Category Archives: Short Stories

May I Write of Heroes – #3: ErrVyn


My stories this year are character focused instead of plot focused. I end each story only when the reader can get a grasp for a part of the character and form an opinion about them.

You never quite understand how structurally resistant a wall can be until you’re knocked through one. The base was built to last through fires, raids, and even area damage bombs. It was not, however, meant to take a four hundred pound Restioxian woman sent through the air at high speed. The same can’t be said the other way around. My people aren’t likely to be brought down by this kind of damage. Even if it did take me a moment to get back up.

“Very good. You’re getting the hang of it.” Read the rest of this entry

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May I Write of Heroes – #2: Trailer


Warning. The following story contains:

Foul language. Allusions to desired sex. An unfortunately likable asshole.

It didn’t get dark there. It got purple. Deep purple, so purple that everything else either looks too blue or too red depending on whether it’s after midnight or not. I walked up beside him just as he was starting to turn a little red. He was against the sky, standing in behind the railings of the sniper platform. He’d been there all day.

“Hey, sorry about… ya know.”

It took the kid a while to respond. He was still getting over the shock of the whole thing. New people, new job, new planet. Shit can be tough.

“Yeah…” Read the rest of this entry

May I Write of Heroes – #1: Haywire


Warning. There be some foul language. There also be some pirate language, but you be readin’ that arrrrready.

And a one and a two and a ready, let’s go…

Something odd.

That’s all I could think when he looked at me under his glasses, the kind with the thin wire frames. They were glasses you’d see on a general manager at Burger King. They didn’t match his pressed suit or his neatly combed hair. But that wasn’t it.

There’s something else about him. Read the rest of this entry

May I Write of Heroes


Well, well, well… Here we are again. It’s MAY. It’s StoryADay! And I’m late, as usual.

The point is that I’m doing it.

I like doing themed collections. Last year, I wrote of death. I wrote nearly 70,000 words of death in 30 days. This year, I will write of heroes. No, I’m not going to go all heavy handed and write thirty stories about real heroes from everyday life. I’m a comic book geek… and because I’m doing the writing (and not you), I am going to write about what I want!

I have created a fictional world called Hypostatica. What this world is about and how heroes are incorporated will be shown in the writing.

My goal: To write 30 stories by the end of this month… not necessarily one per day, but averaged out, I should be good. I have no length goal. Things are getting pretty real in other areas of my life and… wait… why am I rationalizing to you? For that matter, why am I personifying the not-a-single-person who is reading this?

Wow, I’ve invalidated my entire life with that last sentence, so I’ll act like I never wrote it! Yay ignorance!

Keep watching…er…reading… er… not reading? Ah, hell. My stories are coming soon. I’m out.

-Aaron

 

edit–

My wife has just informed me that may now has 31 days… When did this happen? I was not at this meeting. I do not appreciate it when existence changes without my knowledge, let alone my say-so.

Last Reminder for STORYFEST 2011


CLICK THE IMAGE RIGHT NOW, DAMMIT!

Time is running out to read some of the best stories from Story A Day. Check out a few great writers who took the challenge. IT ENDS THE 14th! SO GET TO IT!

STORYFEST 2011


CLICK THE IMAGE RIGHT NOW, DAMMIT!

Come check out the short stories written during the StoryADay challenge of 2011! Each author had 31 days to write 31 short stories. See the participants and peruse their top picks!

This is only for a limited time, June 11th – 14th!

Story Thirty One – Management


Aaron would like me to tell you that, to fully comprehend this story, you must read all the ones that came before. Doing so is not necessary to enjoy it, but there are a bunch of Easter Eggs and this is the conclusion to the ‘Reapers’ miniseries… and it directly ties in with another, previous unrelated story…. So, basically… He’s fucking with you.

