Best short story wins a steam copy of Torchlight 2.
- Thread starter Silios
- Start date
The_Joker
Rookie
today i was on the train going home to get my wisdom teeth pulled so i had taken a couple (read: 5) of painkillers (preemptively) and as most of you know those things have a profound effect on your bowel movements.
i get out of the taxi and *grumble* *grumble*
"either i'm hungry or i should poop"
i wait for the train and i eat 2 krispy kreme donuts. all is good again.
now i'm on the train my stomach starts to act up for real. i need to poop. i have this liquid painkiller i was prescribed that' s supposed to counteract the urge to poop so i drink it.
it has no effect.
i am now medicated yet my desire to poop only deepens further. i really have a "problem" (especially poops) with public restrooms (i was lost in the bathroom of a greyhound terminal when I was 5 and it traumatized me) and had since promised myself i would hold it til i got home.
i keep thinking someone is whispering to me, urging me to poop. my stomach grumbles. my mouth remains open for 2 minutes. an attractive woman stares at me and smiles. maybe she realizes i'm on drugs? i start feeling guilty. i am a minority and there is a stigma against my people doing such things in public. i come to the chilling realization that i was about to poop my pants.
i briskly walk to the bathroom. there are normally 2 bathrooms in every amtrak cabin but 1 was closed for maintenance. i have no options. i lock the door, undo my pants and assume a crouching position. i hover my butt over the toilet. i am perched like a gargoyle above the toilet.
i relieve myself...
the train experiences turbulence. these bathrooms are pretty small (as am i) so i'm thrown about. i hit my head against the sink. i am naked, scared, pooping. this is an unbridled poop.
the train stops shaking and by that time i was done pooping. i open my eyes. i surveyed the extent of my poop; poops on the seat, back of the toilet...the walls, the sink, the ceiling. my butt was an artery and my poop was its arterial spray.
"oh my god what have I done"
i instinctively wipe my ass and put on my pants. i want to make amends. i look around. there is no hose, no mop, no broom. the government issue toilet paper disintegrates on contact with the poop, smudging the poop. i cannot reach the ceiling. it is hopeless.
i wash my poop off my hands. i keep washing my hands to conceal the scent of my poop. as i wash my hands i notice a sign that encourages me to clean up after myself. "be considerate of the next passenger and clean up. your cooperation is appreciated." there is a stick figure holding a broom. i am now deeply ashamed. i am a public menace.
i cannot notify amtrak staff. i refuse to be held accountable for this poop. i leave the bathroom shaken, my hands pruned. i go back to my seat with my head down, hoping nobody will notice & praying my crime goes unseen. i thought the smell of my poop was noticeable but maybe i was high.
as soon as i am back in my seat an old man (visor, polo shirt tucked into jean shorts) stands up to go to the bathroom. he goes inside and comes out immediately, shaking his head. he was in shock. i thought maybe i triggered his ptsd?
another young woman stands up to use the bathroom. the old man verbally discourages her.
"don't go in there."
"why?"
"you don't want to go in there."
she sat back down. and for the other 3 people who tried to use the bathroom, the old man did the same thing. he notified amtrak staff as per protocol but was told the trains are only cleaned once a night. so we coexisted with my poop.
i am so sorry. there is no justification for what i did today. this is my confession to everyone who i shared the train with that day. im deeply sorry for my behavior and my poop.
i get out of the taxi and *grumble* *grumble*
"either i'm hungry or i should poop"
i wait for the train and i eat 2 krispy kreme donuts. all is good again.
now i'm on the train my stomach starts to act up for real. i need to poop. i have this liquid painkiller i was prescribed that' s supposed to counteract the urge to poop so i drink it.
it has no effect.
i am now medicated yet my desire to poop only deepens further. i really have a "problem" (especially poops) with public restrooms (i was lost in the bathroom of a greyhound terminal when I was 5 and it traumatized me) and had since promised myself i would hold it til i got home.
i keep thinking someone is whispering to me, urging me to poop. my stomach grumbles. my mouth remains open for 2 minutes. an attractive woman stares at me and smiles. maybe she realizes i'm on drugs? i start feeling guilty. i am a minority and there is a stigma against my people doing such things in public. i come to the chilling realization that i was about to poop my pants.
i briskly walk to the bathroom. there are normally 2 bathrooms in every amtrak cabin but 1 was closed for maintenance. i have no options. i lock the door, undo my pants and assume a crouching position. i hover my butt over the toilet. i am perched like a gargoyle above the toilet.
i relieve myself...
the train experiences turbulence. these bathrooms are pretty small (as am i) so i'm thrown about. i hit my head against the sink. i am naked, scared, pooping. this is an unbridled poop.
the train stops shaking and by that time i was done pooping. i open my eyes. i surveyed the extent of my poop; poops on the seat, back of the toilet...the walls, the sink, the ceiling. my butt was an artery and my poop was its arterial spray.
