#shortstory story writing fiction

[penwrythe]

Cover art for Altostratus!

This art was completed months ago back in August, but I wanted to upload this at the same time as my short story, Altostratus, completed and uploaded on writing websites. I still have trouble drawing clouds, but hopefully, they look good here!

Go read Altostratus on Wattpad, Writersky (pending), Royal Road, Scribble Hub, Blogger, and Deviantart! Look for my name: @/penwrythe!

[mxdnxghtraven]

Hurt

!!TW!! : cheating, abuse (emotional/verbal), relationship trauma, toxic relationship

It didn't hurt to be hit. But it hurt when you were fucking your ex and I at the same time and neither of us knew until it all blew up in your face after finals, and I chose to still take you back. It didn't hurt to be hit. But it hurt when you started actively using those apps without talking to me first. Have you not learned?

It didn't hurt to be hit. But it hurt when you blew up at me after my night shift because I wasn't respecting your time, even though I hadn't been had a significant timezone difference in a relationship in 2 years, and was just wanting to talk to you since I was so busy before. It didn't hurt to be hit. But it hurt when you'd vent to me after those shifts when all I wanted was to go to bed. I was still in the parking lot.

It didn't hurt to be hit. But it hurt when you pressured me into a dynamic I hated the idea of, because it was with you. It didn't hurt to be hit. But it hurt when you went on a 10 minute monologue in our messages about how you're a "good person" and would be the person to "take the razor" from someone's hands when they want to cut. I couldn't even bring myself to tell you I relapsed, much that you were part of why.

It didn't hurt to be hit. But it hurt when you wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise. It didn't hurt to be hit. But it hurt when it took me practically breaking down the brick wall you laid for you to admit defeat and were the problem. Not that it was ever genuine.

It didn't hurt to be hit. But it hurt when you told me I wasn't the one you wanted to marry, despite being your "dream man" a few months prior. It didn't hurt to be hit. But it hurt when you dumped me just hours after I handed that promise ring to you. Now I look at my matching one in disgust.

[amoralcrackpot]

For millennia, the sun has scared, confused, and mercilessly killed mankind just for the thrill. It abandons us during winter and abuses us come summer. And due to a seemingly endless, wholly passive-aggressive silent treatment, its reasoning for all this will likely remain a mystery for years to come.

But one mystery is finally solved.

A lack of orifices long left us unable to properly take the sun's temperature, leaving scientists to simply guess. But a collaboration between Apple and Frito-Lay saw the first manned mission to the sun in a heroic search for answers.

Unfortunately for 12-year old Daniel Lamb, from One Toilet, Indiana, and winner of the Doritos "Fun in the Sun Sweepstakes," this was a one-way trip.

"I just wanted a PlayStation," said Daniel in his final message, crying like a little baby.

As any parent who ever left their child in the car during a grueling heatwave so as to pop in for a quick root canal or colonoscopy might already know, children are often too stupid to turn on the A/C or crack a window.

But stupid children aside, there's also the matter of fuel.

"Have you seen how poor an iPhone's battery life is?" said Penny Pincher, Apple's V.P. of Tax Evasion. "And don't even get me started on the excessive cost of bundling our ship with a charging cable."

But while the incineration of a young child left his family mildly upset, scientists now know the sun is, at the very least, hot enough to do the same to aluminum and glass.

[myhauger22]

#story #stories #storytelling #Books #boost #bookboost #boostboost #youtube #contentcreators #contentcreation #fiction #fictionstories #suspense #creepy #drama #shortstories

[billadler]

The White Noise Machine

George thought a white noise machine would help him sleep through the night. He was right. But that wasn't all it did. Find out what happened in my short story, The White Noise Machine.

[theebughead]

JOEL AND HIS SISTER.

Meeting Joel was a blessing and a curse, years later, and it still boggles me. I was in my third year in university, on a fully paid scholarship, paid my tuition, and the hostel rent, the rest I had to hustle for on my own. I didn’t get much help from home, especially after my second year. Now alone in the big city, I’d taken to doing odd jobs here and there just to get by. At the start of my…

[fragileswift1313]

Kia ora, friends!

