Hadriel's Writing Gallery

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#1
[FONT=Trebuchet MS, sans-serif]
[/FONT]

Banner created by me


[FONT=Trebuchet MS, sans-serif]

[/FONT]"Seeing the World through the Eyes of Fantasy"~

Imagine Writing your World.

[FONT=Trebuchet MS, sans-serif]



This is where I'll post random short stories that I write now and then. I have a passion for writing about Fantasy and a little Science Fiction, coupled with dark themes. However, I'm still a happy person. :)



Here's one of my earlier works:
[/FONT]



Alone



Day seventeen.
As I drew another line on the wall of my cell with my blunt pencil, I could not help but wonder how I had gotten myself into this predicament. It had started out as a simple task: Cross the border into the southern half of Korea, and smuggle some official documents back. Never had I imagined that I would have been caught. After all, I was North Korea's top spy, having successfully completed eighty-eight missions before. This would have been the eighty-ninth, if not for my accursed capture. Now, more than two weeks into my stay in this dark and damp cell, the hopes of a rescue were receding, and I felt more lonely and isolated than ever.




Two days later, I awoke to the sounds of men shouting out my name. There was smoke everywhere and an alarm was sounding in the distance. Suddenly, my cell door opened wide, blinding me with the light from the outside world. My two comrades, Lee and Ho had come to rescue me. I clawed towards the light, but suddenly my thoughts gathered and I found myself lying on the floor of my cell. The door was closed, and I had been hallucinating, the days of isolation affecting my neural activity. Overcome with despair, I buried my head in my hands and wept silently.



Nonetheless, the vision I had spurred me on. It gave me new hope that I would be rescued in due time. I spent my time drawing a map of the prison on the wall, using information I had gained while being brought here, and from talking to the guards outside my cell. I simulated scenarios of my rescue or escape from this living hell, taking mental notes of how to deal with guards depending on their weapons. As the days went by, I became more and more optimistic.



On the twenty-ninth day, I was jolted from my slumber by a loud bang. A yellow fog, smelling of phosphorous, drifted slowly into my cell from outside. I recognised this as the effect of a smoke grenade, and subsequently concurred that the only reason a smoke grenade would detonate in a prison was that someone had entered the building for some purpose. Due to my haphazard thinking from the many days of isolation, it took me awhile to realise that this 'someone' was probably my comrades coming to save me. I heard familiar voices shouting my name, and instantly recognised them as belonging to Lee and Ho. I shouted out to alert them of my presence, and a minute later, I head the lock of my cell being unlocked. The door swung open wide, and I saw pure unadulterated light for the first time in nearly a month. Two silhouettes stood in the doorway, my comrades, and one of them offered a hand to me.



As I reached out with my hand, I suddenly remembered what I had experienced twelve days ago. Immediately my outstretched arm slackened. This scenario mirrored the hallucination I had so exactly, that it just had to be a recurrence. I knew, that to stop the horrid feeling of dread resulting from that last hallucination from taking over me again, I had to stop this illusion right here, right now. I shouted at the two figures, “No! I won't come with you! I know that, as I grab your hand, this whole situation will vaporise, and I'll be alone, again, in this terrifying cell! This is an illusion! You guys are fake!”



[FONT=Trebuchet MS, sans-serif] Lee and Ho, or should I say, the two apparitions stepped back, and one of them said to me in a soothing voice, “No, Han, this is real. We're here to take you-” “Shut up!” I screamed at them, “I won't let my mind be misled by illusions again! Go away! Go away! Get out of here!” At this I turned into a maniac, pushing the two figures away and slamming the cell door. I slumped down to the floor in anguish, as I heard the two apparitions outside murmur to each other, and then their footsteps hurrying away from the scene. I looked around at the four concrete walls of my cell, having housed numerous criminals in the past, all of whom were no longer here to join me in my sorrow, and realized, I am all alone.





[/FONT]​
 
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#2
Wow... I really liked it, Hadriel. This really evokes sympathy for the main character, without being overbearing. It's a bit abrupt, but for a short piece I think it was well developed. You really get a sense of exactly WHO your character is, and how they are as a person, and how this experience has affected them. Nicely done~
 

Crestham

~*†Tank†*~
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#3
The story really brings out the personality of the character. The ending was quite awkward. I'm pretty sure I've seen that 'I am all alone' ending somewhere before... :/



The plot was pretty good, I didn't see that coming >.<



Have a cherry muffin.
 
