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SurrvivalWords: 932
Arthur drew a ragged breath in. The bullet has just missed his head. He ducked for cover and searched for Mitchel- his ex-friend gone assassin. Arthur pulled his hand gunout of its holster and held it firmly, careful to keep his finger off the trigger but close enough to pull it almost instantly when needed. He poked his head out from around the corner of the cement wall he was behind. He didn't see Mitchel.
Mitchel fired the expensive hand gun at Arthur and watched his one-time friend shocked expression. He got ready to fire again but Arthur had made it around the corner. Mitchel cursed. He should've just shot him twice then realized the second would've missed too. He ducked around a wall and started making his way towards Arthur. He quietly ran through the room's maze of walls until he saw Arthur poke his head out from his hiding place. Mitchel waited a moment. He fired,as he saw Athur poke his head out again. It was hardly a perfect shot- he had missed.
Arthur's heart pounded as the bullet sailed pass his head. He ducked behind the wall then as he looked to where the hostile bullet had come from he fired his gun twice. He ducked back behind the cement wall and breathed. His heart was pounding and he started to get dizzy so he steadied his breathing. He heard someone shifting not too far away. " Mitchel," he thought. Arthur turned around and started to stalk his way through the room's maze.
Mitchel swore- he missed again! He looked towards the place he has fired at then received a sruprise as two bullets flew past him- one just missing his shoulder the other his neck. Mitchel's heart pounded in his ears and he started shifting around. He looked around for a better vantage point and found one that would lead him a little closer to Arthur. He settled himself in to it and waited. He could faintly hear someone moving towards him. He watched as Arthur appearded surprisingly close to him. Close enough for him to grab.
Arthur walked close to the wall, just barely not touching it. He rounded another corner and started towards the next. He felt strong hands seize him from his right. The hands gripped his neck firmly but Arthur kept his head. While struggling to get free he put his gun in its holster and got his hands around the back of Mitchel's neck and pulled the assassin over his head.
Mitchel failed to realize that Arthur managed to keep his gun during the fray and was surprised as he felt Arthur's hands on the back if his neck. Before he could react Arthur had him over his head and hitting the gray cement floor. the wind was knocked out of him and he gasped for air. In between his breathing he heard Arthur catching his own breath too. he realized now was possibly his best chance and struggled to his feet. He saw that Arthur was fully alert and waiting for an attack. He waited a few moments then started to turn around then quickly whipped around, punching Arthur in the face.
Arthur watched Mitchel get to his feet waiting and was confused when it seemed he was going to run away. His defences down, his face caught the punch full on. He felt his nose snap from the force of the blow and restrained a cry of pain. His hands clutched his face. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mitchel drawing another punch and aiming it for his gut, but before Mitchel could send his gift, Arthur decided that he didn't want it and gave one of his own as he slammed the assassin into the opposite wall.
Mitchel gasped as he hit the wall abd struggled to push Arthur off of him. He was being crushed between the wall and Arthur's shoulder. He pushed and pushed but couldn't get out from the pin he was in. He then reached for the knife he had strapped to the side of his right leg. He managed to get it and sliced part of Arthur's arm.
Arthur withdrew as a shot of pain went through him. He grabbed at his cut then swiftly kicked Mitchel in the face. He watched as Mitchel bent over in pain. Arthur tore a strip of cloth from his shirt and tied it around his six inch knife wound. It wasn't deep but it bled enough to get someone worried. He then grabbed Mitchel before he could recover and knees him in the stomach.
Mitchel put his hands to his face as he bent over in distress- he felt blood pour from his broken nose. He didn't know how to stop it. He tried putting presher on it but couldn't because it caused blinding pain to surge through him. He felt Arthur grab, then knee him in the stomach. Once again, he gasped for air. "Okay. Okay- mercy." Mitchel pleaded. He was kneeling on the ground holding his stomach as he heard the sudden sound of a SWAT- Speacial Weapons and Tactics- team enter the room.
Arthur looked at his cut again as Mitchel landed on the floor. He winced it made it hurt even more to look at it. He sighed as he heard Mitchel's plea and the SWAT team's arrival. He heard them call out his name and he answered. It wasn't long before they were arresting Mitchel and he was being loaded onto a pramedic's stretcher. He closed his eyes as the ambulance's doors closed. Finally, it was over.
