Short Tales

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Anyone who would like to post a short story, 1-2 pages is welcome to do it here. I am going to be re-posting the other two that I wrote before and a new one. Everyone is free to talk about the stories and give their interpretation of them and say what you think happens afterwards. IF you give me inspiration to do a follow up and I manage to write a longer story that remains decent throughout, thanks.

The Last Charge of Quintus Scipio

Full of anxiety, Quintus surveyed his soldiers. All of them were ready, but none of them were prepared. He surveyed the Praetorians, Legionaries and Auxilia. Each and every one of them was clad in Rome’s finest armor and carried stout tower shields, but none of them were safe. Quintus gazed upon the field, parched and flat. It was perfect. Slowly he straddled his trusty horse, set his helm upon his head and lifted his spear. He turned his back on the sun, and gaped at the opposing force. Pikes glittered in the sun and the plate mail glittered brilliantly like gems in the rough. Slowly he set his jaw and positioned his shield. He roared and unleashed the full might of Rome.

The Smith

He stood over his great anvil. His baldhead shone with sweat. Slowly he lowered his hammer and trundled towards the bellows. The apprentice, having heard his approach began to furiously work the bellows. “That’s enough for today,” bellowed the smith, “Go home and tend to your mother.” Wiping the sweat from his forehead the smith lumbered towards the door. He leaned forward and examined the dusty street. Nobody was out. Resting his chin in his hand the smith looked about puzzled. He dropped his hand and tilted his head. Horses. Not far. Probably just around the bend. He stepped out of the doorway, set his feet and gazed down the street. Samurai. Too many to count, all clad in bright lacquered armor. Their spears shone under the brilliant sun. He lifted his hand to shade his eyes, yes there it is. Their mon was that of the Tokugawa, the new lords of the land. No matter, smiths will always be needed, in war or peace metal must always be shaped.

THE NEW ONE feel happy

Life’s Last Fight
Warren stood on the heaving deck of the Higgins Boat. The smell of saltwater and vomit inundated the air. The sound of machine gun fire and artillery filled his ears. He felt the dread solidify inside him and turn his limbs to Jello. He dared not look up; he knew he would never do his duty if he saw those ahead of him being shot down by the German guns. As the boat neared the shore he grasped his rifle and crouched down, it would be a pity to die before he reached France. Not long now. The ship suddenly shuddered and slid to a stop. The boatswain dropped the ramp and out they ran. Warren followed quickly. The first four men were immediately struck down and Warren was covered in blood. He jumped into the water, his heart hammering in his ears. He fell under the surface, panic overcoming him. They were not on the beach. He grappled with his gear, as he slowly sunk farther from life. He threw down his heavy burden and burst above the waves, salt water drenching his clothes. Rifle in hand he sloshed ahead.
He tore the plastic from his rifle. M1 Garand, eight shots, nothing more beautiful to an infantryman on a hostile beach. He charged onto the sand. He flew into the beach, his first taste of France fresh in his mouth. He spat the sand out and pulled himself up, shaking the ringing from his ear. He ran again, his breath heaving in and out almost rhythmically. He tripped and fell behind an obstacle, into a pool of blood. He ran, ignoring the machine gun fire and pounding of artillery shells, past the dying and the dead. He ran for the shingle, terror filled his heart. He dropped his rifle, he tripped. He fell into the shingle, among the few other brave souls that ran the width of the beach. Bangalores! The cry filled his ears. He grabbed a dead man’s rifle and prepared to charge into the Lion’s Den. He covered his head and waited. The bangalores shattered the wall, they all stood. He gathered the last of his courage and stood. He clambered up the shattered shingle and stood before the concrete behemoths, shooting fire from their innards. He charged and fell. The first to fall upon the top of the shingle.
At least he made it to France.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

The Last Ride

Jenkins pulled back on the stick, his helicopter slowly rose above the heaving carrier deck. The smell of saltwater saturated the air. The heat was quickly ushered away by the chopper's quick acceleration. He could feel the tension in the air. Jenkins, his copilot and door gunner were all wondering, will they let uf leave them behind? He tried to take ghis mind off the war with thoughts of home and family, but to no avail. He could not remove his thoughts from their plight. Those that were left behind would be subjugated by the communists, many would likely die. It was not his to wonder why, but to do or die, these words were ash in his mouth. How could they leave them there?
They were there.
The city was covered in smoke, people were everywhere. Running. He angled the chopped in to the parking lot and slowly decellerated. The crowds were just as large as they had been that morning. The marines could barely hold them back. The chopper was ssoon full, too many were left on the ground. This was the last flight, all the rest would have to face their doom. He felt his heart fall as he pulled back on the stick yet again, how could he do this? He could feel the despair in the air, everybody knew the end was here. He wept as they left, he wept for those left behind, for home, for all he wished he could do but could not.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

I am going to keep writing these, but I am also going to try to write something that keeps going. I will probably not post it until the whole thing is done, but since it takes 10 minutes for these it should not be too long until I have something for you guys to read.

[Saranalos]

They are good but too short they just start and end too quickly without an explanation you should try to keep going some start really good and then end suddenly. Make them last a bit longer...

[Quietus]

Hey Uesugi,

Yes, you are doing it too fast. For example, in "Life's Last Fight", most of the sentence in the second half starts with "He.." I noticed you were doing it on purpose. Add a descriptive sentence in between and see the effect it does.

And no, 10 minutes isn't nearly enough. Invest an hour.

I suggest you re-write "The Smith". Make it about 5 times longer. ~:)

[master of the puppets]

i dunno i kinda like tiny little unexplained stories, i've actually seen whole books like that. 2 mabey 3 pages each, all different times, people, places. no corrolations or plots just a vauge beggining to brood over and extend upon mentally.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Well I enjoy writing the short stories and I think a lot of people like them. I write these stream of consciousness, that is why they do not take long. I am starting to write a longer better explained story, it will be near future but that is about all I have for you for now. I will continue writing the short stories while I work on the longer story. They will be used as a break between working on my larger project and as a way for me to use rejected ideas or to just mess around and expirement with my writing. I will try to do another soon.
Glad you enjoy them!
Quietus do you have any specific ideas for The Smith? If you do I would love to hear them and I may revisit it and make it longer.
Thanks for the feedback.

[Quietus]

Quietus do you have any specific ideas for The Smith? If you do I would love to hear them and I may revisit it and make it longer.
Thanks for the feedback. He's working for the new masters (I presume that's what you're driving at). He used to work for the old masters (make a background story to fit the ending).

There's lots of things you can do with it: He's a traitor. Or that's the 12th or nth time the place was conquered. It's really up you.

[The Stranger]

The assault of Rotterdam

This day, is the day men. This day we shall fight, fight for our future. As long as we believe that we'll win, we shall do so. Tonight we face the Germanic Barbarians, a though tribe. But after we've won, we can create a own empire, and take on those nasty Romans. So take up your swords and put on your helmets, and we descendents of the Mighty Heracles shall triumph these barbarians." We all cheered after these words, and i knew nothing could go wrong as long as Alexander of Myra led us in battle. This was 7 years ago, my first battle. I was very nervous, but the sight of my brothers on my side, calmed me down. Now 7 years later we face a even bigger threat, and i'm nervous again, and for a strange reason it felt good to be nervous. Never before i've been so cautioned as now.

