Short stories and more

[MetalCaveman]

So yeah, I was inspired by other dudes posting their stuff here, but I don't write poems or anything (well, I do, but they're in Spanish ) so I decided to create a thread about the stuff I DO write which is, short stories, focused on science fiction, horror and more, I started a blog a while ago, created with the purpose of becoming the place where I would post all the stuff I write, however I have fund out that it's easier for me to create a mental "movie" about stuff than writing it, but anyway, I decided to share the first story I posted there.

 

I'm not satisfied with the result, I rushed the ending and made some other silly mistakes, but whatever, here it is:

 

 

 

First Contact

 

By Dan Cabrera

 

 

Sightings began in the last months of 2010, at first no one paid attention to them, dismissing reports as nothing but pranks or delusions of fans of conspiracy theories, but by December of that year, they gained the attention of everyone in the world, major news outlets began covering what was happening and people began paying attention to it, they couldn’t believe what was happening. At long last, the question of whether or not humans were alone in the universe was answered. All day, T.V. shows, radio stations and internet news sites were filled with pictures, and videos of the weird machines that hovered across most nations, government leaders met in secret to discuss possible actions depending on different scenarios, and while this happened those unknown things remained silent, floating, until the first day of January 2011, when they all suddenly vanished leaving no trace of their presence, for a while this attracted the attention of everyone, public and private meetings were held to discuss the possible implications of such an event. But after some months, people forgot about it, but world leaders remained cautious, creating programs to use satellites and antennas to keep watch, but they had underestimated this threat.

 

By the time they noticed the anomaly it was already too late, when their sensors noticed something wrong in the vicinity of planet earth it became apparent that those things had returned. And this time it became apparent that their intentions where not to establish contact or to keep a silent watch over us.

 

Before the event, many people had been filing reports of strange creatures spotted in the outskirts of rural towns and small cities, again, these were dismissed by the general public and media, mainly due to the similarities between the reports of these creatures and “reports” of “big foot”. These things were described as humanoid in appearance, with longer than normal arms and at least 7’ high, with a skin that resembled copper.

 

With time, reports became more frequent, and they were no longer limited to small towns, now, people from major cities, Ney York, Paris, London, Tokyo, and others were also reporting sightings. When they finally revealed themselves it was in small groups, of no more than 4 of those things, they began with border towns, places far away from big cities, isolated communities that weren’t able to communicate what had happened to them. Survivors that managed to reach nearby cities warned of an oncoming terror, these creatures had begun their attack, armies around the word mobilized to protect as many cities as possible, and though the first battles ended in victory for humans (as menacing as these creatures looked, they were still vulnerable to human weapons), the tide soon turned and their numbers increased dramatically, it was as though they had been testing us so far, readying their forces for the main attack. For when their numbers increased, and their weapons became more powerful, human forces didn’t last long, overnight most of the soldiers deployed were killed, and the cities exterminated except for a few hundreds of survivors.

 

And then the attacks stopped, no one knew why, they just stopped, authorities used this opportunity to lead civilians into underground shelters built with the purpose of saving lives during a nuclear war, they nor sheltered those who had survived the horror that befell humanity. Not all were that lucky though, many people were left behind. And others were killed once the attacks resumed. Government leaders fled to their own shelters, and army forces took shelter in secret bases around the world.

 

For months humanity waited underground, waiting as one by one their shelters were found and destroyed, watching the video feeds from security cameras that showed these things move, like machines, killing everything, without showing any signs of purpose, they just moved, killed, and continued.

 

But the world wasn’t ready to be exterminated yet, over time, military and civilian forces organized scouting parties, that were able to retrieve pieces of alien technology, sometimes, they even returned with one or two alien corpses, scientists immediately began to study, both of these things, and with time they found out more about this enemy, they were tall, their legs allowed them to jump far more than any human could ever hope to. But they had weaknesses, they were vulnerable to standard human weaponry, not only firearms, but anything from a bat to a sledgehammer could be used to kill them, their strength lied in numbers, in the terror they inspired, and in the fact that they were ruthless and effective. Their speed was also above human average, but their size made it hard for them to realize fine movements. Humans decided to gamble everything in a strategy that may spell victory for them, but it could also result in failure and death to everyone.

 

They chose groups of gifted individuals, people whose athletic abilities had allowed them to escape safely, and trained them in the use of different firearms, they would take the fight to mankind’s enemies, they would take back the cities, and they would do so with the help of new technologies developed using what was recovered. This allowed for vehicles to move undetected by the enemy.

 

And so it was, mankind turned the tide of battle again, a few battles were won, and this proved that the new strategy worked. Over time, refugees moved back to the surface, where they built fortresses capable of repelling attacks. They used the knowledge they had gained about the alien’s physiology to build their new homes in a way that prevented free movement for those things, while allowing humans to easily escape and defend them.