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Story: BetrayalWord Count: 2,378
“Mom! Where the hell are you?” I yelled to the decidedly empty house. I closed my eyes, shook my head, and sighed loudly.
“Hi Steve,” came a voice from my left.
“It’s Stephanie, creep. And get away from me. I don’t like ghosts who feel obliged to haunt me just because I can see them,” I said, angry at my mom for disappearing, once again.
“Aw, come on, don’t be that way,” continued James, the latest ghost who had decided to annoy the hell out of me.
“What do you want?” I finally asked him, not bothering to look at him.
I turned from my house, and left in direction of downtown. If my mom was anywhere, it was in a bar, moping over her tenth beer about my father’s departure.
“Well, what do ghosts generally ask of you?” he asked. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. The first time I’d seen him, I’d been surprised by his youth and beauty. He might have been a Levi’s model when he was alive. Or something.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on how they died. Sometimes, they think that, since I can see them, I’m the way back to life. Otherwise, they want to see the light, and I help them to it. Or even… Sometimes, they think they’re still alive. And they think they’re invisible. And… Well, they ask the weirdest things out of me. But the question here is not what they want, it’s what you want.” I turned to him, sending him an impatient look.
He rolled his blue eyes and smiled. A sarcastic smile, at that. Seriously, what is up with guys and cynicism? “Well, isn’t it obvious?”
“Obvious? Hell no! I may be able to see ghost, but I’m not psychic! And I’m no superman, either! Don’t think you can come to me, and poof! All your problems evaporate!” I shouted at him, and marched off. The streets were deserted, so I didn’t have to worry about looking demented for talking to myself.
He laughed and ran behind me, catching up with me in a couple of seconds. “Hold on a sec! I need help to find my body.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “Your body? You’re kidding, right? Why do you need your body?” I asked him skeptically, and staring at him with a matching look.
He looked away from me in a way that seemed sheepish. Or maybe embarrassed.
“It’s because… I’m not exactly dead, you see…”
I raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue. “I can feel it in me. I’m not dead. I know that if I find my body, I’ll get a chance to live again.” He looked at me, his eyes burning with urgency, and the need for life.
I closed my eyes and sighed. I really couldn’t resist ghosts, let alone this gorgeous one. “Fine. But first, I need to take care of my mom. I’ll help you tomorrow, ok?”
His eyes widened. “Steph, you don’t understand. I’m dying, somewhere out there, and if we don’t hurry up, I’ll die for good! I can’t die, ok? If my mom finds out I’m dead, she’ll never recover. And neither will my little sister. Please,” he said. There was urgency in his speech, and every feature. His eyes were smoldering.
My eyes widened. “I… Ok. Come, we’ll go get my mom, get her safe in bed, and then I’ll help you, ok?”
He sighed and agreed.
We ran downtown, crossing a couple of other ghosts on our way. They looked at us strangely.
You might be wondering how I got the ability to see ghosts… It all comes down to one thing: my grandma. She was a seer, before she died. And when she did, she passed the gift on. If you can call it a gift. I think it’s more of a burden.
Having ghosts, who, by the way, don’t look like ghosts at all, bother you all the time when your father bailed on you and your mom, turning her into a drunk, is not a gift. These days, I’m reduced to working part-time at Burger King, while I still go to high school.
By the way, hi! I’m Stephanie, I’m 17, and I’m in 12th grade at Monte Keller High School, in a small town in Kansas, named, you guessed it, Monte Keller.
So, ghost number 78 (yes, I count them) and I ran to the ‘downtown’ area of town, and quickly found the only open bar. I found my mother alone at the bar, passed out. The barman looked at me, his eyes narrowed. “You legal?” he asked.
I sighed, and said, “No, I’m not, but I’m not staying. That’s my mom right here, and I’m taking her home.”
He looked at me with pity rather than suspicion, now. “Hey, kid, sorry ‘bout your daddy. Your mom here told me all about it. Here, Hans! Come help this young lady carry her mother home, will you?”
A tall, burly man, about 30 years-old, got up and said, “Sure, Dan. Here, lady. Let me help you.”