The knob turns easily enough but, as your mind was trying to tell you, music doesn’t work in this place. Not only is there a lack of radio waves, a lack of towers outputting beats to the masses, it’s worse; records, tapes, cds, nothing plays. You miss the rhythms and harmonies.

Besides the silence, there’s an undeniably calming effect to sitting in the front seat. You’d forgotten exactly how much of a difference there is. You had convinced yourself a while ago that sitting in the back, hiding from the red and the horror of this realm was the best for you. But now, with the breeze on your face and a little more connection with the new driver, you feel in control. As much as you can, at least. Read the rest of this entry

Story Thirty – Bundle of Joy


He seems to be getting more and more messed up in the head as the challenge concludes. Frankly, I’m frightened to be a part of his imagination.

“No, Darling, you can barely tell you’ve gained any weight at all.”

Against his eyes’ better judgment, Ron assured Anna that she was as beautiful as always. He wasn’t the best at complimenting anyone. He’d nearly been fired from his best job after he insisted his Boss’s hairplugs looked more natural than the missing strands had in their youth. Of course, when the idea hit him to run his own business, he left anyway.

Anna had been gorgeous. Their relationship was so physical it would exhaust him. She didn’t feel truly loved unless it was beneath the sheets. That was before the incident. Since then there hadn’t been much playing around in the bedroom or any of their other favorite carnal spots. He hadn’t seen her naked since she brought home the news.

“You’re lying. I’m a cow. I’m a pig in a dress. Worse, I’m sweating. Pigs don’t sweat. I’m a goddamn sweating cow-pig in a stupid Kmart sundress going to see my goddamn queen of a fucking mother-fucking mother.” Read the rest of this entry

Story Twenty Nine – Sherlock and Watson


As a conscientious adult, I have to warn the reader that this story is a little more on the mature side. It involves certain concepts not suitable for people below 16.
To be fair, it involves concepts not suitable for ANYONE. THIS IS NOT ABOUT HOLMES, DO NOT COME INTO THIS STORY WITH THAT ASSUMPTION. YOU READ AT YOUR OWN RISK… Thank you, that is all.

Metal cuts skin. That’s a no-brainer, really. Shears are my favorite. They’re strong enough to replace a good knife, but still have that scissors action. Two blades, slicing against each other, creating a huge amount of pressure on such a tiny point separated dermal tissue, muscles, tendons, even smaller bones.

His skin fell away quick enough. It was cold, but not frozen solid. A few sounds escaped. They were reactionary and hurried. When I’d first started, all those years ago, they’d freaked me out a bit. I got used to them over time.

I really didn’t like doing this part. It made me feel strange. It gave me the creeps. I liked everything else, though. My friend got me into it.

At orientation, he introduced himself as Dr. Watson. It was kind of funny, kind of corny, but none-the-less endearing. He’d been a little pudgy back then. The mustache showed him to be a bit older than I was at the time. Within a few minutes I was able to deduce his age, weight, name and his hopeful future medical field. He dubbed me Sherlock. We kept those names, continuing them ourselves and then letting others further the legacy. Read the rest of this entry

Story Twenty Eight – Revolution


… Ok, what the holy hell? Seriously? METAPHOR?! NO ONE GETS METAPHOR ANYMORE!

Speaking without words had become more than second nature.

What do you mean, experiments?

The creature in the containment tube twitched. God brought it to a large table and laid it down lengthways so the tops of the cylinder were visible. Through the flat discs, I saw it move. It tried to breathe but sputtered on the clear inspissation. The gel, meant to hold it in safety, was choking the thing. God’s thoughts touched some activator and the glass-structure fell away.

The organism wasn’t overtly strange. It was built in practically the same way as my previous people, two legs, two arms, one head. The skin was unique. It was the color of the sands below the plateau cities. Two eyes perched above a vertical and protruding nose with only two nostrils. It was stuck between sleep and the waking world, unaware of us but fully capable of speech. Mumbles in an alien language erupted arbitrarily. Read the rest of this entry