Anyone write?

[Radical Raccoon]

I'd suspect there's quite a few people here who, like me, write stories in addition to their drawings and guitar-playing. I don't have any of mine online, they are all printed out on paper and are years old. I was wondering if anyone else likes to write. I wouldn't mine reading any of your stories, just as long as they're not novels lol.

[Rokkuman]

I'm trying to make a horror story, but I've been spending so much time trying to think of one that I've forgotten to start on it.

[na_th_an]

Sadly I only write in spanish. Many people say it's amazing.

[Josiah Tobin]

I write quite a lot.
Or I used to, at least... I've been working more on umm... 'music' lately :wink:
Anyway, I did finish what could be considered a novella, but I'm hoping to work it up into a full novel one of these days.
Usually when I have inspiration I just sit down and write, and my stories end up anywhere from 100+ pages to half a page.
Half the time they end up rather weird and metaphorical, and when I go back and read them I can't remember just what I was getting at. :lol:
I could post some of the shorter ones if anyone's interested.

[na_th_an]

Please do. I'm interested in anything that's product of a creative mind.

[Radical Raccoon]

Please do. I'm interested in anything that's product of a creative mind.

ditto

[Mech1031]

funny you should mention this. I write quite alot, infact, i've just started to work on another horror/scifi. it's lookin to be a good start. but most of my work is anthoropomorphic. so i won't post it cause it would just piss na_th_an off

[Josiah Tobin]

Alright... Here you go.
This one's called 'Spirit and Ink', and is the shortest one I've ever written. Almost like a riddle. (no, its subject isn't anything angsty or hate-filled, though it may seem that way from the first sentance )

Code:

The wires that pierce my face and penetrate into my being are like white-hot cables burning with a thousand volts of malevolent hate.
If the Operators think they can create worlds merely by exploiting my properties, they will be sadly mistaken when I single-handedly ruin their carefully thought-out plans… And the best part is that no one would even think about taking my retribution seriously. Once they get this damn equipment out of me, I can finally give them what they deserve—And then return to my peaceful rest.
I start to think about what has happened so far, mentally rewinding my life up until the point of my birth.
My first sight of the world…
Flowing in liquid grace onto the page from my creator’s stylus, just one piece in a currently incomprehensible puzzle.
And the pure white of the page was stained with my being as I was sculpted into the shape I now posses…
And now, in the present moment, the experiment ends and the wires are withdrawn as I burst forth in my retaliation.
Screaming, I return to my original form at last.
Spirit and ink.

That one was actually part of a weird kind of self-narrative thing I wrote awhile ago (not too proud of some parts), if anyone wants to read what I had they can let me know. Anyway, this one's also really short, I think I'd call it either 'Fly' or 'Neutral Territory'.

Code:

Such a mysterious place…
And I would never know who made it or why.
Well, that’s what I thought at the time, anyway, as I stood on the rocks, staring out at the endless mist that rolled out over the water.
I knew the water went on forever, that it had no end, and that no matter how far you followed its path, it would never lead you back to the place you started.
I turned around and stared up at the huge square tower that was planted on the miniature rocky outcropping.
The tower itself was not very large—It only spanned about eight feet across, perhaps more, but the truly remarkable thing about it was its height. As far as I could see, it reached up into the sky until the mists hid it from view.
I entered it through one of its four open archways, one on each side, and touched the single tiny painting hanging in one of the corners. Suddenly the view outside fell away like boards, revealing huge steel corridors and churning fan blades.
This was not neutral territory.

And once again I was lifted high up to the top of the tower, where the mountains flew and the grass sung in impossible torrents of wind.
The Pieces below couldn’t get me here, not where I decided what happened and how.
But of course, as always happens, I could not match my opponent’s world… And so I fell into the ceaseless pattern of life once again.

The world described very loosely in there is one I've been slowly adding to in my head for quite awhile; it has a strange sort of appeal to me simply because it's so surreal.
Anyway, this one has more of an understandable story and an actual structure...
I'm not very proud of it anymore, mainly because I've improved so much since it was written, but also because it's a bit... Darker than something I'd usually write.
It was based off the story for a concept album I never finished.

