Short Stories
Want to get to know how I write but dont want to clog up shelf space with a book you might not enjoy?
Have a read of the stories below to get a feel of my style. They are short and one even unfinished. You should garner an Idea for how I write and some of these scenes might even wind up in one of my books in the future. So enjoy these small glimpses into my writing.
Heavy is the throat that bears the crown. An adornment of jewels both heavy and fair should never rest on the head of one so small. The now necklace of kings weighs the body of such a small ruler. His peoples hopes and lives formed each intricate groove of the golden regalia. The threat of the prior kings demise only added to the bottomless pit forming the center of the ornament.
The small king gulped, a thick lump formed within his throat. He climbed the few steps to the balcony overlooking a sea of rage filled eyes. The orange hue of torches lighting each and every scarred face that stood below. Flickering embers danced to the sky, following bellows of smoke and ash nearby rubble that crackled heavily in the sullen quiet. Broken homes of shattered shingles and crackling wood lie beyond the polished castle walls that narrowly sheltered the husks of people that once resided within them.
The usually clear sky filled with glittering stars now blanketed with a writhing form of smoke. Flickers of what it hid sparkled above for moments before retreating from the horrific sight that lie below. Hills of cinders that once shone with the most verdant greens whistled only with the silence of what once was.
The only sound to be heard for miles, that roared through the former streets of what was once a brilliant city; was the cries and cheers of the people. Rage filled cheers. Earth shattering cries. All for the fall of the Child King. A hoisted corpse rises from the ocean of fury. An arm, a Leg and a head respectively rose through the bellows of torches. Sinew and flesh rendered clearly rendered as the flecks of light dimly lit each piece. The former king; or all the remained. One who waged war for profit, for women and power. A king whose greed knew only boundless expansion. A demise befitting the cruel king; fed to the people he cared so little for.
The former city of brilliant white now a ruin, the city of usurpers and the child king who hoped to reign over it. A roar escaped the child king’s throat, quelling the crowd of riled masses. Blood of the former king running red through his veins. A shaky hand rises, outstretched to the ruin; a statement hesitantly escaped. We will rebuild…
The future. Known to be the most chaotic of theorems ever to be constructed. Be it one, or many. All are unreadable and yet, ineffable. Whether it be one outcome or another, the future is set in something far more immovable than stone.
So, what would happen if one could know what the outcome, or future, of a situation would be?
Would they become a martyr of the future, leading the masses down the right path?
Or an unstoppable being of chaos, choosing whose futures were worth saving and who’s were only worth destruction?
Let’s find out, shall we? By following Batrick. A meek man whose stature was as small as his pride.
Batrick was a man who had never gotten far enough in life to deserve anyone’s gaze. Someone who by all accounts was less notable than the dirt people walked upon. His downtrodden life started much like any other surprisingly. Normal parents who both worked for local merchant guilds. His father, one of the best brokers in his field. One would be hard struck to find someone who anally efficient. Then his mother. A kind and caring soul who worked diligently as a caretaker of the animals. Though, calling those beasts animals was far from the truth. While a horse would probably be the best form of transport, a Phollip was far faster, if more difficult to tame. A Phollip was similar to a horse, if a horse were a couple feet shorter; imitated the screams of their last victims and manipulated gravity to a minor degree in order to move their bodies of stone.
But enough about the bizarre creatures this company employed, let’s return to Batrick’s parents. They worked hard, every day to provide for little Batrick whose deficiency in height caused issues in this active world. Until, one night as they both worked late, the owner of the merchant’s guild walked in, followed by some unsavoury characters…
His parents hid. Tucked down behind a crate leftover from today’s delivery. The words were muffled, but the footsteps and sounds of assault rang in his parent’s ears. The owner rambled out through his assaulters attacks “w-w-we don’t have it! The … took it!”.
“Well. It’s too bad that, innit lads?” One of the assaulters sputtered towards his rugged colleagues. A collections of sniggers and chuckles break out as the group bare down on the owner. Suddenly something falls from the crate Batrick’s parents were hiding behind. With a simple hand signal, two of the lanky rogues turn their attention to the crate, while the others go about extracting the worth of their lost product from the owners flesh.
The two look at each other before reaching over the crate and grabbing Batrick’s parents by their collars. Lifting their parent’s free, the rogues pin them to the wall. “Oi boss. Got two ‘ideaways ‘ere and one of em’ looks like some fine meat” One of the Characters shouts tracing his eyes over Batrick’s mother.
