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View Full Version : Short Story time with JPLS (InfiniteCombo)


InfiniteCombo
08-11-2008, 10:09 PM
Hi there everybody! I figured since this forum is geared to both Artists/Writers alike I should stick something on here. If one of the many talented artists here dig my style I'm upping my chances of finding someone to work on a comic with. Without further ado here is a short story I wrote last week... Some Sunny Day by Jeffrey Paul Louis Schiller.


It was three-seventeen Sunday morning, and young Theodore Archibald sat in his bed watching television, with the lights on and a bowl of popcorn in his hands. Theodore was not like most of the other children his age. Instead of being on an adventure in the dream world, he's up having one of his final snacks before HIS bed time. Young Theodore, aged nine, did have a bed time like all the rest of the children his age to be sure. Only Theodore's bed time was more closely related to the Sun than mere time increments. Those of a man made source were of no consequence to Teddy. T'was the Sun itself that forced Teddy's (and his Parents') hand. The boy feared it like no other creature, living or non, on this planet. He found it to be the villain of all his darkest dreams. Teddy was once asked to sum up his fear into as few words as possible, to which he replied, "have you seen this thing?"

At that moment it occurred to the man that he had not really "seen," the Sun. The question asker had blocked the Sun out every instance it crept into his field of vision. It was nothing more than an annoyance to this man who asked the question. It was an annoyance to him, like the Boy's "irrational," fear. "Its only the Sun, what could it really do to you?"

"Its the Lord of the Galaxy, It can do what ever it wants to all of us. Do you think it is some kind of coincidence that every planet in this solar system is spinning around in perfect balance to the Sun?" Teddy sternly asked the man. The man didn't have any reply that would satisfy Theodore. He just told him there was no more time to converse, and sent him to the exact spot we picked up with him. Theodore stared through the endless amount of lights that made up his television screen. It was as little use to him as the alleged Doctor his parents sent him to therapy sessions with. The damn thing may as well have been off, but Teddy still would stare at it, to present the illusion to his parents that he at least still did something normal. It was never about being a rebellious son to them, and it had also never been about making them proud either. He pretty much took their love for granted like any nine year old boy would, but he still pretended to watch the TV for them because he felt so bad. It had been a little over three years since the last time Teddy played outside, and he knew it was killing his parents on the inside.

The hour and change flew by like a penguin for Theodore. Nothing he thought of could ease his mind, or relax him in anyway. The sunrise that would soon be upon his bedroom window just weighed him down the whole time. He shut his light off, tucked himself into his racecar bed, and closed his eyes hoping for a quit entrance to the dream world. Sadly for Theodore, there must have been a line trying to get in because the next twenty minutes were endless restlessness. The longer he went without sleep, the more elusive the theory became. Every moment he remained without sleep was another moment for him to dread his astronomical foe. He tried everything from changing the sides to his pillow, to laying on top of the sheets, and he even tried sleeping at the foot of the bed. Nothing did the job. Minutes stood between Theodore going face to face with his greatest fear for the first time in those three years I mentioned earlier. The thought seemed all to real for the boy who jumped out of his bed.

"Where'd my dad leave those thumbtacks he used to put my A-Rod poster up," Theodore thought to himself as he shuffled through the mess he had on his desk. He knew they had to be there somewhere so he kept digging through the left over uno cards he forgot to put back the last time he played, and the bits of dried up play doe, and the little plastic tan army men, and the multicolored lego pieces, and the thimble from Monopoly, but in the end he could find the thumbtacks. "Tape!" crossed Teddy's mind like a bullet train from L.A. to Vegas. He pulled open his second desk drawer immediately because he remembered leaving his roll there. The tape sat in the exact spot the boy recalled, but not long enough for celebration as he was still battling the clock. Theodore grabbed his desk chair, and pulled it in front of his bedroom window. He then pulled his top blanket off of his bed with the hand he wasn't using to hold his tape.

Theodore climbed the chair as quickly as he could, but he was still not a master controlling his own body, and so his balance was far from impressive. The chair wobbled as Theodore held a piece of the blanket with his left hand over the left portion of the window, and bit off a piece of tape that was hanging from the roll in his right hand. Teddy held the roll with his neck as he place the tape over the blanket and window. Quickly he repeated these moves, only this time with opposite sides of everything involved. Before the Sun could come anywhere near Teddy's window the threat had been averted. The blanket was dark blue, and was going to hold well against the rays of light the Sun planned to emit. Teddy stepped down off the chair back, turned around, and realized there was another window directly across from the one he just covered.