I'm just a regular hoplite, a sexy hoplite though, but still a regular one. My name is Adrianus from Tripola, but my friends calle me Adrian the III. I've joined the army after the Romans chased us out of our homes, and killed my family, i was the only one that could escape. After some time of walking the lands i met a big army, led by Alexander of Myra. I asked him if he needed a soldier. He smiled and said: "How more soules how more Joy. I immediatly felt comfortable in his presence. The soldiers treated me as their brother, and i felt as i found my second home
Alexander told us, that there was a beautiful country in the far northern lands. No one controlled those lands he said. But boy, was he wrong. Since our journey, we've been fighting the whole way long. We've lost lots of brothers but our faith in Alexander never wavered. What's left of our army, is the backbone. Battlescarred veterans, that have been with me, drenched in blood knee-high, and fought to the death every battle. We are brothers, family. Alexander never lost us a battle, but this time even we, the veterans that stood side by side with him every battle are not sure of the outcome of this battle.

Rotterdam, just a tiny city in this big country, is maybe the last thing many of us shall ever see. We're joined with some fresh soldiers, three week wonders we called them, because that's all the training the've got. But it doesn't matter how strong you are or how much training you've got, cause when you set foot on a battlefield you're changed forever.

[The Stranger]

The Battles at Skull Bridge

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The year 280

After a time of war, looting and slaughter, peace was finally achieved. For more than 50 years, our people have been in war with the Roman Republic and their expansion drift. I, the great King of all Gallic Tribes, have fought my whole life trying to beat those Romans. But all this blood-shed is not worth it. So i had to cast my pride aside and ask for peace. So, you my children can finally live in peace and harmony with each other.

-The last words of the King-

The year 270

Exactly 10 years after my father died, our relation with the romans, are heated again. In order to deny a two-front, I have to give up Venetia and Mediolanium. This hurts me more then any of you, my beloved generals and sons, but this my duty and the only option. None of you know the terror of a real war, because my father and I have made sure that our people could live in peace and wealth.

After the abandon of these cities the Gallic tribes had only 6 years to live in peace. In the winter of 264, war broke out with the Brythonic Tribes.
But a ceacefire was quickly arranged and peace was back again. Atleast that was the people thought. In summer of 258 war broke out with the Roman Republic.

Vircussius the Son of Thoretix was made First Commander of the eastern front. He rushed to the bridge that linked Cisalpine Gaul with Transalpine Gaul, and set up a chokepoint. His father send him with the best gallic warriors availeble at the time. 3697 fierce warriors were willing to give their life for Vircussius.

After the mobilisation of the Roman Armies they finally met at the bridge.
the Romans, the army had according to our spy reports, about 2900 men. They charged over the bridge and met the best warband in the whole army, all these men came from Alesia and where the Elite. After holding of the Roman army for a long time the Warband routed and lured the enemy in Vircussius trap. These men scattered on the battlefield were pursiuted by impetous romans, not weary of the taunting barbarians. Vircussius ordered his infantry, wardogs and cavalry into a routhless charge surrounding the enemy and forcing them to flee an drown in the river. The battle was over, some dogs pursuited the last romans of the field, while Vircussius men were celebrating their Heroic Victory.

When the dust lifted, Vircussius could see the huge devastion, 300 brave Gallic soldiers layed dead on the battlefield, but that was only a tiny spot compared to the whole Roman army that layed around and in the river. Vircussius told his men that nobody will never forget their Heroic stand at Skull Bridge.

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The year 254

2 years after the Heroic stand of Vircussius troops at Skull Bridge, another Roman army threatened Gallic borders. Vircussius forces weary of the coming danger. They were alert everywhere they went. Until they met the Roman soldiers at Skull Bridge. From the 3697 men that accompanied Vircussius in his mission to protect the borders, 3233 were still alive.
the Romans brought a army that contained 2920 men. The were the pride of Rome.

'This battle is inevetable. But we will win this battle, and walk to victory on a road paved with Roman skulls,' Vircussius said to his soldiers.

Again the Roman hastati, princeps and triarii ran towards the bridge, storming to a unpleasant death at the point of Gallic steal. After a short clash, the first warband crumbled before the overwhelming roman troops. Because Vircussius forces were lined up in the half square formation, the roman soldiers had to split up. The Gallic soldiers charged the Romans under the suportive chant of the druids. Vircussius ordered his noble cavalry to make a headlong charge into the fight. This overwhelming force made some Romans run and crying for their Matrona. Suddenly Virsuccius stands right in front of the Roman Heir, a fight erupts fed by hate for each others nation and love for their own. But the brave Remulus (can't remember his name) couldn't beat the 21 year old war veteran Vircussius, and was slain. Even before his corpse hit the ground his army turn and ran. Virsuccius released the dogs to pursuit the remaining routing romans.

'I told you, my friends and soldiers, that our road to victory would be paved with Roman skulls. Now here, is your prize, the Roman faction heir dead and slain. I think his family will pay us a lot of gold for his body. With that money I can buy you wine, women and might,' Vircussius said after the battle.
In this battle we lost many brave brothers, we'll never forget them and give them proper funerals. Now come men, and help me dump these Roman corpses in the river.

[AntiochusIII]

A little humorous short story but extremely controversial and offending to some...people. ~D Look, I tried my best to cover it up! Even at the cost of "naturality!" :embarassed:

--Tonight; Last Night--

“I’m NOT fat! Damn it! Don’t you understand? I’m just obese, like everybody else with any sense who loves some good pizza and beer!” I said.

And she responded: “Oh yeah? Good! I break up with you then! Goodbye, ‘obese’ guy!”

Ha! As if I care. Now, to finish this tasty burger…

Tonight, I walked from Macdonald to the Pizza Parlor next block and spent a short hour there supporting fellow patriotic corporate businesses. After that, I walked home. My home was three blocks away. So far! Though a patriotic-hardworking citizen like me must not fall beneath such a great burden. I say, walk, my fellow patriots! Walk three blocks from the Pizza Parlor to your house to show the true spirit of our nation!

Unfortunately, though, I didn’t reach my house tonight.

After a tiring and burdening walk for a block, I felt a pain in my heart. At first I thought because of that useless girl that broke up with me tonight. Though soon I realized that wasn’t the cause. Like a good, patriotic soldier I lifted my exhausted head up to face the darkness of the night proudly. I will sue the city council for being unable to repair this street light bulb that has been broken since yesterday! But, oh! This pain is growing. This must be a heartburn, like last Sunday. Nonetheless, I tried to walk on. Though it was too much. I couldn’t lift even my hands up anymore, much less my fatigue-consumed head! I will…I will…sue that Pizza…parlor…

God…Bless…a…Me…

Ugh!

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LAS VEGAS SUN: HEADLINE

A MAN DIED IN THE STREET; GIRLFRIEND SUSPECTED; UNFORGIVABLE CRIME!!!