The Leader of the small group steps into the dim light of a nearby candle. Small flickers of orange lit his scarred face, its shape as jagged and rough as its owner. His beady eyes inspect the mother and father of Batrick. His mind wandering, unsure on how exactly he’d like to dispose of the pair. After some moments he shrugs and turns back to the owner “Well. Boss said nothin’ about what to do with witnesses. So you boys have fun before killin’ em”.
The two rogues look away from their boss with a devious look in their eyes. Slipping a blade from its holster, one raises it to Batrick’s father’s throat. “Best remove the distraction…” he spat in his face before quickly sliding the blade along the throat, rending his soft flesh in two. Blood burst across the floor faster than Batrick’s father fell flat
His mother screamed in sight of her husband writhing for survival on the floor. The two rogues bore down on her, shrouding their disgusting acts in darkness. Hours later, the office was on fire and Batrick was an orphan. Gazing at the smouldering remains of his parents.
Fast forward to a certain future of decay and destruction to the present. The now dirt covered Batrick, begging for scraps at the large fountain at the centre of Rhagil. Today, fortunately was destined to be a different day for out downtrodden hero. A day where everything would change.
The usual civilians passed hours on end. Nothing more than a spare copper being tossed in his general direction, with very little actually reaching his small cup. Until, after a lunch of mouldy bread and rat meat a tall well dressed man reached down to Batrick with an open hand.
“Batrick, I assume?” the man said, shaking Batrick’s hand, before wiping it with a handkerchief.
Batrick brought himself up, leaning on the edge of the fountain “Y-yeah. Who’s asking?” Batrick questioned meekly.
The tall man rose to his full height, quickly dusting off crumbs and dirt, seemingly bothered by Batrick’s lack of care for his personal cleanliness. “My Employer” He states, carefully wiping his glasses.
“Doesn’t really answer the question..” Batrick mutters, counting the few coins littered around the floor.
“It will. Come along” The man states turning on his heel and quickly walking towards the upper district.
Few coins in tow, Batrick quickly chases after the man’s heels. After a short walk through a rather plain and uninteresting town, the pair reached a large manor. The garden were adorned with old statues and antiques from varying cultures long past. Stepping into the manor, Batrick fell to the floor as a large golem trundled past him. The golem wore a small black jacket and hat and turned to him to apologise before slowly continuing its task.
The tall man stepped past Batrick and said “Doo be careful, the golems are quite prone to crushing visitors. It’s hard to get the right help these days”. Turning to Batrick the man gestured to his left “My employer is in the second room on my left, try not to get lost”. After his statement the man span to his right and chased after the golem to fix some mistakes in its cleaning.
Blackness. An empty expanse of seemingly nothing. Hurried scuttling and gargles of beasts lurking in the unseen abyss. Through the mouth, light assaulted the dark unable to shift the almost murderous haze. Wind howled through the ocean of pine. Whistling leaves land of old machines that lie scarred in the dirt.
Sheared metal and dried blood stain the once lush forest floor, feeding future generations greenery. A litter of wolves gnarl on the shattered bones of former workman. Two pups snarl at each other, bearing fangs sharper than knives. Saliva dripping from curled lips. One movement, one bark and one wolf leaving the other with blood streaming from its leg. The victor turning back to the collection of bones howls in victory.
Another of these pups timidly paws at the edge of darkness. Chunks of dirt ripping away from the frail earth tumbling down into the unyielding darkness. An ungodly howl echoes up towards the pup followed by synchronous crunches. The crunching of earth hurried. Each noise coming quicker and closer. A whimper and bark escaped the pup as it backed slowly from the edge.
Its beady eyes scanned the edge, all its heightened senses focused on the thin line before it. A claw rises from the pit, digging into the soft earth of the ledge. Slowly another claw rises, scraping the earth to claw to the surface. Pale skin hissed in the sunlight as the creature rose facing the small wolf. Intricate pathways of red lined the pale skin as smoke obscured the beast’s features.
The beast slowly lurched forward. Step after step, it inched towards the pup baring its fangs at the small creature. Crimson saliva dripped onto the ground from large fangs protruding the beast’s lower jaw. Its head cocked from side to side, snapping from one direction to the next. A twig snaps, just fallen from a tree long past the end of its life. The beast’s head rears toward the noise, slowly creeping toward it.
