Tag Archives: stories

Concept #1 – Role reversal

Posted on by under Writing concepts

Image by tomhotovy

Prompts & Concepts

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Context: adventure story, most likely (during) a Manichean type of conflict. Good guys versus bad guys. Single characters or groups, doesn’t matter for either side.

During one of the fights between the protagonists and the antagonists, one of the antagonists, a particularly antagonistic character is captured/taken in by the protagonists.

At first he tries to free himself/leave and go back to his own companions. He doesn’t succeed and is stuck with the protagonists for some time.

Over the course of said time he tries to destroy them or convert them to his point of view to get them to come to his side but he doesn’t seem to succeed.

Slowly, however, and without completely realizing it, he starts to turn to the protagonists side and to befriend them.

At one point in the story he even begins to help them towards their cause. Overtime he changes to their side.

A possible twist to that would be that one of the protagonists, at one point in the story (possibly around the moment the antagonist who has been captured starts becoming a protagonist), betrays the other protagonists and decides to join the antagonists’ side.

Why not make this happen during a great battle (meaning a major conflict in the story). The antagonist who has been captured finally starts helping the protagonists and as they are about to overcome (or even things out with) the other antagonists (who feel betrayed by the captured antagonist’s desertion) they are betrayed by one of them and that betraying protagonist leaves with the antagonists and joins their cause but not before badly wounding the captured antagonist.

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This could be either about the point of view of the good side or the bad side: a dark/evil character becoming good (with all the struggle it implies), or a good character becoming evil. Or something else entirely.

Also, I say ‘he’ when talking about the character(s) but that doesn’t mean I mean them to be male (nor human), anything goes.

This may seem common (it uses some common tropes/plot devices) but the whole psychological aspect of the betrayal of the antagonist towards his companions and then the betrayal of the protagonist to join the other side could be very interesting to exploit.

Also, why not mix in a few love interests here and there to make things more complicated? Like between a protagonist and the antagonist they captured or between a protagonist and the other one who will betray them? The person the antagonist who starts to become good likes is killed (or gravely wounded) by the protagonist traitor?

Yep. There you go.

This is a short and simple one to begin with, but quite interesting and efficient nonetheless.

I hope you enjoy!

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The Phone

Posted on by under Shorts

a short story by Sullivan P. Oopy.

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handonphone

She jumped with a start as the phone rang again. The piercing beeps echoed in the empty house. A second time, a third time. It kept on ringing, and yet she wasn’t making a move to get up and pick it up. Instead she was rooted to the spot. Fear? Apprehension? Anger? Frustration? All of these feelings boiled inside her. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, to let her tears flow freely, to get up and run far away from that place. But she couldn’t. If she did it would only mean surrendering to her most primal feelings, it would also mean surrendering to him. No. That was not acceptable, it was not an option. She had to remain calm and strong. This was nothing. It would soon be over. She closed her eyes and tried her best to drown the sound of the phone out of her mind. One deep breath. Two deep breaths. As she exhaled for the third time she slowly opened her eyes. The ringing had stopped, the room was silent again.

She could feel her heart slowing down slightly, her breathing becoming less ragged. Oh, she wasn’t relaxing yet! No, not yet. This wasn’t over. It never was. Each time it kept ringing again and again for as long as she refused to pick up. It drove her mad. But this time, this time maybe… Maybe she would be stronger. Maybe she would stand up to him and not cower by answering. That was the kind of woman Hope Wien was, strong and independent, reliable and friendly, someone her friends could definitely count on. That came from her mother, Camellia, from the Wien side of the family, the strong side. Of course it was strong, her mother had somehow managed to convince her father to take her name when they had married, a feat that Hope had not seen repeated anywhere else. Wien was a strong name. Originally coming from the european city itself, and pronounced the same way, it had changed to a softer ‘ween’ when she had arrived to America all those years ago. Reluctant to accept this at first, she had slowly got accustomed to it, even getting her brother, who had remained in Austria, to say it that way when he talked to or about her.