If you’ve been following along since last year, you might remember a little piece of something I shared in December called Underground. If you haven’t read that, I definitely think you should either before or after this! It doesn’t matter what order, though, either way I think you’ll get some context for details present in the other. This is another very rough draft, but I like where it’s going and it definitely has potential to feed back into the afore mentioned Underground scenario.

I posted on twitter tonight (at the time I was writing this, a couple days ago) about how I have kind of been struggling with whether or not to make every one of my big characters queer; every time I write a new person into existence (or they come into existence for me to write about - I’m not entirely sure!), my instinct is always to make them a lesbian or bisexual or non-binary or trans (or many all in one) and there’s a part of my brain that pushes back on that. I think it really comes down to the deeply internalised misogyny and queerphobia that I have as someone who didn’t always know they were queer and trans and non-binary, so I’m trying to push back against that. I really enjoy writing queer relationships and the people in them, and I think there is a part of me that thinks that excluding cisgender heteronormative relationships is excluding a portion of a potential audience, which is wild because, like, who cares? So, sorry, if you are a cisgender heteronormative person coming to my writing and feel excluded… that’s kind of by design. There are enough stories in the world about those kinds of people, and I want to hold space for stories about not those people.

Anyway, all of that is to say that this fragment of a story is about two new characters named Cassy and Taylor. Taylor is a non-binary trans-fem and Cassy is a gay trans man. They have two children together named Riley and Canada (why Canada? I don’t know, it just came to me!) and they all live together in an underground facility known as a crisis shelter. I haven’t nailed down all the details about timelines or even locations compared to the Underground story fragment, I mean that should be obvious since both are pretty rough drafts, but I wanted to make sure these share some key details. These stories are part of a whole that comes after a form of world-shattering collapse, hundreds of years in the past, where technology is still present and usable but ancient. I could write a whole page about where I got my inspiration for this setting, and if you know me you can probably guess a few, but I have tried to make it my own and I will work on that further as this story, these stories, become more cohesive. But I should shut up and let you get to the part you came here for: queer people!

Let’s jump in.

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“When you were packing up and getting ready to leave, it occurred to me that I couldn’t remember the last time I told you I love you.” Cassy’s eyes darted around Taylor, trying desperately not to look at them, yet somehow always landing on them, even for the briefest of moments. Taylor blushed.

“So, are you going to, then?” Taylor prodded, shyly but playfully. “Uhm, am I going to?” “Tell me you love me, idiot,” they laughed. “Oh… uh, yes… I love you.” “I love you too Cassy. Was that so hard?” “No, I…” “We’ve been together for ages now, it’s okay to say it sometimes.” “I know, I… it’s been a long time since I felt safe.” “I know, and you are safe here.” “I love you, Taylor,” Cassy sighed gently as the butterflies in his stomach took flight. “I love you too,” Taylor reached out to put a hand to Cassy’s cheek, and they responded with a small chuckle and a smile. “Are you ready to go?” “No. I’m going to miss you, I hope you know that.” “I do. I’ll miss you too. But it’s only for a few months.” “Yes.” “And when you’re back, well, you’ll have succeeded.” “I will.” “And we’ll be safe. For good.” “Yes.” “So, are you ready to go?” “Yes.”

Daylight was barely breaking as Cassy watched his love from a short distance as they loaded their saddlebags onto the small courier mech. The two of them had cobbled the mech together from scrap salvaged in the lower levels of the shelter where the life support systems had broken down. It had taken them a year to build, and it was ramshackle but sturdy. Taylor had a lot of gear to bring with them, no one knew what they would find when they reached their destination, or even along the route. No one had been that way for decades, much less returned. Taylor’s destination was an ancient pre-apocalypse crisis shelter, much like Sierra shelter, the one Cassy and Taylor lived in, but long since abandoned and overrun by various flora and fauna. Taylor’s objective was a computer deep within the shelter, hundreds of metres underground. On that computer should be access codes and telemetry data for the dormant communications satellites orbiting the planet. The theory was that if the data on that computer could be recovered, it would be possible to feed it into their own shelter’s systems and reactivate the satellites, reenabling communication between all of the shelters across the planet. And if that theory proved correct, then the shelters could begin to coordinate their efforts against the elements and hostile forces, with the goal of securing the planet and making it safe for everyone to start returning to the surface, to repopulate the world and rebuild it. It was a noble plan, but an extremely tenuous one. There were some in Sierra shelter who believed it was a wasted effort and that the data was lost, or that even if the satellites were able to be spun up again the communications architecture on the ground would still be inoperable. But no one really knew for sure. The consensus was that it would be a waste of equipment, resources, and people. But that was why Taylor was going, and going alone – they knew that if they didn’t, no one else would. And Cassy understood – he believed in the mission.