"You win again Sun, you always do." The boy thought a few moments before the Sun was going to flood the room with its 'shine. Teddy's bedroom door quickly swung open as his mother tackled him to the ground. Before Teddy could see what was going on she covered his face with a sleeping mask. Teddy's eyes were instantly surrounded by darkness, just the way he liked it. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," was all Teddy could put together as his mother picked him up, and carried him to bed.

"You didn't think I was going to leave you out in the Sun did you?" She asked the already sound asleep boy. Teddy's mother tucked him in and gave him a kiss good morning after his eventfully stressful night. She left the room without making a noise, Teddy had finally made it to the dream world, and the Sun went on to terrorize the rest of the world like any other usual day. Later that evening when Teddy rolled out of bed he noticed the house was deafeningly silent. A bunch of what if scenarios based on many horrible thoughts cluttered Teddy's mind as he raced into the kitchen to find his parents sitting in the darkness at the kitchen table.
“What's happening you guys?” Teddy asked the depressed looking couple.
“Teddy We have a very serious question for you, and we want you to feel comfortable answering us, but we only know one way to ask it.” His mother said.
“What is it? Just ask. How bad can it be?”
“Well son,” Teddy's Dad started,”we want to know if you think you're a vampire.”
Teddy just stared back at his parents for a little less than a minute than said. “I'd spit at that question right now if there was any place nearby that I could spit, and you guys wouldn't yell at me.”
“We'll take that as a no.” His dad said. Teddy just walked back to his room shaking his head.
“Vampires? What am I crazy?” He thought to himself.

The end... I'll be back in the next few days or so with something else.

InfiniteCombo
08-12-2008, 12:14 AM
To add a little contrast I just wrote up this little diddy... Mistakenly Identified by Jeffrey Paul Louis Schiller

Jared is a simple man of simple tastes. He enjoyed a comfy couch and a cold beer as much as any other guy in the world. Today is a bit of an anomaly for Jared because it's a day that will end with him going out to the bar. He isn't going because his best friend just called and invited him, or to meet girls, or to enjoy the chicken wings, which are pretty damn amazing in their own right. Jared is going to the bar tonight to tempt fate. Something the human brain likes to do from time to time as a bit of a thrill seeking instinct. Jared, who is brushing his teeth in the shower in preparation for the evening, doesn't know just yet how significant this night will be. He just continues humming some show tune he picked up off the satellite radio this morning, the water from the shower dripping from his body like the seconds off the clock.

It's a quarter passed eleven when Jared makes his long awaited entrance through the general line into the club. The bouncer sent him to the back of the line earlier in the night because he didn't feel Jared should be apart of what the bouncer referred to as “the club's welcoming committee.” Jared didn't take offense to this for two reasons. The first of which being Jared didn't even know what he was doing at the club, and the second being that the bouncer outweighed him by a good fifty pounds. Jared just hopped back into the line waiting for this moment, the moment that he set foot on the dance floor. Jared stopped in the middle of the smooth surface, surveyed the area, put his right hand towards the ceiling, and shook his head no as he walked off the floor.

Jared knew at that moment that he wasn't there to boogie, and so he made his way over to the bar. All the bar stools were taken, so Jared squeezed between two of the bar's patrons that didn't seem to be together. Jared's whistle attracted more than just the bartender's attention.

“Two buds please,” Jared ordered as he held out a twenty dollar bill.

“You got it.” The bartender snatched the money and made a quick move to the beers. With a no look pass, Jared's hands were filled with the beers he ordered, and the bartender was back to work on the other side of the bar. Jared was alone again in this room full of people. Jared, instead of giving up, decided he was going to make his way to the bathroom. He calculated in his head how many drinks and steps it'd take to get to the bathroom and finish his brews, and so his journey went. Jared would take one sip for every one and three quarters of a step. Fifty-four steps later Jared was a sip and a half away from finishing his journey. He finished off the last of his second beer, and tossed it and the other into the trash can that sat outside the bathroom.

Jared rushed into the bathroom only to find all the urinals occupied. He caught on quickly and made his way to the stalls that were having the same occupancy problem. A frustrated Jared left the bathroom unsatisfied, and also unwilling to wait his turn. As he stormed out of the bathroom his bumped into a man who was making his way in.

“What the fuck?” The man asked in an angry enough voice to remind Jared why he never went out.

“I'm sorry man, honestly.” Jared held his hand out for a handshake.

“You're Stevie Applemore, right?” The question came as if it were a sure thing, so sure that it tricked Jared into lying about the answer.

“Yeah, how'd you know?” Jared answered back with a question of his own.

“You used to hang out with my brother Barry, remember?” Jared, of course, didn't remember, but wasn't prepared to give in this easily.