According to the LVPD this morning. A thirty-six years old man who lived around Henderson was found dead last night. He has been identified as Johnny O. Bese, a native of Las Vegas. Though the cause of the death is still undetermined, police sources said that they’ve identified the suspect to be Rica Hernandez, his ex-girlfriend. Witnesses said that she broke up with him at Macdonald, West Henderson yesterday after complaining, unjustly, as the witnesses claimed, that he was…fat!!!

She has already been taken to custody according to the Obese-Protection Act in the charge of hate speech, intentional murder, and the unforgivable crime of calling somebody else fat.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Interesting story Antiochus. I liked the first person perspective and the way you described his thoughts and feelings during his last moments.
If I have time tonight I am going to write another short story. I was unable to last night because I was in New York City. My family went to see Spamalot and I have to say it was great!

[Monk]

AntiochusIII: As an American i don't feel offended by that, as i'm sure it was directed at my people. We are the only ones (to my knowledge) that constantly call ourselves patriots, kinda gets annoying sometimes. And the "Obese-Protection act" ~D nice touch...

[harmless joke] but under The Patriot act i feel i can say no more...i think i'm already being monitored for speaking out [/harmless joke] ~:handball:

Emperor Umeu 1: i've already commented on the skull bridge story, so i'll say something on the Rotterdam. I meant to reply to your other thread...dunno why i did

I know it's a short story but it seems...too short. I think it was perhaps lacking details. Why were men willing to follow Alexander? (for example) why was he leading them away from the romans and not to battle against them? did he think the battle was lost? basic plot questions like this should be explained.

Don't worry about length, try to expand on your ideas. Even if it ends up as 2 or 3 pages. Try to develope the characters a bit, or if you are doing a narrative try to explain the situation in a way that makes you care about them. (just some tips)


Uesugi Kenshin: Quietus beat me to it. i think i agree...

[Uesugi Kenshin]

I did not get the time to write another tonight... I will try to do a couple over the weekend. I will also try to revisit The Smith.

[The Stranger]

what is the smith

[AntiochusIII]

what is the smith

A short story written by Uesugi Kenshin in the first post of this thread. It's a cool one. I hope for a sequel. ~D

Thank you for everyone for the little "nice touch" for me. And Monk for being able to figure it out. I'm currently living in Vegas and attending a High School here right now, for more background. And thank you for not being offended. I think if this is posted in the backroom I would find myself under fire. :bow:

I'm beginning to like this place very much... ~D

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Well in my opinion pretty much anything that is not vulgar should be fine here. People can read it here and debate it in the backroom. I just have to hope nobody takes offence at the gore/grisly details and violence in some of my writing.
I am also a high school student, but I am in Vermont.

[The Stranger]

what about my story Uesugi '(aren't you the one that was stabbed in his ass by a ninja atleast the one whom name you have)

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Emperor I like the background story of your story, but it is similar to my first story about Quintus and the empire. It is not very descriptive and doesn't have as much of an affect on my. I think it has potential and could definately be very gripping, but you should try ot add more description and weed out some of your errors. I like to use a decent spell and grammar checker to help me get rid of distracting errors, this will help the overall flow of the piece. I like the idea of the son leading the people and being torn over the war, but I think you should try to give it more depth and flavor.
To set the record straight on Kenshin: He most likely died of stomach or liver cancer. He was unable to eat solid food in the month or so preceding his illness and was having trouble walking. His death was most likely not a ninja attack, as there are no confirmed assassinations that I can come across and he was very sick. He did die on the throne. As to the source of his cancer it was most likely his hard drinking.

[The Stranger]

oke i'll let my dogs search for errors

[The Stranger]

btw i have 2 stories about wich one were you talking

[AntiochusIII]

A little story dedicated to the thread owner. ~D
I make it so that it is weird. ~D
Of course, the legend is unbelievable, but cool. ~:cool:

--The Death of Him--

'He' was one of the greatest men alive during this age of greatest of men. 'He' was an archrival of a man who was as great as he himself, and greatest they indeed were. 'He' was the commander of one of the most prestigious houses of Japan. 'He' was a great champion of the old ideals who fought incessantly, and victoriously, against all that the foreigners bring. He, how unfortunate, was my target.

I was, as you can guess, a ninja. Who was my master and who exactly was my target I won't tell you. Nonetheless, I will tell you that I've crossed many provinces and ventured through many adventures in the past few weeks to reach 'him', my target. I came to hunt him so that my master would have one less great man to deal with. I came to prove the honor of men of my position and yet, how ironic, prove my target's honor in his ideals as well.

I do believe that I deserve to be a man to put an end to him. For I had to endure such a great pain that few ninjas would need to endure, despite the all the oddities they have to endure as a whole when in comes to assassination in this odd world. I had to spend my time for days - days! - covered beneath the very place where men put their wastes down - a sort of thing we called toilet. I hid for days that the smell - oh, the smell! - became something that I could not endure. It became everything. The world stinks when I think of it nowadays. I shall not describe it further. However, I did all this because I had to, or else I would not have a chance to kill him.

His virtue was so great that no Geisha - no matter how skillful they were - would get to meet him alone, undefended. Even if he was alone, he would be skilled enough to handle even, yes, even, the dreaded Geisha assassins that brought untimely deaths for many greatest men of the age. His caution, also, was great. He would not let any ninjas, no matter how skilled they were, reached him wherever he was, unless it was toilet.

So there I was, and there I waited. Two days and nights and more still and he finally came. I shall not endure you with the description of what happened before I got my chance, and, well trained in my art, made my move.

I silently pulled up my blade, even in toilet he was cautious, so you must be as cautious and even more so. I then, with skill I held with pride, put my blade through the whole - and hole - of his behind. My hope was granted; it finished him.

And thus the greatest man in many fell to his untimely death.

And here I am, telling you of my deeds of the past. I feel no need to tell you of how I escaped, nor how I gained my master's gratitude, nor even who were my master and my victim. All you need to know is that I have finally killed my victim and brought the death of him.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Emperor I was talking about both. When I made the specific comments about the story aspects it was about the one set in Gaul against the romans. Not the Alexander one, I think it was the second one.

Antiochus great story. I like how you made it from the perspective of the ninja and kept all the information a ninja would have. The voice of the story felt like it was someone who had every reason to be secretive and yet pridefull sitting in a tavern shrouded in smoke and telling his story to a traveller. Good job!

I am going to post this little reflective story, it was for school and may be good. I don't really know. I hope you guys enjoy it.

