SUMMER 2014 SHORT STORY CONTEST

[Volmachtia]

About a thousand words into my story, writing quickly now. Has sort of a military sci-fi bent.

[Respubliko de Libereco]

I'm about 500 words in on a new story. I completely gave up on what I was writing earlier; it just wasn't working. I have a better feeling about what I'm working on now, though it's pretty experimental and might be a complete flop.

[Nazi Flower Power]

I'm at 3100 words. Not sure if the maximum word count is going to be a concern...

[Morrow den]

So how does this work do we post it on here or what?

[Nazi Flower Power]

So how does this work do we post it on here or what?

Yes, if you'd like to enter, you post a short story in this thread.

[Morrow den]

Alright count me in

[Nazi Flower Power]

Alright count me in

Cool.

[StellarGate]

I'll do it!

[Nazi Flower Power]

Bump.

3500 words in and I really have been slacking off on my art and writing lately... Having a job and posting on NS take up all my time, so I don't get anything else done.

[Blasveck]

I'm in. I doubt I can write as much as 6000 words in less than a month, but we'll see where it goes.

[Respubliko de Libereco]

I'm in. I doubt I can write as much as 6000 words in less than a month, but we'll see where it goes.

I don't think you need anywhere near that many words. That's the maximum limit, not a recommended length.

[Nazi Flower Power]

I'm in. I doubt I can write as much as 6000 words in less than a month, but we'll see where it goes.

Well, you are supposed to keep it shorter than 6000 words anyway. Good luck!

[Helsary]

Here is mine

Alex rose up from his chair and looked around the room.A sudden surge of rage struck his being,and he punched the wall as hard as he could,leaving a bloody mark on it.
Alex was a talented young artist.Out of all forms of art he enjoyed music the most.He even had his own band.He formed it one year ago out of boredom,but ended up with a couple dozen fans from his ''boredom's creation''.He also enjoyed writing and painting/drawing.
He then dropped to the floor,suddenly realizing that his fist is bleeding,and crawled to the corner of his dark room and started crying.He didn't really cry in the proper sense of the word.He had lost even the power to cry.He sobbed a couple of minutes,after which he got up and proceeded towards his desk again.Starting his favorite music playlist,consisting mostly of DSBM music(Depressive/Suicidal Black Metal),and then jumped on his bed.Wiping the small tears that have formed on his face,he grabbed his cellphone and started reading old text messages with random people...That was until he reached the conversations he had with his former girlfriend...

He just couldn't read any of them anymore.No matter how much he tried,he ended up looking away in self-disgust.She was the only person that he thought could trust with anything.Rolling his sleeve up and grabbing the razor sitting under the bed,he started doing what he did best:hurting himself.His arm was already pretty full of cuts,old and fresh,deep and superficial.The most notable one was the one he had done 5 months ago,immediately after the breakup.It was an old cut that will surely leave marks.He remembered he had cut it until he touched the bone with the blade and had to go to the E.R. .

Suddenly a knock on the door from his room brought him back from his dream-like state.He quickly rolled his sleeve back to cover the wounds and hid the razor back under the bed.
''Yeah?''He asked
The door opened as one of his ''friends'' entered the room.He had really no friends in the true sense of the word,although he had some acquaintances he uses,or used,to go out with.
''Pff,what's with that shit noise?Turn it off.''said Andrew,pointing towards the large speakers sitting on the desk.
Alex proceeded to turn the volume down completely,after which Andrew started talking again.
''You know,let's go out of here and do something.Randy's coming too.Maybe drink some beer or eat a pizza over at Luigi's Restaurant?''Andrew asked.
''Too tired...Maybe tomorrow.''responded Alex,dropping himself back on his bed.
''Whatever,freak...Only reason we keep you around is because we need someone to make fun of...Guess we can find another guy for today...Rest in peace,weirdo...''said Andrew as he slammed the door shut and left the house.


After a couple hours of having a disturbing sleep,due to nightmares,Alex woke up and got back at his desk,starting the playlist over again.He had homework,sure,his high school required that he do them or face detention.After all,in your 3rd year of high school,everyone does things at home too,right?Well,not everyone.Alex just continued listening to his music,telling himself he will start doing them ''later'',which of course,as always,meant tomorrow in classroom or during detention,which he faced every week.

Another knock on the door,but this time a response wasn't needed.It was Mike,Alex's father.

''You done your homework yet?How about the garbage?Do you ever study?You cut yourself again,you schizophrenic maniac?You want people to think you're murdered and you turn that music so loud?Will you EVER get a part-time job to actually help this family with something?''

More and more insulting and sarcastic questions were being addressed to Alex one after another,not even giving him time to answer any single one.He just faced his father,rage boiling in him.He just nodded in anger until his father was done yelling and left the room.Alex took off his glasses to wipe them.Looking at the reading panel he had attached to his wall he noticed that his eye vision has worsened considerably.He had a serious eye condition that will ultimately drive him blind.He hoped it was just because of the darkness and rolled the curtains up,only to realize that indeed,his vision has worsened.

Sinking deeper into his own mind's dark abyss,he simply dropped himself to the floor and started staring at the ceiling.He did that for at least half an hour,after which he heard the alert tone of his mobile phone.He had received a message.He got up from the floor and grabbed his phone again.

''She found someone else dude.Your chances with her are over.Get over it already...''read the message.

It was from a common friend Alex and his former girlfriend had,Steven.Since Alex's ex has changed her number,he had no other way of continuing to talk to her than through this ''friend''.This message was a reply to Alex's last one,which asked Steven to ask Diana(Alex's ex) if he has any way of proving that he is sorry and if she can ever forgive him and get back together.

Finishing reading the message,he opened his window and threw the cellphone as hard as he could.

Another one of his impulsive moments,this time much more serious than the ones he had before.Sure,he had two suicide attempts before,but he wasn't completely serious about those.He started running downstairs,quickly checked the kitchen to find a note from his parents telling him they will be away until tomorrow.

''Enough time to die.''He whispered to himself as he turned the paper on the other side,grabbed a pen and wrote ''Goodbye''.Leaving the note on the kitchen counter,he entered the bathroom,closed and locked the door,and turned on the faucet for hot water in the bathtub.

About 10 minutes later,the tub was full with hot water.Alex quickly swallowed a full bottle of sleeping pills,grabbed a razor from the mirror's cabinet,and jumped into the bathtub.As soon as he got inside,he simply put the razor against his veins and started cutting.Ignoring all the pain,he continued cutting through the veins and muscle,almost reaching the bone with the razor.Soon he started seeing black and fainted due to blood loss and the sleeping pills he took.


Some time after that,opening his eyes,Alex found himself in a seemingly endless field.It was night and it was very dark,so dark he almost couldn't see at all.Looking at the sky for any stars,he noticed a very bright light and started ascending towards it,reached it and entered inside...

Hope you enjoyed it.