"oh my god what have I done"
i instinctively wipe my ass and put on my pants. i want to make amends. i look around. there is no hose, no mop, no broom. the government issue toilet paper disintegrates on contact with the poop, smudging the poop. i cannot reach the ceiling. it is hopeless.
i wash my poop off my hands. i keep washing my hands to conceal the scent of my poop. as i wash my hands i notice a sign that encourages me to clean up after myself. "be considerate of the next passenger and clean up. your cooperation is appreciated." there is a stick figure holding a broom. i am now deeply ashamed. i am a public menace.
i cannot notify amtrak staff. i refuse to be held accountable for this poop. i leave the bathroom shaken, my hands pruned. i go back to my seat with my head down, hoping nobody will notice & praying my crime goes unseen. i thought the smell of my poop was noticeable but maybe i was high.
as soon as i am back in my seat an old man (visor, polo shirt tucked into jean shorts) stands up to go to the bathroom. he goes inside and comes out immediately, shaking his head. he was in shock. i thought maybe i triggered his ptsd?
another young woman stands up to use the bathroom. the old man verbally discourages her.
"don't go in there."
"why?"
"you don't want to go in there."
she sat back down. and for the other 3 people who tried to use the bathroom, the old man did the same thing. he notified amtrak staff as per protocol but was told the trains are only cleaned once a night. so we coexisted with my poop.
i am so sorry. there is no justification for what i did today. this is my confession to everyone who i shared the train with that day. im deeply sorry for my behavior and my poop.
C_nate
Rookie
Trying to keep it limited to 300 words was actually a lot harder than I thought it would be. Anyway, here is my entry in the Short Story: Fiction category...
The Meeting
As he sat alone in the empty conference room, he buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. They felt weary. He felt weary. He sighed and glanced at the clock on the wall. Where had the time gone? He turned his attention to the windows and gazed out at the world going on dozens of stories below him. It was winter time again in the City. A recent flurry had covered everything with a thin layer of snow. The sun had long since set and in the distance he could see the twinkling of holiday lights. He watched as people scurried to and fro, going on about their lives.
He blinked and shook his head, snapping himself out of his reverie. How long had he been there staring? He gave the clock another look. Only ten minutes but it felt like an hour had passed. His weariness began to give way to uneasiness and dread. Things had not been going well lately and that usually meant one thing. As he was about to stand up again there was a soft, nearly inaudible, double knock on the doors.
His mind began to race. His breathing quickened and in his ears he could only hear the thudding of his rapidly beating heart. Sweat beads broke out on his forehead. Suddenly everything crystallized and his focus became sharp. There, at the other end of the table was a tray of supplies and among the items were a large pair of scissors. He jumped up from his seat and lunged for them. As the doors began to swing open, the adrenaline took over and red washed over his vision. He raised his hands over his head and rushed for the door. Then, the screaming started.
The End.
The Meeting
As he sat alone in the empty conference room, he buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. They felt weary. He felt weary. He sighed and glanced at the clock on the wall. Where had the time gone? He turned his attention to the windows and gazed out at the world going on dozens of stories below him. It was winter time again in the City. A recent flurry had covered everything with a thin layer of snow. The sun had long since set and in the distance he could see the twinkling of holiday lights. He watched as people scurried to and fro, going on about their lives.
He blinked and shook his head, snapping himself out of his reverie. How long had he been there staring? He gave the clock another look. Only ten minutes but it felt like an hour had passed. His weariness began to give way to uneasiness and dread. Things had not been going well lately and that usually meant one thing. As he was about to stand up again there was a soft, nearly inaudible, double knock on the doors.
