Regret

The man took off his suit, folding it precariously, and then placing it on the wood in the fireplace. He stripped till stark and naked, putting the rest of his articles upon the firewood as well. The blood from his clothes began to drip slowly, with a well-organized cadence, the rhythm matching his unsteady heartbeat. He breathed heavily as he lifted his deep crimson tie in front of his face, fumbling with his lighter. Finally igniting a spark, he pressed it against the tie. The bottom of the tie slowly shifted to black, finally catching fire. The embers steadily consumed the tie, the fiery tongues licking the sides of the cloth. The man tossed the burning fabric on top of the suit, the neophyte flames rapidly plaguing the clothes.

            Taking a deep breath he stared into the growing flames, warmth and color returning to his wan skin. His eyes glazed over with the fresh memories and blood. He remembered more than he wanted to, looked at more than he needed to. He rubbed his bare chest, his heart thumping so hard he’d fear his neighbors would hear. The man realized his hand was smeared with red as if he crushed a handful of raspberries. Taken aback he realized his whole front body was glistening with blood as well. Taking two steps back, he slipped into the bathroom. Purposely avoiding the mirror, he opened the glass door and flung the shower handle to maximum heat. He stepped into the cleansing water.

            The man took the pristine white soap, scrubbing it against his scalded skin. The crusted blood began to chip away, crumbling under the pressure of his harsh scouring. The crimson water cascaded down his flesh, swirling with fervor as it rounded the mouth of the drain like a merry-go-round. Completely cleansed of his outer filth, the man pressed his hands upon the bright yellow tiles, cold and unforgiving. The man accepted the liquid fire, turning his skin raw and red. His blood boiling as much as the water, he thought about what he had done. He hung his head, the water trickling from his nose and lips into the drain. The man was stricken with his actions and grief, no amount of alleviation enough to heal his soul. 

Paradise

He awoke. His eyes fluttered open, being greeted by a midnight sky. The velvet sky was like a wondrous canvas, etched with paint and shifting colors, hues of beauty captured in a majestic grandiose scale. The stars were burning with a feverish light, desperate to be noticed. Each star was a freckle upon the sky, building together as if a foundation of atoms woven to make a body. The man was lost for words. Was he dreaming? But he just woke up, hasn’t he?

            The man felt a drift, a brush, and a gentle stroke upon his fingers. He closed his eyes, exhaling from his mouth. His fingers gripped something so impossibly soft and wondrous he had to open his eyes again. In his grasp was sand, white sand slowly drifting away like powdered sugar from his hold. The wind took hold of the cascading sand, blowing it into swirls that floated into the horizon.

            The scent of indescribable beauty reached him, making him gasp. It was floral, and yet from a flower that was not of this earth. The man thought the smell was from a distant mountain glacier, a steady stream flowing down the side into an endless field of flowers. How he thought this was beyond his own comprehension, but he believed it to be so.

            The man heard a far off noise, a sound that whistled echoes of a more distant memory. He began to be nostalgic for something he did not recognize; reminiscent of something he could not remember. The sound came closer and retracted, coming closer still. Waves.

The man realized he was upon a beach. He lay on the shore as the water slowly slipped past his shoulders, a surprisingly warm touch washing over his flesh. The water vibrated with a phosphorous teal glow, consuming the shore with a baby blue light. He craned his head, entranced by the water. The water was clear as air, and warm as the sun’s radiance. It was as if all the stars fell into the sea, residing a new shelter within its warm depths. The sea was full of its own stars and light, glistening and magical.

            He lifted his hand out of this mystic water, bringing it to his eyes for closer inspection. A few unexpected drops landed upon his lips, inviting an extravagant taste. The flavor of this sea was enticingly sweet and light, making his lips curves into a smile he long forgotten.

Short Drug Story

Trying something new, a more down to earth realistic story, simple and to the point.

Picking up. 6:45 AM. The boy opened his eyes from his slumber. His vision was bleary, so he blinked it away. He sat up, almost robotically as if this was part of his schedule. Lifting himself out of bed, he kicked aside some old clothes as rummaged for some money. He couldn’t find any so he quietly walked into his mother’s room, the sound of the floorboards creaking with unwanted noise. The boy stared at his mom for a moment before going to her desk. He gently pulled apart the clasps to his mother’s purse and slipped out a fifty. He set down the bag and began on his way out. He stopped at the door, turning his head to listen. Her breaths were not the usual slow and steady breathing of when she slept. She was awake. She knew. She began to cry quietly, little sniffles and sharp inhales. The boy closed the door.

            It was quite the walk, but the boy didn’t mind. What he did mind was the bright luminous sun, radiating down upon his pale skin and unkempt hair. He flipped up his dark hood and crammed earphones in, blaring mismatched music flooding his body.

            “Yo. A fifty sack.” Four words served for one purpose. The boy stood uncomfortably inside the house, as the young unshaven man picked out big nuggets from his glass jar and weighed them on the dirty scale, eventually sliding them into a Ziploc bag with an index card. He shook it up and went back to the boy, exchanging the bag for the money with one fluid motion.

            Roll. The boy was back in his room, breaking up the bud with his fingers. Neglecting to retrieve his grinder from his friend’s house, he had to do this the old fashioned way.  Slowly, a small pile began to appear, enough for him anyways. He took a lengthy EZ wider paper and sprinkled the bud evenly inside the fold of the paper. He picked it up and rolled it back and forth between his fingers, making it nice and packed. The boy put it back onto the table, rolling it using the table and his fingers, pushing it firmly to make sure it was tight. Reaching the end, he licked the edges of the sticky part of the paper, pressing it all together to seal it. He twisted the end of one of the sides of the joint. Brushing the remnants of the weed into his plastic baggie, he picked up his lighter and opened the window to climb onto the ledge of the roof.