Once all of the gear was loaded, Taylor made their way back to Cassy. They took Cassy’s hand in theirs and looked into his eyes. “It’s not too late to forget about all this,” Cassy smirked, knowing he wouldn’t change their mind. “You know that’s not true,” they smiled. “This will all be worth it.” “It will. We’re counting on you.” “And I’m counting on you to keep it together while I’m gone. For the kids.” Cassy nodded. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small circular object and presented it to Taylor. “I found this a few days ago, I kept it from you because I wanted it to be a surprise.” “Is that…?” “…a network beacon. I tinkered with it a little and got it to work with the terrestrial network. It has a solar charger, so if you wear it on your backpack it’ll be charged when you want to use it.” Taylor turned the device over in their hands. “It doesn’t squawk?” they asked almost to themselves, noticing it had no speaker or microphone. “No, it’s an old emergency beacon. I couldn’t get a comms one working. But when you hook this up, it’ll send a ping through the network to the computer in our quarters. I’ll be able to see where you are on the map… and I’ll know you’re still alive.” Cassy averted his eyes, a little ashamed of his insinuation. “I’ll be fine, love,” Taylor reassured him, squeezing his hand. “I know, just… use the beacon? Please?” “I will,” they smiled warmly. “The, uh… kids will be grateful.” “Right. The kids.” Taylor winked at Cassy and squeezed his hand again. “You should get going. Don’t want to waste the daylight.” “Yes. Tell Riley and Canada I love them.” “They know. But I will.” Cassy and Taylor embraced, and then softly kissed. “I’ll be back before you know it.” “Be careful.” “I will.” “I’ll see you soon.” “See you soon.” Taylor turned and headed toward the courier mech and climbed aboard. They briefly looked back and waved to Cassy, before turning their attention back to the patchwork control panel and reacquainted themselves with the navigation system. A few button presses and a couple of switch turns later, the mech lurched into life and began making its way down the dirt path, away from the shelter access tunnel where Cassy was standing, and toward the sun cresting the horizon. Cassy continued to watch until he couldn’t see Taylor or hear their creaking mech lurching across the landscape and returned to the shelter.

Taylor’s expression turned steely as looked to the horizon and absent-mindedly adjusted the mech’s stability switch, trying to find a comfortable balance.

“I swear to the stars, this plan had better work.”

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So what did you think? As always, I would love to hear your feedback, and you can hit me up at the social or email links at the bottom of the page. Comments, questions, suggestions? Let me know!

Thanks so much for taking the time to read, I really appreciate it. And if you liked this or any of my other posts, consider telling a friend? It’s completely free and would really help me out - I don’t do any paid advertising of any sort so the best way I can reach more people is by word-of-mouth. Also, please consider subscribing to my Substack to get these posts direct to your inbox every Monday at 8am NZST! It's also free, but I have a couple of paid tiers too if you you want to support me monetarily - or you can tip me here!

That’s it for this week, folks. Take care of yourselves and I’ll talk to you again soon.

Ka kite anō au i a koe. 💚

Socials etc | Twitter | Mastodon | Cohost | Substack | itch.io | Letterboxd | Instagram | Carrd | Email

[hurielsanchez]

Tommy

Who ever said “ good people don’t hurt people” obviously never took into consideration that lots of good doctors, police men, and soldiers have hurt plenty of people. Sometimes on accident and sometimes because they had to, to protect others. I Still remember the first time I saw a dead body. I was 13 years old , in middle school. I was on a football team with these kids my age maybe a little older, one night a couple of us decided to sneak out and walk over too the park right next to our school, (I’m pretty sure this was my first time ever sneaking out as well ) this park got really dark and cold at night and of course there is a chance of getting caught by the security guards but we were willing to take that risk. We knew the security guard wouldn’t walk all the way up the bleachers to check them , so we camped out on the top with a little bit of music playing, some bottles of cheap and disgusting vodka. My buddy tommy had to piss so he took off behind the bleachers for a lil while, then got on the phone with his girlfriend.