The Slides

One hot and sweaty summer day in Boston the forensics class had gathered in the auditorium to look at slides of wounds and damaged organs. We gathered in the comfy chairs and prepared to take notes. The professor strode confidently onto the stage and began his lecture. First came the organs, half of them desecrated by horrible diseases or lifestyle choices, the other half plump and pink from good care. Everything was interesting, but the images were academic, not emotional or disturbing.
“If you are not comfortable seeing bullet wounds, please avert your eyes.” Came the disclaimer. This caught my attention, I had not seen a real bullet wound before. I decided I could handle the gore. Tension filled the air as everyone prepared to test themselves and their stomachs. I quickly calmed myself, cleaned my glasses and looked straight ahead. The first wound was suprisingly benign looking. The bullet had only made a small hole in the flesh and did not appear to have caused life threatening damage. The next wound was the real test. Projected in perfect color for all to see was the head and shoulders of an unfortunate woman. She had been caught at the wrong end of some homicidal criminal and his cheap pistol. The bullet had tumbled and created a strangely shaped hole in her forehead, like what you would expect a pick axe or hammer to do. The image was not very disturbing, because her eyes and face were blurred out. I began to examine what I was feeling and found a disturbing calm overtake me.
The next slide was even worse. This woman had been killed shortly before or after the other victim. Her eyes were not blurred out, this would have obscured the wound. She had been shot between and above the eyes, at point blank range. Her face was covered in particles of powder and her forehead carried a strange star shaped metal covered wound. Her face carried a calm only the dead can achieve. My heart quickened. Despite my heart my brain remained calm and I dutifully took notes, however, this did not stop me from wondering why she had deserved such harsh treatment. As the lecture ended we prepared to reenter the harsh and humid campus. All the while I examined my feelings. I found that I had no trouble dealing with such wounds and that my only problem was that I could not stop feeling pity for the victims. How could I maintain emotional distance if I felt pity?
I decided I was human and could not stop it, but I could still do what had to be done. To prove it I went down to lunch.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

A new story for you guys. Sorry I did not get a chance to look at The Smith. I will try to do that soon.

Terror

What am I doing here? I do not belong here; I should be lounging under the maple tree, swimming in the river not here, not on the front. What am I doing in this fox hole? Here among these battle hardened veterans. I have never killed, I have never seen death. Why must I be the one to be drafted? Why couldn’t it be someone else here in this hole, sweating bullets and agonizing over everything? The nonchalance of the other soldiers only makes it all worse. Here they come.
The shells are shrieking in, one must be for me. There are too many for them to miss. How could this hole save me from the screaming death and flying shrapnel? I taste dirt. I must have been hit. Where? Where am I hit? Where is the blood? What is pushing me into the ground? A tree. I must have been hit by a falling tree. Why me? It is only my first day, couldn’t the krauts leave me be until I got settled?
Dragged up, out of my icy grave. How is he alive? He was in the same hole as I and yet he is untouched? He is yelling for me to grab my gun. I am crouching. Unhurt? I have escaped death? He must have thrown me down when I stood. Where is my rifle? There. The smooth wood comforts me, the mechanical perfection soothes me. In with the clip and prepare for the attack. The shells stop. I peer up over the bare earth. The snowy field is covered in shell holes, the wounded scream incessantly. Make them stop. I might be able to stand my ground if they would only stop screaming. Agony fills the air.
There! I fire eight shots and nothing. As I reach for the next clip I notice my hands. They are shaking. Stop. Stop. Stop. Let me fight. I must live and I must fight to live. There are only a few grey uniforms approaching slowly, carefully. But every man is firing with grim determination. I fire again, slowly, carefully. His head bursts. Blood soaks the ground. My God, is that worth my life? What is that sound? Where have I heard it? Why is everyone ducking? Why is the bazooka moving up?
Tanks.
The mechanical behemoth moves up, slowly. The gun swivels and fires. I duck. Everything is black. Smoke and dirt everywhere. I cover my face and ears. My head rings. I shake it all away. I look up again. That man is crazy. The bazooka has moved up within 10 yards of the tank. Fwish. The rocket flies out and slams into the tank. The crew crawls out. The tank is a charred hulk, barely resembling what it once was, death. I throw the dirt out of my hole and fire again and again. I fire until I am spent, no bullets left. Cordite hangs heavy in the air. The second tank sweeps the fine soldier with the bazooka to his death. We have one last defense against the tank.
Me.
I am closest to the tank and the bazooka. My mentor is dead, shot by a kraut rifleman. The tank turns and unleashes a horrible torrent of fire upon the front foxholes. Nothing left now, without me they are all dead men. I stagger to my feat and clamber out of my ruined hole. I crawl through the dirt, snow and blood until I reach the weapon. It is already loaded. Nothing left now but to fire. I raise it to my shoulder, position it and aim. I wait for an eternity and then squeeze the trigger. I fall back immediately. I feel nothing. I hear nothing. All I see is sky.
When I recover my senses three soldiers and a medic are huddled over me. “You got a ticket home son.” says my sergeant. The medic is busy preparing me for the ride to the field hospital. My leg is torn open from ankle to hip. I must have hit the tank.
Every day since then I have remembered the one most important day of my life. I changed from a green rookie to a determined soldier in less than 20 minutes. I saved lives. Nothing seems nearly as important, but somehow I must adjust. I must recover.

[The Stranger]

ggood story, i like stories about WWs

[AntiochusIII]

ggood story, i like stories about WWs
Me too. ~D

Slides: HEY! THAT IS GORE! I WILL BAN YOU! THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE! HOW COULD YOU POST GORE ON INTERNET!?! (....if you really fall for it please be assured since this is a joke ~D ) But, do they really give that kind of slides in forensics? -Nice Emotional Reflection-

Terror: World War II New soldier's feelings. The boy is a hero; natural instinct/reflection. ~D Nice.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Glad you guys like it. I will contin ue writing these for you. I have unfortunately not been able to get much work done on the longer sotry recently, hopefully I will be able to tomorrow night.

[master of the puppets]

well i'm surprised this got so long

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Well some other people contributed their stories and I am going to keep writing. I am also going to be posting a full story, I am still planning, but I hope to get into the writing this weekend. I have three days so I should be able to.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Note this may need editting, I wrote it between 12:30 and 1:10. I am going to bed, hope it is good, otherwise I will work more on it tomorrow.