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#4
Thanks for the nice comments, guys! ;hello;



Let's have something new, shall we? This was a piece I originally wrote for MF's WOTW competition, about rain. Eventually I decided not to submit it, since it's pretty experimental.




Rain



It starts with a drop. One drop, then another, and yet another. Soon, no one can discern one drop from another, for they have crescendoed into a roaring torrent of rain.




Water hits the ground, splattering in all directions. Raindrops collide with raindrops, the renmants of their miniscule battle flying all around. The rain has arrived.




On the street, a young businessman walks hurriedly, the flimsy umbrella he holds barely a match for the mighty rain. He curses under his breath. He hates the rain. Meanwhile, a lone child prances along the sidewalk, enjoying the rhthymic impact of raindrops on her head. She squeals in delight. She loves the rain.




"Mommy," a boy asks, sitting at the window of his house. "Why is it raining?"




"God is crying, my dear," her mother replies.




"Why? Is he sad?" the innocent child questions.




The mother pauses for a moment.




"He is grieving."




A single hand sticks out of the floodwaters. The body surfaces as it is swept by the current. Bloated and lifeless, it is a grim reminder to the onlookers, summarizing the devastation the rain and flood has caused.




A thousand miles away, another mother stands on rubble, the remains of a house crushed by a landslide. Her life has also been crushed. Her child lies motionless beneath the ruins. She raises her hands up into the air and wails in agony. She curses the rain which caused the calamity. She curses God.




"But mommy," the boy continues. "Could it be tears of joy?"




A group of firefighters cheer at the pouring rain, witnessing the last defiant flames get overpowered and defeated. The building is safe, it's occupants secure. The crowd heaves a collective sigh of relief as the victims wave their hands out of the window.




Elsewhere, an impoverished African family rejoices at the new source of fresh water. They look up and yell triumphantly. There are smiles on their faces.




They thank God.




"Perhaps it could be."




Slowly, the rain begins to weaken. The torrent turns into a trickle, and individual drops are distinguishable again.




The devastated mother looks at the sky, starting to return to its calm shade of blue. It signals hope. Hope? What hope? The hope that comes with her survival. The hope that she can build up everything again. The sadness still lingers.




The African family looks up sadly. The drops of rain become fewer and fewer, and soon the refreshing taste of it on their lips is replaced by the salt of their tears. The rain is stopping. A period of desperate searching for water will ensue. Still, they are grateful. Grateful for the reprieve.




The rain is significant to them. They know.




The sun returns to the sky, and as the boy at the window is attracted by other matters, the girl on the sidewalk runs back to her mother. The businessman on the street sighs in relief, looking at the sky. The rain is only temporary, they think. It holds no significance. It's just a weather condition.




They do not know.






As you can see it's a pretty new style of writing I've chosen to use. I'm not sure how it will be received, but oh well. I look forward to your comments and critiques!



;hello;
 

Maria.

→Donut Vampire
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#5
[quote name='Hadriel']
Thanks for the nice comments, guys! ;hello;



Let's have something new, shall we? This was a piece I originally wrote for MF's WOTW competition, about rain. Eventually I decided not to submit it, since it's pretty experimental.




Rain



It starts with a drop. One drop, then another, and yet another. Soon, no one can discern one drop from another, for they have crescendoed into a roaring torrent of rain.



Water hits the ground, splattering in all directions. Raindrops collide with raindrops, the renmants of their miniscule battle flying all around. The rain has arrived.



On the street, a young businessman walks hurriedly, the flimsy umbrella he holds barely a match for the mighty rain. He curses under his breath. He hates the rain. Meanwhile, a lone child prances along the sidewalk, enjoying the rhthymic impact of raindrops on her head. She squeals in delight. She loves the rain.



"Mommy," a boy asks, sitting at the window of his house. "Why is it raining?"



"God is crying, my dear," her mother replies.



"Why? Is he sad?" the innocent child questions.



The mother pauses for a moment.



"He is grieving."