Code:

How’s it going?
I suppose there’s not much point in asking, actually.
It’s not like you can answer.
But, I guess I should introduce myself all the same…
My name is William Shade.
I think I’m dead.
I don’t know how I got here; but then, I don’t really care.
I don’t really know where ‘here’ is, either.
But anyway…
Let’s get to the point.
It was back when I used to keep track of time…
There’s no point now, but I guess there was back then… Somehow.
It was the 18th of September, in the year 2004.
I think I was—Nah. I can’t be bothered to remember.
But the point is, I was a killer.
They said there was something wrong with my brain, something that made me different from everyone else.
They said I was the only one they’d seen who had the condition.
I got angered easily… Very easily. I was extremely prone to random acts of violence, acts of rage.
It’s hard to say, but… I kind of liked it when it happened to me.
It let me live.
It let me be who I was, and no-one was going to stop me.
But of course, they did.
It was on that day. The 18th.
I was hanging around a corner store, buying something.
A pack of cigarettes. And a bottle of milk.
I didn’t even smoke…
It was just for my image.
I’m weak that way.
Anyway, this guy behind me starts coughing.
He keeps it up…
I don’t know if he’s just doing it to piss me off or not, but I think so.
Pretty soon I’m on top of him on the ground, pummeling his face to a bloody mess.
Later I found out he had asthma…
But, that’s the time they caught me.
The clerk called the cops and they came and took me away… They took me to a federal state prison, and put me in a maximum security cell.
They said they thought I was dangerous.
Hell, I knew I was dangerous.
I didn’t like that place—It was dark, it stank, there were rats… I hate rats.
Rats and bugs… They’ve got to be my two least favorite things.
Well… That, and people who annoy me.
But, anyhow…
Let’s get started.
I had been sitting in my cell for hours, still hungry after that last excuse for a meal.
It was quiet.
I didn’t like quiet places.
Something had to be making some kind of noise.
So moved some stuff around… Not like I had much else to do, or much to move around, but hey…
I took some old pots and pans, threw them around for bit.
I like the noise they make.
That nice hollow ‘clang’.
Then I rattled the bars.
One of them was loose, I shook that one around.
The guards didn’t like that very much, usually—So when I heard someone coming down the corridor I thought it was them, coming to tell me off for being so noisy.
But they didn’t come alone—They had brought someone with them.
A new inmate.
He was skinny, real skinny. Hardly any meat on his bones.
He was hunched over; kept looking from side to side like something was going to jump out a him from the shadows… He looked like he was trying to hide under his thin blonde hair and his premature wrinkles.
He was wearing a cheap bright orange body suit, the kind they made all of us wear.
It was still clean.
Lucky bastard.
I was surprised when they stopped by my cell and threw him in with me… Then they just walked off.
So this skinny dude gets up off the floor, and stares at me for a few seconds.
Then he speaks:
“What’s your name?”
He was just chucked into a dirty, grimy, ratty cell with a crazy killer and he wants to know my name.
Wonderful.
I got nothing better to do, so I tell him.
“My name’s William. Call me will.”
I don’t know why, but I extend my hand to him.
He takes it… And we shake.
He opens his mouth again. Judging by his appearance, I’m sure he feels right at home in this cell.
“William, huh? I’m Clark. I can’t remember my last name… But… Call me Rat, ok?”
Funny thing that he should go by the name of the creature that I hate most.
I look him up and down.
“Rat? Suits you.”
He laughs.
He actually laughs.
I haven’t laughed since… Well, I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed.
I ask him why he can’t remember his last name… It’s the only thing that comes to mind, though I’m pretty sure I know the answer already.
“I’ve got long-term memory loss. Really long term.”
He laughs again.
“You like doing that, don’t you?”
“Doing what?”
“Laughing. You do it a lot.”
He looks at me… And, yeah, he laughs.
“I like to be happy,” he says.
“Happy? Fuck happy. It’s impossible in this place.”
He walks over to the pile of pots and pans I threw around earlier, then he looks back at me.
He says…
“Hmm. Depends on how you look at it.”

We got on pretty well from then on.
We didn’t fight like the other cellmates, and he was pretty happy and easygoing most of the time.
I finally get around to asking him what he’s in for.
“I can’t remember.”
Suddenly…
I start laughing.
I can’t ever remember doing it, so it feels pretty strange.
A guard walks by… He glances at us, and we stop.
As soon as he’s gone we start laughing again.
It’s a good feeling.

You hear a lot in prison through the grapevine, you know.
One time Rat tells me they’ve got a new poison for the lethal injections.
Supposedly the old one didn’t take immediate effect; the criminal would sometimes make a last-ditch attempt to attack one of the guards or try to break out of the room to do so, often damaging equipment in the process.
This new poison was supposed to go straight to the brain once in the bloodstream, and immediately cancel out any and all neural activity before the criminal had a chance to react.
I ask Rat if he thinks we’ll get the injection.
He says we probably will, eventually… Smiling, of course.
I guess it’s easy to be happy when you can’t remember what you’ve done.
I guess I kind of envy him for that…
Ignorance is bliss, they say.