Sweet Sorrow
Flavius pulled himself from his grand bed. The silk sheets fell smoothly to the marble floor and pooled at his feet. Slowly he padded to his armor, already laid out by the servants. Slowly he turned to allow his servants to strap him into his armor. A sense of well being and dread washed over him at the same time. He was protected, but he never wore his armor without good reason. Soon he would be fighting for his life yet again. His bed stirred. His wife emerged wrapped in a silken towel. To his eyes she was radiant and beautiful beyond comparison. In his opinion none could match her wit, beauty, laughter or sadness. She had begged him to stay home, to let his lord down this one time, but he could not. He was a soldier and he would remain a soldier until the end of his days.
“Please don’t go,” pleaded his wife, her soft features marred by her grief.
“I must go, I cannot stay while the men fight,” he explained, “I must go my wife, but I promise to return to you. If for nothing else I will return for you my love.” She grasped him fiercely; her tears fell and slid down his armor. The stood there for several minutes. Slowly they released and ended their fierce embrace.
“Return to me,” she pleaded, “return for the children’s sake.”
“I will,” he assured her as he slowly lifted his helm from its marble pedestal. The metal gleamed as he lifted it to his head. He thought of all the reasons to fight hard and return home, nobody would stand before him today and if they did.
The great horns of the city blew the call to arms. He grabbed his gladius and strode quickly to the great doors. He flung them open and the morning sun poured in, he hesitated and then descended the stairs. The army was assembling. The Auxilia and Legionaries were already assembled. The cavalry were only now forming up. It was an impressive force. The armor gleamed, the spears glittered, the horses stirred. It would be a fierce day.
He walked slowly to his unit. The best trained and equipped legionaries in the whole army. They were supposed to be equally equipped, but everybody knew this unit was special. No unit could boast of as many victories. The troops were all seasoned veterans, most were getting old fighting men, but none would stand down. The unit had never taken on new recruits and so had dwindled from its original 1000 to about 100 men.
“March!”
Every soldier turned in unison towards the gates and began to march, a slow steady march. Flavius’s unit was near the front, nearly at the gate. Once they reached the gate he could see the army arrayed against them. A great force, many pikemen and cavalrymen. The legion lined up and prepared for battle. The general, Quintus Scipio rode up and down the lines inspiring his troops. The army slowly marched forward until within bowshot of the enemy. Only then did Scipio slip off of his horse to gather his weapons; his scars helped inspire the soldiers. Flavius watched him prepare and then finally climb back up onto his horse and check the lines.
He roared.
The whole army shuddered, the infantry quickly marched forward, the cavalry charged the opposite cavalry and the Auxilia unleashed their missiles. The land fell under shadow as they passed overhead. Flavius had never seen so many missiles, Ballista bolts, arrows, stones all of them were there and not a patch of sky seemed to be empty.
Flavius’s unit was the first within Pila range. He slowly retrieved one of his Pila and smoothly, professionally pulled it back thrusting his shield forward. When he heard the other soldiers arrive beside him he flicked the Pila with deadly accuracy, he struck a pikeman straight in the face. His Corinthian helm fell ajar as he slid down, his pike clattering to the ground. Flavius immediately ducked behind his shield.
Thunk
A javelin struck his raised shield and fell away, he dodged death yet again. HE lowered his shield, nothing left now but to.
“Charge!” his centurion yelled and the whole unit sprung forward, like a caged animal finally set free.
He ran forward and tapped the pikes aside, he could hear his comrades stop and slide along the pikes, their blood splattered his back. No matter he had made it, he was past the pikes. He stabbed the pikemen around him and was astounded, they were all mere boys. Not one was fully grown. He would have nightmares if he survived.
He felt his heart pumping, his mind had lost control, he was a monster. His training and bestial rage had taken over and he was slashing, stabbing and bashing his way through the young Greek boys. By the time the Greeks finally ran he was covered in blood and starting to cool down. The rage receded and he slowly shook himself free of his instincts.
He was alive.
He had killed too many today, boys were piled up around his feet. He had lost his shield and stood aching from the blows he had taken. His arm was slit open, but he did not notice. He was standing, alone, on a carpet of bodies.
He could remember slashing, stabbing, parrying and beating his way through the mass of bodies, but why didn’t he die? His enemies had been skillful, they were trained well for their age, yet he lived. Why?
The sun was quite a ways into the sky, where had the time gone? One minute he had been fighting the next he was standing upon his enemies and the sun was halfway to its zenith. No matter, he was going home. No more war, he had served in his last battle, survived his last commander, saved his last city. His wife would rejoice, his unit would despair, but there was nothing left to do. He had lost all taste for battle.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

What did everyone think about the latest story?

Here is a new one:

The Perfect Day

The sun is warm. There are a few wispy clouds hanging in the sky. The air is warm. I can see the sun setting behind the hills. The bright colors bleed into the sky, staining the clouds and casting a red tint over the world. A slight breeze bounces the leaves and brushes my face. I lean back against the great tree, aaaaaahhhhh perfection. A warm day, a beautiful sunset, a cool breeze and a great view. The sun slowly disappears behind the tree adorned hills. Darkness falls. The moon rises slowly, large and luminescent. Shining down like a second sun. Lighting the world in a low white glow. The air cools, a shiver creeps up my back, but I remain. The day is still perfect, the cool ground and cold air is refreshing. It awakens me from my reverie.

The dog barks, she wants out. She wants to gallop in the field, to exult in freedom. I gather myself and slowly pull myself from the ground. I slowly turn towards the house. Too large, too nice yet falling into a state of disarray. The paint peels, the balcony rots, but it is home. I reach the steps. One, two three and I am up the steps. I grasp the handle. It is cool, the metal feels clammy on my skin. I turn the handle and step aside. Maggy lunges by. She turns and looks up at me. She wants to play. I enter my home and uncover a Frisbee. A perfect end to a perfect day.


I figured I would take a break from writing about war and battles. Tell me what you think about it.

[Craterus]

that's a nice story.. you could consider carrying that on as well.. ~;) ~D

[Uesugi Kenshin]

This is a short tale I had to write for school, I would have made it longer but 1 paragraph was the limit for the assignment. Any suggestions would be great. It is about the first US nuke test, it was called Trinity. I could use a better title if anybody happens to think of a good one.

Fatal Trinity

The air was still, all the land stood still in silent anticipation. I slowly reached down and grasped my refractive goggles, they hung around my neck. I unhurriedly lifted them to my face. I turned them, checking for faults. Once I was satisfied I secured them on my face and turned to the blast shelter. There were several men gathered around it, watching, waiting. I heard the slow countdown; ten, nine, eight. I stood behind the blast wall, a tingle with excitement. Seven, six, five, four, three, two. I gasped involuntarily and held my breath. A bright flash. I could see the trees lean in towards the blast, as if seeking a quick death. Then they were blown back. A giant fireball rose into the sky, smoke spiraled around it. A giant mushroom encircled by a ring. The land was scorched, the trees were leafless and burning.
My god what have we done?

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Me too. ~D

Slides: HEY! THAT IS GORE! I WILL BAN YOU! THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE! HOW COULD YOU POST GORE ON INTERNET!?! (....if you really fall for it please be assured since this is a joke ~D ) But, do they really give that kind of slides in forensics? -Nice Emotional Reflection-

Terror: World War II New soldier's feelings. The boy is a hero; natural instinct/reflection. ~D Nice.


Sorry I forgot to reply to this. I missed the little 2question at the bottom. Yes they do. This was at a Forensics conference I went to last summer, I was 16 at the time. Pretty interesting stuff.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

I have finally gotten around to revisitng the Smith. I will be adding to it and editting the original. Hope you like it. I wrote this at a late hour, I may edit it tomorrow, it seems pretty good right now, tell me what you think. I have had trouble changing this story, because I think if I add more to it I detract from it. Please give me any comments you have.


The Smith

He stood over his great anvil. His baldhead shone with sweat. Slowly he lowered his hammer and trundled towards the bellows. His apprentice, having heard his approach began to furiously work the bellows. “That’s enough for today,” bellowed the smith, “Go home and tend to your mother.” Wiping the sweat from his forehead the smith lumbered towards the door, as his son gathered his belongings and headed towards the door. He leaned forward and examined the dusty street as his son fled to tend his devilitated mother. Nobody was out, the streets were bare and dust swirled through the air. Resting his chin in his hand the smith looked about puzzled, what could have caused this mass exodus, on such a busy day? He dropped his hand and tilted his head.

Horses.

Not far. Probably just around the bend. He stepped out of the doorway, set his feet and gazed down the street. Samurai. Too many to count, all clad in bright lacquered armor. Their yari shone under the brilliant sun. He lifted his hand to shade his eyes, yes there it is. Their mon was that of the Tokugawa, the new lords of the land. They must have won the battle, that means Japan is theirs. It is a wonder how hard they fight to control the lives of the commonfolk. No matter, smiths will always be needed, in war or peace metal must always be shaped.