[The New World Oceania]

Here is mine

Alex rose up from his chair and looked around the room.A sudden surge of rage struck his being,and he punched the wall as hard as he could,leaving a bloody mark on it.
Alex was a talented young artist.Out of all forms of art he enjoyed music the most.He even had his own band.He formed it one year ago out of boredom,but ended up with a couple dozen fans from his ''boredom's creation''.He also enjoyed writing and painting/drawing.
He then dropped to the floor,suddenly realizing that his fist is bleeding,and crawled to the corner of his dark room and started crying.He didn't really cry in the proper sense of the word.He had lost even the power to cry.He sobbed a couple of minutes,after which he got up and proceeded towards his desk again.Starting his favorite music playlist,consisting mostly of DSBM music(Depressive/Suicidal Black Metal),and then jumped on his bed.Wiping the small tears that have formed on his face,he grabbed his cellphone and started reading old text messages with random people...That was until he reached the conversations he had with his former girlfriend...

He just couldn't read any of them anymore.No matter how much he tried,he ended up looking away in self-disgust.She was the only person that he thought could trust with anything.Rolling his sleeve up and grabbing the razor sitting under the bed,he started doing what he did best:hurting himself.His arm was already pretty full of cuts,old and fresh,deep and superficial.The most notable one was the one he had done 5 months ago,immediately after the breakup.It was an old cut that will surely leave marks.He remembered he had cut it until he touched the bone with the blade and had to go to the E.R. .

Suddenly a knock on the door from his room brought him back from his dream-like state.He quickly rolled his sleeve back to cover the wounds and hid the razor back under the bed.
''Yeah?''He asked
The door opened as one of his ''friends'' entered the room.He had really no friends in the true sense of the word,although he had some acquaintances he uses,or used,to go out with.
''Pff,what's with that shit noise?Turn it off.''said Andrew,pointing towards the large speakers sitting on the desk.
Alex proceeded to turn the volume down completely,after which Andrew started talking again.
''You know,let's go out of here and do something.Randy's coming too.Maybe drink some beer or eat a pizza over at Luigi's Restaurant?''Andrew asked.
''Too tired...Maybe tomorrow.''responded Alex,dropping himself back on his bed.
''Whatever,freak...Only reason we keep you around is because we need someone to make fun of...Guess we can find another guy for today...Rest in peace,weirdo...''said Andrew as he slammed the door shut and left the house.


After a couple hours of having a disturbing sleep,due to nightmares,Alex woke up and got back at his desk,starting the playlist over again.He had homework,sure,his high school required that he do them or face detention.After all,in your 3rd year of high school,everyone does things at home too,right?Well,not everyone.Alex just continued listening to his music,telling himself he will start doing them ''later'',which of course,as always,meant tomorrow in classroom or during detention,which he faced every week.

Another knock on the door,but this time a response wasn't needed.It was Mike,Alex's father.

''You done your homework yet?How about the garbage?Do you ever study?You cut yourself again,you schizophrenic maniac?You want people to think you're murdered and you turn that music so loud?Will you EVER get a part-time job to actually help this family with something?''

More and more insulting and sarcastic questions were being addressed to Alex one after another,not even giving him time to answer any single one.He just faced his father,rage boiling in him.He just nodded in anger until his father was done yelling and left the room.Alex took off his glasses to wipe them.Looking at the reading panel he had attached to his wall he noticed that his eye vision has worsened considerably.He had a serious eye condition that will ultimately drive him blind.He hoped it was just because of the darkness and rolled the curtains up,only to realize that indeed,his vision has worsened.

Sinking deeper into his own mind's dark abyss,he simply dropped himself to the floor and started staring at the ceiling.He did that for at least half an hour,after which he heard the alert tone of his mobile phone.He had received a message.He got up from the floor and grabbed his phone again.

''She found someone else dude.Your chances with her are over.Get over it already...''read the message.

It was from a common friend Alex and his former girlfriend had,Steven.Since Alex's ex has changed her number,he had no other way of continuing to talk to her than through this ''friend''.This message was a reply to Alex's last one,which asked Steven to ask Diana(Alex's ex) if he has any way of proving that he is sorry and if she can ever forgive him and get back together.

Finishing reading the message,he opened his window and threw the cellphone as hard as he could.

Another one of his impulsive moments,this time much more serious than the ones he had before.Sure,he had two suicide attempts before,but he wasn't completely serious about those.He started running downstairs,quickly checked the kitchen to find a note from his parents telling him they will be away until tomorrow.

''Enough time to die.''He whispered to himself as he turned the paper on the other side,grabbed a pen and wrote ''Goodbye''.Leaving the note on the kitchen counter,he entered the bathroom,closed and locked the door,and turned on the faucet for hot water in the bathtub.

About 10 minutes later,the tub was full with hot water.Alex quickly swallowed a full bottle of sleeping pills,grabbed a razor from the mirror's cabinet,and jumped into the bathtub.As soon as he got inside,he simply put the razor against his veins and started cutting.Ignoring all the pain,he continued cutting through the veins and muscle,almost reaching the bone with the razor.Soon he started seeing black and fainted due to blood loss and the sleeping pills he took.


Some time after that,opening his eyes,Alex found himself in a seemingly endless field.It was night and it was very dark,so dark he almost couldn't see at all.Looking at the sky for any stars,he noticed a very bright light and started ascending towards it,reached it and entered inside...

Except the last part(where the main character dies),this is pretty much inspired from my own life,so I'm basically not that creative...Anyway,this is still different from myself,since I used my imagination to change some details and names,events and all.

Hope you enjoyed it.

We got one! hecks yeah turnip

[Nazi Flower Power]

Here is mine

Alex rose up from his chair and looked around the room.A sudden surge of rage struck his being,and he punched the wall as hard as he could,leaving a bloody mark on it.
Alex was a talented young artist.Out of all forms of art he enjoyed music the most.He even had his own band.He formed it one year ago out of boredom,but ended up with a couple dozen fans from his ''boredom's creation''.He also enjoyed writing and painting/drawing.
He then dropped to the floor,suddenly realizing that his fist is bleeding,and crawled to the corner of his dark room and started crying.He didn't really cry in the proper sense of the word.He had lost even the power to cry.He sobbed a couple of minutes,after which he got up and proceeded towards his desk again.Starting his favorite music playlist,consisting mostly of DSBM music(Depressive/Suicidal Black Metal),and then jumped on his bed.Wiping the small tears that have formed on his face,he grabbed his cellphone and started reading old text messages with random people...That was until he reached the conversations he had with his former girlfriend...

He just couldn't read any of them anymore.No matter how much he tried,he ended up looking away in self-disgust.She was the only person that he thought could trust with anything.Rolling his sleeve up and grabbing the razor sitting under the bed,he started doing what he did best:hurting himself.His arm was already pretty full of cuts,old and fresh,deep and superficial.The most notable one was the one he had done 5 months ago,immediately after the breakup.It was an old cut that will surely leave marks.He remembered he had cut it until he touched the bone with the blade and had to go to the E.R. .

