Story Sometimes I Get Inspired

[Trombone Geek]

Just gonna be some random drabbles/short stories/ramblings of mine here. Because why not. Some of them might be angsty/edgy. Sorry, just how I am sometimes lol

If you find anything remotely good in quality here, or something that could use improvement, let me know! I'm all for comments and all that. And also attention. I bask in it.

Take this first, depressing, probably disappointing and poorly-written half-fiction mostly-true piece of mine. I really did lose my great-grandma, but the rest of it is just a little bit stretched. Imagine it's a vague point in the future for me.

Spoiler: Because I'm Moping Today

He pauses, fiddles with his slightly overlarge jacket. Stares at his reflection in the mirror. His reflection. The jacket covers the few sections of the chest binder that the tank top stubbornly refuses to hide, to keep hidden. But what is really drawing his attention is the small, fragile, glinting diamond ring suspended on a short chain, nestled just between the branches of his collar bone. Some might think he's married, or maybe even a widower. But no--it's just been a full two years since his great-grandmother died. Some days he doesn't think about her. But then other days, like today, the reality comes back and hits him full-force in the chest, making it hard to breathe, making his eyes sting.

He reaches up, fingers with the ring, indecisive.

"Your grandpa asked her, 'What do you want for Christmas?' And she replied, "A diamond ring." His grandmother wrings her hands, twists a new addition to the jewelry on her hands, pulls it off. "She always thought you were special, you know." Her voice wavers. His vocal chords seize up, (although 'he' was still more known as a 'she' then), he swallows around the lump, realizes what's about to happen. "You were favorite. Keep it safe." She takes his right hand, slides the ring on his index finger. It barely fits, and as soon as he takes his hand away he wraps his thumb on the band protectively. Keeps it from falling off. "It's yours now." He can barely see now, and as the whimpers he'd been holding back for an hour finally leap from his throat, and tears spill hot down his face, his grandmother wraps him in a comforting embrace. "I will," he promises.

Next to them, a large, beautiful, dark wooden casket sits, a stunning white floral arrangement on the closed lower half, and peeking out of the upper half is his great-grandmother's torso and face, looking decades younger in her peacefulness, her sickness having left her body, her wavy, snowy hair flowing away from her face. Her eyes are closed.

He sobs.

It doesn't really matter what others think. He's going to wear this ring around his neck on a chain, close to his heart without dangling too far from his mind, and he's going to let his fond memories of his great-grandmother guide him, keep him going when he needs it most.

He's not going to let her down, the only person who he's never said hateful words to, never had a mean thought towards. She is the only person who is completely untainted in his mind, and whether or not she would accept him today, damn it, he's never going to let her memory go.

Okay, that was more painful than I thought it'd be.

 

[that1aj]

That was actually really good! I wish I could write that well

 

[Trombone Geek]

Spoiler: Snow

A dark, surreal world at night. Light pollution keeps the sky dark, inky blackness; but the little remaining light from a weakening, waning crescent moon is enough to light the snow blanketing the ground, as if from within. Peering outside the window, the crystallized flakes are more than enough to mute the world into an undeniable softnesss. The quiet isn't suffocating. Instead, it wraps you up into a cocoon of serenity, lending itself to soothe your soul. No crimes could possibly be committed now, for even as the icy winter wind bites at your skin, the nightly snowfalls are more than enough to heal your wounded heart, your wounded head. In the morning, it will become a violent, freezing, wet blindness; but for now, in this single moment, all is well.

 

[Trombone Geek]

That was actually really good! I wish I could write that well

Thanks! I'm still struggling with descriptions and stuff, as well as quantity/varying sentence length/basically everything.. but I'm improving! Hopefully I can just dump stuff here and slowly improve myself.

 

[zachie mel]

do i inspire you

 

[Trombone Geek]

do i inspire you

Depends. Got anything inspiring on hand?

 

[that1aj]

Do I inspire you?

 

[Trombone Geek]

Do I inspire you?

To continue this thread? Definitely! I was about to abandon it ;-;

 

[Trombone Geek]

This was going to be my submission for the spooky story contest, but it kind of lost its vision and ended up inconclusive/kinda dumb. So yeah. Read if you're willing to wash your eyes out with bleach afterwards. I'm disappointed in it but why not offer it up for feedback?

Spoiler: Ugh this is awful

|The religious views reflected here are not my own opinion, nor are they intended to incite arguments or show disrespect.|

"You know," it drawled, "I shudder to think of what reee--eaally happens to us. When we die." Its voice catches on its drawl, the words jumping and dragging against his vocal chords in a way that makes Riley rather think that he should be coughing up damaged muscle right about now.

"What do you mean?" she asked, scuffing her shoe and trying to loosen her shoulders. Maybe that would make it easier to breathe past her fear. It didn't reply for a moment, simply stared at her unnervingly. Head tilted just so, white eyes piercing through any comfort and bringing tension to the moment.

Riley didn't take time to observe the great cathedral this demon--thing?? what was it, even??? had desecrated. She'd been here enough times, simply to marvel at the architectural wonders of an age long gone. Now the stone was washed out and grey against a sky clouded with smoke, a deep contrast to its original lively browns and blacks and shiny floors, to the colorful glass-stained windows (which were now jagged openings in a mourning building). Rusted life coated any sharp surfaces, and some dull ones too. Riley tried not to focus on it.

The only remnant of the cathedral's old self hung contained in the form of a grand, unlit chandelier hanging above them.

"Weeeellll..... You couldn't possibly believe in God's grace, could you? After all this tra--" A violent cough--"tragedy. What kind of benevolent being..." A second pause, for it to reveal a knife and start flipping it end over end in its hand, clumsily cutting its palm open a few times. Except it had no cares to give and there wasn't even any blood. "Well, I shouldn't say benevolent. He did drown most of his creations once in a fit of temper... And murdered, what, two entire cities, just because they took advantage of the free will he'd tried so hard to keep from them? But, still.. pray for mercy, not miracles, kid." It'd gone just a little bit off track. Its distraction seemed to smooth out its voice, but it returned quickly to a rugged, cutting gravel.

"Ba--ck on topic," it grumbled, shifting its weight onto its other leg. "Do you know why I shudder to think of what happens to the dead?"

Riley is barely able to even nod her head, morbid curiosity overcoming her terror.

"A cruel deity gets your soul. One with, more likely than not, no concern for your well-being. Generally, you're enslaved to the cause of some spectral war."

"Why are you telling me this?" Riley asks in a hollow, shaky voice.

"Something tells me--proba--aaaably my boss--that your body's not going to be disposed of. And we like to have informed members."

Sentient zombies. Great, says Riley's conscious, but in reality her fists are clenched into terrified, white-knuckled grips. She's defenseless, and it has a knife, and she really has no idea what the whole raising-the-dead bit entails in terms of personal experience. She doesn't want to know.

"Um.. W-what?"

"Weell, if someone else gets your soul, who gets your body? Someone aaaall--waaaa--ys gets the body."