 

Small resistance groups that had managed to stay hidden all this time now joined forces with the newly formed army, and now, mankind could once again live on the surface, combat continued for a long time, with no signs of it ever stopping, it had, apparently, reached a stalemate, with both sides now on a relative equal ground.

 

Reports came in, from resistance groups, about small towns where survivors lived that were under attack, and so humans mobilized their new “weapons” once again, when the first squad sent there arrived, they could see resistance members along with civilians being chased and killed by the creatures, one of the soldiers being transported in the new model of VTOL, designed for incursions in alien territory, couldn’t wait until they had reached the landing zone, he jumped down while they were flying above one of the houses that had been partially destroyed and began the assault by himself, he couldn’t wait anymore, he had to do something, he had to win.

 

And then the sound of an alarm began echoing in his head, at first distant, it became clearer every second, until he realized what was happening, he opened his eyes, looked to his clock and saw the time, he was now late for work, standing up he forgot about the dream he was part of, took a shower, got dressed, and then left, ready for the speech he would have to hear from his boss.

 

 

 

So yeah, rip it to shreds if you want to After all, criticism is what's needed to learn about the flaws in this kind of stuff

 

Anyway, here's the site if you want to read more and stuff, though I rarely update it as I tend to hit metaphorical and literal brick walls while trying to write stuff

 

http://metalcaveman.wordpress.com/

 

 

 

I should add, English is not my main language, but still, I don't consider it an excuse

 

Edit: Feel free to post your own work here

[BrainHurtBoy...2]

Here. This isn't at all proofread, so please, if you criticize, at least don't judge. I'm not satisfied with the results, either, but what the hell.

 

 

Atsu was never one for drugs. Oh, yes, he had been pushed, like a young girl into the mud, but he resisted. It’s not like his parent’s words had any significant impact on him, he was never one for parents, either. Alcohol was simply what he wanted. It was and always had been. Was it simple rebellion? No. Atsu liked to think it was more than that. Atsu was very in touch with his inner chi. Like a middle aged housewife, he constantly attempted to make up for his past sins by attuning himself with nature. He liked to think that he and alcohol shared a bond. Atsu was sentimental, and very frequently recalled his meeting with alcohol with affection, as if it was some sort of lost love or strange guardian. One day, Atsu was lying in bed, curled up in fetal position, green eyes darting impatiently from his window to his clock, as if he was itching for the day to end. It was one of those mornings where the fog blanketed the ground like the surface of the earth itself, one of those days where you were afraid that if you left the house, the white would swallow you up, you would become part of it and it part of you, that it would polymerize you into nature itself, that it would swallow you and spit you out as a sick, fragile ghost. Atsu’s peace was disturbed by the loud creaking of his door, old, dead and rotten, his mother sauntered in. She was a woman of high esteem, a social climber, who, though very cheap and lacking in social skills, thought much of herself. Needless to say, she was less than charismatic.

 

‘Atsu,’ She mumbled, as if she was very busy and had no time on her hands ‘I believe you have a friend here to see you.’

 

And in walked a man dressed in rags, wearing what was quite obviously a toupee. He had a certain way about him that made you think he was much wealthier than he was. A certain way he carried himself that made you want to congratulate him, regardless of if he deserved it. He sat by Atsu on his bed. Atsu paid no mind. He was quite shaken, but he couldn’t let down his tough exterior. The man in rags gazed softly at Atsu for what seemed like hours before lightly placing a paper bag on the table by his bed. He paused, looking like he was about to speak, but stopped short before speaking.

 

He simply spoke,

 

‘This is for you. Do what’s right.’

 

The man in rags patted Atsu on the shoulder, attempting to show affection, but failing miserably. He mumbled something softly and stepped silently out of the house.

 

It was a good while before Atsu had made his choice. He pushed and pulled until he unraveled himself from the labyrinth that were his covers and outstretched his dominant arm (left, of course) and seized the bag like he should have been the day. Atsu opened the bag, slightly ripping the sides. Inside he found a large bottle wearing a label bearing a cartoon of a well dressed plump man ambling along the road, bearing a cane and a top hat. Atsu smiled at the picture and opened the bottle. His bottle.

 

[diedan]

Yay! More people contributing! I honestly don't have time to read them and give you feedback right now, but I totally will when I gt the chance. I have at least one story I'll put up here in the next few days too.

 

I'm just glad to see more people participating!

[slithy toves]

yeah, these threads move slower than others cos i want time to read everything w/out rushing. i still haven't read hot heart's and he posted forever ago

will read and comment when i have time. probs have some slithy stuff on the way.

[Hot Heart]

i still haven't read hot heart's and he posted forever ago

 

I should be grateful you're even bothered.

[TheForgetfulBrain]

These threads are going be totally perfect for when I'm procrastinating.