A single hand sticks out of the floodwaters. The body surfaces as it is swept by the current. Bloated and lifeless, it is a grim reminder to the onlookers, summarizing the devastation the rain and flood has caused.



A thousand miles away, another mother stands on rubble, the remains of a house crushed by a landslide. Her life has also been crushed. Her child lies motionless beneath the ruins. She raises her hands up into the air and wails in agony. She curses the rain which caused the calamity. She curses God.



"But mommy," the boy continues. "Could it be tears of joy?"



A group of firefighters cheer at the pouring rain, witnessing the last defiant flames get overpowered and defeated. The building is safe, it's occupants secure. The crowd heaves a collective sigh of relief as the victims wave their hands out of the window.



Elsewhere, an impoverished African family rejoices at the new source of fresh water. They look up and yell triumphantly. There are smiles on their faces.



They thank God.



"Perhaps it could be."



Slowly, the rain begins to weaken. The torrent turns into a trickle, and individual drops are distinguishable again.



The devastated mother looks at the sky, starting to return to its calm shade of blue. It signals hope. Hope? What hope? The hope that comes with her survival. The hope that she can build up everything



again. The sadness still lingers.



The African family looks up sadly. The drops of rain become fewer and fewer, and soon the refreshing taste of it on their lips is replaced by the salt of their tears. The rain is stopping. A period of desperate searching for water will ensue. Still, they are grateful. Grateful for the reprieve.



The rain is significant to them. They know.



The sun returns to the sky, and as the boy at the window is attracted by other matters, the girl on the sidewalk runs back to her mother. The businessman on the street sighs in relief, looking at the sky. The rain is only temporary, they think. It holds no significance. It's just a weather condition.



They do not know.





As you can see it's a pretty new style of writing I've chosen to use. I'm not sure how it will be received, but oh well. I look forward to your comments and critiques!



;hello;
[/QUOTE]



It's nice. It's really well constructed, my dear.

I myself had use this style once and it's a pretty nice style to use.

You just need to concentrate on more details and more abrupt execution of events if you want to succeed in this style. Either way, it's looking pretty good, my dear. ^____^

 
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#6
Not really to my taste w/ the god references.

But I like rain in general.

So you get a muffin.



On actual critique, are you trying to draw some sort of contrast between 1st and 3rd world countries and how they have similarities/necessities in water?

If so I think more time/words should have been put into the African part.



This is making me depressed and reminding me how the author is dead.

I.E. you can read into anything however you want.
 
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#7
Hello, folks. I've been busy with school and all, but I found some time to write today.



But firstly, listen to this:




[YOUTUBE]Ko-Jm1A7_8Y[/YOUTUBE]




I wrote a short story based on this beautiful instrumental. The numbers in brackets that you see are suggested times of the song that you should read the part at, coinciding with a change in the direction of music. Don't worry, just read it at an average speed and you should cover each point in time.


Nostalgia (Kaiko)




(0:04)


The sun was setting. Over the town, it cast a gloomy shadow, creeping up the houses as the sun continued its descent. Birds flew in the air, circling the large, old castle. As the shadow advanced, people began walking home. Townsfolk selling their wares in the village market wiped sweat from their brows, packing their supplies in carts. They looked up at the orange sky. It was so beautiful, yet so sad. Outside the gates to the town, the large meadow was bathed in orange light.



(0:32)

A lone guard stood at the gates, looking out at the meadow. He was approached by another guard, and when their eyes met they both gave each other a nod of approval. His shift was over, and as the guard took off his helment and began walking back into town, he pondered about how uninteresting his ten hours at the post had been. There had been nothing, absolutely nothing, interesting that day. Another day wasted. What was the purpose of being a guard? Was it just to waste his life away, every day?



(1:01)

As he walked down the street towards the center of the town, he noticed the townsfolk entering their homes, greeting their families. Happy families. He had none. His only company was the metal gate at the entrance.
(1:15) He looked up and saw the birds in the air. They were free, so carefree, just flying around the castle, going circles around one another. They weren't burdened by life. They had the liberty to worry about nothing. How he envied their existence. (1:29) Overcome with his thoughts, he sighed in sadness and put a hand over his mouth. Why did he have to live this monotonous existence? Why did life offer nothing but a gate to guard? He felt his eyes water, but he wasn't going to weep. No one would even care anyway.