His mind began to race. His breathing quickened and in his ears he could only hear the thudding of his rapidly beating heart. Sweat beads broke out on his forehead. Suddenly everything crystallized and his focus became sharp. There, at the other end of the table was a tray of supplies and among the items were a large pair of scissors. He jumped up from his seat and lunged for them. As the doors began to swing open, the adrenaline took over and red washed over his vision. He raised his hands over his head and rushed for the door. Then, the screaming started.
The End.
danielrbischoff
Rookie
Hey Sightless, wb.
Silios
Rookie
Sightless said:
Not at all, you can enter as many times as you want, I would ask to limit it at maybe three stories per person, I'm not completely sure on how many posts a GR topic can go before it is maxed out. Daniel would know more on that than me, and I'll let him set an exact number that is fair.
Otherwise, there will be "two" winners in this topic, but the more you write, the better your chance for winning.
danielrbischoff
Rookie
See What Are You Playing in General for and idea of what the limit could be.
WickedLiquid
Regular
Late Supper
Pete made it home around 7pm and it was about damn time. He got off work at 5 and was never this late getting home. There was something different about him. I think he may have found someone else.
I walked into the kitchen and there he was. I stared up into his eyes; he looked at me and smiled. I was so hungry and all he did was grab a frozen TV dinner out of the freezer. Didn’t he care about me anymore?
He didn’t say a word. No “helloâ€
Pete made it home around 7pm and it was about damn time. He got off work at 5 and was never this late getting home. There was something different about him. I think he may have found someone else.
I walked into the kitchen and there he was. I stared up into his eyes; he looked at me and smiled. I was so hungry and all he did was grab a frozen TV dinner out of the freezer. Didn’t he care about me anymore?
He didn’t say a word. No “helloâ€
Silios
Rookie
C_nate said:
Actually, my favorite short stories is Harlan Ellison's A Boy and His Dog and I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream.
My library is filled with low brow fantasy, the great classics, Phillip K. Dick, Issac Asimov, Tolkien, Poe, Lovecraft, Nabokov, Strugatsky et cetera et cetera et cetera.
I love all types of fiction. The books that have influenced me the most have been Miyamoto Musashi's Book of Five Rings and Sun Tzu's Art of War.
The point being I liked the story because it reminded me of one of my short stories. I assure you, I've wrote some dark things in the past before too. My thesis is a young adult novel, but I have a passion for dark satire.
sliverstorm
Novice
The Short End to a Long Line
There were eight deaths all told, an octuplet of fathers and sons downed in just under a century and a half. Gorton Peddlebottom Sr. was first to die; and oldest, at the age of sixty-two--his 1916 black Model T colliding with a pedestrian and then a stone wall, wrecking the vehicle and all formerly animate parties involved.
At the wake, Gorton Peddlebottom Jr. privately swore to outlast his father and carry the Peddlebottom name through three living generations. Lost in these silent assertions, he tripped over a kneeler and fell partially into his father’s casket, becoming horrifically decapitated as the oak lid slammed closed on his neck.
Gorton Peddlebottom III, scarred from childhood by the successive deaths of the family patriarchs, took to proofing his life against misfortune. He lived and married plainly, his furthest travel from home the town maternity ward to witness the birth of his son. There, his sheltered body swiftly contracted all manner of diseases, the most enterprising of which undid him one week later.
To sever the family curse, Gorton Peddlebottom IV wed young, christened his incipient son ‘Timothy’, and made private arrangements to incorporate his wife’s maiden name. He was ended by loose masonry on his way to the clerk’s office.
And so it went: A drowning. An overhasty exit from an aircraft. An accidental excoriation so outrageous, it was declared an unsolved murder. A line of men, each one overtaken by his deliberate efforts to avoid the same.
In 2057, Nevin Peddlebottom, determined to rescue the original Gorton Peddlebottom Sr. from untimely demise and rethread the needle of fate, built a device to transport himself back in time to the moments prior. He composed himself, flipped the switch, and was promptly killed in a collision with a 1916 Model T, color black.
There were eight deaths all told, an octuplet of fathers and sons downed in just under a century and a half. Gorton Peddlebottom Sr. was first to die; and oldest, at the age of sixty-two--his 1916 black Model T colliding with a pedestrian and then a stone wall, wrecking the vehicle and all formerly animate parties involved.
At the wake, Gorton Peddlebottom Jr. privately swore to outlast his father and carry the Peddlebottom name through three living generations. Lost in these silent assertions, he tripped over a kneeler and fell partially into his father’s casket, becoming horrifically decapitated as the oak lid slammed closed on his neck.
