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.