned from the Marine Corps and became a businessman, putting down my rifle for a pen. I promised I’ll never forget him, an easy promise to keep.
Under the cover of night I rendezvoused with the 416th marines, Echo Company. We all piled into the UH-1, a model we all affectionately called the Huey. It was all we had available but it had a major problem. It had a loud, recognizable sound that would immediately let the guards know of our presence. So four of the choppers would take off, circle, land at the same time, take off again, and provide air support until they reached bingo point on their fuel. They wouldn’t know where to shoot until it was too late. I used an M16 set on semiautomatic with a suppressor, ACOG sight, flashlight, and lightweight stock. We came in from the northeast.
Just like we had rehearsed we fanned out through the trees and I noticed two guards. I was able to hit the first, but missed the second. He immediately turned in our direction and opened fire with his AK-47. The man next to me was hit in the K-pot, knocking him over, but the helmet itself stopped the bullet from injuring him. He got back up and immediately opened up with fully automatic fire. I gritted my teeth and got ready for the firefight of my life. Three men dashed out of a jailhouse and took out two of our boys before taking cover to my right. Those were the only ones I really saw before bullets started whizzing all around me. I promptly dropped to a prone position to make myself as small of a target as possible. I then used surgical fire to take out three of their men before going up to a crouching position and advancing. I sprayed oxidizer on the fence and it fell open allowing me to get through. Before I knew it I was alone, separated from the rest of my platoon. I went from room to room, building to building shooting every threat I saw. It was at that point I found my son in a shallow grave. I found the keys to the cell doors and freed about thirty American soldiers and many more Somali civilians. My son would have wanted me to ensure as many people were saved as possible. Six of the nine men in our taskforce were killed and approximately eighty men’s lives were saved. We all piled in the four helicopters and headed for home. Once back on base I laid on my bed and cried myself to sleep.
That afternoon I was still on base when they sent a crew in to get the bodies of the men killed in the camp. My son was among them. I was granted leave to attend his funeral. Another American soldier described how he tried to escape with my son and ten other men the night before. I was devastated. We were so close to saving my son yet we couldn’t. It was at that moment I resigned from the Marine Corps and became a businessman, putting down my rifle for a pen. I promised I’ll never forget him, an easy promise to keep.
Thomas... (A story of a father and son in the midst of war)
"Thomas, where are you?", I screamed at the top of my lungs, only being heard by the private kneeling beside him, trying to resuscitate an injured soldier.
"I’m sorry sir, I don’t know sir.....", cried the mess of a soldier. "Oh god, there’s so much blood.."
"What’s your name private?"
"Williams, sir..."
"Pull it together Williams; we have a war to win. I need to find my son, have you seen him? His name is Thomas; he is in the fourth regiment that marched up the street..."
"No, sir, I don’t know who you are talking about... I’m sorry sir; I need to return to this person, sir."
"That’s alright. Carry on private."
The problem with war is that you never notice people’s faces.
The sheer terror in dead men’s eyes that signal that their last thought was of something grim. If my moment was coming, I would think of something calming, knowing that my last thought was a good one. The only thing I notice about people’s faces is how young some of them are; roughly around Thomas’ age. It is a scary thought, to think that my son is in this hell.
The surrounding building that I had taken refuge in was in tatters. The walls peeled at the effect of the bomb raid that occurred moments ago, revealing comrades marching through the streets, ignoring bullets speeding past their heads.
As I walked away from the scene, the injured soldier grabbed my ankle lightly, yet I had to ignore it, in fear that I would not find Thomas in time. Running across the street, I spotted a local out cove in the middle of a local park, set up around the rubble fallen from the nearby buildings. If I had to ask someone about Thomas, I would look there. A bullet span past my shoulder as I ran, grazing the top of my flesh ever so slightly. Disregarding this, I continued, following the street until the entrance to the park.
Somehow, the plants had survived the bullets and explosions, yet they would fail when it came to the gas and tanks driving over them. A sorry bunch of soldiers, like Gary, sat, huddled, in the middle of a warzone, with one of them punching a radio constantly to try and get it to respond to their pleas.
"What is going on here?", I questioned the shivering recruits.
One of them answered, almost jumping so fast to cause their gun to misfire, "I don’t really know sir, we have been stuck here for some time, trying to get some air support."