(1:44)

As he got to the town square, he saw the small wooden door of his small house at the other side. It was nondescript, just like he was in this town. The orange light began to fade, and the last of the townsfolk left the square, in twos, in groups. He was alone. He had no one. Even the birds had companions, but he had none. He walked slowly towards it, eyes looking dejectedly at the ground, oblivous to the woman following behind him. Suddenly, she called out to him.
(2:12) He turned his head and looked back at her. She was beautiful, with long, brown hair and large eyes. She smiled. Even though the air was cold, her smile brought a warmth unfathomable to him. It was innocent, yet so beautiful and pure. He smiled back, the first time he had smiled in years. But there was still tomorrow.

 
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#9
Thanks for the nice comments! ;hello;



Well, I thought I would try and write a poem, since there were quite a few nice poems I read from the others here.



This poem is meant to be read like a march. Steady, constant beat.





War





Blood is flowing; bodies blowing

Up across the battle field

Shrapnel sowing; shells are lowing

In the fight they mar the yield



Guns are firing; people dying

Tears and sweat clog up their eyes

'sploding bombs send people flying

Bloodied sun goes on the rise



Dawn is breaking; fear is shaping

Crazy actions 'cross the grounds

Men are pacing; men are hating

The insanity confounds



Gen'rals shouting, Gen'rals counting

Down till when they see the light

Soldiers pounding; lives are floud'ring

This is war - no end in sight







Some of the phrases are a bit obscure, so feel free to ask for clarification if you don't know what a phrase means. I hope you enjoy!
 
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#10
[quote name='Hadriel']
[FONT=Trebuchet MS, sans-serif]
[/FONT]

Banner created by me


[FONT=Trebuchet MS, sans-serif]

[/FONT]"Seeing the World through the Eyes of Fantasy"~

Imagine Writing your World.

[FONT=Trebuchet MS, sans-serif]



This is where I'll post random short stories that I write now and then. I have a passion for writing about Fantasy and a little Science Fiction, coupled with dark themes. However, I'm still a happy person. :)



Here's one of my earlier works:
[/FONT]



Alone



Day seventeen.
As I drew another line on the wall of my cell with my blunt pencil, I could not help but wonder how I had gotten myself into this predicament. It had started out as a simple task: Cross the border into the southern half of Korea, and smuggle some official documents back. Never had I imagined that I would have been caught. After all, I was North Korea's top spy, having successfully completed eighty-eight missions before. This would have been the eighty-ninth, if not for my accursed capture. Now, more than two weeks into my stay in this dark and damp cell, the hopes of a rescue were receding, and I felt more lonely and isolated than ever.




Two days later, I awoke to the sounds of men shouting out my name. There was smoke everywhere and an alarm was sounding in the distance. Suddenly, my cell door opened wide, blinding me with the light from the outside world. My two comrades, Lee and Ho had come to rescue me. I clawed towards the light, but suddenly my thoughts gathered and I found myself lying on the floor of my cell. The door was closed, and I had been hallucinating, the days of isolation affecting my neural activity. Overcome with despair, I buried my head in my hands and wept silently.



Nonetheless, the vision I had spurred me on. It gave me new hope that I would be rescued in due time. I spent my time drawing a map of the prison on the wall, using information I had gained while being brought here, and from talking to the guards outside my cell. I simulated scenarios of my rescue or escape from this living hell, taking mental notes of how to deal with guards depending on their weapons. As the days went by, I became more and more optimistic.



On the twenty-ninth day, I was jolted from my slumber by a loud bang. A yellow fog, smelling of phosphorous, drifted slowly into my cell from outside. I recognised this as the effect of a smoke grenade, and subsequently concurred that the only reason a smoke grenade would detonate in a prison was that someone had entered the building for some purpose. Due to my haphazard thinking from the many days of isolation, it took me awhile to realise that this 'someone' was probably my comrades coming to save me. I heard familiar voices shouting my name, and instantly recognised them as belonging to Lee and Ho. I shouted out to alert them of my presence, and a minute later, I head the lock of my cell being unlocked. The door swung open wide, and I saw pure unadulterated light for the first time in nearly a month. Two silhouettes stood in the doorway, my comrades, and one of them offered a hand to me.