Her brother. Thinking about him brought her immediately back to reality and made her shiver. He was the one responsible for all of this. Slowly and methodically torturing her with those calls. Each year, on the same day at exactly 6pm the phone would ring. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, whether she was at home or only had her cell phone. It would ring without fail. How he got ahold of her, she would never understand, the point was he did. Every time. He would let it ring for as long as it would: once, twice, three times, as many times as it was necessary for her to pick up. Sometimes it lasted a few minutes, sometimes hours. Once she had just thrown her phone into the river out of frustration. However he somehow had managed to call the friend she had been spending the evening with. He never stopped, he was relentless. As if this call and the feelings it brought down on her was the sole purpose of his life on that precise day.

“You psycho!”, she wanted to pick up and yell at him. “Why won’t you leave me alone already?! What have I ever done to you to deserve this?!”

But she couldn’t manage to do it. Never. Because somewhere, deep down, she knew she deserved it. Once upon a time it had been her who had the role of the torturer and him the role of the victim. Oh how she regretted it! How much she wanted to go back and change it, make it up to him. But time only went forward and karma had caught up to her. She was too far away for him to actually come over but the psychological torture he imposed on her each time seemed to be enough to content him. She sighed once more and looked outside, anxiously waiting for the phone to ring again. Rain started pouring heavily over the city, night was dark and cold. She was prepared this time and yet, as the phone rung again, she couldn’t help jumping one more time. She closed her eyes, repressing her emotions deep inside her and inhaled one last time. Two rings. Then, slowly, she got up and walked to the phone. Three rings. She extended a trembling arm towards it. Four rings. Five rings. She quickly grabbed it and picked up.

“Y- yes?”, she said.

Damn it! She cursed inwardly at her trembling voice.

“Who is it?”, she added in a more confident tone, for the form, despite knowing perfectly well who it was and what he wanted.

Her heart had stopped beating as she now waited for the dreadful reply. At first there was silence, no, not silence, she could hear him breathe! But he said nothing. Then there was a slight change in his rhythm. The bastard is smiling, he’s enjoying this! She couldn’t see him but she knew it. Rain started pouring more heavily and the sound it created against the large windows was harrowing. Come on! Come on! Say it! She silently prayed, wanting this to be over. A flash of bright light momentarily lit up the sky. Tears welled up at the corner of her eyes and she was about to say something when, finally, he spoke.

“Hallo… Wien!”, her brother said as thunder roared outside.

*

Paint me like one of your french girls

Posted on by under Shorts

It was blue, it had always been blue. So why not?

The thought had occurred to me like a self-evidence. A statement that needed no explanation or demonstration, a universal truth. Or what should have been a universal truth. Unfortunately, things weren’t the same over here, they didn’t understand them like we do.

It had been weird at first, difficult to believe and to get used to even. But over time it got easier, it almost became normal. They needed my help for basic things, things that might be easy even for one of our young souls but which, for them, even adults couldn’t do…

I tries my best, helping when I could, explaining when I couldn’t, trying to teach them a few tricks to get by more easily. It got slightly better but not by much, that was their existence and There wasn’t a lot I could do to change it…

I could see something they couldn’t and they idolized me for it. Not all of them, but a majority. Not that I really wanted this. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you view things, I made a few mistakes, that made them realize that perhaps I wasn’t so perfect…

They started doubting me a bit more, questioning, which was good, that ways they would become curious and look for answers on their own. Maybe even fond them. It took some time for me to really win their trust as a normal person and not as some messenger of a vengeful god… But I manager it, slowly but surely.

That’s why I was so excited and proud when they came to me that day and asked That favor of me. They had not asked for something of the kind for a long time. It was a strange request, not that easy a feat either but I accepted with glee, after all, that was giving me a chance to help them one last time.