I asked a couple of my friends who were standing at the top of the bleachers, if they had any weed to smoke and of course they did ( I knew they would). We sat at the very top in the center, smoking weed , taking shots of vodka. After a few drinks and a few laughs one of the girls decided to start getting real flirty and playful with one of my friends, which was unexpected considering I had been talking to this girl for a couple days (romantically). My buddies and I decided to start dancing and horsing around, punching eachother in the arm until we bruised. I could sense some real anger towards me, maybe it was jealousy? Or maybe it was ego. Maybe he was trying to make the girl think he was the alpha. Till this day i don’t know.

After we got done horsing around and being jackasses, already with way too much alcohol in our system. We decided to challenger eachother to an arm wrestling competition! Who ever wins, gets the girl! We warm up and stretch our muscles, the girls putting on chapstick to kiss the winner of the arm wrestling dual, like a princess waiting for the right knight to win her over in hand to hand combat! We run down the bleachers to grab this big, heavy and flat piece of shell stone about 20 inches long 30 inches wide. Perfect for an arm wrestling battle! After we looked at each other with acceptance of the arena grounds, we took off our jackets and prepared for glory. I grab his hand with toughness and strength and he gripped my hand with respect and preparedness, the girl says THREE, TWO, ONE , GO! We battle it out for a solid 20 seconds! And I lost, I lost the arm wrestling battle and I lost the girl of my dreams. The girl grabs my friend by the face and kisses him right in front of me. Now I was not only angry, I was furious! In a drunken rage I grabbed the big piece of shell stone, (almost too heavy for me to lift ) I struggle to get it over my head and I let it fall behind me right over the bleacher fense so I can hear it hit the concrete 20 feet below us! As I let it go my freind and my ex crush grabbed me by the shoulders and told me “ relax! We can still be friends and we don’t have to make this a bigger deal then it has to be!”. After a few minutes of 13 year olds drunk venting to each other, we decide to go home and call it a night, we’re walking down the bleachers, make a hard right to walk down the second flight of stares towards the back of the bleachers. Then we see it. A dead body, with a big 30 by 20 inch piece of shell stone completely crushing its skull into the concrete. “ oh shit is that tommy!?”.

[shldbwriting]

the kitten and the ball

I love sharing my stories with all of you. Today I've written a fun little story about a kitten playing with a ball. I hope you enjoy it. #amwriting #shortstory #flashfiction #readingcommunity

I cannot believe we are into February already. It seems like just yesterday we were celebrating the new year. I’ve been learning so much at work about programming the lasers that I guess it’s only natural for time to be flying. Here at home, I’ve been working on editing the short stories for a book I’m putting together. I can’t wait to share it with all of you. If you’re wondering what’s…

[bogdan-dragos]

Fantasy World Map #poems #poem #poet #poetry #writing #writer #shortstory #flashfiction #storytelling #story #fiction #creative #reading #poetsofinstagram #poetryisnotdead #poetsociety #poetrycommunity #poetryporn #poetryislife #poetryofig #poetrygram #poetryislife #poetryisart #inspiration #art #literary #books #fantasy https://www.instagram.com/p/ClVm89fqaPq/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[pushingthewave]

A short story from my collection Dear Lucifer and Other Stories.

[mxdnxghtraven]

Worthy

// Author's note: TW for some graphic descriptions & mention of alcohol.

Worthy.

What the fuck does that even mean anyway?

I never have been.

I can say "gimme some time while I work on it" and lose their patience anyway and then it's another failed relationship under my belt that I never asked for. I know I'm replaceable.

I'm just another toy.

Another fun little experiment. I'm that tester put on display above the packaged products in a sex shop.

