May I Write of Heroes – #5: Arc

I struggled with this one for a while. This kind of character is not very easy to write.

The halls were empty. It was both positive and negative.

On the plus side, I didn’t have to worry about hurting anyone. I went full force, connecting my line to the metal door frames and zipping along at near light-speed. But finding no one meant I had to travel from room to room, and continue looking. No one in the training center, no one in the recreation rooms, no one in the command center. I was never given access to the announcement system. I could just seep into the interface, but I’d be scolded. Fortyseven isn’t a harsh leader normally, but he can be a little frightening when he wishes to.

Damn it to stasis.

May I Write of Heroes – #4: Scout Unit 11

This one starts and ends a little differently. But hang in there, it does go somewhere.

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.”

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…”

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.

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.

A Monster of a Book Cover

© Aaron Shively 2011

Yep, I’ve got a book cover for my short story collection.

You may be wondering to yourself… Why does it say ‘we’ and why in the hell is it only ‘compiled’ by me?

Wonder away. The introduction to the book will answer all the questions. Too bad you’re going to have to wait until editing is finished. HA HA… HA HA HA… ah, crap, I think the devil has rubbed off on me.

That’s illegal and unsanitary. You may want to get a napkin.

I meant you.

Preposterous. I’d never masturbate on another person unless they requested it.

… There’s nothing I can say after that, really, there isn’t.

Something New

Which will be edited as soon as I can use more than my phone…

Oh, what’s that?
With what did I make the image?

I’ll give you a hint… it sorta rhymes with bone.

Alright, stop giggling at the word ‘bone’.

This is for myth, per my usual concept desgin train of thought.

Since I can’t edit the image caption on my phone, it is © Aaron Shively, 2011.

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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.

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.”