He took my mom up bridal style, and walked out the door. I sent Dan the Barman a dashing smile instead of a thank you, and saw James the ghost blink. He was dazzled by my smile, and so was Dan. I smirked and left the bar.
Hans was waiting outside, and I heard 78 follow me out. “So, where do you live?” he asked.
“Oh, not far. Just a couple blocks,” I answered.
He smiled in response, and waited for me to start walking in the correct direction. I did, but not before noticing that James was looking suspiciously at Hans. I sighed and shook my head, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other rather than on James.
If there’s one thing I learned from ghosts, or rather, two. One, they tend to be very melodramatic. Yeah, I know, that seems weird, but they find drama and horror in everything from a spoon to an assassin. So I never know when to take them seriously. And the other thing: when they’re serious about something, or someone, they’re never wrong.
Ten minutes later, we were at my house, and James was still looking at Hans like he was a mass murderer. But I rolled my eyes, and gave Hans my brightest smile, thanking him for his help.
Hans blinked, and then smiled back. “Are you sure you don’t want me to tuck her safely into bed?” he asked like a true gentleman.
I was going to say yes, when James’ eyes widened and he said quickly, “No! Don’t let him in. This guy is a creep. I get a weird feeling from him.”
I acted as if James hadn’t spoken, though his words had shaken me up. “No, that’s fine. Thank you very much, Hans, but it’s getting late. I think you should go back to the bar, or home, ok? Thanks a lot, again,” I told him, hoping it didn’t seem like I was dismissing him too sharply.
He smiled again, and said, “Ok, then. Here you go.” He put my mom down to the ground, on her feet, and at that moment, she kind of woke up.
“Steve… Steve, where are you?” she said, her words slurring.
“I’m right here,” I said, assuming the role of my father. I held her up straight, sent Hans a smile, and headed inside, followed by James.
I closed the door with my foot, and helped my mom to her bed. There, she collapsed, and said, “I missed you, Steve. I love you, please come back,” before falling asleep again. I knew from experience that she would wake up the next morning with a massive headache, and have no idea how she’d gotten home. Luckily for her, there was no job to be late to, so it was fine. For her, that is.
I looked at her, limp in her bed, for a moment, then sighed and turned, just to see James looking at me with pity and understanding.
I frowned. “What?” I asked harshly.
“Nothing… It’s just that… I can relate to you, in a way… My father died recently, and my mother and sister were devastated. My sister… she was going to go to college, but when my father died… She stayed to take care of our mom. She has to work. She wanted to become a published author, and look where she landed. And I can’t help but think that you’re kind of like her,” he said, sadness taking over his sarcastic voice.
I blinked. Then I shook the surprise out, and frowned again. “Come on, let’s go find your body so I can finally rest in peace.” I admit, that was a bit mean, but he was really getting on my nerves.
“So… where do you first remember waking up as a ghost?” I asked him.
He walked beside me, focusing. “I think… I think in the forest, near Jensen Hill.”
“Jeez, that’s very precise. It will help us loads,” I said sarcastically.
“Would you rather I have no idea where to start? It’s a good beginning, I say,” he replied humorously.
I shook my head in frustration. I was so tired, I was surprised I could stand on my feet. The day had been long and bothersome. The night was starting to look as if it would be just as bad, if not worse.
He glanced at me. “Relax, ok? Once you help me find my body, I’ll leave you alone. And I won’t tell anyone about you…” he said.
I rolled my eyes and snorted, “Wow, what a relief! I was so afraid you’d reveal my dumb little secret to the world!” Then I shut up and walked faster toward Jensen Hill, which was a little less than half a mile away from my house. A little less than a quarter-mile, now.
James followed behind, silent for once. About 5 minutes later, we got to Jensen Hill.“So, where was it?” I asked, glancing at him. His eyes were closed in concentration.
“I… I think it’s not far from here. When I woke up, I thought I’d passed out or something. I didn’t know I was dead… Or, well, kinda dead. I just went in the direction of the light. It was early morning. I think it’s… yeah, we go straight.” With that said, he took the lead.
I followed silently. “I was just wondering… Why exactly do you need me to find your body, since you’re the one who’s doing all the work?” I asked, curious.