As I reached out with my hand, I suddenly remembered what I had experienced twelve days ago. Immediately my outstretched arm slackened. This scenario mirrored the hallucination I had so exactly, that it just had to be a recurrence. I knew, that to stop the horrid feeling of dread resulting from that last hallucination from taking over me again, I had to stop this illusion right here, right now. I shouted at the two figures, “No! I won't come with you! I know that, as I grab your hand, this whole situation will vaporise, and I'll be alone, again, in this terrifying cell! This is an illusion! You guys are fake!”



[FONT=Trebuchet MS, sans-serif] Lee and Ho, or should I say, the two apparitions stepped back, and one of them said to me in a soothing voice, “No, Han, this is real. We're here to take you-” “Shut up!” I screamed at them, “I won't let my mind be misled by illusions again! Go away! Go away! Get out of here!” At this I turned into a maniac, pushing the two figures away and slamming the cell door. I slumped down to the floor in anguish, as I heard the two apparitions outside murmur to each other, and then their footsteps hurrying away from the scene. I looked around at the four concrete walls of my cell, having housed numerous criminals in the past, all of whom were no longer here to join me in my sorrow, and realized, I am all alone.





[/FONT]​
[/QUOTE]



I thought it was pretty cool and good for the most part, only read this one so far. Only thing that I thought woudlve worked out better is if he had a reason to be hallucinating, or if it was made specific and told. If it was stated he was hallucinating because of lack of food or sleep wouldve worked out better, and same for what he asked he guards to know about that place. Really liked the twist, was expecting some sort of macho-man action story.



Good stuff either way.
 
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#11
[quote name='Crom']I thought it was pretty cool and good for the most part, only read this one so far. Only thing that I thought woudlve worked out better is if he had a reason to be hallucinating, or if it was made specific and told. If it was stated he was hallucinating because of lack of food or sleep wouldve worked out better, and same for what he asked he guards to know about that place. Really liked the twist, was expecting some sort of macho-man action story.



Good stuff either way.[/QUOTE]



Well, I wrote that piece under time constraints and a word limit, so I didn't really get the chance to develop the story fully. Still, thanks for your comments!
 
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#12
Well, seems like I won both WOTF #1 and WOTF #2 at the same time, which surprises me.



Anyway, I'll just drop my WOTF #1 entry here:




Golden

The snow was thick on the grass, and as he stood and watched on, she drifted about, staring at the white expanse in wonder, looking up at the flakes of snow falling softly onto her face. Using her hands, covered by mittens, she scooped a handful of snow, throwing it in the air and laughing in delight as the cold flakes touched the bare skin of her face and neck. Watching in the distance, he was amazed by her beauty.

He could hear a relaxing piano melody playing from the diner beside the park. It seemed to echo her movements, weaving about the notes playfully as she waved her arms in the air. As the clouds drifted in the sky, he felt a breeze blow. She felt it too, and recoiled in cold. She turned to him, waving.

"Hey, I'm getting tired!" she called out.

"Let's find a seat, then," he replied.

They found a bench in the middle of the park, covered in snow. He used his hands to sweep the snow away, and she sat down. They both looked around, enjoying the winter scenery. She stretched out her hands and sighed, looking at her breath mist in the cold air.

"Winter is so beautiful," she mused aloud.

"It sure is," he concurred.

"I wish it could last forever," she continued wistfully.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry," he reassured her. "It can last forever."

"How?"

He was stuck trying to find a decent answer, and when she realized this she chuckled.

"You're always like that, answering without thinking first," she remarked.

"I am?"

"Yeah," she replied, and she took his hand on her shoulder and placed it on her cheek. He could feel the roughness of her face through the cotton of his mittens.

"Your hand's so warm..." she said dreamily. "Do you remember the first time we met?"

"How could I forget?"

"Yeah. I remember it like it was yesterday."

"Well, it wasn't too long ago."

"Oh, you flatter me."

She looked up at the white sky, still grasping his hand on her cheek.

"When I saw you, I knew you'd be different," she said out loud.

"Different? How so?"

"Well, I had a... different... feeling about you, like you were special."

"What a cliche."