"Has anyone seen my son, Thomas? He is in the fourth regiment, and should have marched down that street not too long ago."
"If anyone had of seen your son, it would be Sharps. He is in that tower over there, keeping a lookout with his sniper rifle."
"Thank you soldiers, carry on the fight."
"Y-yes sir."
I turned to face the tower the recruit had mentioned. It was located half a mile off the centre of the town, giving a great view of almost the entire surrounding area. Yet the top was exposed from all angles as a price of the position, caused me to immediately see the person the others were referring to in a matter of seconds. If the enemy were to notice, it would be bad for the person.
Following a struggling endeavour to reach the tower, followed by a gruelling ladder climb, I reached the peak of the tower to meet the sharpshooter.
"You’re Sharps, right?"
"Yeah, that be me, who are y-" Sharps replied, interrupting himself due to shock after realising my position in the army. "Forgive me sir; I did not know it was a general that was visiting me! So, what is the problem?"
"I am looking for a boy called Thomas, he is in the fourth regiment, should have passed by this very tower not too long ago. He is around 5 foot 10, short, black hair, a tattoo on his shoulder that says-"
"Army galore?"
"Yes! How did you know?"
"I saw him a while back. The fourth regiment had their soldiers pair up, Thomas was paired with another person, slightly shorter, brown hair, with the same tattoo on his opposite-"
"...Shoulder." I had seen him before.
"Well then, great, you know where he is the- Get down!!!"
The enemy had seen us. Sharps, before I knew it, had pushed me down the hole as an RPG had hit the spire of the tower. I grabbed onto the ladder as I fell, snapping through the weak wood until I reached the ground. I didn’t have time to mourn Sharps, I was already running to the building I had came from across the street, falling to my knees as I had reached it. My eyes were met by Williams, a short, brown haired soldier, crying next to a 5 foot 10 black haired body that was Thomas. That was my son. I had walked right past him, and the worst part, he tried to stop me from leaving him.
The problem with war is that you never notice people’s faces...
"Thomas, where are you?", I screamed at the top of my lungs, only being heard by the private kneeling beside him, trying to resuscitate an injured soldier.
"I’m sorry sir, I don’t know sir.....", cried the mess of a soldier. "Oh god, there’s so much blood.."
"What’s your name private?"
"Williams, sir..."
"Pull it together Williams; we have a war to win. I need to find my son, have you seen him? His name is Thomas; he is in the fourth regiment that marched up the street..."
"No, sir, I don’t know who you are talking about... I’m sorry sir; I need to return to this person, sir."
"That’s alright. Carry on private."
The problem with war is that you never notice people’s faces.
The sheer terror in dead men’s eyes that signal that their last thought was of something grim. If my moment was coming, I would think of something calming, knowing that my last thought was a good one. The only thing I notice about people’s faces is how young some of them are; roughly around Thomas’ age. It is a scary thought, to think that my son is in this hell.
The surrounding building that I had taken refuge in was in tatters. The walls peeled at the effect of the bomb raid that occurred moments ago, revealing comrades marching through the streets, ignoring bullets speeding past their heads.
As I walked away from the scene, the injured soldier grabbed my ankle lightly, yet I had to ignore it, in fear that I would not find Thomas in time. Running across the street, I spotted a local out cove in the middle of a local park, set up around the rubble fallen from the nearby buildings. If I had to ask someone about Thomas, I would look there. A bullet span past my shoulder as I ran, grazing the top of my flesh ever so slightly. Disregarding this, I continued, following the street until the entrance to the park.
Somehow, the plants had survived the bullets and explosions, yet they would fail when it came to the gas and tanks driving over them. A sorry bunch of soldiers, like Gary, sat, huddled, in the middle of a warzone, with one of them punching a radio constantly to try and get it to respond to their pleas.
"What is going on here?", I questioned the shivering recruits.
One of them answered, almost jumping so fast to cause their gun to misfire, "I don’t really know sir, we have been stuck here for some time, trying to get some air support."
"Has anyone seen my son, Thomas? He is in the fourth regiment, and should have marched down that street not too long ago."
"If anyone had of seen your son, it would be Sharps. He is in that tower over there, keeping a lookout with his sniper rifle."
"Thank you soldiers, carry on the fight."
"Y-yes sir."