He stopped and turned around to look at me straight in the eyes. “I can’t do it on my own, because… Because I’m a coward. It’s as simple as that. I was afraid to come back here on my own, because I thought Gale would still be here when I did, and then it’d be the end of me. Forever.”
My eyes widened imperceptibly. “Gale? You mean, Gale Windsforth? What does he have to do with you?”
“I pissed him off,” he said matter-of-factly. “He got his revenge.”
I gasped. “He’s the one who did this to you?”
“Yeah. He is.”
“Oh my god… I had no idea. I’m sorry. Come on; let’s find your body. This place feels off, somehow.”
He nodded and led me deeper into the forest.
After a few minutes, he stopped and said, “Here we go. That’s it.”
I looked around in the clearing, but was unable to see anything in the gloom.
“You’re sure this is where your body is?”
“Pretty sure, yeah,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding nervous, and even scared.
“James, are you okay?” I asked him.
“Well, well, well. So you can really see ghosts, then,” a voice came out of the gloom. It sounded like-
“Hans! Is that you?” I gasped. A man had come out of the trees’ cover and was visible in the moonlight.
“No. That wimp is my twin brother. I’m Gale,” he said, and then laughed sadistically.
“James, bro, you’re really here, then? I knew this would happen. Oh, well. Your body’s right there. Thanks for bringing the merchandise,” he continued, first pointing towards something white at the edge of my vision, and then at me.
My eyes widened in horror. “James! You- you knew you were leading me to Gale?” I asked him, feeling betrayed.
He avoided my gaze and hurried towards what I now identified as his body. “I’m sorry. I had no choice. He would’ve killed me for sure if I hadn’t…”
“Oh shut up, you wimp. Get going, now,” Gale said.
My head whipped back towards Gale. “You… You can’t be!”
“What, a seer? You’re not the only one, you know? Now come here, sweetie. We’re going to have fun, you and I. Or, actually, I am. You see, I don’t particularly enjoy it that you share my gift. And that you do good with it. So, you need to die,” he said exploding into laughter.
I gasped and took a step backwards. Suddenly, I felt his hands on my arms, bringing me close to him. He whispered in my ear, “I promise it’s going to be quick. Really.” Then he laughed again.
“James! Please!” I yelled. I heard him stop in his tracks.
“James! Please,” Gale mimicked. “Oh, get over it, bitch. He’s not coming back. You were just a tool to get his life back, you know? You never mattered to him. After all, he is a coward.”
I hadn’t understood it before, but that was why he’d called himself a coward. Because that was what he was.
Tears filled my eyes. And then, I laughed. “Go ahead, bastard. Kill me. I’m not afraid. I can always haunt you when you’re done. And you too, James! I’ll make sure you never forget me!” I screamed after him.
“Shut up, bitch!” Gale yelled, and then he stabbed me in the guts.
I screamed so hard I thought I’d never be able to talk again. And then I fell to the ground, limp. Dead. But not before I heard James yell in pain and horror as well. Good.
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Words: 1831
By: Arthur
……………………………………..
Awake
Biographer Bonnie Hayes looks to her customer. She has been taking notes in shorthand and sorted facts of the life according to Mrs. Steinhart. It would be for Mrs. Steinhart and her memoir. Mrs. Steinhart liked the idea of having her memories, all sixty-five years of it, recorded into a book. Bonnie needed to do is listen, to write down all of what she was told and then accurately recite what she could from her shorthand when she returns to her apartment where she writes it out into a final format Mrs. Steinhart will accept.
Bonnie was thinking about a new car. She could purchase it after her commission from Mrs. Steinhart’s memoir. She noticed that Mrs. Steinhart has fallen asleep in mid of a sentence.
“Mrs. Steinhart?”
Bonnie went over her notes while she waits for Mrs. Steinhart. She had nearly sixty full pages to write tonight. It was going good for the first week. Mrs. Steinhart had told some exciting stories of her life. At first she seemed reluctant to have someone else talk with, then Mrs. Steinhart opened up to tell her story, but Bonnie assured her that few things shock many in society at the modernity level. Bonnie is trying to fill in as much of the issues kept hidden. An almost closeted time in the past of Mrs. Steinhart’s experiences.