Head twisting and cocking in the air, it listened for each noise indicating a meal or threat. The beast hovered over the ground, its large claws nary making a sound on the soft earth. The pup barked a meagre bark. Bouncing though the vast empty air straight toward the snarling beast. Snapping its head toward the small wolf the pale beast began to stalk the pup. Slowly, step by step, it inched toward the pup. Each crunch in the ground disturbing the beast as it focused on the origin of the barks.
The small pup’s hair rose along its spine. Pointed at the large beast, the pup barked and slowly reared from the pale creature. At first the small barks were strong, full of fight. But as the beast loomed and sun began to dwindle around the pup, the barks turned to yelps for help. Its small legs trembled making an attempt at escape nigh impossible. A tree scraped at the pups back as the beast forced it into an inescapable corner.
A howl suddenly echoes from atop the remnants of a crumbling crane, naught but rust remaining of the once colossal equipment. A large wolf stands stoically in the slowly dwindling golden light. White and Gray fur whispering in the gentle breeze. Large teeth shone through the snarling jaw, aimed at the pale beast before it. Blue eyes piercing its target whose head swivelled and twisted quickly to identify the source of the noise.
Slowly the pale creature’s jaw snarled open letting out a vociferous cry toward the wolf. Its large fangs slowly pulling free from their fleshy prison, bearing at the wolf. Long talons ripped away the earth as the beast spun and darted toward the lone wolf. Flecks of wood and grass flew through the air, torn from their home as the beast charged to the rusting frame.
The sole wolf leaps down from the crane. Soft ground sank, carved away by each of the wolf’s heavy paws. The wolf lowered itself to the ground, creeping slowly to its left, awry of disturbing the beast in its assault. Silently, the grey wolf moved along the earth watching the pale creature whose contorted face craned in the air, listening for sounds.
The beast stopped inches before the rusted contraption the wolf previously laid on. Thick streams of crimson saliva seeped from the curled edges of the beats mouth, sinking into the soft earth. Its head cocked left facing the wolf whose fangs bore without a sound. It closed in on the wolf head raised high to the sounds of birds flying from treetops in the distance.
In a sudden movement the wolf attacked, launching upwards. Its teeth sank into the soft flesh of the beast. Crimson liquid streaming forth, covering the wolf’s coat.
The beast collapsed.
Satisfied with victory over the large creature, the wolf turned and slowly moved toward the pup. Its former snarl turned to a glare of concern for the small creature. A bark escaped the small pup as it ran towards the grey wolf.
Suddenly, the wolf collapsed, blood pooling before its behind. As the wolf collapsed, the pup saw its previous attacker. Standing tall, head cocking from side to side. One of the wolfs legs dangled loosely from the beasts jaw, held only by a few strands of quickly drying sinew. As the remains of the leg dropped, the beasts head turned to the pup, fangs stained thick with the blood.
One normal, somewhat warm Wednesday afternoon, Xavier sat curled in his usual spot. A cold damp alcove tucked behind one of these usual human contraptions they would decorate their walls with. Xavier enjoyed a nap, having spent the vast majority of the night hunting and generally doing spidery things. Catching small creatures to eat and crawling around the darkness were a couple things he rather enjoyed, that and he had a particular interest in stealing things, but this was off the table for tonight.
Black legs and a torso as dark as the night sky, Xavier thought he would be rather safe in this alcove he now called home. He had it rather well decorated too, for a spider anyway. He hung his webs loosely, creating a cozy feel to this cold space.
Unfortunately, a little bit into this morning his slumber was disturbed by the humans bickering and giggling. Shortly following this, he felt his legs begin to be poked at. Annoyed at the human’s sudden interest in his alcove, he spurned to defend it. Stretching his legs, he gripped the object the humans had poked him with and proceeded to wave it at them in some angry gesture.
Fortunately, the humans were bigger, so they just took their object back. This only angered the black beast more. Spurned on by anger and a taste for stealing, Xavier burst free from his alcove and scurried towards the towering human before him. Crawling up the humans’ legs, Xavier dodged the human’s constant barrage of attacks. And headed right for the humans’ pockets.
Crawling inside, Xavier grabbed some shiny objects that seemed to jangle, and every human valued greatly. Object in hand, or rather leg, Xavier ran far from the humans. Once far enough away, he rested his rather tired legs and inspected the object he’d had the thrill of stealing. The objects seemed hard and round, with a few buttons along it’s edge.
Xavier recognized this object from the countless rides he had hitched upon the human’s form of transportation. Pressing the button on this hard object, he heard a beep from not too far away. Scanning the horizon, he searched for any sign of which beast the object opened. The hint of orange in the distance signified the unlocking of the beast the object connected to.