Suddenly a knock on the door from his room brought him back from his dream-like state.He quickly rolled his sleeve back to cover the wounds and hid the razor back under the bed.
''Yeah?''He asked
The door opened as one of his ''friends'' entered the room.He had really no friends in the true sense of the word,although he had some acquaintances he uses,or used,to go out with.
''Pff,what's with that shit noise?Turn it off.''said Andrew,pointing towards the large speakers sitting on the desk.
Alex proceeded to turn the volume down completely,after which Andrew started talking again.
''You know,let's go out of here and do something.Randy's coming too.Maybe drink some beer or eat a pizza over at Luigi's Restaurant?''Andrew asked.
''Too tired...Maybe tomorrow.''responded Alex,dropping himself back on his bed.
''Whatever,freak...Only reason we keep you around is because we need someone to make fun of...Guess we can find another guy for today...Rest in peace,weirdo...''said Andrew as he slammed the door shut and left the house.


After a couple hours of having a disturbing sleep,due to nightmares,Alex woke up and got back at his desk,starting the playlist over again.He had homework,sure,his high school required that he do them or face detention.After all,in your 3rd year of high school,everyone does things at home too,right?Well,not everyone.Alex just continued listening to his music,telling himself he will start doing them ''later'',which of course,as always,meant tomorrow in classroom or during detention,which he faced every week.

Another knock on the door,but this time a response wasn't needed.It was Mike,Alex's father.

''You done your homework yet?How about the garbage?Do you ever study?You cut yourself again,you schizophrenic maniac?You want people to think you're murdered and you turn that music so loud?Will you EVER get a part-time job to actually help this family with something?''

More and more insulting and sarcastic questions were being addressed to Alex one after another,not even giving him time to answer any single one.He just faced his father,rage boiling in him.He just nodded in anger until his father was done yelling and left the room.Alex took off his glasses to wipe them.Looking at the reading panel he had attached to his wall he noticed that his eye vision has worsened considerably.He had a serious eye condition that will ultimately drive him blind.He hoped it was just because of the darkness and rolled the curtains up,only to realize that indeed,his vision has worsened.

Sinking deeper into his own mind's dark abyss,he simply dropped himself to the floor and started staring at the ceiling.He did that for at least half an hour,after which he heard the alert tone of his mobile phone.He had received a message.He got up from the floor and grabbed his phone again.

''She found someone else dude.Your chances with her are over.Get over it already...''read the message.

It was from a common friend Alex and his former girlfriend had,Steven.Since Alex's ex has changed her number,he had no other way of continuing to talk to her than through this ''friend''.This message was a reply to Alex's last one,which asked Steven to ask Diana(Alex's ex) if he has any way of proving that he is sorry and if she can ever forgive him and get back together.

Finishing reading the message,he opened his window and threw the cellphone as hard as he could.

Another one of his impulsive moments,this time much more serious than the ones he had before.Sure,he had two suicide attempts before,but he wasn't completely serious about those.He started running downstairs,quickly checked the kitchen to find a note from his parents telling him they will be away until tomorrow.

''Enough time to die.''He whispered to himself as he turned the paper on the other side,grabbed a pen and wrote ''Goodbye''.Leaving the note on the kitchen counter,he entered the bathroom,closed and locked the door,and turned on the faucet for hot water in the bathtub.

About 10 minutes later,the tub was full with hot water.Alex quickly swallowed a full bottle of sleeping pills,grabbed a razor from the mirror's cabinet,and jumped into the bathtub.As soon as he got inside,he simply put the razor against his veins and started cutting.Ignoring all the pain,he continued cutting through the veins and muscle,almost reaching the bone with the razor.Soon he started seeing black and fainted due to blood loss and the sleeping pills he took.


Some time after that,opening his eyes,Alex found himself in a seemingly endless field.It was night and it was very dark,so dark he almost couldn't see at all.Looking at the sky for any stars,he noticed a very bright light and started ascending towards it,reached it and entered inside...

Except the last part(where the main character dies),this is pretty much inspired from my own life,so I'm basically not that creative...Anyway,this is still different from myself,since I used my imagination to change some details and names,events and all.

Hope you enjoyed it.

We got one! hecks yeah turnip

WHOO!!!

[Shaggai]

My story is mostly done. I'm going back and improving on some of it, but soon I should have it in. For certain values of "soon".

[Nazi Flower Power]

This didn't come out quite the way I originally envisioned it, but I'm going to go ahead and enter it as is.

It was a pleasant summer day, and two men were riding through a commercial district in one of the mill towns along the Merrimack River. One of them was a mill owner named George Hammett, and the other was a wealthy Southern gentleman named William Prince. The carriage they rode in belonged to Hammett, and it was driven by a negro servant from Hammett's household. The town was probably Nashua, but I don't remember for sure, and it is not really important. Mr. Prince had come to New England to meet with Mr. Hammett so they could discuss some business arrangement involving the cotton that was produced on Mr. Prince's plantation. Hammett was saying something about money, cotton, his mill, and his contacts in Boston and Europe; but Prince wasn't listening. His attention was fixed on a young woman on the sidewalk. She bore a striking resemblance to his late wife, Elizabeth. Even the way she gestured when she talked was the same. Mr. Prince had been quite devoted to his wife while she was alive, and he had missed her terribly since she died, so you can imagine what a shock it was for him to see a woman who so closely resembled her. His heart leapt as if he had found Elizabeth herself returned from the dead. Of course, the woman on the sidewalk was no Southern belle. She was a carpenter's daughter, and she was dressed accordingly in a simple linen dress. Elizabeth had never worn anything so plain. Mr. Prince was oddly outraged, and he immediately made up his mind that he had to rectify the situation by taking this woman home with him and buying her what he considered a proper wardrobe. There were several problems with his plan, but in his passion, he was blind to them all. He never entertained the possibility that she might already be married or engaged, or that she might not want to go to the South. He gave no thought to what his neighbors would say if they saw him married to a lower-class Yankee, or to the difficulties she would have learning the social conventions of the Southern aristocracy. All he could think of was how lonely he had been since Elizabeth died, and how wonderful it would be to have a woman who could replace her.

Meanwhile, Hammett rambled on, completely unaware that Prince was no longer listening.

"Who is that?" Prince asked, cutting Hammett off in mid-sentence.

"What?" said Hammett. "Who?" He looked up and down the sidewalk, but he could not guess who Prince was talking about. To him, none of the people looked like anything special.

Prince pointed at the woman who had caught his eye. "Her. Do you know who she is?"

"I have no idea," said Hammett. "As I was saying..." He started to say something about the textile business, but then stopped because he noticed that Prince was still distracted. By this time, they were well past the woman on the sidewalk, and Prince had turned around to look back over his shoulder. "Are you still looking at that girl? She's nobody important, probably a mill girl or some shopkeeper's daughter. Why are you so interested?"

"Don't you think she's beautiful?" said Prince.

Hammett glanced back at the woman and shrugged. "She's pretty," he admitted. "I still don't know why you're so interested. There must be pretty women in Alabama too. Do you act like this every time you see a woman in Alabama?"

"I only ever met one woman in Alabama who was as pretty as that, and yes, I fell in love with her too," said Prince.

"Really?" said Hammett. "I wonder why I hear so many stories of beautiful women in the South."