Bonnie also had been still single and had never come close to marriage before. Bonnie had been almost dateless since high school. She was intrigued by Mrs. Steinhart’s stories.
Bonnie was always interested in writing news. She sat for an interview for the local newspaper, The Lakeshore Enquirer, but realized how she felt about reporting news that affects lives. She felt unsuited. When asked if she’d be interested in writing for the advice column she slumped in her interview chair.
Wake up Mrs. Steinhart. Please wake up.
Pressed by a few of Mrs. Steinhart opinions Bonnie felt issues when Mrs. Steinhart exaggerated to make her story better. Bonnie did her research being careful she doesn’t need to retract any of the memoirs publicly later.
In therapy Bonnie has little difficulty. Her shrink Dr. Bateman, a little short man with spiked hair, an 80’s wrestling & music buff who knows more about Madonna than Madonna herself stifled her, helped her to repressed memories and all sorts of recommendations to reduce stress. He has a book out called “Bateman Reduces all Stress in a Week or Your over the Hill” which is becoming grossly popular among the neurotics.
Don’t be like Bateman seems to be his personal motivational message. He had lost a good deal in the nineties during several recessional periods, but overcame the stress. He involves travel in his therapies. Bonnie reasons that he has the look, which constitutes his regularity at helping his patients. In fact he’s helped over a thousand, a stand up record in a field where most call their doctors quacks and quit therapy. But Dr. Bateman seems to have improved people and their general awareness also, that really reduces the stress in society, it really helped him in printing his book.
Bonnie indulged in writing Biographies. Her fridge door was covered in obituary notices from recent weeks from the “Lakeshore Enquirer”. Her living room doesn’t have table ends any longer; she had them removed for her over crowded books. A stack at each chair.
When she got home she read her mail in the kitchen. She noticed the number of phone messages and grudged the problem of playing through them. About five. Not unordinary during the week but this was a Saturday. She had stress therapy Saturday mornings. She had interviewed Mrs. Steinhart in the afternoon. She now carried a briefcase filled with Mrs. Steinhart’s history. She had to research some before she goes to her publisher editor.
The four first messages were unimportant. The fifth was a surprise. Her uncle Sam, brother of her mother was dieing and wanted to see her before he dies. She wondered if she could at last convince him to allow her to write his story. He had always refused. He always said dark secrets are just that. There appeared a conflict in his life, one he wouldn’t share. Not anyone in the family could talk about her uncle Sam. She always wanted to know what that conflict was. She began to think it was the end to her wondering. He was going to die and take the secret with him. It was sad and depressing to see her number one uncle pass away while she felt close to him like everyone in the family. It was strange how anyone in her family would talk about him. He always was there for reunions. Everyone said how good he looked. Hugs and kisses. Nobody said any stories about him. Was there a secret or conflict they were trying to hide? If he died it will remain a secret.
She grabbed her purse; she grabbed a new brief case filled with white paper and pencils and ran out the door. When she arrived to his address she let herself in. Here in his bedroom were his two sons. They gave her consternated looks when she walked inside. Her uncle Sam lay sprawled unconsciously.
It was hard to talk about uncle Sam because he still looked so young. His eyes partly open, partly closed. Now he should be sixty years old and still looked forty. Above him was a crucifix of Jesus, it hung on the wall. There were no other pictures or even symbols of any kind in this room. It was so ordinarily plain it didn’t capture any interest.
“Is Uncle Sammy going to be alright?” Bonnie asked disappointed the two sons got here first.
“Ask him yourself.” Brad said. Tony looked down at her like she had some control over their father. “He won’t talk to us. He will only speak to you.” With that they turned to leave. “When he wakes up call us.” They left.
“Are you awake Uncle Sammy?” A brief pause. His eyes flutter open.
“Are they gone?” He asks. She puts down her brief case. Walks from the bed corner and gives him a big hug. He tries to laugh. A mumble of laughter issue forth. She squeezes then lightens up her hold to let go. She looks at him with admiration as he begins to talk.
“I’m so glad you’re here Bonnie. I guess I thought I scared you away like the rest of the family.” He cackles.
“No. but why? Why would any of the family be scared of you?” she asked.