“Oh fuck yeah, how's Barry been? Haven't seen either one of you guys in a while.” Jared began channeling Stevie Applemore.

“To be honest I haven't seen him lately either,” Barry's brother continued, “are you here with anyone?” Jared wasn't, and was mightily bored. The thought of being honest crossed his mind again before he gave into the temptation of an interesting evening.

“Nope just me, and my full bladder.”

“You should come over to this table I got. I'm with a friend of mine that I grew up with. I'm sure you guys would get along.” Barry's brother shrugs, and gives a very inviting smile.

“Sounds good to me man, which table is it?” Jared surveys the club hoping to be able to guess it himself. Jared sees everything, but a table that stands out with a lonely guy sitting next to it. Before Jared can turn his head back to Barry's brother he is hit with a solid right hook to the temple. Jared falls to his knees, dazed. Barry's brother grabs a handful of Jared's hair with his right hand, and pulls Jared's head into his oncoming right knee, rendering him unfit to due any further battle. Barry's brother shakes his head at the ease at which he took down the alleged Stevie Applemore. Barry was sure that he'd be recognized in the first place, but chalks Jared's obliviousness up to drunken buffoonery. Before anyone notices that the shortest fight in the club's history has just taken place, Barry's brother drags Jared out of an exit door located a few feet away from the restrooms.

The cold night air hits the semi-conscious Jared like a hit of smelling salt. His senses have been renewed a bit, and he realizes he's being dragged out of the club. Jared looks up to see that Barry's brother is his carrier. Just as he's about to ask about what exactly is taking place Barry's brother drops the top half of Jared to the ground.

“Ow man!” Jared tries to roll away from Barry's brother.

“You fucked up for the last time Stevie boy.” Barry's brother says as he pulls a pistol from the back of his pants. “You knew I what I'd do if you came back to town, but you fucking did it anyway didn't you? Didn't you?!” Barry's brother pistol whips Jared in the back of the head as he was trying to pull himself up. Jared's face went numb the instant it fell to the cold asphalt.

“Aw come on, I don't even know who Stevie is man.” Jared attempts to reason with the man.

“Too late for that game shithead. You already told me too much to go back now you fucking fuck!” Barry's brother raises his pistol, but before he can shoot Jared rolls out of the way, taking out Barry's brother's legs in the process. Jared hears the sound of steel clinking off the street, and quickly raises to his feet in a running motion. He makes his way up the alley to the street ahead of him. Barry's brother picks himself and his gun up on his way to chase Jared. Before Jared can reach the street Barry's brother gets off one shot. He misses, but the shot caught Jared's attention, causing him to turn mid-stride. Jared can't maintain his balance as he turns, and falls face first into the street. Jared attempts to pull himself up, but an oncoming car smashes into him causing him to black out on contact.

Jared's body rolled about twenty five feet into the gutter, where it remained until the paramedics came. When Jared came to in the moving ambulance his first question was “where's Barry's brother?” None of the paramedics had any god damn clue about what he was asking, so they just nodded, and made sure the restraints on Jared's gurney were as tight as possible. The ambulance roared down the streets at what had to be a record pace, until a blue Toyota Turcel pulled into the ambulances path. The driver hit the breaks as soon as he could, but there was just no time to correct the vehicle safely, and the hospital's personal cab began rolling its over the Turcel, up the street.

“Can anyone hear me?” Jared asks in the darkness of the crashed ambulance. “Someone unstrap me please! I need to get out of here!” The only response Jared receives is silence. After what seems like an eternity for Jared, someone opens the ambulance's door. The incoming light blinds Jared.

“This is for Barry!” Barry's brother unloads his pistol into the strapped down, car hit, light blinded, simple guy who just wanted to have someone to hang out with for the evening. The bullets all find their mark, and Barry's brother is gone before any police arrive. When they do arrive they find a barbaric scene that troubles the rookies and the veterans alike. They find what they rightfully assume to be a bunch of innocents dead, and in tombed in an ambulance. The first question anybody asks when they find Jared's body is... “Who's this guy?”


Well there you have it. I'm usually a screenwriter/scriptwriter, but the lately I've been trying to branch out. After working on some more of these mini-stories I hope to try and do something with a bit more length, but still in the short story department. I like the freedom working on something a bit shorter allows. Well hope you enjoy!

