I have a short story thread but now that I have a story that I actually deem as good (the other ones I stopped liking after a while) I decided to take up a whole thread. Sue me. Besides, that thread aught to be more for general discussion than everyone's (namely mine, since I'm the only story writer who posted stories) stories AND general discussion. So here we go. Number 1. I'll just type this sentence as something to do while waiting for Word to load up. I really need more RAM. And...it's still not done.




The hot Californian sun glared through the window of the third story apartment as the hour hand of the clock ticking steadily above the door made its way to the top. The room in which this was taking place was the living room of Alex K. Johnson, a twenty-six year old contractor who had lived in California for a year since his wife had divorced him and taken the money in their savings account with her from their home in Maine to the state in which Alex had now found a new opportunity. He counted himself lucky to have found work quickly enough to have all that he had there, but still spent a considerable amount of effort trying to find her. He knew that if he did find her, things would not end well for either of them, but he searched nonetheless. As he sat on his couch in silence waiting for something interesting to happen, he wondered if he really should go through with his plan. He certainly wanted to, but the risk of losing what he had here was too great to ignore.


Alex was a tall man, about 6’3, and kept his dark brown hair short and inconspicuous. He usually dressed in simple blue jeans, a short-sleeved shirt, and work boots. His apartment reflected that of someone who does not pay particular attention to cleaning or decoration. He had a couch, coffee table, and television as the main features of his living room, a table in the center of his kitchen, surrounded by cabinets and countertop, and a bed, desk, and stand in his bedroom.


Eventually, a short time after noon had passed, Alex received a phone call from Jimmy Cade, a man he had met several months beforehand who knew a suspicious amount of people who could help him track his wife down. Jimmy Cade was most likely not even the man’s real name, but it didn’t matter to Alex. What mattered was that he was getting closer to his revenge than he ever dreamed he could come back in Maine. One minute, he was sure he would go through with it and the next he thought about leaving things as they were. The call expelled any thoughts of the latter. It seemed he had finally found her.


As he pulled open his door to leave he grabbed the keys to his truck. It was a mud-spattered old Ford Pickup that Alex had kept in good condition since he bought it ten years prior. It was painted dark blue and the bed was full of shovels and tools. A large red toolbox rested underneath the back window. Alex climbed in and started the engine. Casually, he brushed an empty cup of coffee out of the cup holder and onto the floor of the passenger seat with other pieces of trash. After the engine had run for a minute or two, he shifted into first gear and was on his way.


Jimmy Cade’s apartment was not unlike Alex’s in style, but although Alex did not clean his home too thoroughly, Jimmy didn’t care that he even owned a trash bin. Bottles and wrappers spotted the floor and dust coated every unused surface that it could coat. Jimmy himself looked no different. He rarely shaved or went out for a haircut, and although he dressed similarly to Alex, he washed his clothes about once a month. A breeze floated in through the door lazily as Alex walked in.


“Well?” asked Alex after a few moments of silence. He tried not to sound eager, although this heart rate had been steadily increasing since he had gotten out of his truck.


“I think we’ve found her,” Jimmy said, and smiled in a way that did not imply what it was that amused him. He got up from his couch and walked over to his computer.

“You already said that over the phone. What makes you sure you’ve found her this time?" Jimmy did not reply immediately, so Alex asked again


“Here’s her information. Does it match?” Jimmy asked, his grin broadening as he watched Alex’s face change. The screen displayed her picture and information.

“It matches,” said Alex.


“I can’t let you do this, Alex. Do you know why I brought you here? I had to be sure, but now I know. It’s her.” When Alex turned around, Jimmy was holding a switchblade and wasn’t smiling anymore. Suddenly aware of the trap he was in, Alex ran back to the door and out into the gravel driveway. Jimmy was close behind him. He looked like he had gone insane. Alex knew what he had to do, and without hesitation he opened the door to his truck, quickly reached under his seat, and came back out holding the revolver that he kept secretly loaded in his truck in case he needed it. Quickly he pulled back the hammer and shot Jimmy twice in the chest as he lunged at him with his knife. Jimmy fell to the ground, stunned into silence by the realization of his mortality as he died. Dazed, Alex sat down on the dirt and gravel and let his gun fall beside him. The sun fell back behind a cloud and cast a light shadow over the silent driveway.