Violated. Damaged. Used. I can't believe I even considered children with them.

I know I'm not gushed about online like I used to gush about them.

I'm still black and bruised, with formerly kissed scars ripped open by the same person that gently pressed their lips to them, reassuring me it'll be okay and that we'd work through this as a team.

Their wounds are fine. They get to go on their merry way as if nothing happened. I don't think they've even cried or expressed any sadness about the situation.

All while I'm sitting on the floor of my room drinking a high noon on an empty stomach trying to drown out the voices with loud music.

What happened to me meaning something? I guess that ceased when they accused me of being possessive, as if I hadn't been clear about my possessiveness before and even during. I never hid it.

Or bitching about having to pull teeth to have a conversation with me as if I don't have depressive/PTSD episodes that I struggle to recover from as they end.

So much for listening to me.

So much for caring about the person they supposedly loved at some point.

Whatever.

I will not be the one to leave this in pieces. I will leave them with their secrets, regrets and emotions they choose to avoid.

The little things give people away, suddenly you spot the doubt in their faith when the rose-tinted glasses come off.

The hardest part of ending is starting again.

[amoralcrackpot]

For decades, scientists have warned us of the dire consequences of man's inexplicable war on nature: the oceans continue to warm; wildfires overstay their welcome even when you tell them you have work in the morning; and organic life slowly replaced by plastic doppelgangers.

But no study could have foreseen crocodiles spreading conspiracy theories across the internet.

Due to the increased presence of alcohol and fentanyl in the waters in which they live and in the people that they eat, the once fiercely independent crocodiles of Florida are now voting Republican, pistol whipping children at playgrounds, and posting videos to social media in which they claim President Biden is using the postal service to "trans" Americans with gay anthrax.

And while it may be easy to dismiss this as harmless fun by a species not only lacking opposable thumbs, but also the right to vote, researchers aren't convinced.

"As ancient apex predators, crocodiles know better than to attack with reckless abandon," said crocodologist Dr. Allison Gaydor. "They bide their time, luring in unsuspecting prey with talking points about personal liberties, free markets, and small government before striking with a flurry of clips from the Joe Rogan Experience."

And so far, this slower, methodical strategy by crocodiles is working where the "howling, rabid baboons flinging feces at everyone" strategy of modern right-wing grifters is failing. Watching just one video in which a crocodile debates the need for women and minority representation in film and television quickly results in algorithms suggesting similar videos on false flags operations by the PTA, schools providing students with litter boxes, and something about trees causing socialism.

"I can only hope the sea reclaims Florida before it's too late," said Dr. Gaydor.

[foreignerabroad1994]

How Convenient: Writing Prompt Short Story

My response to the following writing prompt to u/Crystal1501 on the WritingPrompts subreddit:

[WP] I'm a professional assassin, well-known both for my skill, and for my choice in target; I only kill vile people, whether what they're doing is illegal or not. You're selling drugs? That's your problem. Treating someone like a slave? Not on my watch. I leave cards behind me to save police time.

"It's Lydia, dear, not Lilly."

The bored barista pops her gum with a loud smack, holding the takeaway cup in her manicured hand. "Lady, there are exactly three people here, and no other women."

I already know that, but I make a show of looking around, as if baffled. "My, you're exactly right. What powers of observation."

I reach out and take the cardboard cup, strategically introducing the slightest of tremors as I fasten the plastic lid from the little service station to the side.

A man in a starched suit huffs behind me. "You know, you could be nicer to your elders," he lectures the barista, who's hardly a day over eighteen at best, as she taps loudly at the cash register's screen, her talons clucking against plastic. She pretends she didn't hear, and the man just huffs again, muttering something about young people. I feel both old and young then, marveling at this man, who's clearly a good few decades younger than I am, already cantankerous in the face of more abundant youth. I don't know about him, but I find the mere faint crow's feet around his squinty eyes practically juvenile.

"Don't worry dear," I place a soft, wrinkled hand on his arm, smiling ever more softly and blowing a resigned, pronounced sigh. "I got my coffee, didn't I?"