Mr. Prince desperately wanted to stop and talk to the woman on the sidewalk, but he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of Hammett any more than he already had, so they drove on, and the conversation returned to the topic of textiles. Still, Prince was distracted. All that afternoon, his head was filled with memories of Elizabeth and curiosity about the woman who looked so much like her. Prince had a photograph of Elizabeth that he had carried with him at all times since her death. That night, after dinner, he took it out and stared at it for a long time, thinking back to the happy years they had spent together; and then he had a flash of inspiration. If he showed the photograph to local people, who had never met Elizabeth, they would think it was an image of the woman he had seen on the street that afternoon. Perhaps someone could tell him who she was and where she lived.

The next day, Mr. Prince went about the town, accompanied by a slave who he had brought with him from Alabama, showing people Elizabeth's photograph and asking them if they recognized her. He showed it to several people who said they didn't recognize her. There were a few who said that she looked vaguely familiar, but they didn't know who she was. He returned to the street where he had seen the woman the day before, but the shopkeepers did not know her. He became discouraged, but he persisted nonetheless. And then he showed the photograph to a street vendor who blurted out, "Where'd she get that dress!"

"You know her?" Prince asked eagerly.

"Yessir," said the street vendor. "That's Mary North. She's always handing out pamphlets about political nonsense. If you ask me, she ought to stay in Massachusetts and mind her own business. It's not right, a woman meddling in politics like that, and besides it's a public nuisance, her handing out those pamphlets when I'm trying to sell newspapers. Would you like to buy a newspaper?"

"Does she live in Massachusetts, then?"

"Yes, she says she lives in Chelmsford, Massachusetts. Why are you looking for her?"

Mr. Prince explained that the woman in the photograph was actually his late wife. He told the newspaper vendor about his chance encounter with Mary the day before and how he had been captivated by her looks.

"Well, it's not my business, but I'd stay away from her if I were you," said the newspaper vendor. "She's quite the radical. There are plenty of other women who are less trouble."

"It doesn't matter," said Prince. "Thank you for your help." He bought a newspaper so the salesman would not be annoyed with him for taking up so much of his time.

At this point, I should probably tell you a little about Mary North. She was my neighbor when we were children. Even after I went to Lowell to find employment, I would often see her when I returned home to visit my family. Mary and the men in her family were all radical abolitionists. Their house was always well-stocked with abolitionist newspapers and brochures. Sometimes she would give me brochures to take home and share with my family. I didn't mind the brochures, and I sympathized with many of the sentiments expressed in them, but I never shared her political and moral fanaticism. When I told her that the abrupt abolition of slavery would tear the country apart, she answered that the country did not deserve to exist if it could not survive without slavery. In short, Mary was the sort of woman who would not marry William Prince if he was the last man on Earth. There were plenty of women, even in New England, who thought plantation life sounded romantic and who would have been delighted to attract the attention of a wealthy planter like Mr. Prince, but Mary was not one of them.

Her brother was a sailor, and it was rumored that he was in the business of smuggling slaves out of the South. She probably would have joined him if she ever found a ship that would hire a woman as a sailor, and if her mother didn't stop her. Mrs. North didn't share her daughter's zealotry, nor did she approve of it. She would have preferred for Mary to take up more typically feminine interests, and to find a husband. Mary was strikingly beautiful, but she never had much luck with men. Most of them found her too intimidating. I liked her, but I never pursued her myself because she was a devout Christian, I was a Jew, and I knew I would never convert her.

Of course, Mr. Prince did not know any of this. Even had he known, it is unlikely that it would have deterred him from pursuing Mary, for he was too smitten to think rationally. He had completely ignored everything the newspaper salesman told him about Mary's political activities.

I was not present when he first came to call on Mary, but I heard about it later. Several people saw him wandering about in search of the North residence, and his behavior was rather odd, so of course it became the subject of gossip. Mrs. North answered the door and Mr. Prince, who was very flustered, told her in a disjointed way about his chance encounter with Mary. He did not say anything about his late wife, Elizabeth, but simply said that he was captivated by Mary's beauty and overwhelmed with curiosity about her. He repeatedly assured Mrs. North that his intentions were honorable and eventually she allowed him into the house to speak with Mary. They drank some tea together and Prince told Mary how he had seen her on the street and fallen in love at first sight. She saw at once that he was sincere in his feelings for her, and at first, knowing nothing of his origins or his political views, she was favorably impressed with him. As for Prince, he was overjoyed that he had found Mary and managed to speak with her; but at times he was jarred by the sound of her accent, which was different from Elizabeth's.

Mary to go for a ride with Mr. Prince so they could have some privacy and some fresh air. They drove along the back roads on the outskirts of town, through swamps and forests. Birds flitted among the trees on the side of the road and insects buzzed in the background while he told her about his life in Alabama. Now he did say something about Elizabeth, though I don't think he mentioned how much Mary resembled her. He said only that he had been lonely since her death.

"I wish I could take you back to Alabama with me!" he said.

"Oh, I could never live in the South!" said Mary.

"But why not?"

"I fear I would have no friends."

"I don't see why not," said Prince. "There are good people in every state; all you need to do is spend some time with them, and you'll see they're no different from the friends you have here. I could introduce you to all sorts of wonderful people in Alabama. You'd be right at home in no time!"

"I would never be at home in a slave state," Mary insisted. "I've heard so many terrible stories about the way slaves are treated in the South. Every time I passed by a plantation or met a negro on the street, I'd wonder what sort of abuses they've endured; and every time I met a man who owned slaves, I'd wonder what cruel things he did to them. It would drive me mad!"

Up to this point the conversation had been friendly, and they had not discussed politics. Mr. Prince had not forseen that the conversation would take this sudden turn. His heart sank as he realized how difficult it would be to win Mary over in light of her political views. Maybe if he had enough time, he thought, he could make her understand the Southern way of life and the institution of slavery; but he didn't have the time. He had things to attend to back home on his plantation, and he could not afford to stay away for too long. Still, he was not about to give up on her.

"Slavery is not so inhumane as you Northerners make it out to be," he said. "There are a few masters who abuse their slaves, but most treat them fairly. My slaves are like family to me, and I've always treated them well."

"If you treated your slaves fairly, then they wouldn't be slaves," Mary retorted. "If God meant for one human being to own another, then why did He give all of us free will?"

"I don't pretend to know the ways of God," Prince answered, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew that it was not a satisfactory answer. He did his best to maintain his composure, but in his mind, he was horrified at how quickly the conversation was spinning out of his control. He was sure now that he would not convince Mary to go to Alabama with him, and he suddenly felt as if his stomach was filled with lead.

The conversation went on in the same vein, and growing more and more awkward. Every time Prince tried to explain himself, he only made things worse. His slave, James, who was driving the carriage, saw what was happening and, in an effort to save his master from any further embarrassment, turned back toward Mary's house without being instructed to do so. James had not intervened in the conversation to defend his master, but he genuinely liked Prince and did not want to see him humiliated.

Mr. Prince walked Mary to her door and they said a cordial, but not especially warm, farewell. He went to Boston a couple of days later and boarded a train to go back to Alabama, but that was not the end of his fascination with Mary.

Mr. North was furious when he learned that Mary had gone out alone with a man who owned slaves. Mary assured her father that nothing had happened between them, and that Prince was on his way back to Alabama where he could not cause any more trouble, but Mr. North was still annoyed. "I don't care how rich he is," he said. "You're not going to see him again, even if he comes back to Massachusetts."