I turned to face the tower the recruit had mentioned. It was located half a mile off the centre of the town, giving a great view of almost the entire surrounding area. Yet the top was exposed from all angles as a price of the position, caused me to immediately see the person the others were referring to in a matter of seconds. If the enemy were to notice, it would be bad for the person.
Following a struggling endeavour to reach the tower, followed by a gruelling ladder climb, I reached the peak of the tower to meet the sharpshooter.
"You’re Sharps, right?"
"Yeah, that be me, who are y-" Sharps replied, interrupting himself due to shock after realising my position in the army. "Forgive me sir; I did not know it was a general that was visiting me! So, what is the problem?"
"I am looking for a boy called Thomas, he is in the fourth regiment, should have passed by this very tower not too long ago. He is around 5 foot 10, short, black hair, a tattoo on his shoulder that says-"
"Army galore?"
"Yes! How did you know?"
"I saw him a while back. The fourth regiment had their soldiers pair up, Thomas was paired with another person, slightly shorter, brown hair, with the same tattoo on his opposite-"
"...Shoulder." I had seen him before.
"Well then, great, you know where he is the- Get down!!!"
The enemy had seen us. Sharps, before I knew it, had pushed me down the hole as an RPG had hit the spire of the tower. I grabbed onto the ladder as I fell, snapping through the weak wood until I reached the ground. I didn’t have time to mourn Sharps, I was already running to the building I had came from across the street, falling to my knees as I had reached it. My eyes were met by Williams, a short, brown haired soldier, crying next to a 5 foot 10 black haired body that was Thomas. That was my son. I had walked right past him, and the worst part, he tried to stop me from leaving him.
The problem with war is that you never notice people’s faces...
And remember people, the most likes, wins!
Also, voting (likes) end on Friday 19th
Also, voting (likes) end on Friday 19th
bettemus99
Roleplay keeper
Christina glared bored out of the window in the car.
The sun was setting, and she was tired. They had been driving for an hour now, and they where going for another hour.
She took out her phone and put her headset on, while choosing a song to kill her boredom with.
A violin song was playing, and she once again leaned her head against the glass, watching the beautiful and golden sun, making its way down the sky. Her brother was half sleeping, on the seat to her left, and her parents where at the front, mom driving and dad shifting channel on the radio. The violins' soft and crispy tunes where floating through her ears, and closing off the world around her. All she could see and hear was the violins' crying tunes, telling a majestetic story, and the glowing sun like melted gold. And out of nowhere, she saw a lonely but magically creature fly along the sun's firey light in the sky. It flew across the landscape, on the tunes of the violin, making beautiful spins in the air.
The red evening light, and the light from the many driving cars, reflected in the creature's golden scales, giving out a brilliant colour of many melodies.
It opend its mouth, and out came millions of sounds, in a graceful harmony, they braided into each other, creating a whole new song, while the beast flew on the magically tones of music. Christina stared at the diamond colourd dragon, made of the many harmonies and thoughts in her head, and smiled for herself, falling into the trance of fantasy.
I was on my way to germany, when I went into sort of a trance, made of music and my fantasy <.< and yeah.. this is pretty much what I felt like. It came out of nowhere
The sun was setting, and she was tired. They had been driving for an hour now, and they where going for another hour.
She took out her phone and put her headset on, while choosing a song to kill her boredom with.
A violin song was playing, and she once again leaned her head against the glass, watching the beautiful and golden sun, making its way down the sky. Her brother was half sleeping, on the seat to her left, and her parents where at the front, mom driving and dad shifting channel on the radio. The violins' soft and crispy tunes where floating through her ears, and closing off the world around her. All she could see and hear was the violins' crying tunes, telling a majestetic story, and the glowing sun like melted gold. And out of nowhere, she saw a lonely but magically creature fly along the sun's firey light in the sky. It flew across the landscape, on the tunes of the violin, making beautiful spins in the air.
The red evening light, and the light from the many driving cars, reflected in the creature's golden scales, giving out a brilliant colour of many melodies.
It opend its mouth, and out came millions of sounds, in a graceful harmony, they braided into each other, creating a whole new song, while the beast flew on the magically tones of music. Christina stared at the diamond colourd dragon, made of the many harmonies and thoughts in her head, and smiled for herself, falling into the trance of fantasy.
I was on my way to germany, when I went into sort of a trance, made of music and my fantasy <.< and yeah.. this is pretty much what I felt like. It came out of nowhere