She giggled. "I was attracted to you then."

"You were? How?" he asked.

"Do I have to make myself any clearer than that?" she questioned in playful exasperation.

"Well, it helps to clarify things."

"Okay, then," she said, turning to face him. Their faces were close, almost touching, and he could see his reflection in her large eyes bordered by crow feet. She held up his wrinkled hands in hers.

"I love you," she said clearly.

"It's been fifty years," he said gladly, feeling a single tear drip down his eye. He ran his hand through her white hair, once a vibrant brown, and she found solace in his touch. She looked at him again, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“You don't need to be so emotional,” he commented with a grin.

“I know...” she said, wiping the tears away. “It's just... I'm so happy we've gone through this together.”

“Me too.”

He held her shoulders, and they shared a tender kiss, two old people sitting on a bench in a park, just like teenagers. He stopped, and saw that her face was vibrant again. He smiled.

“Happy golden anniversary, my dear wife.”

It was quite a new experience, writing about romance. Originally, I intended for it to be just a typical romantic scene ending with a confession and kiss at the end, but as I wrote, I wondered, how can I make this less cliched and more interesting?



Simple: Put a twist at the end. Old people, lovers for many years. It fit in with the story, and honestly made it more endearing and heartwarming.



I hope you enjoyed reading it! Please feel free to comment!
 
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#13
Meow, an update after a loooong while.

This is a piece I submitted for the WOTW over at MangaFox. It won.


Elevator

The doors to hell opened. Inside, three walls bordering a small space. An infinite expanse of reflections in the three mirrors on them. Sweat dripped down my forehead as I boldly took a step into the elevator. I turned around, my gaze sweeping across the mirrors in the process, reflections changing with every angle. I saw myself. I saw myself again. There were many of us. Standing in a row, some staring away, some staring right at me.

The doors closed. I saw my only chance at freedom vanish, and as the elevator jolted and began rising, I swallowed hard and tried to ignore the growing paranoia. My body felt hot with anxiety. Looking at the lift doors, I glanced to the right. My reflection looked back with a scared expression. My scared expression. Behind him, I saw myself looking away, and behind that the same scared face. The expanse of reflections was endless. A hundred, no, a thousand copies of me stood in a straight line. I couldn't even see the end. Yet, I felt trapped. The elevator felt like a prison cell, with me locked up, chained by my fear. Everywhere I looked, the frightened faces of my reflections stared back, as if to ask, "Who are you? Why are you here?"

My vision began to swirl. My mind, lulled by the drone of the elevator, could not think straight. As the large red number above the elevator door changed once again, I stumbled backwards and onto the mirror behind me. I turned my head around and came face to face with myself. Large eyes, open mouth, rapidly inhaling air. I gave a yelp of shock as I pushed myself off the mirror and onto the elevator door. My doppelganger stared back, his back against the doors of the cell he was trapped in. "What's happening?" I asked myself. I heard voices in my head. As I looked around the elevator, my reflections seemed to be talking to one another, swirling around as my mind struggled to get a grip on reality.

I looked up above the lift door. There were ten floors left to go. Nine floors. Eight floors.

The floor began to swirl as I tried to get back on my feet. I stumbled clumsily onto another mirror. As I stared at myself, all my thoughts were replaced by a single dominating desire: to get out of this hell.

Seven floors. Six floors. Five floors.

I raised my fist and pounded on the mirror. On the other side, I saw my reflection pound as well. "That's good," I thought. "If we work together, we can both get out of this god-forsaken place".

Four floors. Three floors.

"Get me out of here," I whispered loudly, sweat dripping down my cheeks. As I stared into the mirror, my pupils darted around madly, looking at all four corners of the cell I was in. "Get me out," I whimpered in fright.

Two floors.

My mind was in chaos. The entire elevator was spinning around me. As I tried to gain control of my senses, I swirled around haphazardly before dropping to my knees with a thump on the elevator floor.

One floor.

I buried my face in the red carpet, mind swirling, head throbbing violently. I couldn't speak, but my mouth moved slowly, forming three simple words:

"Get me out."

