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Old 08-08-2013, 11:06 PM   #1
Mayu_Zane
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Default Mayu's Thread of Short Stories

Since I tend to get a lot of ideas for short stories, I decided to start putting them in a single thread to reduce clutter. I'll probably update once a month or something like that. Here's the first one.

Play
by Mahyuddin Zin

Twelve songs ago, I was a champion of the deep dark skies.The ticks and the fleas adored my appearance, with bouquets of butter cream and honey filling my patio incessantly. As the ring of light formed around my lips I had found the bliss of victory and inner strength.

I am in control of my actions, so my fall was therefore my fault. I made a choice, and I chose to make a mistake. I am tired of being an idol of the circuit. There is no wish or desire to be an emperor. Gold is not in the path of the future, only strange scraps of nickel and cobalt. Not a lord, not a baron, not even a chief.

The rubber burns and soon so does my skin. Limbs flail and a thud follows. Carbon monoxide fills the room as the engine bursts free from its chassis, and the leather tears with agony. The helm is turned to black, and the cracks form on the visor. A meeting of two objects culminated in defeat. Screams and gasps fly out from the seats.

Lying down with my body wrapped in white, I contemplate the coldness of reality and the warmth of friends. Deep down there is a smile, a feeling of jubilation and liberation from the strings that bind. I can live the rest of my life as I had wished to be, with a script in my head and the stage set ablaze with passion and fury.

A play. To write, direct and act, that way madness lies, but within madness there is joy. The fruits of labor will be ripe and sweet, refreshing and endearing. Many guns and dogs will be born by the time the work is complete. I dive into hell and bring back a piece of Olympus.

The scent of coffee invades the double holes, and the hand stops. A quick torrent into the throat, and the world feels bright. Flesh and bone become weightless. The labyrinth unravels and everything becomes simple. Enlightenment.

My eyes are demanding me to retreat, but I will continue to lead the charge. The words flow freely and I can see what lies ahead. A woman in red, another in purple dance together with their eyes facing towards the spectators. The blares of trumpets and the banging of drums fill the air and a detective interrupts the two friends. Cigars light, and the candles blow out. We're not living in sin, the detective says, but I'm going to find my heroine and be my love. Laughter erupts, and hyenas fall from the ceiling. The descent into the maddening spiral is just the beginning.

The morning sun slaps me in the face, a new day spits in my eye. The clock gives me the bad news, and I smash it against the wall. Too much waste. I pick up the quill and scribble more words onto the paper. I do not trust electronics for there may be pirates seeking to plunder my personal treasure. It is much safer to write on the carcasses of fallen birch.

Moons later, it is showtime. Hundreds of men and women flock together to fill the seats, and I act as the conductor for their brief trip to hell. The story begins with a loud boom, and the lady in purple prances around with posies and ponies. Poetry in motion, and poetry in sound. A murder of crows fly out of their cages and the detective steps in. The light reveals a dead woman, lying in a pool of black blood.

A short interview, and the scenery changes. The audience is hooked. I smile. My intentions are pure. It is good to see my work being appreciated. The story continues, and as dramatic reveals unfold the audience cheer and gasp. The ending comes after a blissful two hours, with the detective lying in bed and ready to begin a new day. A standing ovation from the crowd, and I beam with pride. It was a success.

I am no longer a hero of the petrol guzzler. I am now the prince of prose, and I feel joy in my heart. Another day comes, and another story flows from my fingers. I realize that I have not taken my medication. I swallow it.

The phone rings. It's a fan.

I'm glad you enjoyed 'Dark and Brilliant'! Please come to my next play! It's about a child looking for his parents in the middle of a big city. I call it 'Lost Little Wizard'. Unlike the last play, this one's suitable for kids so you can bring your family with you!

What? No, please, don't ask me if I'll ever go back to racing again. I'm done with that life.

Okay, thank you for calling! I appreciate your support. Bye!
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Old 02-06-2015, 06:27 AM   #2
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Library book

I found a library book that was long overdue. I pondered whether or not I should return it, because if I were to return it I would have to pay a substantial amount of my salary.

I decided to send it back, because it was the right thing to do.

Then I went back home and saw another copy of the book. It, too, was borrowed from the same library. Apparently I thought I lost a copy and borrowed an extra one instead of confessing that I lost it.

No matter. I walked back to the library and gave it back.

Then I went home.

My living room is books.

All of them the same books. All of them with the same library card, the same dates, the same marks. I made a phone call to my local library and they told me they were sorry.

"We are sorry."

"We are sorry."


"We

are

sorry”
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Old 02-06-2015, 06:27 AM   #3
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Friendly reminder

If you hear a knock on the front door and there is a masculine voice yelling at you for not paying your subscription fee for Netflix, do not open that door.

It’s not a fee collector.

It’s not a person.
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Old 07-29-2015, 05:11 PM   #4
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Splatoon Report: Spyke

The Urchinite merchant sitting near the vending machine is harmless to other citizens of Inkopolis; he has no known criminal record and his associates are not involved with any known gangs.

However, amongst young Inklings he has a reputation of being a 'shady' guy. This is actually a facade that he maintains in a bid to appeal to the plaza's visitors. Spyke is aware that a lot of kids like skirting around the law, but at the same time does not want teenagers to get in trouble.

On the surface, it looks as if Spyke is a smuggler or a bootlegger. His primary service is procuring clothes that look similar to another product on the market, though with different attributes in Turf War matches and at a much higher price.

Surprisingly, Spyke's method of getting these items is completely legal. Spyke has a network of other Urchinites who work in the garbage disposal and second hand goods industries, and through them he is able to find the 'ordered' products. The price is proportional to the difficulty of finding a discarded item of acceptable quality as well as the time and materials required to clean it.

Spyke is not a bootlegger or a smuggler, but rather a second-hand retailer. Understandably, he keeps this a secret as one can expect that his customers may not react favorably to being sold someone else's trash.

Spyke is also a member of the Inkopolis City Council, though his face is never seen in any news media regarding the council. In fact, he was the one who made Super Sea Snails as the prize for Splatfest events.

The prizes are completely sponsored by clothing giants, and so the council itself doesn't spend a single coin.

At first it was believed that he was doing it for purely selfish reasons, but he has actually been distributing the snails given to him to other Urchinites who are homeless and unemployed. Urchinite culture does not look favorably upon the concept of government-funded welfare, so Spyke has decided to use this as a loophole of sorts.

It is worth noting that no one else is able to use Super Sea Snails to modify clothing. Spyke has no engineering qualifications but investigations reveal that he was quite an inquisitive child and discovered his technique by accident, which was later perfected in his teens.

Spyke also has ties to Captain Cuttlefish, a veteran of the Great Turf Wars. It is unclear how they met, but Spyke has some knowledge of the Octarians’ attempt at taking and keeping the Great Zapfish as he referred to Agent 3 as a ‘veteran’ after DJ Octavio was incarcerated.

After the the end of every round of a Turf War match, Spyke or one of his friends can be seen checking the arena for signs of discarded equipment. We assumed that he was going to sell the items off, but he actually delivers the lost items to the owners’ mailboxes.

Spyke DOES have a dark side, however. He is very hostile towards those sympathetic to snails, and considers them to be narrow-minded at best and genocidal at worst, as his species can only eat snails (therefore, they must want Urchinites to starve). Though he has no crime record, there are often rumors that he’s responsible for the massive amounts of garbage that shows up at the homes of pro-snail activists.
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