 

Looking forward to it!

[BrainHurtBoy...2]

I have... more.

 

Crouched in his seat like an ape, he reluctantly picked up the pudding presented upon the table. Wahid snorted and frowned as the pudding’s putrid stench wafted into his nostrils. He reached to the back of his head and scratched rigorously. His face began sloping in one direction, as if someone lifted up one end of it and left the other level. Wahid’s expression was inquiring, quizzical, almost.

“Really?” He asked, “This is dessert?”

He stood up, his slanted, questioning expression still in place on his pale, sickly face, and with some difficulty kicked over his chair. He doubled over, and then grasped the edge of the table, making some pitiful, misguided attempt at an upheaval, but quickly tired himself and gave up, instead kicking his chair across the ground half-heartedly. His friend sighed and positioned the chair upright. He was tired. He didn’t come from a... family of means, and every day was trouble for him. Wahid’s arrival was less than helpful. His meaningless, arbitrary irritation and boredom with his decadent life of privilege with his family back out west in Fes drew him, like many others, to Wagalog in a desperate search for a more restrained, lax existence. Wahid’s ignorance cost both him and his friends. He thought the city was still peaceful Laoag, that these were still the olden days, when the Philippines were an underdeveloped, stunted waste of dead creativity and stagnant ambition. Now, Wagalog was the metropolis of the future. Where people once flocked from the Philippines to America, now was it in the opposite direction the flocks came. Now those United States were the husk from which the fertile corn of the east sprung from, like babe from womb. But Wagalog was not all glass buildings and dressed hair, not all curls and skyscrapers. For poor Agbayani, to live was to struggle, vivir fue luchar. In this town, there was trouble, brewing and festering. In Wagalog, there was no work for the losers, those burdened by others’ pasts. His father slacked and gambled, and for this, Agbayani paid the prices his father left behind. Escaping years ago from his father’s looming debts in the blistering heat and oppression of Fes, he fled like a bolting rabbit to Wagalog, leaving behind his friends and family, finding nothing save a life poorer than his previous one in god-forsaken Morocco. More oppressive was life in this city, greater was his intense struggle, the business environment competitive and hostile as a Tiger in heat, he knew there was no escape from this jobless blightland. In his clustered, homely apartment Agbayani eagerly loosened his collar. The summer heat came in, but not out, and became still in the room he called a home. He had no windows, just grates, overlooking a vast expanse of nothing but low-rises and small business between the towering slums and beautiful fervor of Downtown. He stood between his bars, breathing heavily in hopes of absorbing some air he may gain sustenance from. No such luck for now. The air was hot and sticky with the saliva of tens of millions. He coughed quietly and sat down again, dust erupting in clouds from his ancient couch, from the days when the smell in Wagalog’s air was still hope, not despair, not a melancholy acceptance of failure. He flicked on the television with a wave of his hand, and shifted rapidly from channel to channel, stream to stream. After the few seconds he spent on each broadcast, he decided nothing at the moment was worth his intention. He settled eventually on a news channel based in Downtown. The pretty white anchor was reading from a set of cards behind the screen about the declining ferret population. Sad. They were popular pets among those who could afford them. Agbayani had a pet once. A gecko he kept in a jar. It ran away. He recalled sadly his despair upon its sudden leave, weeping for weeks upon its unexpected departure. He wishes he could weep now at the departure of his aspirations, but he had no ambition remaining within him. But the gecko of his dreams had left long ago, and he watched it scurry into the twilight. It was gone for good, and he knew that. If only he had television in those days, in his childhood, he thought. Then this pretty white anchor could console him, like she was now. Her azure eyes flickered lightheartedly as they bid Agbayani farewell, and for a moment, he thought she could have been looking at him. As the newscast suddenly shifted to an advertisement for a hand lotion, Agbayani was jarred back into his senses. He quickly scanned the fridge standing near him, hoping in futility for a change. As he thought, it remained empty. He glared at his west wall, wishing it transparent, that he may berate the children that every night invaded his home and stole his nourishment. Locks were expensive, these days, metal in short supply. For the losers, at least. Security now was a privilege for the rich, so Agbayani had to make do. Wondering how long he had been glaring at his wall in frustration, he searched around for a clock. The antique analog clock Wahid had brought with him from Fes was no help; he couldn’t read it and he knew no one else that could. He looked at the fridge’s internal clock. Clean arabic numerals in a two and two pattern, separated by a neat colon. Symbols he could properly read. The clock read 04:00, and outside, the sun was only just greeting the navy sky. It was late, he knew. For his purposes, anyway. With Wahid’s arrival, Agbayani had one more ingrate mouth to feed. Upset at leaving the relative comfort of his neat but condensed home, but grateful for the opportunity to get fresh air, Agbayani braced himself for the journey outside. He took his mask from its holster by the exit and was out the door.