“You know?” Uncle Sam said rhetorically to lead to the truth. “I don’t know.”
She chuckles.
“Actually I have some idea. That’s why I want to tell you my story. It isn’t much, but I ought to tell someone shouldn’t I?” He admitted.
She went loose and cold. Her uncle Sam did love her after all and had some family secret to reveal after all.
“Alright. Only if you get too tired I get your sons.” She smiled at him.
“I don’t need them. They don’t need to know either. I’ve always kept it a secret why I’m so young looking.” He began.
Bonnie withdrew a book and began writing in her shorthand.
“In fact your mother knew, god bless her.” He said. “I don’t think I told anyone else though. It all began when we were about forty. You were only six. Do you remember my going away for a year?” Uncle Sam said.
He told everyone in the family he won a trip for two week to the Bahamas. But when he got there he fell in love so much with it he ended up staying in one of the therapeutic hotel villas for a year. When he returned he looked younger and stronger. That was when the family began saying every year that he looked well and the hugs and kisses. Only now his health was slipping right out from underneath him.
“I found a well for getting one’s health back. Most people don’t believe such places exist. I did. After a few months in the Bahamas I got my chance. A doctor of black magic granted me my health spell.”
Bonnie was legitimately shocked. How could her uncle have gone to a doctor of black magic?
“So that’s why you look so young?” she asked. Partly in belief and a part skeptical.
He looked at her smugly and grinning. “I know it sounds incredibly stupid to go to a doctor of voodoo. But I had too. I was given my youthful appearance back to keep. Only my health would still age like it should.” He continued.
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“I have one thing to do to get my health, ‘one day’, the doctor of voodoo said, ‘you must sacrifice your loved one for me.’ Which means when he is dieing I will be and so forth. But a sacrifice to him will conjure a magic protection for him and it will keep me alive too.”
That was so weird. Bonnie bit her lip. What was her uncle Sam talking about? If the doctor lived so will Sam, only he had to sacrifice and worship for the doctor in return. It was to strange to listen to.
“Uncle Sammy, I thought? I think I would have liked to know your story but this . . . this is to unbelievable. What are you asking?” Bonnie was fretting.
“I’m saying my dear you are my most precious loved one. You are going to be my sacrifice.”
She held her breath. What was he talking about? Was it a joke? She began to back out of the room. She wanted to find Brad or Tony only the stepped into the room with her.
“I see you are being difficult cousin,” they said. “We know how you loved our father. You know how special a person he really is. You know how he will appreciate your sacrifice for him. You must do this.” Simultaneously they pushed her back into the room. Then a black light had spread out from uncle Sam and it sucked the life out of Bonnie leaving her dried up and dead on the bedroom floor.
When Bonnie woke up she was inside uncle Sam’s mind. She had her brief case and white paper and pencils. She had a tape recorder and computer. She said, “so uncle Sam I’m glad you are going to finally tell me all about yourself, let’s just start from the beginning.” She looked at his scared craven old face, partly hidden by the darkness around him and his fallen health. He smiled and spoke and she wrote down his story word for word.
The End
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(Contest closed. No more story posts unless you don't mind it not getting viewed much.)
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Good writing to each of the contestants. Hope there's more great stories.
Yeah, sorry, I forgot to mention it. I thought we were supposed to say if we didn't want it to be posted, not the opposite. Go ahead and put it. :)
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Short Story Contests
Books mentioned in this topic
The Complete Maus (other topics)Nimona (other topics)
The Girl from the Sea (other topics)
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This week's Topic is Conflict. If anyone has any objections to this topic, please go to the Objections post. The rules are pretty loose. This will be seen as the difference by war, a clash between ideas or principles or people, struggle in mental or otherwise, literature’s plot tension etc. You could write about pretty much anything. Just have the word in the story.
Weekly stories must be at least 500 words long to 2,500 words long. (if the whole story won't fit in one post, divide it into two)
Good luck!
Arthur [acting for Clare:]
P.S. PLEASE say if you would like to have your story on Short Story Galore, if you win. This way it wouldn't take me ages to get your consent afterwards. This includes adding a link to your stories. If you want to have your story on the Short Story Galore, but not the link, just say so.