Gorton Peddlebottom III, scarred from childhood by the successive deaths of the family patriarchs, took to proofing his life against misfortune. He lived and married plainly, his furthest travel from home the town maternity ward to witness the birth of his son. There, his sheltered body swiftly contracted all manner of diseases, the most enterprising of which undid him one week later.
To sever the family curse, Gorton Peddlebottom IV wed young, christened his incipient son ‘Timothy’, and made private arrangements to incorporate his wife’s maiden name. He was ended by loose masonry on his way to the clerk’s office.
And so it went: A drowning. An overhasty exit from an aircraft. An accidental excoriation so outrageous, it was declared an unsolved murder. A line of men, each one overtaken by his deliberate efforts to avoid the same.
In 2057, Nevin Peddlebottom, determined to rescue the original Gorton Peddlebottom Sr. from untimely demise and rethread the needle of fate, built a device to transport himself back in time to the moments prior. He composed himself, flipped the switch, and was promptly killed in a collision with a 1916 Model T, color black.
danielrbischoff
Rookie
Sliverstorm. Join the forums..... OOoooOOhh. You must join the forums!
BlackStar
Rookie
Hummingbird Porn
Hidden within the depths of the internet lies a forum where people come together to discuss the wonders of the Universe. Or, you know, post some pictures of children. This forum is lead by an elite group of people who protect the innocent from the evil ad-bots, malicious spammers, and Madster.
They are
Daniel. The leader of the crew. He drinks liquor from a brown paper bag at 9am cause that's how niggas role. He once shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. Or was that Johnny Cash? Or maybe Daniel IS Johnny Cash.
WickedLiquid. The second in command, or at least he thinks so. The Canadian who will follow Daniel into the depths of hell. AKA the bathroom.
Longo 2 Guns. In charge of dressing up as a chick. He learned a long time ago posting a pic like that can not be unseen and can never be forgotten.
Used44. The eskimo from Alaska who lived there before it was cool. He provides food to the group by hunting moose and whale blubber. Little does he know we have grocery stores down here.
MattAY. He's the stereotypical Brit who is just here to make the group look smart and rich. He also provides Asian girls to GR. He was almost arrested by the Brit Police since they thought he was making out with a 12 yr old girl who was really a 21 yr old asian girl. Luckily the Brit police don't carry guns so he got away.
Bretimus. He's Japanese and Brazilian. And he has kids. And he writes stories. That's all I really know but if stereotypes have taught me anything he must be really good at Video Games and Soccer.
....and Lethean
Together, this team fights the evils on GR, seeks out new hummingbird porn and boldly goes where no contestant on American's Got Talent has gone before.
Turf FTW.
Hidden within the depths of the internet lies a forum where people come together to discuss the wonders of the Universe. Or, you know, post some pictures of children. This forum is lead by an elite group of people who protect the innocent from the evil ad-bots, malicious spammers, and Madster.
They are
Daniel. The leader of the crew. He drinks liquor from a brown paper bag at 9am cause that's how niggas role. He once shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. Or was that Johnny Cash? Or maybe Daniel IS Johnny Cash.
WickedLiquid. The second in command, or at least he thinks so. The Canadian who will follow Daniel into the depths of hell. AKA the bathroom.
Longo 2 Guns. In charge of dressing up as a chick. He learned a long time ago posting a pic like that can not be unseen and can never be forgotten.
Used44. The eskimo from Alaska who lived there before it was cool. He provides food to the group by hunting moose and whale blubber. Little does he know we have grocery stores down here.
MattAY. He's the stereotypical Brit who is just here to make the group look smart and rich. He also provides Asian girls to GR. He was almost arrested by the Brit Police since they thought he was making out with a 12 yr old girl who was really a 21 yr old asian girl. Luckily the Brit police don't carry guns so he got away.
Bretimus. He's Japanese and Brazilian. And he has kids. And he writes stories. That's all I really know but if stereotypes have taught me anything he must be really good at Video Games and Soccer.
....and Lethean
Together, this team fights the evils on GR, seeks out new hummingbird porn and boldly goes where no contestant on American's Got Talent has gone before.
Turf FTW.
danielrbischoff
Rookie
Sorry, 312 words. You're disqualified BlackStar.