He smiles politely, the smile men like him smile when an unattractive woman is nice to them and they must save face and return her kindness, though there's still a hint of a frown. "I guess so."

I walk to my carefully selected seat as if I merely stumbled into it, the lady who could have ordered a normal cup but mixed it up and got a to-go cup. How embarrassing, truly.

I settle, the drab floral fabric of my dress crinkling under my rear as I position my chair just so. I peek in the little pocket of my purse. All is well, then.

The man in the starched suit sits down with his coffee - a latte, of all things, which he never orders when he sits at the coffee shop near his office, lest he be seen with a coffee that's any less potent than a double espresso around the swinging dicks that are his colleagues. If months of intel serve me well, he is weirdly attached to the table near the big trashcan, of all places.

I rummage through my purse briefly. I doubt that the barista had noticed that, at the tips of my wrinkled fingers, there are no fingerprints but, rather, mangled skin. Nor did any of the other clients - now five, two of which are regulars - notice that I did not take a single sip of my overpriced chai latte.

Is the man doing his actual job today - screening through spreadsheets and reading The Financial Times? Or is he, once again, indulging in his prolific collection of illegal torture porn, which, I presume, has funded his shiny, bejeweled, gaudy Rolex? Perhaps neither. Perhaps he's simply replying to an email from his doctor. He's had a nasty ear infection, after all.

Toxins like this one are delicate. They require precise application - a blow into one's orifices, brief and lethal, aimed like a delicate arrow from the tip of the tongue. A sigh, if you will.

As I rummage through the purse, I look at my watch. I wait. There are no cameras here, and the one on the storefront next door is playing an unassuming loop. I get the little buzzing sound that indicates confirmation. All's in place.

The first trickle of blood on his starched collar is subtle. It's satisfying in its delicate crawl down his neck. Seconds later, the man shrieks loudly, holding onto his ear as pink-ish goo spills out of it.

The barista is not aloof now. She panics, screaming for her equally young coworker to call an ambulance. Another customer is kneeling near the man, who's convulsing on the floor.

As police and the medics arrive, one of them approaches me with polite reverence. I sit there, pretending to be terribly confused, eyes watery and shifty thanks to some questionable eye drops and adequate acting skills.

"Ma'am, this coffee shop is small, and we need people to clear out. Would you mind? I can escort you to the train station if you'd like." The medic is a sweet, handsome young man, clean shaven and smelling like masculine sweat and other people's death. A familiar scent.

"Would you be a dear? I can't stomach any coffee with all this noise anyways, my ears aren't what they used to be."

I ramble at him as he escorts me slowly out of the coffee shop and to the train station. A piece of cardboard conveniently falls out of my dress's worn pocket on the coffee shop floor. I wave the medic with a shaky goodbye and wish the "young man at the shop" a "swift and full recovery". He can recover in hell, surely.

I walk slowly to the train and get on the first one away from the area. When I reach the next neighborhood over, I straighten my spine and stride out of the train. My burner phone rings.

"You have twenty four hours to make the transfer before I come and castrate you."

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

"You think you're being funny, but I've skinned bigger men."

"I know, I sent you."

"Then you know I will cook your foreskin like bacon if I don't get my money."

"That's not a very grandmotherly thing to say."

"Good thing I'm not an actual grandma then."

"Just old."

"You know, I really would love to make a lovely casserole with your eyeballs as garnish."

"Money by 10am tomorrow. No worries, Lydia. Now go burn that ugly dress, for fuck's sake. I have some cocaine with my name on it and your voice is promising a bad trip."

"Then I wish you the most horrible travels."

I break the phone in half and dump half of it on a street corner, and the other into a moving trash collection truck's open back. I hear the crunch of fresh garbage as I walk away. Nobody's noticed that the old lady just threw a perfect shot over her shoulder without looking.

How convenient.

[anewwriter3]

Blind Date

“Blind date…” Olivia huffs loudly as she looks herself in the mirror. She twirls around, looking at herself. The silk black dress enhances all her curves and makes them stand out. The off-shoulder dress leaves her shoulders bare and gives her breasts a little push. She leaves her hair down and curls at the end. Applying a final coat of red lipstick, she inhales and steps into nude black…