Wearily, the wizened old smith turned his back on the elated samurai and headed back into his workshop. The furnace cooled, the work done. He knealt and gathered the few possessions that he kept inside his workshop and turned toward home. The new lords of the province already vanished from his mind. There were far more local concerns for him to contend with. His wife was sick, his son a loafer and looming over all his other worries was the though of peace. Would peace be all that it aspired to be? Or would it merely be a wonderful ideal and horrible reality? Peace, the word had been spoken, but not experienced for many years. Could his town adapt to peace, no matter who ruled the people would still need to adjust to peace.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Flight

When I was young I thought flying was zooming along with the wind in your hair and not a care in the world. Maybe once that was so, but now that is false. There is no greater myth than that of the nobility, romance and freedom of modern flight.

Today I suit up, a long and meticulous process of checking my suit, chute, respirator and helmet. Once I have finally donned my olive drab flight suit and have checked every piece of equipment I stride out onto the tarmac and prepare for the next stage in my preperation for flight.

I survey my aircraft, a large and seemingly cumbersome machine, today it is fully equipped for the day's work. I walk around my jet and eye every hardpoint, inspect each jet in turn and meticulously survey every other part of my plane. When something goes wrong at 50 meters you don't have much time to react, even if it were not necessary, if some plane was produced which was proven to be infallible I would continue to survey my craft. Partly out of distrust and partly from a pilot's superstition, so far I have surveyed my plane on every trip into the sky and so far I have never come tumbling back down to the cruel earth.

I finally ascend the portable ladder and settle into the cockpit of my plane. I begin my preflight checks, everything is nominal, as usual. Once my wingman finishes his checks I don my helmet and turn up the engines. A powerful hum fills the plane as I taxi towards the runway. Once I have lined myself up I let the engines go and burst into the air, driven by the burning power of my turbojets.

After a long flight to my target I begin to descend towards the earth, the blue sky surrounds and engulfs me. Not a cloud in the sky today, not a good day for those on the ground, but for me the weather is perfect; low winds, no clouds and a comfortable temperature for when I return to base. I watch the dial on my altimeter, I am slowly descending, preparing for the first assault.

Once I reach the specified altitude I unlock my weapons and arm my bombs. Today we are not hunting the enemy as we did in our other operations, today the hunting has been done all we have to do is fly-by and drop a few bombs and turn homeward. I signal my wingman to make the first pass. He swoops in, diving low and rakes the building with canon fire. Barely visible from this distance a small brown oval falls away from the underside of his left wing. To the untrained eye he may seem to have been hit, but I know what has fallen.

A 2,000 lb. LGB. I know enough top stay well behind and wait for the bombg to strike before heading in for the second assault. The bomb slams into the second story window of the building, the building shatters and a great gout of fire leaps out. A nearby truck buries itself in another building as the driver futiley tries to escape the concussion. I swoop in, lower and slower than my partner. I unleash the full power of my craft. A great belch bursts from the nose of my plane as I pull the trigger, smoke brushes bgy the canopy and the smell of cordite fills the air. After my three second burst, firing 100 rounds I hold down another button and let forth a swarm of angry red rockets. What was left of the compound is levelled by my pass, but there is more to be done the day's work is just beginning.

We pull up just as we hear the ping of small arms fire as it bounces off of our aircraft's armoured hides. We begin to turn homeward, but just as we line up for the flight home we are ordered back down. A marine platoon has come under heavy fire and cannot summon any tanks or helicopters to do the job, they have finally turned to us, like taking a shotgun to a fly. It will work, but it there are simpler tools to complete the same job.

My wingman recieves the coordinates of the target and we begin to vector in towards the target. The marine platoon is on our right, hunkered down in a ditch. They are recieivng heavy fire from an old single story house. There appear to be several machine guns in the windows and every now and then an RPG streaks out and explodes near the marines. Time to end this stalemate.

I take the first pass this time, I can only imagine the terror the enemy must feel hearing my bird descend towards them., The unique sound of my plane flying down towards them with enough firepower to destroy a battalion of tanks.

I choose my rockets and minigun again, enough firepower to level the building and not enough to cause the marines any harm. I call my wingman off and have him circle above, on the lookout for any SAM's. Though we have not encountered one for weeks it does not hurt to be ready.

I streak in and level the building, my cannon ripping great holes in the walls and peppering the ground with holes, while my rocket blows down the walls and scatters the foe around the building. I pull up sharply, I had dived too steeply, otherwise my rocket would not have enterred through the roof and blown out the walls.

I turn back towards home, no wind in my hair and with many a care. I completed my mission with the impersonal professionalism demanded of this generation of pilot.

[Craterus]

I'm writing a story based on a campaign I'm doing; I don't know how long it will be, shall I post it here or make a new thread?

It was Quietus' Fashionable Dacian story that inspired me to write a story.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

You can go ahead and post it here, if anybody else has any short stories this is basically an open forum for them so they can post here as well.

[Craterus]

I'm not sure how long it will be and I'm writing when I can so it's likly to be a lot of updating and editing rather than posting a finished product here in this thread.. If I can perfect to a state where I'm satisfied with it, I'll post it here if it isn't too long. (Short tales)

[The Stranger]

craterus, craterus, craterus

[Dooz]

Said the Emperor.

[Craterus]

Go to one word story in the frontroom for that stuff.

[Dooz]

Never.

[Craterus]

Ok, you are missing out, it's a great thread.

[Dooz]

Oh wait, you were saying it as a suggestion... I thought you were banishing me. Otherwise, thank you, I do enjoy those kind of things ~:) .


Misunderstandings make the world go round.

[Craterus]

Not gravity or other physiscs-related ideas... It is in fact misunderstandings that force the Earth to spin on it's axis.

[Dooz]

I like the way you think son. Your hired.

[Craterus]

To do what? Is this a short tale, it's moving along in a nice story-ish way?

[Uesugi Kenshin]

What's all this then? Get out of my house and unhand my funny hat!

[Dooz]

Kenshin, that movie sucked big hairy ones (Amityville Horror)... as for your hat sir, I will do as I please with it. *cuts a hole on top and wears it on leg*

[Uesugi Kenshin]

I didn't see that movie. I was taking the what's all this then from Monty Python chemist skecth and the thing about the hat came from my rectum if you really wanna know.

[Dooz]

I'm not sure I know what your talking about, but I was referring to the "Find them, catch them, kill them" line... that's from the movie... if I recall correctly... unless it's also from something else... meh...

[Uesugi Kenshin]

That quote is from History of the World: Part One. It is directed by Mel Brooks. The poink is critical. See in the scene Caesar has sentenced two people to fight to the death in his palace. They start fighting and eventually decide to break away and escape. He yells "Find them, catch them, kill them!" and then pulls a goose I believe out of his rectum and yells, "WASH THIS!"

[AntiochusIII]

Hi all Mead Hall visitors. Long time no see, good sir. ~:)

Hi Uesuki Kenshin, I like your (short) stories. I believe you're doing them as vignette collection, right? Since they all have the same theme, but different mood and perspective. War, World War 2, etc.