A couple of days later I was woken up by the breakout alarm.
It was loud… It hurt my ears.
Sounded like they’d installed an air raid siren into the place.
I get up; I look around—Rat’s sitting on his cot in the corner, just kind of staring into space.
I talk to him…
“Wonder who broke out?”
His eyes focus; he looks at me and stares for a few seconds before answering:
“Huh? You mean who tried to break out?”
I don’t like the way he’s looking at me… It’s starting to creep me out.
“Yeah,” I answer, “If that’s how you want to put it.”
A guard walks by.
I run up to the bars, and shout after him, asking who tried to escape.
Turning his head, he shouts back:
“Jeremiah.”
I don’t know the guy, but it’s good to know someone’s trying.
Rat speaks from his corner.
“Who was it?”
I turn to face him and reply.
“Some guy called Jeremiah.”
“Jeremiah? Funny name.”
I go over to my cot and lie down.
“Yeah…”
A few seconds later the alarm shuts down and someone says over the speaker system that the culprit’s been caught.
“Fuck!”
I pick up a vase that someone sent Rat—Probably a forgotten relative—And throw it against the wall. It shatters.
I look over to rat. He hasn’t flinched.
I try to talk to him.
“Hey man, I’m sorry… I just…”
He cuts me off.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t like the thing anyway.”

The next day Rat’s back to his normal self… Well… Normal for him.
I ask him a question.
“Hey, Rat… Were you okay last night? You seemed kind of… Spaced out.”
He jumps.
He’s never done that before.
Then he starts to look from side to side, like he was doing the first time I saw him.
“No,” He says, “No, I’m fine. Always was.”
He’s trying to laugh, but it seems like he can’t get himself to.
He shakes his head and starts tearing his sleeve off.
He’s not ‘normal’ anymore.

Rat’s personality started to fluctuate from then on.
He got… Paranoid.
Started seeing things I couldn’t see.
One time he started screaming and the guards had to come and take him away. When they brought him back he was almost catatonic.
I think I knew what was happening to him, but I was afraid to ask.
I was scared that he’d try to hurt me—I don’t know why.
It’s funny; I hadn’t had one of my violent outbursts in months… Not a big one, anyway.
But then, when Rat started to become insecure, I started to go back to my old self.
I had to make noise to keep myself from panicking.
For some reason Rat didn’t like that…
Once he told me to stop, just out of the blue.
He told me to stop, ‘cause it was bugging him.
He never said anything like that before.
Nothing used to bug him.
When I kept doing It he hit me.
And then I had an outburst… I spun around and punched him, hard. He fell back against the wall gasping for breath, just looking at me with this weird expression on his face.
Kind of like a mix between fear and confusion.
Just then I realized he’d never asked me why I was in there.
It wasn’t really the right time, and he hadn’t asked, but I told him I wasn’t a normal person.
“No shit,” He said, “Feels like you broke my rib. Why the fuck did you do that, Will?”
He never swore before.
He never got mad before.
I started to worry.
I start talking…
“Look, Rat… I’m sick. In the head. I get angry real easy… I hasn’t happened to me that often lately, but ever since you’ve started to change…”
He cuts me off there and flips over his cot.
It’s loud.
“I am not changing! Why do people keep telling me that? I’m no different than I ever was!”
He’s shaking now.
I’m really scared, now. I don’t like the feeling. I don’t like it at all.
The guards come and take him away again.
He comes back two days later, looking really pale.
He’s just sitting there, on his broken cot.
And suddenly I notice… He’s crying.
“What’s up, Rat?”
He looks up at me… He frightened and sad, I can tell by his eyes.
“I broke it, Will.”
It doesn’t make any sense to me.
“You broke what?”
“My bed. It’s broken, see? I turned it over yesterday and now it’s broken. I want it to be new again. Why is it broken, Will?”
He’s starting to scare me.
“Rat, I think you should…”
“Will…”
I back up a step.
“Yeah?”
“I think… I think you’re right. I think everyone’s right. I’m not like I was…”
He beckons for me to get closer.
I stay where I am, and he drops his hand.
A minute passes. Then he starts to speak:
“I’m remembering, Will. I’m remembering and it’s hell.”

Actually, I think I posted that one on TBN awhile back. Got some decent responses.
Anyway, I have plenty of other writing, but it's a bit too long to squeeze into a post here. :wink:

EDIT: @Mech: Then start a 'pissing na_th_an off' thread.

[Radical Raccoon]

The first two stories were a little confusing. My vocabulary sucks anyways, but the 3rd one about the inmates was cool. That went on at a nice pace and kept me guessing. I like the style of it, dark and personal. Pretty creepy, but good nonetheless.

[Josiah Tobin]

Yep, no one would really 'get' them unless they were told-- It's intentional, they're almost like riddles like I said.
That third one was supposed to creepy indeed, it was written back when I thought all my stuff had to be creepy or disturbing in some way. That's another reason why I'm not too proud of it. :p