"You needn't worry; I'm not interested in him at all," Mary said. "I wouldn't have gone out with him in the first place if I knew he owned slaves."

A few weeks later, Mary received a letter from Mr. Prince. At first, she refused to open it, but after a couple of days curiosity got the better of her and she read the letter. She didn't answer it, but Prince wrote again anyway. His letters were filled with florid expressions of love and extravagant promises of the luxurious life he could provide, if only Mary would go to Alabama to be with him. He wrote also about his day to day life and about his loneliness. He described nights he would lie alone in his bed, unable to sleep, unsure what reason he had to go on living when he had no one to share his life with. He described the beautiful silk dresses and jewelry that had sat untouched in a trunk since Elizabeth died, and how he felt like crying every time his eyes fell on the trunk. Prince had had two sons that died around the same time as Elizabeth, and their empty bedrooms inspired the same feelings of loneliness and despair.

When the third letter came, Mary took pity on him and decided to write back. She still had no intention of going to Alabama, but she thought it might lift his spirits just to hear from her. It did, of course. Prince's next letter was gushing with excitement. He called Mary his "Juliet" and made many sentimental comparisons to the sun, the North Star, roses, and so on. It really was unbecoming for a man of his age and his social standing to write such things, and it would have surely embarrassed him greatly if any of his acquaintances in the South had ever read these letters, but he was not deterred by any such concerns.

This exchange of letters continued and, in spite of their differences, I think Mary did eventually come to care for Prince. Sometimes she would show me his letters and ask how I thought she ought to answer them, but I never had any useful advice. His infatuation with her and his morbid obsession with his late wife always struck me as unhealthy and a little perverted. I didn't understand what he was thinking, and I had no idea what to say to him.

She also shared the letters with some of the other young women who lived in our neighborhood, and they all said she was insane not to marry Prince. "Who cares if they have slaves in Alabama?" they said. "You'll be rich!"

"Don't you read the papers?" Mary said. "They hate abolitionists in the South. I couldn't open my mouth without making enemies. I'd be miserable."

"So keep your mouth shut."

"Oh, but I can't keep my mouth shut!"

The women talked about it many times, but none of their opinions ever changed. Even after dozens of conversations on the subject, Mary was just as determined as ever to stay in New England and the others were just as convinced as ever that she was out of her mind. Some of the women were quite jealous of Mary, and they would say unkind things about her when she was not around. I didn't think Mary was out of her mind, but sometimes it was hard for other people to understand her reasoning. It was true that she couldn't keep her mouth shut and she would have never been at home in the South.

Mr. North did not appreciate Mr. Prince's letters. He tried to discourage Mary from answering them, but she insisted it would be cruel not to, and he grudgingly relented. Sometimes, he complained to me or other people that he could not understand why she answered the letters. "I don't know what she's thinking," he would say. "Why does she care if he's lonely?"

His wife told him, "It's just common decency," but he was having none of it. He made it known that he did not think human decency ought to be applied to slaveholders, or to Southerners in general.

Meanwhile, in Alabama, Mr. Prince could not keep his love entirely secret. He was moody and distracted, and his friends and neighbors all noticed that he was not himself. Concerned for his health and sanity, they asked what was troubling him, and he told them about Mary. He didn't tell them everything, of course, but they could still see the emotional effects of his obsession. They all thought it was hopeless for him to pursue her, and they urged him to abandon his correspondence. They tried to distract him by visiting him and inviting him to parties, but it was no use. No matter what they did, Mr. Prince continued to brood over his memories of Elizabeth and his odd fixation on Mary. Some of his friends worried that he might commit suicide. People who were less sympathetic whispered about him behind his back, saying that he was a pervert and a traitor to the South. Some of the local women flirted with him in an attempt to take his mind off of Mary, but none of them caught his fancy.

About six months after Mr. Prince returned to his plantation, Mary received a small package from him. It contained a dazzling jeweled necklace. The jewels were arranged to resemble flowers with ruby petals, diamond centers, and emerald leaves; and they were set in gleaming silver. The necklace was by far the most valuable object the North family had ever had in their house, and it caused a great deal of excitement. They spent a long time marveling at it, taking turns draping it across their hands to admire the fine metal work and the sparkle of the gems, before anyone noticed that there was also a note in the package.

"What does it say?" Mrs. North asked excitedly.

"I don't know!" said Mary. "Let me read it, and I'll tell you."

She hurriedly unfolded the paper and read the note. I was a rather long note, and most of it was filled with the usual day to day things that Prince always wrote about in his letters. It wasn't until the last paragraph that he finally came to the subject of the necklace. He explained that it had belonged to Elizabeth, and that he wanted Mary to have it as a token of his love. "Even if it is not enough to win your affection, at least I will have one less item in my house that brings back painful memories," the note concluded.

"He sounds so depressed," said Mary.

"Poor thing," said her mother. "You have to write back!"

"Oh, yes, of course," said Mary.

"You don't have to do anything of the sort," her father declared. "You never asked him to send you that thing, did you?"

"Heavens, no!" said Mary. "Why would I ask for anything like this from a man I have no intention of marrying? That would be cruel."

"Then you don't owe him anything," said Mr. North. "You ought to sell that and spend the money on something worthwhile."
Mary was quite stunned. "I can't sell it!" she protested. "He sent it to me because he wanted for me to have it for myself!"

Her mother patted her on the shoulder and told her affectionately, "Of course, darling. Don't listen to your father. He's talking nonsense." They both scowled at Mr. North and he wandered out of the room grumbling under his breath about the silliness of women.

That evening, Mary brought the necklace to the dinner table and sat there toying with it, lost in thought, while her chicken and potatoes got cold. "I wonder if I could persuade him to free his slaves..." she mused.

"What are you talking about, darling?" said her mother. "Eat your dinner before it gets cold."

"He's not going to free his slaves," said Mr. North.

"Well, how do you know?" said Mary. "I haven't asked him about it."

"Why would he do that?" her father demanded. He was annoyed that Mary took such an interest in Mr. Prince.

"Because he loves me," said Mary. "Even if you don't approve of it, he really is in love. I have no doubt about that. Perhaps if I offered to go to Alabama to be his wife, I could persuade him to free his slaves -- only I shouldn't ask him about it in the first place if I wouldn't actually be willing to go. I can't decide what I should do."

"You should stop encouraging him," said her father. "He's not going to free his slaves and you're not going to Alabama. Eat your dinner."

"But what if I could make him free his slaves?" said Mary. "It would be selfish not to."

Her father threw down his fork and glared at her across the small candlelit table. "So be selfish if you have to!" he said. "You have your own future to think of, and I don't want that filthy Southern pig coming anywhere near you!"

"But you don't know him!" Mary protested. "It wouldn't be so bad living with him if we weren't keeping slaves. He's not a bad person; he's just been blinded from spending too long in the South."

"I actually found him rather charming," Mrs. North chimed in.

"You see?" said Mary. "Mother met him; she can tell you what kind of man he is."