Hi Craterus and Wonderland. Write some stories, both of you! ~;)

Hi Emperor Umeu I, whose "empire" pays tribute to the world power the Seleucid empire. Oh, you forgot your tribute, pay me or else... ~;)

~:wave: ~:wave: ~:wave:

Now, in contribution to Uesugi's theme:

Vignette: They Had Been

They had been crawling through the shallow streams and the wild jungles on this island for hours now. It felt like decades...

They had been looking left and right, fearful, as they were in their foes' territories...

They had been hiding in the dark, as the moon was absent and the stars mourn in the cloaks of night. No light, but there are voices. Voices that could be noticed by the enemy...

They had been sent into the Pacific theatre for weeks, as raw recruits. They had been desperately trying to calm their nerves for days as they prepared for the upcoming fight...

They had been searching for the island's heart, where their enemies were, and where they must assault, if they ever wanted to get out.

They had reached the island's heart, the Japanese base. They had spread out strategically under their captain's orders, prepared to fight or die. They were trapped in this forsaken island as much as their poor foes...

A moment of complete silence passed...

And they fired.

A moment of utter violence passed...

And they cried.

They had been sent into an utter death trap, filled with hundreds of samurai-in-uniforms. They had been surrounded, trapped, hunted, found, shot.

And they all died.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

I like your story, I have a few bits of grammar that you might want to fix, but I really like it. First switch Samurais-in-uniforms to samurai-in-uniforms, you can keep the dashes if you want, but I am not sure if they are formally correct. They do seem to work though. Also change They had been surrounded, trapped, hunted, founded, killed. To: They had been surrounded, trapped, hunted, found, killed. Or to They had been surrounded, trapped, hunted, found and killed. With an optional comma before the and if you want, the "Harvard" comma, can help control the flow, without it there is no pause, somehwat faster with it you have a pause and give the reader a moment of thought before continuing.

I really enjoyed yopur story.

BTW I have a paper due for english Monday, I am going to post it, it will be 1-2 pages and should be interesting enough to warrant posting. I will post it most likely SUnday night, but hope to post another Saturday night. Unfortunately I have been very busy and it has been difficult to find the time to write.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

A tribute to the G.C.M.A. Who fought to the last in the jungles of Vietnam after being abandoned by their governemnt.

Beauty Beside Blood

I awake, it is early, the sun has barely risen over the dense jungle, still I must relieve the night guard. I lift myself out of bed and strap on my pistol, a MAS mle with nine rounds to a clip. I then hoist my MAT mle. Submachine gun with thirty rounds to a clip and prepare to head out. Unfortunately I only have two clips for my pistol and one for my MAT mle. Submachine gun. After all, the government is pulling out and has left us behind, scraps to be devoured by the Vietminh.

As I exit the portal that serves as a door for my tiny hut I take in the lush, beautiful jungle. The sounds of the jungle surround and comfort me, while the animals still stir the Vietminh are not likely to be nearby.

I pass by many small huts and fortifications on my way to the guard post, finally I reach it. The fortification is almost pathetic, a circle of sand bags and camaflouging brush at the edge of the encampment. Inside is the night watch, the only other Frenchman in this village, he carries a bolt action rifle, before this horrible war we entered the army together, not that it matters now with the Vietminh growing ever closer and no hope of escape. We are trapped hundreds of miles behind enemy lines, no hope of escape to South Vietnam or Laos.

We acknowledge each other and he heads off to get some well deserved sleep. What a pitiful plight we are in. I take up my position in the sandbag fort and lay my pistol on the sandbags beside me. If my submachine gun runs out of ammunition I need to be able to switch guns quickly.

The forest grows still, placid and menacing all at once.

I duck and a tracer round screams by, slamming into the air where my head used to be and gouging a hole into the soil behind me. The red streak slowly fading from my vision. I burst up and unleash a storm of lead in the direction of the offending tracer round, more bullets whip by peppering my fort with holes and spilling the contents of the sandbags all around me.

Three Vietminh fall before my onslaught, but it is not enough. I foolishly indulged myself and wasted ten rounds. Crack, crack, crack I fire off a few rounds at a time, limiting the scope of my destruction, but also focusing it on my foes.

The casings begin to pile up beside me, finally they number thirty, I drop my submachine gun, nothing more than a lump of metal now. I duck a grasp my pistol, 18 shots left, far too few for the enemy just keeps coming. I stand and fire, knocking eight of the enemy from their feet and momentarily stopping a charge.

The new cartridge is smooth and comforting, yet it holds my death, for once it is gone I am finished. I slam it in place and again hunker down behind my wall. The sounds of fighting surround me, the encampment is being attacked on all sides, overrun by the ravenous and remorseless enemy. I can hear the screams of the wounded and the shrieks of our Vietnamese ally’s families. None of us will make it through this battle alive.

I rise again and fire off eight rounds, the last round catches in the chamber and I pause. Just then a bullet strikes me, lifts me up and slams me into the ground, tearing through my shoulder as it goes. I wheeze painfully in and out, it has punctured a lung. The round in my pistol refuses to comply, it will not seat itself in the chamber. As the enemy advances I can hear them butchering all who stand before them and trampling our fortifications, pushing them to the ground and spitting on them as they pass. My weapon finally complies, I have one last bullet.

For the first time the hopelessness of our situation strikes me head on and overwhelms me, I am a dead man, nothing will save me now. A Vietminh stands over me and raises his weapon. Crack, my pistol fires first and tears through his head dislodging brains and blood as it goes. I await my fate, I have no input as to whether I live or die, my only hope is that my fate will come quickly and that I will not be tortured for information or beaten to death.

Life begins to fade from my torn and tortured body, but I take one last moment to smell the jungle, the scent now butchered by the heavy smell of cordite, the stench of death and the metallic smell of blood, yet the fragrance of jungle flowers still touches me and for one last time I am at peace.

The soldier standing above me raises his rifle, surprisingly it jams. He grimaces and pulls it back, he does not enjoy bayonet work.

Life abandons me as he pulls the bloodied blade back again and strikes once more.

[AntiochusIII]

I like your story, I have a few bits of grammar that you might want to fix, but I really like it. First switch Samurais-in-uniforms to samurai-in-uniforms, you can keep the dashes if you want, but I am not sure if they are formally correct. They do seem to work though. Also change They had been surrounded, trapped, hunted, founded, killed. To: They had been surrounded, trapped, hunted, found, killed. Or to They had been surrounded, trapped, hunted, found and killed. With an optional comma before the and if you want, the "Harvard" comma, can help control the flow, without it there is no pause, somehwat faster with it you have a pause and give the reader a moment of thought before continuing.

I really enjoyed yopur story.

BTW I have a paper due for english Monday, I am going to post it, it will be 1-2 pages and should be interesting enough to warrant posting. I will post it most likely SUnday night, but hope to post another Saturday night. Unfortunately I have been very busy and it has been difficult to find the time to write.I am honoured(now, now, I'm in the US...honored would be better? ;p) that you like them. I've edited my story according to your advice, thank you. :bow: Oh, and I like your story too, especially the last one, Beauty Beside Blood. Though you may want to change "infects" near the end of the story to some other words that are more "positive" since it's supposed to be comforting. Perhaps something like "...yet the fragance of jungle flowers still comforts me and for one last time I am at peace." I'm not sure, though. Or may be you could use "still touches me" or other words.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

I changed that, thanks for the advice.

