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. Look, I tried my best to cover it up! Even at the cost of "naturality!"

--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" 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]

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.

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.

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

[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.
I make it so that it is weird.
Of course, the legend is unbelievable, but 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.

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 ) 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. 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.