Sure that a neighbor had seen or heard the events that had taken place, Alex ran back into the house, printed his ex-wife’s information out, and fled back to his truck. He fumbled with his keys while he started it back up and left. His panic died down when he was a few miles away and stopped in a parking lot to think things through.


He really had no idea why Jimmy had attacked him except that he seemed to have known his ex-wife. It didn’t make much sense unless Jimmy had planned on killing him from the time he asked him for his help. Did she ask Jimmy to find him and kill him even before Alex asked Jimmy to help him find her? It seemed like a stretch, but it couldn’t be ruled out.

Still, it didn’t matter. He had found her, and had already committed murder. If he stopped and tried to keep the life he had, he would either go to jail for killing Jimmy, go to jail for planning to kill his wife, or go insane from standing by and doing nothing when his revenge was a few dozen miles away. In a matter of minutes, Alex formed his plan. First he would go back home and pick up some supplies for a few days out on the road. He wouldn’t tell anybody he was leaving. He would pay his wife a visit, then hide out in his truck for a while until the police would no longer be looking for it on the roads in the area. Then he would return and try to finally move on. He would worry about the rest when he had to. It had seemed so simple when he was sitting on his couch all those lazy Saturday mornings dreaming of finding her, but now it seemed like a better idea to just leave California and go back to Maine, where everything made sense to him, even if he didn’t like it. He couldn’t turn back now, though, and he was sure it would bring some consolation to see the woman who took all he had dead. He pulled out of the parking lot and returned to his apartment for the first stage of his plan.


Trembling with excitement and anxiety, he picked up some food, water, and liquor and reloaded his gun. He took extra clothes so he could change after the ordeal and as an afterthought printed out directions to her address since he had a long way to go and didn’t know the area she lived in. For the second time that day, Alex left his apartment and climbed into his truck.


It took Alex two hours to get near her home. Second thoughts were drilling through him relentlessly, but he continued on. He slowed as he started down her street. Finally he reached her house and stopped his truck across the street against the curb, leaving the motor running. As he was getting ready to step out of the car, he was taken by surprise by the sound of sirens and police cars barreling down the street from both directions toward him. More officers emerged from the front door or came around the side of the house, and a few more remained inside, crouching at the windows but not well hidden. Thoughts buzzed through Alex’s mind and he reached frantically for a solution. She did know! Jimmy had warned her! If he tried to get away, he’d be caught then and there. If he tried to pull out his gun, they would shoot him down and he would never have his revenge. If he just sat where he was, he would still go to jail. At least if that happened, he would get out one day.


Slowly and with a shaking will, Alex left his gun underneath the seat of his truck for the police to find later along with the license for it and stepped out of the car with his hands in plain sight. The sun emerged from behind the clouds and the light was almost blinding. A few years were a long time to wait to see the sun again.



I hope this comes out alright. I had to do a lot of entering and backspacing and whatnot to get the paragraphing ready for the forum where you can't indent.

I promise I'll read this, it's just that I'm downstairs with the gf and I can't concentrate on it and underground artists () deserve attention.

Just letting you know there will be comments eventually.

i'll read tomorrow sometime, i have to sit while my wife is doing her MSF motorcycle saftey foundation course.

You can indent.

See.

Use the button to the left of the "Insert Link" button and two to the right of the "Bullets" button.

I think it's easier to just separate paragraphs with a space, and since the internet isn't material, I'm not wasting paper by doing so.

Thats really good. I like how the sentences are long, because mine are generally shorter, compared to the ones in your story, like this one:

"The room in which this was taking place was the living room of Alex K. Johnson, a twenty-six year old contractor who had lived in California for a year since his wife had divorced him and taken the money in their savings account with her from their home in Maine to the state in which Alex had now found a new opportunity. "

Yeah, I wanted to shorten it, but couldn't think of a way to do it effectively.

So does that mean you write, too?