"This is ridiculous," said Mr. North. "I can't believe we're even having this conversation! Someday, we'll end slavery once and for all, but in the meantime, it's none of your business for you to involve yourself with that swine, and I refuse to have him in our family."

When Mary wrote to Mr. Prince to thank him for the necklace, she didn't ask him about freeing his slaves. She hadn't made up her mind yet if she would be willing to go Alabama, even if he did agree to free them -- especially since it would mean defying her father's wishes. The next time I saw Mary, she showed me the necklace and asked for my opinion as to what she ought to do; but as usual I had no useful advice. She prayed for divine guidance, but God apparently had no more useful advice than I did.

Mary and Mr. Prince continued exchanging letters for several years, and every so often Prince would send another "token of his love." Some of his presents were extravagant, but others were just simple things. Prince never wavered in his love, if indeed it was truly love and not some darker obsession; but it was not enough to overcome the distance between them.

Mary never did make up her mind what she would do if Prince agreed to free his slaves, but eventually he made it clear he was not willing to. The slaves were part of his past life that he wanted so desperately to return to. He had lived on the same plantation all his life, and the slaves had always been there. He had not lied when he said they were like family to him, for that was truly how he saw them. Some of the slaves were older than he was and had literally lived with him since he was born. They were the only people who had always been there to comfort him through all of his personal tragedies. Of course, the slaves were valuable, but I don't think it was only the monetary value of the slaves that prevented Prince from freeing them. Some of the gifts he sent to Mary were also quite valuable, but he had a more sentimental attachment to his slaves, and to the way of life they represented. This made it quite impossible for him to reconcile with Mary, but it was equally impossible for him to give up on her, and so their strange relationship continued until the war.

In fact, they continued writing to each other for some time even after Alabama seceded. Mary begged Prince to come to Massachusetts and not throw his lot in with the rebels; and he pleaded with her more urgently than ever before to come to Alabama and marry him. This time, Mary didn't have to ask me for advice. She was one of the few people who understood from the beginning how long and terrible the war would be, and there was no question that she belonged with the Union. She warned Prince that he would have to free his slaves one way or another, but he refused to believe it. He simply couldn't tear himself away from his plantation, his slaves, and the memories of his old life.

Their correspondence ended when Prince left his home to serve in the Confederate Army. In any case, the mail had become unreliable because of the war, and it would have been difficult for them to stay in touch much longer.

During the war, Mary volunteered as a nurse and went to Virginia to care for the wounded. Mr. Prince became an officer, fought valiantly in several of the war's great battles, and received a variety of military honors. By all accounts, he was popular with the men who served under him. I did nothing of the sort. Since I had worked in a railyard in Lowell before the war, I was put to work managing supply trains and repairing rail lines that the enemy cavalry had damaged. I never saw a single battle, but I saw enough of the wounded coming back from the battlefield that I never resented missing out on the fighting. I was just as glad to let other men have the glory if it meant that I would survive the war and keep all my limbs.

When the war ended, Mr. Prince and Mary did not resume their correspondence. Mary was engaged to a young soldier from New Jersey who she had cared for when he was wounded in 1863. I am not sure why Prince never wrote to her after the war. Maybe he was simply too ashamed to face her.

I crossed paths with him in 1867, when I was working for the Reconstruction government of Alabama, and that is how I came to hear his side of this story. He found out somehow that I was Mary's friend, and he invited me to visit him at his plantation. The plantation was pathetically decadent. There were weeds growing through cracks in the driveway, the roof of one of the slave cabins had collapsed, and the main house had obviously been neglected for several years. The elegant marble floors and mantlepieces were covered with dust, the richly patterned wallpaper was beginning to peel from the walls, the upholstery on the furniture was faded and threadbare, and pieces were missing from the crystal chandeliers; but the house was still impressive, even in its dilapidated condition. It was far more ostentatious than any residence I had ever seen in Massachusetts. Even the rambling mansions of the mill owners in Lowell did not have towering columns and grand open spaces to match the ones in Mr. Prince's mansion. It was shameful that something so beautiful was being allowed to fall into ruin. Around half of his slaves had departed for the North or gone to seek employment in nearby cities as soon as they were freed, and the ones who remained were not sufficient to maintain the property.

We sat down at a long dining table with a delicate lace tablecloth, one of the remaining negro servants brought us tea, and Prince asked what had become of Mary. I told him she was married and had moved to New Jersey, and he just stared at me dumbfounded. I sipped my tea, and we sat there in awkward silence for several moments. Finally, he recovered from his shock and said, "I suppose it's only natural that she would marry a Yankee."

"Yes, I think it's for the best," I said. "She wouldn't like it down here. Not that I don't appreciate your hospitality, mind you."

Prince snorted. "You don't have to pretend to like me," he said. "I know you're a carpetbagger, and you don't have to pretend to be anything else. I already know what kind of people you Yankees are, and how it is with Jews. I don't care about that." I thought his prejudice against Yankees and Jews was wholly unjustified, but it didn't seem worth the trouble to argue with him about it. His expression changed and his face sank into a look of profound sadness. "You're the only one I can talk to about Mary who believes she's a good woman. I still think about her, but people don't understand."

"I would be surprised if you had forgotten her after all the letters you wrote to each other," I said.

"Did she talk about me often?" he asked.

"Sometimes."

We went on chatting about Mary, and after a while the servant who had brought us the tea returned to serve us dinner. The sun set and lamps were lit while we ate and talked. Prince asked me if I had fought in the war, and I answered that although I had been a member of the U.S. Army, I had not actually fought. He told me about his service in the Confederate Army, alternately boasting proudly of his exploits and bitterly lamenting how they had all come to nought.

By the time we finished eating, he had apparently forgotten his hatred of Yankees and Jews and we were talking like friends. I had never liked Prince when he was badgering Mary with his letters and presents, and I was not generally sympathetic toward Confederate officers, but now that I was alone with him and I saw how badly he needed to talk, I didn't have the heart to stop him. After dinner, he brought me into the parlor to show me his old photographs of his late wife and children. He took out brandy and cigars, and we drank and smoked while he rambled on about how much he missed Elizabeth. He told me the story of how they had met. It was love at first sight. Their eyes met across a ballroom, and they both knew in that instant that they were meant for each other.

"The first time I saw Mary, I felt the same thing," Prince said. He screwed up his face like he was struggling to hold back tears. He gulped down a glass of brandy, but it wasn't enough to stop the tears. "I thought it would be like it was with Elizabeth," he sobbed. "We were so happy together!" He poured himself more brandy and went on crying and reminiscing about all he had lost. He complained about how Mary had rejected him, how the South had lost the war, and how so many of his slaves has abandoned him when they were freed; but most of all he was still grieving the death of his wife. By this time, she had been dead for many years, but he still mourned for her as if she had just died. He showed me the same picture of Elizabeth that he had shown to the people in Nashua, and he explained to me how he had used it to find Mary. The photograph was badly creased and the edges were worn, but I could still make out the image. By now, Prince was quite drunk and inconsolable. His face was bright red and his cheeks gleamed with tears as he stammered incoherently about how much he missed his wife. As much as I had always disliked him, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him when I saw the depth of his despair.