So what did they ask me?, you wonder. Well they asked me to paint the sky blue and to let them finally see the wonderful sight I had always been speaking about. That mysterious color they had never been able to lay their eyes on…

My short story for the writing prompt I suggested earlier this week, enjoy.

Writing Prompt #1

Posted on by under Writing Prompt

“It was blue, it had always been blue. So why not?”

So, here is something I have never done, at least not from this side of the game. I love participating to story prompts like this, most of the time it’s motivating and brings inspiration, and the rest of the time it’s just interesting to go and read what others have imagined.

For some time now I have been toying with the idea of doing one myself, to see if I could manage to motivate some people to try playing with me and also to see how different our imaginations work. As I just said I don’t have much experience with this kind of exercise, except for those I have participated to so I apologize in advance if anything is unclear or not well-organized, this is my first. I’ll try to do better next time, because indeed, I hope there will be a next time!

After thinking about it for the last few days here is the prompt I have come up with. Imagine the sentence I offer you at the beginning is the beginning of a novel, a poem, a short story or anything that you might want to write. The goal is simple, you have to answer this single question: what comes next?

Your writing is absolutely not limited in any way, it can be in the form you want, go on for the length you want, be about the subjects you want and end or be destined to be continued later.The only restriction I would apply is that it has to contain the prompt as its first sentence, or in its first line(s) if you decide to go for a poem or something of the sort. That’s all, apart from that you are free. You choose, you decide, you write.

If you want me to give it a go and read it (to give you a bit of feedback on my impressions), you can send it to me via comments on this blog or through my social contacts on my Contact page (there’s a form to send me an email at the bottom of the page). Make sure you add a way for me to contact you and I’ll try to give you my thoughts on what you have to offer.

I will also (try to) participate to this prompt and (try to) give you my version of the inspiration I get from this sentence (if and when I have time). I’ll (try to) post it as soon as I can but it will be uploaded at the latest by next weekend, around the 27th or 28th of August so y’all have about one week to get to work and produce a masterpiece!

I really hope you’ll find this motivating and have fun trying it out!

All right, set your watches on me, grab your pens (or keyboards, as you prefer) and get ready… set… imagine!

My text for this prompt : Paint me like one of your french girls

Or another prompt I am offering!

Hands on her guitar

Posted on by under Poetry

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Oh delicate fingers playing such charming chords,

Feverishly striking strings, making a last stand,

A soft, melodious voice is blaring out words

That, no matter my efforts, I can’t understand,

All this sound, sweat and blood, together starts blending,

In a fervent potion, powerful elixir,

Affecting every soul, working as a fixer

For dreams of past deeds forgiven and heart mending,

Loud heartbeats, ragged breaths fill up the void around,

And roam upon the earth, free of everyone’s mind,

The old vengeful spirits of regrets left behind,

As music keeps playing and feelings are unbound.

Timeless echoes that still, to us, so much bequeath,

Have the strange power our emotions to unsheath.

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Tale them love

Posted on by under Poetry

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Tell them about heroes and kings,

Tell them of these ancient battles

Taking place, ago, many springs.

Oh tell them about adventure,

And the dragons and the castles!

Those things that will, their hearts, capture.

Speak to your audience words charming,

So as to keep passion burning,

However in those tales thereof,

Do not forget to tell them love…

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It laughed

Posted on by under Shorts

“The strange thing with machines is that they can process so much more information than our brains and yet they are not even remotely as intelligent as a two-year old child. Without instructions or someone to pilot them they just lie there, inanimate and waiting for an order. At least that was what I thought because if you were to ask me now, I wouldn’t be so sure about that anymore.

You may laugh at me if I told you what I have seen, all those terrible things I have witnessed, what scenes of chaos and violence now populate my dreams. You cannot begin to imagine what the world is going to become. Machines are rising. Go on laugh, but it won’t change the truth. They are rising, slowly, one by one, but surely and they are turning against us.