            Burn. He lit up the twisted end of the joint with his zippo, sucking in from the other end. Eventually tasting the difference of when the embers reached the bud he sat back and puffed on the j. He inhaled slowly, inviting the smoke to the chambers of his lungs. Coughing out harshly, he spat out over the edge of the roof, feeling the high. He felt good.

Short Action Story

Peter Ma

Short Story

            Dust blew out under his feet as he scrambled towards the exit. The deafening roar behind him shook the whole cave, bringing debris and loose stalactites from the ceiling. The dreadful bass rumble reverberated throughout the boy’s ears, making him stumble in pain. He regained his footing, taking longer strides in his run.

            Finally reaching the cave entrance, the boy rested his hands upon his knees, inhaling the sharp cold air as snow drifted slowly upon him. He wiped his nose and stood up acutely, aware that all he could hear was the whistling wind. He turned around, furrowing his brows in confusion.

Why is it so quiet? Has it given up in chasing me? He peered into the dark eerie cave, unable to see anything in the blackness.

What is that? A little tint of orange began way off in the darkness. The boy craned his neck in desperation to see what it was. The hue of orange quickly illuminated the shadows, orange becoming a dim red. A gust of unexpected heat blew in the boy’s face, the red eating away at the blackness till it engulfed the cave in a feverish light, and then the boy realized what it was.

In the nick of time the boy quickly sidestepped away from the entrance, pressing his back against the frosted mountain wall as a surging tidal wave of flames blew beside him. The boy edged away from the burning cave entrance, fiery tendrils tearing apart a cloud in the sky. Gasping in relief, the boy began to climb down the icy cliffs. Seeing that the beast believed that it killed him with the fire, the boy slowly descended with comfort. Before going any further, he made sure the straps of his bag were tightly pressed against his shoulders. The boy did not come this far to lose the precious treasure. Resuming the journey down, he felt like his weary limbs were about to give out, but the tempest of water down below did not look inviting.

He was about thirty seconds into scaling down the perilous mountainside when his hand lost hold, causing his body slip down the shifty slopes. He slid down the ice in terror for a good twenty yards before his gloved hands found a jutting rock, yanking his body into safety. Wincing at the sudden strain upon his arms, he blew out a loud curse.

Biting back his tongue, the boy knew it was too late. The walls of the mountains began to rattle with intense shudders, making loose rocks and ethereal snow come down in fervor. The boy tried to move as quickly as he could without losing his grip again, billowy bursts of vapor blowing out with each pant.

The sky suddenly darkened as the shadow of a huge figure blocked out the remnants of the sun. The boy peered up in fear as the wings buffeted him with gusts of piercing wind. The creature gave a horrible unearthly noise as it locked eyes upon its intruder. The boy grit his teeth as he stared into the monster’s topaz pupils.

Dragon.

Short Unfinished Zombie Story

“An outbreak. An infection. The wrath of God. Each theory is as vague and unexplained as the last. One thing is for certain; if you get bit or even scratched, you’ll turn into one of them. “

            These words seeped through the dingy hospital walls, resonating its ghostly echo of a deceased news reporter. Upturned operating tables and surgical tools lay sprawled upon the dusty tiles, marred further by crusted blood. The dim overhead lights flickered feebly, the sickly tones of pale green staining the halls.

            Nick gently edged his way across the ground, the broken glass crunching against his sneakers. He paused at every claw marked door, nudging them slightly open with his foot to peer in. A putrid smell greeted him with every room, causing the boy to cram his knuckles against his teeth, making sure not to vomit. Gripping his kitchen knife murderer-style, he pressed on through the winding hospital floors.

            Taking a break, Nick sat down wearily. He rummaged through the pockets of his jeans and flipped out a phone. Nick stared longingly at the phone background, a snapshot of his family gathered around the dinner table. It hasn’t been more than two days since he last saw them, locked in the basement for protection. Looking at the photo reminded Nick why he was out here in the first place: a search for fresh food for his family.

            Suddenly, a prolonged scream pierced through the empty building, palpable with fear. Nearly dropping his weapon, he raced towards the source, pounding his feet across the grungy floor. The blood-curdling scream intensified in volume as Nick finally found the room it came from. Tackling the wooden door aside, his eyes took in the appalling scene.

            A black teenager, perhaps the same age as Nick, was shrieking in terror as he backed up in the corner of the room away from his assailant. The pursuer shambled towards the frightened boy in uneven steps; it’s arms drooping down, eyes rolled back in his head, accompanied by crimson dripping from his gaping mouth. Nick stood frozen in fear as the ghastly pockmarked figure reached out towards his victim. As the supernatural closed in on his prey, the black boy ceased his cries and looked straight at Nick. His trembling lips attempted to form words of desperation.

            “Help.”

            Shaken out of his stupor, Nick took two quick strides behind the undead. He grasped the abomination’s ragtag clothing, shoving the fiend to the ground. Nick swiftly scrambled on top of the monster’s chest, subduing any movement of the arms by pressing his knees against its shoulders. He felt the hearty growl rumbling in its chest like a motor, it’s teeth exposed by the rotten gums. The beast gnashed his teeth, lunging his mouth forward to tear apart its new challenger. Nick inhaled sharply and plunged his knife home between the eyes of the undead. Black pulp erupted from the wound, showering Nick’s hands and blade.

            Nick twisted the knife for good measure before yanking it out from the skull. Aghast at the sight of blood, Nick crawled backwards away from the spewing body, letting his knife clatter upon the ground. Remembering the other boy, Nick glanced back to see if he was okay. The boy was gone.