I put the brandy away and sat with him until he calmed down enough to go to bed. "You're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?" he said. "The neighbors'll give me hell for having a Yankee over for dinner as it is, but I'll never live it down if they hear how I was bawling my eyes out like a little girl!"

"I'm not going to talk to your neighbors," I said. "I don't think they want to listen to a carpetbagger anyway. Good night."

I collected my hat and my coat from the entryway and I headed home.

That was the only time I ever met Mr. Prince. I don't know if he was too embarrassed to talk to me again, if he sobered up and remembered his prejudice against Yankees and Jews, or if he just forgot I was there; but I never heard from him again. Even so, I still think about him sometimes, and I still feel sorry for him.

[Nazi Flower Power]

Here is mine

Alex rose up from his chair and looked around the room.A sudden surge of rage struck his being,and he punched the wall as hard as he could,leaving a bloody mark on it.
Alex was a talented young artist.Out of all forms of art he enjoyed music the most.He even had his own band.He formed it one year ago out of boredom,but ended up with a couple dozen fans from his ''boredom's creation''.He also enjoyed writing and painting/drawing.
He then dropped to the floor,suddenly realizing that his fist is bleeding,and crawled to the corner of his dark room and started crying.He didn't really cry in the proper sense of the word.He had lost even the power to cry.He sobbed a couple of minutes,after which he got up and proceeded towards his desk again.Starting his favorite music playlist,consisting mostly of DSBM music(Depressive/Suicidal Black Metal),and then jumped on his bed.Wiping the small tears that have formed on his face,he grabbed his cellphone and started reading old text messages with random people...That was until he reached the conversations he had with his former girlfriend...

He just couldn't read any of them anymore.No matter how much he tried,he ended up looking away in self-disgust.She was the only person that he thought could trust with anything.Rolling his sleeve up and grabbing the razor sitting under the bed,he started doing what he did best:hurting himself.His arm was already pretty full of cuts,old and fresh,deep and superficial.The most notable one was the one he had done 5 months ago,immediately after the breakup.It was an old cut that will surely leave marks.He remembered he had cut it until he touched the bone with the blade and had to go to the E.R. .

Suddenly a knock on the door from his room brought him back from his dream-like state.He quickly rolled his sleeve back to cover the wounds and hid the razor back under the bed.
''Yeah?''He asked
The door opened as one of his ''friends'' entered the room.He had really no friends in the true sense of the word,although he had some acquaintances he uses,or used,to go out with.
''Pff,what's with that shit noise?Turn it off.''said Andrew,pointing towards the large speakers sitting on the desk.
Alex proceeded to turn the volume down completely,after which Andrew started talking again.
''You know,let's go out of here and do something.Randy's coming too.Maybe drink some beer or eat a pizza over at Luigi's Restaurant?''Andrew asked.
''Too tired...Maybe tomorrow.''responded Alex,dropping himself back on his bed.
''Whatever,freak...Only reason we keep you around is because we need someone to make fun of...Guess we can find another guy for today...Rest in peace,weirdo...''said Andrew as he slammed the door shut and left the house.


After a couple hours of having a disturbing sleep,due to nightmares,Alex woke up and got back at his desk,starting the playlist over again.He had homework,sure,his high school required that he do them or face detention.After all,in your 3rd year of high school,everyone does things at home too,right?Well,not everyone.Alex just continued listening to his music,telling himself he will start doing them ''later'',which of course,as always,meant tomorrow in classroom or during detention,which he faced every week.

Another knock on the door,but this time a response wasn't needed.It was Mike,Alex's father.

''You done your homework yet?How about the garbage?Do you ever study?You cut yourself again,you schizophrenic maniac?You want people to think you're murdered and you turn that music so loud?Will you EVER get a part-time job to actually help this family with something?''

More and more insulting and sarcastic questions were being addressed to Alex one after another,not even giving him time to answer any single one.He just faced his father,rage boiling in him.He just nodded in anger until his father was done yelling and left the room.Alex took off his glasses to wipe them.Looking at the reading panel he had attached to his wall he noticed that his eye vision has worsened considerably.He had a serious eye condition that will ultimately drive him blind.He hoped it was just because of the darkness and rolled the curtains up,only to realize that indeed,his vision has worsened.

Sinking deeper into his own mind's dark abyss,he simply dropped himself to the floor and started staring at the ceiling.He did that for at least half an hour,after which he heard the alert tone of his mobile phone.He had received a message.He got up from the floor and grabbed his phone again.

''She found someone else dude.Your chances with her are over.Get over it already...''read the message.

It was from a common friend Alex and his former girlfriend had,Steven.Since Alex's ex has changed her number,he had no other way of continuing to talk to her than through this ''friend''.This message was a reply to Alex's last one,which asked Steven to ask Diana(Alex's ex) if he has any way of proving that he is sorry and if she can ever forgive him and get back together.

Finishing reading the message,he opened his window and threw the cellphone as hard as he could.

Another one of his impulsive moments,this time much more serious than the ones he had before.Sure,he had two suicide attempts before,but he wasn't completely serious about those.He started running downstairs,quickly checked the kitchen to find a note from his parents telling him they will be away until tomorrow.

''Enough time to die.''He whispered to himself as he turned the paper on the other side,grabbed a pen and wrote ''Goodbye''.Leaving the note on the kitchen counter,he entered the bathroom,closed and locked the door,and turned on the faucet for hot water in the bathtub.

About 10 minutes later,the tub was full with hot water.Alex quickly swallowed a full bottle of sleeping pills,grabbed a razor from the mirror's cabinet,and jumped into the bathtub.As soon as he got inside,he simply put the razor against his veins and started cutting.Ignoring all the pain,he continued cutting through the veins and muscle,almost reaching the bone with the razor.Soon he started seeing black and fainted due to blood loss and the sleeping pills he took.


Some time after that,opening his eyes,Alex found himself in a seemingly endless field.It was night and it was very dark,so dark he almost couldn't see at all.Looking at the sky for any stars,he noticed a very bright light and started ascending towards it,reached it and entered inside...

Except the last part(where the main character dies),this is pretty much inspired from my own life,so I'm basically not that creative...Anyway,this is still different from myself,since I used my imagination to change some details and names,events and all.

Hope you enjoyed it.

If that's based on your own life, then you might want to get some help...

If you cut yourself, that's your business, but if you're unhappy, then that is something to get help with.

[Helsary]

Here is mine

Alex rose up from his chair and looked around the room.A sudden surge of rage struck his being,and he punched the wall as hard as he could,leaving a bloody mark on it.
Alex was a talented young artist.Out of all forms of art he enjoyed music the most.He even had his own band.He formed it one year ago out of boredom,but ended up with a couple dozen fans from his ''boredom's creation''.He also enjoyed writing and painting/drawing.
He then dropped to the floor,suddenly realizing that his fist is bleeding,and crawled to the corner of his dark room and started crying.He didn't really cry in the proper sense of the word.He had lost even the power to cry.He sobbed a couple of minutes,after which he got up and proceeded towards his desk again.Starting his favorite music playlist,consisting mostly of DSBM music(Depressive/Suicidal Black Metal),and then jumped on his bed.Wiping the small tears that have formed on his face,he grabbed his cellphone and started reading old text messages with random people...That was until he reached the conversations he had with his former girlfriend...

