Short Story

[JamesDelgado]

Aight, this short story is for a competition at my school, and I'm wondering what everyone thinks of it. No title yet. I suck at titles. Any suggestions?

He felt the cold muzzle against his temple, shaking slightly because of how nervous he was. He took a deep breath, steadying his hand, and rearranged his grip on the pistol. He held it, squeezing his finger on the trigger until the shot sounded.

Opening his eyes, Sam let out a long, slow breath, putting down the AK-577 air gun. It was empty, but once again he had nearly given in, nearly taken his life. He was getting so tired of his life, the constant schoolwork, the bullying and the shunning. In his school, he did not exist, and out of his school, he had no social life. Sam was alone, and still he struggled on, hoping that somehow life would have a reason for this trial and hardship. He collapsed on his bed and instantly fell asleep.

Awaking to the constant buzzing of his alarm clock, Sam groaned. He had slept too much and had not done his homework and now he had to go back to school. Getting up, he took his shower and got dressed, leaving for school with a quick goodbye kiss from his mother. As he walked down the sidewalk, he heard shouts behind him. Turning around, he saw a group of familiar faces. Immediately, sweat poured out of him in fear. He turned back and began to run. However, his small, pale body was out of shape and he was soon gasping for air as he staggered forward, trying to stay out of his pursuers reach. Finally he collapsed to the ground and was quickly surrounded by raggedly clad legs. Sam was hauled brutally upwards to face a large, sneering face that was fringed by a mess of blonde hair and occupied by a rather enormous, nasty mouth.

The ugly mouth began to form sounds, “Thought you could outrun us, Holloway?”

Sam made no reply, only breathing heavily through his nose to regain some measure of composure.

One of the boys forming the circle spoke up, “Ya, maybe you’d like to raise your hand first.” The rest of the boys joined in the jeering, throwing in age old insults that had lost any vestige of humour long ago.

“Four eyes!”

“Q-tip!”

“Poindexter!”

Sam stared straight ahead, refusing to let tears fall. The bell rang suddenly in the distance; only five more minutes until they all were late. The blonde beast still had Sam by the shirt collar. He dragged Sam to a trashcan, had one of his lackeys open it up and dumped him unceremoniously in.

He stayed there for a few minutes, wincing in pain and silently letting go his briefly held tears. He started rocking the barrel and finally managed to tip it over, landing with an enormous thud. He crawled out slowly, rubbing his head where the side had hit him.

The teacher was at the board when Sam walked into class, his eyes still red. He took his seat at the back of the class with the entire class staring at him. The teacher gave a half smile and spoke, “Well, well, Sam. This is an expected surprise. What’s your excuse this time, young man?”

“None, sir.” His eyes were cast downwards, refusing to look up at anyone of those staring pairs of eyes.

“Well, I suppose then that a detention wouldn’t mean much, since you don’t seem to be able to find the time to come to class sooner. See me afterwards, Sam.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam continued to sit there, his chin on his chest, staring at the desk in front of him, the rest of the world was a buzz. He could hear nothing, until the bell rang. Once again, he didn’t learn anything and he had to endure the loud, whispered taunts that the teacher seemed to mysteriously never hear. Now for the detention.

***

He collapsed on his bed, letting out a long slow sigh. Throughout the rest of the day Sam had been pelted by numerous objects, locked in the girl’s bathroom, given two detentions, failed an exam and was called to the principal’s office to report the bullying. He was called in at least twice a week, but each time he refused to give names. He just didn’t believe in ratting out people.

After lying there for a few minutes, he got up and walked over to his computer, turning it on and finding deep satisfaction in the ‘bong!’ that was the well known start up sound of a Macintosh. He waited for the load up then logged onto the Multiple Chat network.

He soon received greetings from all his Internet friends and minions and he smiled. Here, he was accepted and worshipped. A chat user started to insult him and Sam merely threatened the member with a permanent ban and the user quieted. Here, they couldn’t hurt him. After logging out an annoying user, for flooding, and banning him permanently, Sam’s smile turned into a grin. Here, he was in charge. He then logged out another chatter for the heck of it, but did not ban him. The kid would come back and whine and moan, and then Sam would ban him for fun. His grin became malicious. Here he was God.

[JamesDelgado]

The story now has a title: Two Face (Not like any of you CARE)

[Darkshine]

Good story. I really like how you ended it too..with that line "Here he was God", I could actually feel his satisfaction. As well as his anger and frustration throught the story.

[OrcishIncubus]

What was the point of the air gun?

Is he doing target practice... .... it leaves a little to be understood.

[JamesDelgado]

Story behind the air gun: He's constantly frustrate din life, sees little point in continuing. The muzzle against his temple is him basically going to shoot himself with a gun. First paragraph you expect that, but then it shows he was just testing himself, and he failed at stopping himself.

[illitrate23]

's a good story
hope it's not auto-biographical.... you've not got blond hair have you??

my english teachers would have moaned at the large amount of tech lingo in the last paragraph. because it kind of isolates a reader who doesn't know what IRC is
although, i'd be tempted to argue that perhaps that is kind of the point - it is almost a different world he inhabits online that the is meant to seem alien to those who don't know it

[LaughingJak]

Nice work man. The two different worlds idea is a really good one, I think you might be able to make it pop a little more though - the second world you almost describe like it's his tribe. A place where he is king, and is respected. I think it would be interesting to maybe play opposite that in the real world. Describe it in the same, almost tribal, way - with him being on the bottom rung. The blond kid could be reffered to as their chief, their warrior, or if you want to go completely technical, he you could say that Sam in the can had just been 'kicked from the social network...again.' I think anything you can do to bring the two worlds together would really go a long way.

Also - the geekspeak in the last paragraph is too much. I think the 'tribal' or 'ritualistic' references could make it go a long way. Something to take a non-savvy reader and make them understand what it means to be kicked or banned. This could also relate to the first half of the story.

Finally - most good writers worth their salt will tell you that less is more. If something is already in the reader's head - there's no need to tell them about it. It feels repetitive even if you haven't said it yet. You my friend are a little adverb crazy. The best example is "silently letting go his briefly held tears."... we know they've been held breifly, you told us he was holding them a couple sentences ago. I love the idea of indulging in description - but sometimes it actually weakens the piece.

Nice work all in all man, i love the bit about the 'ugly mouth' speaking, it just needs a little bit of love to really take off!

- Joe

[JamesDelgado]

Heh, one could say the story is an alteration of my life. I've never been bullied, but I have been picked on and I did isolate myself.

I should make a connection between the two worlds now that you mention it. It's not so much tribal as it is that he's constantly picked on and looked down upon in the real world, but on the internet he is a god with respect.

***

All righty, modified the ending slightly, taking out the majority of the geek speak. I can only hope I get a senior student to judge mine rather than some dry, dusty old English teaching codger.

***

Aaaaaand, my short story won out of my grade. Very nice.

[Tobs]

Congrats, this is a nice light read

I particularly like the contrast -- I think it's something a lot of people go though (and to some extent myself)

Tobs