I don't get why we change honour to honor and valour to valor either....

[Craterus]

And armour to armor..

[Uesugi Kenshin]

The Last True Spartans


My brother is dead, he fell fighting beside the Athenians during the siege of Athens. He was a Spartan of the old style, strong, brave and anti-imperialistic. Not like these new empire building kings, such as Agis the Second. Agis is still strong and holds the Spartan ideals of simplicity and valor close to his heart, but at the same time he wishes to build a Spartan empire. This goes against everything that my brother and I were taught. We were taught that we fought the first Peloponnesian War to deny the Athenians their empire. My father died to keep Greece free from any empire, and now we are to build our own empire?

The King has no right to de-sanctify the dead of the First Peloponnesian War by attempting to create a Spartan Hegemony. We, the Spartans are supposed to be above such frivolous ambitions. We are to lead lives without unneeded comforts and luxuries, we are the ideal to which every Greek aspires. Why should we stoop so low as to act upon such hedonistic ambitions. Our first duty is to our homeland, countrymen and the gods. A Spartan’s own wishes and ambitions are not to be considered.

The King has gone so far as to deny my brother burial, despite the way in which he fell. He died fighting against our allies, the Argives, in the fields of Athens, like a true Spartan. When he finally fell he was surrounded by his defeated foes. The King’s unwillingness to bury my brother is an affront to the gods. Without burial, my brother is condemned to wander the Earth for eternity, the gods cannot receive him and hand down their divine judgement unless he is buried. I cannot continue to bear the title of Spartiate while my brother lies unburied and my promise unfulfilled. If I do not bury him, I will be shamed forever and will never be able to consider myself a full Spartan, only a coward.

That is why I am here, burying his corpse, in this field of his beloved Sparta. Soon the guards will arrive and escort me to the King. The King will put me to death, but I will not cry or pity myself, for I am a Spartan and we know no fear. Bravery, valor, guile, honor and discipline are my only traits, and cowardice and fear are only known to me because my foes tremble before my red cloak, Corinthian helm and the great crimson lambda of Lakedaemon.

My brother is buried, he has the fare for the River Styx and will finally be judged by the gods. I don my helm and stand, soothed by my battle garb. I will face my king as a Spartan, prepared for death in my armor. Perhaps he will bury me, it would be the least he could do to acknowledge my bravery and the consummation of my promise.

The guards did not ask whose body I just buried, they already knew. I am brought before Agis and bow before my king. By morning, I am dead and my body is buried. For this Agis has gained my respect, maybe creating an empire is not altogether against Spartan virtues, but I am not convinced.

As I approach Charon, with the boat fare in my palm, Charon gives me a strange look, I must look odd, for in living memory no Spartan has ever died in full battle garb without being accompanied to the underworld by an entourage of dead foes. I pass the great hound Cerberus and continue on to be judged by the great kings of old. To my surprise Minos the Second judges me worthy of Elysium, the most pleasant part of the underworld, a land with its own stars, sun, and moon, where the dead are allowed to compete and make merry. I hope to meet my brother in the sunny fields of Elysium.

[Craterus]

Hi Craterus and Wonderland. Write some stories, both of you! ~;)

Please check "The Master Horseman", that is my story, part 2 coming soon!

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Revenge

I feel as though all the injustice of the world rests solely on my shoulders. The world is dead to me, there is nothing left on this ball of dirt but death and revenge. The knife is in my hand, the road is before me, all I must do is wait for my oppressor. When he rides by on his high horse I shall dispatch him and seal my fate.

Voices.

I crouch down lower, one with the earth, hidden by the dark bush. Two men walk by, their torches parting the oppressive darkness. Swords at their hips, cloaks over their heads. Not my prey, he always rides that wretched white horse, even when returning from his mistress’s cottage at the edge of town.

The clopping of horse’s hooves penetrates the silence, I embed myself further into the earth and slide the knife from my belt. The years of oppression and slavery channel themselves into the knife, awaiting their bloody release.

He is past, I slowly emerge from behind the bush. The stillness is surreal next to the turmoil and rage boiling within me. No matter, I will rid this land of its scourge. Cut the cancer from the heart of this county. I will be killed to be sure, but there is nothing left for me here.

As I approach the back of my foe I can make out his white cloak and the heavy sword he carries everywhere, only a monster is that paranoid. The burnt cottage, beheaded wife and screaming children fill my mind. They will be avenged.

I raise the knife and wait for him to stop. He is so predictable, always stopping before this very well for a drink. His infidelity must leave him parched. He slowly dismounts and shuffle over to the well. It used to be mine, but then my life burned to this. This cinder, nothing left but angry burning vengeance.

He grasps the rope and lowers the bucket, preparing to drink. He will never drink again. I slit his throat with one quick savage motion. Blood is spraying everywhere, all over me and my well. My rage finally releases itself and I stab him until I can stab no more. Finally I stand up and calmly take a drink of the cool clean water of the well.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

I have been sick and have not been able to write well, but I would like to write another short story soon. If anyone has a theme, time period or event that they would like to see me write about I would love some suggestions. If not I will sit and listen to Led Zeppelin until some random idea pops into my head.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Still feel horrible, but I had to write this for school., Fits the mold a bit I guess. Please comment upon it, because though it will be handed in tomorrow morning I would like to here how my writing stacks up when I am sick.

My America


I stood upon the heaving deck of the boat, finally allowed above deck. The smell of salt-water hung heavily upon my clothes. The deck was crowded with other immigrants, just like me. The steerage section had been emptied, noone wanted to spend an extra second in that cramped and filthy compartment. People who had left home and wished for a better life in the promised land, America. Ahead the fog suddenly parted and there stood the great symbol we had heard so much about. Lady Liberty holding her torch high to guide our way in to the harbor. Majestic, beautiful and promising all at once. The ship slowly flowed by and pulled up close to a squat and depressing island. Ellis Island. The buildings looked hunched over and crowded, the dock was teeming with life. Carpeted with immigrants and American officials.

We quickly disembarked. I was swept away with a sea of new arrivals and crammed into the processing building. My dreams faded. The streets were not paved with gold, at least not here. The Americans were struggling to uphold some sense of order, but it was impossible. The immigrants were far too many. Finally I met a customs agent. He looked bored, almost depressed. He slowly read over a list of questions in a monotone voice, apparently deaf to my plight. I was in America, but it was not my America. My America was Elysium, but it seemed to be as mercurial and gaseous as any of my other dreams. I had left to escape poverty, famine and oppression. But here I find all of those things. I may have escaped the potato famine, but I am still without food. Finally I was led away, led to a boat. A boat to the city.

When I reached the lower east side I was appalled by the conditions. People were living practically in their own filth. The streets were crowded and repugnant, but the buildings were worse. Some rooms didn’t even have windows and four families were forced to live in the same room that had before been occupied by one family or less. This was not the worst of it. I soon learned of the gangs. In particular the gangs of the Five Points. These were groups primarily composed of my countrymen who had banded together for protection and now corrupted the government and took advantage of the people. It seems that my America is far away and untouchable.