He just couldn't read any of them anymore.No matter how much he tried,he ended up looking away in self-disgust.She was the only person that he thought could trust with anything.Rolling his sleeve up and grabbing the razor sitting under the bed,he started doing what he did best:hurting himself.His arm was already pretty full of cuts,old and fresh,deep and superficial.The most notable one was the one he had done 5 months ago,immediately after the breakup.It was an old cut that will surely leave marks.He remembered he had cut it until he touched the bone with the blade and had to go to the E.R. .

Suddenly a knock on the door from his room brought him back from his dream-like state.He quickly rolled his sleeve back to cover the wounds and hid the razor back under the bed.
''Yeah?''He asked
The door opened as one of his ''friends'' entered the room.He had really no friends in the true sense of the word,although he had some acquaintances he uses,or used,to go out with.
''Pff,what's with that shit noise?Turn it off.''said Andrew,pointing towards the large speakers sitting on the desk.
Alex proceeded to turn the volume down completely,after which Andrew started talking again.
''You know,let's go out of here and do something.Randy's coming too.Maybe drink some beer or eat a pizza over at Luigi's Restaurant?''Andrew asked.
''Too tired...Maybe tomorrow.''responded Alex,dropping himself back on his bed.
''Whatever,freak...Only reason we keep you around is because we need someone to make fun of...Guess we can find another guy for today...Rest in peace,weirdo...''said Andrew as he slammed the door shut and left the house.


After a couple hours of having a disturbing sleep,due to nightmares,Alex woke up and got back at his desk,starting the playlist over again.He had homework,sure,his high school required that he do them or face detention.After all,in your 3rd year of high school,everyone does things at home too,right?Well,not everyone.Alex just continued listening to his music,telling himself he will start doing them ''later'',which of course,as always,meant tomorrow in classroom or during detention,which he faced every week.

Another knock on the door,but this time a response wasn't needed.It was Mike,Alex's father.

''You done your homework yet?How about the garbage?Do you ever study?You cut yourself again,you schizophrenic maniac?You want people to think you're murdered and you turn that music so loud?Will you EVER get a part-time job to actually help this family with something?''

More and more insulting and sarcastic questions were being addressed to Alex one after another,not even giving him time to answer any single one.He just faced his father,rage boiling in him.He just nodded in anger until his father was done yelling and left the room.Alex took off his glasses to wipe them.Looking at the reading panel he had attached to his wall he noticed that his eye vision has worsened considerably.He had a serious eye condition that will ultimately drive him blind.He hoped it was just because of the darkness and rolled the curtains up,only to realize that indeed,his vision has worsened.

Sinking deeper into his own mind's dark abyss,he simply dropped himself to the floor and started staring at the ceiling.He did that for at least half an hour,after which he heard the alert tone of his mobile phone.He had received a message.He got up from the floor and grabbed his phone again.

''She found someone else dude.Your chances with her are over.Get over it already...''read the message.

It was from a common friend Alex and his former girlfriend had,Steven.Since Alex's ex has changed her number,he had no other way of continuing to talk to her than through this ''friend''.This message was a reply to Alex's last one,which asked Steven to ask Diana(Alex's ex) if he has any way of proving that he is sorry and if she can ever forgive him and get back together.

Finishing reading the message,he opened his window and threw the cellphone as hard as he could.

Another one of his impulsive moments,this time much more serious than the ones he had before.Sure,he had two suicide attempts before,but he wasn't completely serious about those.He started running downstairs,quickly checked the kitchen to find a note from his parents telling him they will be away until tomorrow.

''Enough time to die.''He whispered to himself as he turned the paper on the other side,grabbed a pen and wrote ''Goodbye''.Leaving the note on the kitchen counter,he entered the bathroom,closed and locked the door,and turned on the faucet for hot water in the bathtub.

About 10 minutes later,the tub was full with hot water.Alex quickly swallowed a full bottle of sleeping pills,grabbed a razor from the mirror's cabinet,and jumped into the bathtub.As soon as he got inside,he simply put the razor against his veins and started cutting.Ignoring all the pain,he continued cutting through the veins and muscle,almost reaching the bone with the razor.Soon he started seeing black and fainted due to blood loss and the sleeping pills he took.


Some time after that,opening his eyes,Alex found himself in a seemingly endless field.It was night and it was very dark,so dark he almost couldn't see at all.Looking at the sky for any stars,he noticed a very bright light and started ascending towards it,reached it and entered inside...

Except the last part(where the main character dies),this is pretty much inspired from my own life,so I'm basically not that creative...Anyway,this is still different from myself,since I used my imagination to change some details and names,events and all.

Hope you enjoyed it.

If that's based on your own life, then you might want to get some help...

If you cut yourself, that's your business, but if you're unhappy, then that is something to get help with.

Sure sure...if only my psychiatrist wouldn't have told me I'm an ''attention seeker'' on my first visit.

[Nazi Flower Power]

If that's based on your own life, then you might want to get some help...

If you cut yourself, that's your business, but if you're unhappy, then that is something to get help with.

Sure sure...if only my psychiatrist wouldn't have told me I'm an ''attention seeker'' on my first visit.

Go to a different psychiatrist. Some people are better at their jobs than others, and that applies to psychiatrists same as any other profession.

[Helsary]

Sure sure...if only my psychiatrist wouldn't have told me I'm an ''attention seeker'' on my first visit.

Go to a different psychiatrist. Some people are better at their jobs than others, and that applies to psychiatrists same as any other profession.

To hell with it actually,whatever,I didn't come to whine about my life lol.

What you think of the story itself?

[Respubliko de Libereco]

Go to a different psychiatrist. Some people are better at their jobs than others, and that applies to psychiatrists same as any other profession.

To hell with it actually,whatever,I didn't come to whine about my life lol.

What you think of the story itself?

Surely any discussion about the stories should be saved until after judging, right?

(I don't know what the official stance on this is, but I'd assume that we don't want other entrants' comments/discussion affecting the judges decisions)

[Nazi Flower Power]

To hell with it actually,whatever,I didn't come to whine about my life lol.

What you think of the story itself?

Surely any discussion about the stories should be saved until after judging, right?

(I don't know what the official stance on this is, but I'd assume that we don't want other entrants' comments/discussion affecting the judges decisions)

Discussion is allowed, but obviously good sportsmanship is appreciated. If you think you need to keep some things private so as not to influence the judges, you can always take it to TG or just not comment.

[Helsary]

Surely any discussion about the stories should be saved until after judging, right?

(I don't know what the official stance on this is, but I'd assume that we don't want other entrants' comments/discussion affecting the judges decisions)

Discussion is allowed, but obviously good sportsmanship is appreciated. If you think you need to keep some things private so as not to influence the judges, you can always take it to TG or just not comment.

I deleted that so I don't influence the judges.

[Shaggai]

I was finished with my story, but I just realized that it's probably disqualified from entering because I posted this at one point. Now I'm going to have to see if I can get something else up in time for the contest. Well, let's hope I can manage.