InfiniteCombo
08-12-2008, 10:23 PM
Communication Breakdown by Jeffrey Schiller

I could hear it in my closet, not two feet away, causing a ruckus. My parent's assured me on multiple occasions that this was something I never had to worry about. Up until now that seemed to be dead on, pardon the pun, but now I'm not so sure. Wasn't even twenty minutes ago they were in here tucking me in, and inspecting the damn closet. Now I'm shielding my entire body with a Ninja Turtles blanket. My confidence is shot to put it mildly. I eventually gather enough courage up to peek the top of my head to my eyes over the blanket. I can see the door is shut tight, but when has a monster or a ghost ever let a wooden door stand in their way? That's an honest to God question that I wish I had the answer to right now.

Fuck it. I pull myself out of bed, and inch towards my closet door at a methodical pace. The fucking thing, or things, sound like a bunch of trash bags got caught up in a tornado. With each tippy-toeing step I take, my body temperature drops five degrees. By the time I'm within arm's length of the door, my teeth are chattering like one of those wind up toys, and I can see my breath leave my mouth. I cross myself before I reach forward with my right hand, and wrap my fingers around the door handle. I begin whispering a line of dialogue that Harvey Keitel used to console Tim Roth in Reservoir Dogs. In the case of the actual line it was in regards to being shot in the stomach, but I'm sure the writer of that line, whoever it may be, wouldn't have any problem with it coming up in this context.

“I'm gonna be okay-eeee.” I continuously repeat as I pull the handle down, and open the door. As soon as the door cracks the slightest bit, it is flung open with the strength of ten men, and I'm shot to the floor. I look up at the thing that trucked through myself and my door, and I realize I wasn't imagining a damn thing, there's an actual ghost hovering above me. It wasn't as big as I had imagined when the door knocked me on my ass, but the spectre sure was an intimidating sight.

“Vete de aqui!” The ghost screams at me in a language I can't comprehend.

“What?”

“Vete de aqui!”

“Say that one more time,” I try to reason with it, “maybe a little slower?”

“Vete de aqui!” He says it faster this time.

“Ok clearly we're on two different pages here buddy. How about you give me some kind of hand signals or something” I throw up the west side with my left hand, and the middle finger with my right. “You know what I mean?” I attempt to create a bunch of different signals in quick succession with both my hands to help it understand.

“No hables, oye esto!” It said to me before it began ranting in whatever the hell language it was speaking. I don't know what it's saying, so I just pull myself up, and pretend I'm listening as I make my way back to bed. Nodding the whole time, I slip back under my covers. The ghost or whatever the hell it is continues in some kind of odd rhythm that I mistake for a lullaby. Probably another twenty seconds or so go by before I pass out...

When I awake the next morning I find my closet door open, but not much else as far as ghost signs go. First thing I do when I finally roll out of bed is walk in to my walk-in closet. There's not much here regarding the paranormal either. What the hell happened last night? Was I dreaming? There's no way I could have been dreaming. I'm sure I'd have dreamt of a monster I could comprehend if it were actually my dream. There has to be some kind of explanation for what happened. Did the breakfast like feast we had for dinner have anything to do with this? No, can't be, that'd just lead back to the dream theory, unless ghosts love the smell of pancakes at night. Perhaps it was asking if there were anymore pancakes left. Actually that's a question I should be asking my damn self. I make a swift run to my kitchen.

As I sit finishing off the left over pancakes, and there are plenty, I ponder the situation again. With every syrupy bite of raw pancake my mind strays further from the truth. It could have been an alien asking me where the bathroom, or my leader was. Who is my leader, and where is he? I better figure that out too in case I make contact with that thing again. I guess another good question would be what kind of asshole comes into an American home speaking a foreign dialect? I mean, whatever the hell ghost world that thing came from, it is apparently not important to instill manners in the personalities of their little ghost children. Comes into my room screaming some nonsensical language at me, and I'm the one sweating it over left over brinner(Breakfast/Dinner) pancakes? That just doesn't fly with me. I shovel the pancakes into my mouth until the thought of that fucker goes away...

For the next night, and sixteen after, I await the return of this foolish creature. Nothing, no swirling wal-mart bag noises, no crazy accordion music, no humming, or whistling, or tornado like effects. He wasn't coming back, and I was done waiting. What do I look like, some kind of asshole? Anyway, I guess in the long run the monster and I came to the same conclusion, basically that you can't scare someone that doesn't understand what the hell you're trying to say. He could have been cursing my entire bloodline for the rest of the Earth's days, and I'd never be the wiser. Probably just figure it was my family's own rotten luck to begin with, but I'm digressing, my point is we both have to just move on from that chance encounter. Had I been born another few hundred miles south, and I picked up some Spanish before being cleverly snuck over the lines the White Man drew, then I'd probably have my own personal ghost haunting me. Too bad for that ghost because I'd be a pretty kick ass person to haunt. Sucks to be him.

Maybe he's just taking English courses at a community college in his home world... Maybe.