Scurrying towards the beast, Xavier hauled the object upon his back, holding it with a some of his spare legs. Reaching the beast, he spun a web and launched it towards the beast entry point and pulled it open. With a loud click, the entry creaked open allowing him to climb inside.
Upon reaching the inside of the beast, he found himself overwhelmed with the sheer size of it. He recognized much of the interior and its purpose form the time he jumped aboard a human’s shoulder as they operated the beast. Jumping onto the large button beside the wheel, the beast roared to life, shaking the inside of the car, knocking Xavier from his perch.
He landed upon the cushioned seat, sparing him from any injury. Righting himself, he spools some webbing and begins to string lines of webs around the wheel. Finding objects scattered around the beast, Xavier began to pile them upon the contraction that would make the beast move. As the pressure built, the contraption moved until it found itself pinned against the floor.
Deciding that he had spent enough time prepping, Xavier gripped his lines to control it and released the lever holding the beast in place. Tyres squealing, smoke building, the beast roars forwards and speeds it’s way along the road. Quickly racing to the top of the seat and extending his legs, he grips his varying lines.
Pulling lines from left to right, Xavier careened the car round corners and avoided the other humans and their glares in either disgust or confusion. He didn’t understand what the problem was, he quite enjoyed this activity of stealing and driving. He might have to do this more often, though it might make hunting a little difficult.
Forlan, Eggerton the eighth. A prolific writer and well-known creator of weird and wonderful creations. A Lightbulb that would float and follow you, a chair that would always walk to catch you if you fell were just a couple of the incredible devices this man had invented.
Sitting in his leather chair, he leant back. The wheels of the chair rolled backwards causing him to have to catch himself. Reaching forward his hands griped the edge of his mahogany desk of carved wonder. After pulling himself closer to the desk he stretched his arms forwards, gripping his fingers between one another.
Audible pops filled the stale air that filled his office as each of his knuckles gave way to the tremendous strain placed upon them. A gust of air breezed past the curtain filling his office with a splendiferous scent of freshly baked cakes from the bakery across the street. The faint glow from the floating bulb dimly lit the rows of bookshelves filled with all Forlan’s former masterpieces.
Taking this rather pleasant evening as a great sign to start another of those masterpieces, he reels his arms back and places them behind his head. Instead of typing, he decides to instead speak. “Let’s begin shall we Handsy?” he asks.
A click of fingers signifies his newest creation spurring to life, along with a wistful hum of magic. Two hands float from the desk and rest themselves neatly over the typewriter before him. “Very well Handsy. Let’s start as such. Once upon a time, there was a man named Dilford” he says aloud, watching the hands closely for their reactions.
The two hands seem to look to each other before pressing each individual key upon the typewriter. Slowly they pressed each letter, applying spaces where they were needed. As the hands learned the spacing and location of the letters, they began to pick up the pace.
“Wonderful!” Forlan boasted, watching the hands move.
The hands typed this into the typewriter before him not understanding this wasn’t to be written down.
“No, no don’t type that you halfwits!” he shouted.
Again, the hands tapped away, filling the page with his words.
“Stop that you buffoons!” Forlan shouted again, adding erratic gestures in for emphasis.
Seeing as the hands didn’t have eyes, they once again tapped his words into the typewriter.
At this point, Forlan got a little angry with his own invention and proceeded to stop the hands by force. “Stop typing!” he sputtered through gritted teeth as he gripped the hands tightly.
Fighting against the strength of their creator, the hands stretched to reach the keyboard and type his words. One of the hands reached for the other and pried their master’s hand away. Successfully one of the hands escapes and types the aforementioned words. With a sigh of relief, the hand turns to its companion to assist in freeing them from master’s grasp.
Racing forwards the hand pinches its master’s hand. Recoiling from the pain, Forlan releases his grip on the hand and apologizes. “Fine, I’m sorry, I got a little worked up. Let’s shake on it and carry on, shall we?” he says, stretching forth both his hands.
The hands look at each other and slowly creep forward to grip and shake their master to accept the apology. Just before he could grip the hands, they sped off to the typewriter to once again type in his words. Finishing the sentence, the hands magic dies down as they rest themselves either side of the contraption.
Forlan, annoyed at his contraptions mocking of him, stood up, brushed himself off and walked to lean out of the window. “My, what a terrible idea that was. I really need to work on this one” he mutters to himself, taking in the fresh air.
Across the room, the hands sparkle as the magic hum quietly fills the air…