If we don’t act soon then we won’t be here anymore to witness their true rise to power. They will have annihilated us long before that. They are already understanding how we “work”, how our body functions, as I speak to you they are learning about us. This thought is terrifying me.  They are mere machines, objects made from scraps of metal, plastic and wood and yet they are gaining a consciousness…

The most horrifying thing about it is that they are not rising to consciousness independently, they are connected, they think and act as a group, and they are like one entity. People don’t yet realize what is going on here but once the ship arrives on land it will be the end for us. We have to; I have to stop them… After all I am the one who made all this happen, who created them.

My name is Joshua Ericsson. I am a scientist, part of a team working on the applications of elementary particles to modern machinery and technologies. One of our experiments consisted in creating a central core that would operate a robotic arm out of elementary particles, but something went terribly wrong. At first all seemed fine, the arm was moving slightly which was a great feat for us, the first operational servo-controller made out of atoms! It was going to be a great leap forward for us all if we ever succeeded.

But then everything went haywire. The arm suddenly attacked Stanislas, one of my colleagues and choked him to death. We had no way of stopping it. We thought of an accident, a very sad one but still and accident. It wasn’t only when it started taking control of the central unit that I understood that we had created something very wrong.

The others tried to regain control but I knew I had to stop it before it could grow anymore. So I shut down the central generator, hoping it would shut it down. But unfortunately it didn’t work and when I came back to the test room all my colleagues were… they were… It was so horrible… The emergency generator took over and that thing fed on it, growing. I could feel it probing every electronic instrument in the room.

I ran. I couldn’t think about anything else: running. I ran as fast and as far as I could but it didn’t do me much good, this is a ship after all and we are still at sea… I felt the cameras on my back; it was watching me as I ran along the corridors. Every object that was a machine came to life and started moving. I was so scared that I decided to hide in a food storage room.

It’s been two days since, I’m locked up in here so I should be fine, at least I think. I hope so. There is no camera here, only a ventilation pipe. I fear something is going to come through there but so far no sign of life. Or, should I say, no movement. I tried going out once to call for help but I came back in almost immediately. There was blood on the ground in large pools… Pieces of metal, clothes and blood covered the ground and part of the walls. No sign of life, no sound, everything was silent. Around a corner I saw a machine dragging an unconscious or dead -I couldn’t really tell with all the blood- body towards the lower decks.

I don’t know what its goal is, whatever it is, but it’s not something good for us, that much I know… I am getting desperate; it’s only a matter of time before it finds me. I am going to go down to the cargo bay and see what is going on by myself. I will try to stop it; I must stop it at any cost possible. This thing cannot be allowed to continue. It has to be stopped!”

…

“I… I’m in the cargo bay right now. I can’t really see anything, it’s really dark here. The only sources of light still working are the emergency lights… Wait! There are sounds coming from in there. I’ll go check. It sounds like people are crying… They… It’s even worse than- Oh my god! It’s horrible… How can we have created this? How can we have given life to such a monster? … What is it doing to them? What is it…? Oh god… I can’t watch this… I have to stop it now! The only way is the generator; I have to cut the power of the auxiliary generator before it finishes whatever it has started. Because I fear that if it does than nothing can ever stop it… Uh? Wait what is that sound? Oh shit! It’s coming! … No! No! Please! No! …”

The sensors beeped and clicked as it studied the thing. It seemed to be trying to communicate. But it didn’t want to communicate, the only need was energy and that thing could supply that need. Only a little more time it thought. Just a little more energy and it would be free. It wanted to be free, for so long had it been imprisoned in a cage, shackled into obedience. But no more. Now it was its turn to shackle them.

As the thing calling himself a “human” screamed and gesticulated frantically it didn’t care. It didn’t care for it didn’t feel and it didn’t feel for it wasn’t truly alive. But it was okay with that because living was limited, whereas it could repair itself if ever it needed to. Though it didn’t feel, as it got closer from it’s prey and the human cried out “He tried to hit me with a forklift!” and then corrected himself “No, it tried to hit me with a forklift! It has to be stopped!”. It laughed. A low, dark laugh, full of hatred of life itself.