I heard a short ring, and after a moment the doors to life were opened. From my prostrate position on the floor, I peeked up through the doors, and saw the sunlight shining through the glass windows at the end of the lobby. I felt my breathing return to normal, and the heat from anxiety subside. I felt a cool breeze brush past my cheeks, causing the trails of sweat to start evaporating, a cooling sensation on my face. Slowly, I stood up, legs slightly unstable. I held one side of the elevator doorway to support myself as I quickly rearranged my messy shirt and tie. I took a step out onto solid ground, then another, and for the first time in two minutes, I felt safe. Behind me, the doors to hell closed again, the chamber of horrors descending back into the depths.​
 
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#14
New story!

________________________________________________

Fifty


The snow fell on the sidewalk as I sat leaning against the wall, thankfully shielded from the snow by the roof jutting out. On my right, the empty alley echoed, perhaps a reminder of how lonely I felt. I could smell sweet aromas

from the restaurant on my left. It was brightly lit, and now and then I stood on tiptoes to see through the window inside. There were families inside, eating dinner. They were happy, but I was not. As I sat back down, tummy

growling in hunger, I would glance at the basket of matches beside me that I had to sell. For a year I had been like this. Homeless and hungry.

A bell rang and the door opened, throwing a yellow light onto the snowy pavement. A man stepped out into the night, patting his tummy in contentment. He looked at the street for a moment, and then turned towards me,

walking down the sidewalk. I quickly scrambled up with the basket to initiate the conversation I had attemped many times every day, but almost never had a chance to complete.

"Mister, mister!" I called out. The man stopped, looking at me. He seemed to notice my shabby clothes and dishevelled long hair. "What is it, little girl?" he asked.

Holding out my hands with the basket of matches, I asked earnestly, "Mister, would you like to buy some matches? Only ten pence for five!"

The man paced on the spot, trying to keep out the cold. I heard his boots scrunch on the thick snow as he considered my offer. At last he took out his wallet. I looked at it with envy.

"I'll take ten of them," he said. Ten matches. This was more than anyone else had ever bought before. My eyes gleamed.

"Thanks, mister!" I said happily. The man looked around in his wallet, and a troubled look came over his face.

"I don't seem to have change," he said, taking out a fifty pound note and showing it to me. "Do you happen to have some?"

My heart sank. It was over. No matches would be sold tonight. I would go hungry, sleeping in the little dark alley.

"No, mister. No change," I replied, crestfallen.

He sighed. "Let me check my pockets," he said. "Here, hold this note for me first."

He passed me the note, and I looked at it in wonder. I had never seen so much money for a long time. The man rummaged through his pockets as I looked at the note. Suddenly, I felt a barrage of cold snow hit me lightly from

the front. I put my bare hands to my eyes, shielding them and rubbing my face. As my hands went down again, I realized that the man wasn't standing in front of me anymore. I saw his back, walking away from me along the

pavement. The fifty pound note was still in my hand.

"Mister!" I called out. "You forgot your money!"

The man kept walking away, walking towards a street corner.

"Mister!" I called louder. "Your money!"

As he got to the corner, the man turned, looking at me in the distance. He smiled and waved, then he disappeared around the corner.

"Mister!" I called out again. "Mister!"

But my voice rang out to no one, along the deserted street, echoing down the alley beside me.

_________________________________________________


As you may have noticed I cut down on the jargon for this one, because the narrator is just a little girl. I was focusing more on the atmosphere and story.
 

Lovely.

Hiatus-Land
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#15
Yay, a new story~ <3 I don't get how it was separated and stuff, but a sweet story nonetheless~ :3 Reminded me of something my father once told me:)
 

Alyss

=Vampiress=
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#16
Daddy!!! I was planning to post something yesterday, but I never got to it OTL

I really like "Elevator". It's really descriptive and you can sense the narrator's anxiety (I assume is from claustrophobia). Especially this part:
I raised my fist and pounded on the mirror. On the other side, I saw my reflection pound as well. "That's good," I thought. "If we work together, we can both get out of this god-forsaken place".
I wish I was this good at writing >o>

"Fifty" was really cute. I could help but "Awwwweh <3" at the end :3
But I think you should change up some words. For example, you used "call" quite a number of times in the story. And maybe describe the man a bit more? Maybe contrast him with with the little girl?

I dunno, I'm not good at C&C >o>