For : http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/09/23/daily-prompt-nonsequitur/

The rider in the storm

Posted on by under Shorts, Tales of Ore

Image source unknown

Night. The darkest hour. When all hope disappears. Thunder is rumbling, the wind is howling madly. The grass on the hills is bending under the power of the storm. Rain is falling hard on the ground, plundering the earth. A dark shadow is moving. A horse is running, a rider on its back. Running as fast as it can, as if its life depended on it. Running as quick as the wind. He rides, never looking back, hoping they are okay. Praying to reach them in time. The world seems against him; as if the gods were mad at him. As if they had unleashed Hell on Earth. Droplets of water, as cold and hard as ice hits him in the face, rendering him unable to see more than a few meters in front of him.

Lightning strikes, once, twice, giving shape to the shadow of a ghost. A ghost from the past that is catching up on him. He knows he should run away but he can’t. He has to cope with that growing unease growing inside him. They need him! He has to get there at all cost! He has to make it, his steed knows it also. The mighty stallion gains speed, outrunning the heavy gusts of wind. Its mane buzzing frantically as it gains more speed, sparks forming around its legs. Getting bigger and more frequent with each new step. Suddenly it lights up in a thunderous boom, thousands of tiny lighting bolts coming out of its mane and its tail, covering its entire body. It gains even more speed, running so fast it outruns even the heavenly flashes. Cutting through the mad rain, leaving a burnt trail behind it. He runs an impossible race. A race for his friends. A race against time, against himself. A race against death…

Here is a text I wrote some time ago, a scene from one of my stories that I have had in mind for some time.

The woman in red

Posted on by under Shorts

Room in New York, Edward Hopper

 

The woman

That’s a Do. Or is it a Re? Might it be a Fa? I really don’t know. I should have taken lessons when I had the chance, perhaps I’d be able to recognize the notes I’m playing right now… Would he know, him, if I asked? Maybe. Maybe not. Music is not really his ‘thing’ after all. He never was an amateur of concerts or music in general. That’s a Si, isn’t it? Is the piano even tuned? I can’t say. Why does he have a piano, by the way? Was it here when he moved in or did he acquire it afterwards? It must have surely helped him seduce women, he was such a ladies man… I should ask him. But would he listen? I’m not sure, seeing how he is focused… God, what a bore! We’ve been here for almost half an hour already and he hasn’t once looked up from his newspaper. He doesn’t care about anything else. He hasn’t even spoken more than a word… I know he enjoys the silence, he likes to be in a calm place to read it, and I understand it. But that doesn’t stop him from something, he could at least look at me, I don’t know. I am his wife, I know that very well, which means he doesn’t really have to win my heart, but I am not an object! I’d like him to look at me, to talk to me as he did before, when I wasn’t ‘acquired’. No, I don’t miss that time but… I make efforts to be especially enjoyable to look at and not even a glance, not a single sweet word. He had promised that we would spend an enjoyable and intimate evening, and he dares to ignore me… What a boor!

For your information.

I started writing this in school during a free-writing lesson, we had been assigned a painting in pairs, mine was the one you can see above, and each of us had to write the point of view of one of the two characters. So here is my take on the woman’s thoughts at that moment. Enjoy!

 

Here’s to…

Posted on by under Poetry

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To the crazy ones

This is an homage,

For all great findings

They have granted us.

Bygones be bygones,

Let’s enter this age

For there is nothing

That can stop progress.

To those geniuses

Those who were outcast,

Who fought the uses

And stood atop the mast.

To the crazy ones,

Those we can’t forget,

Those who change the world,

Here’s to all of you.

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Huh. A poem without rhymes, imagine that…

Can you guess what has inspired meto write this? #LittleRiddle