short stories collection - a compilation of my short stories.
The sun scorched the skin off of my back; below me was an endless throng of citizens, all about to die. How morbid, eh? Haha, well this is my tale, so I?ll start it however I please. If you are reading this, it means you?ve found my journal, flipped through any of the other pages yet?
Assassin? Schizophrenic? Or just a storyteller? This short story focuses on all three aspects of a character obsessed with himself. Set in a futuristic world, we get a glimpse of his life...and his end.
The sun scorched the skin off of my back; below me was an endless throng of citizens, all about to die. How morbid, eh? Haha, well this is my tale, so I’ll start it however I please. If you are reading this, it means you’ve found my journal, flipped through any of the other pages yet? You should, there are some juicy stories sprinkled throughout. Now, you may wonder why I chose to write a tale at the end of my journal (at the end of each mind you). It is because I love myself and the history I have made, it makes it much easier for biographers to read a tale than a mishmash of notes, events and ideas that comprise my journals. Plus, no second hand account can tell the tale as well as me. Well, that is now out of the way, on to the fun stuff.
I climbed the rope next to me, it was not safe to take the elevators of these tall buildings, some were built years ago, in another era, one in which those above had the power to control everything. Maybe they do now, but it is less visible. Someone screeched below and the men around her were livid and soon her outcry ended.
Oh, what fun! A death a day keeps the spirits alive! But you must think I’m sick by now, do not worry, it is only my nastier self coming forth every once in awhile, it may make my tale a bit hard to read, or even unreliable. I am writing in pen, so excuse the marks. But do not despair! I will ensure he is kept in line (or lined through) and the story remains true.
So back to the tale. As I climbed the rope, I surveyed the landscape. What a beautiful sight, the endless rows of buildings that reached the sky, the innumerable bridges that connected them, the deep chasms that defined the old streets below, though I wonder who still traverses there. It has become more efficient to build upwards than to attempt to reclaim the lower levels, which, of course, means this civilization is built on a shaky foundation.
Haha, think about it, a couple of well placed bombs in the lower levels and boom! To heaven or hell people shall go! Ignore that. You would expect people to have figured out how to combine cars and planes, after all they could do the same with peanut-butter and jelly or balloons and baskets, what makes flying cars so hard? Well, in any case, we have neither PB&J nor flying cars, which is a drag.
A train screamed by, at least people had the brains to combine magnets and trains. On inspection it appeared to be empty. . .
So upwards I climbed, the skyline becoming clearer, breathing easier
, and shooting quicker! Sorry, that part comes later. The people in the buildings could not notice me, someone had the genius idea to make the two-way mirror in the reverse direction it normally is, helps people with their vertigo. Unfortunately, this also allowed for people like me to more easily pick out our targets, without them having any prior warning. They sky grew dark and I scanned the sky, clouds shouldn’t be around at the moment. A leviathan of a plane flew overhead, thousands of balloons keeping it afloat, along with several other, more intricate tech. Military? You wish, these were the titans of the modern age, the cargo freighters that carrier the world’s demands on their shoulders. The military - I’m not telling you their actual name, find it out yourself - had hassled private contractors to build them several specialized models, but the money was never good enough. See, see, those capitalist do put priority of their own greed over the safety of others! We should teach them a lesson in selfishness! Been aboard one before, nary a bout of turbulence to be felt and clean as a shaved pus– freshly washed hands. Ever run your fingers through cashmere? It’s like that. It continued to float by and the ground continued to become smaller.
Upon reaching the appropriate floor, I cut a small hole in the window and proceeded to enter.
Now as a preface, I cannot die in my own tale, as I am currently writing it, which means I’m alive! A couple of pinging sounds could be heard to my left and right and I rapidly lunged for cover, my heart pounding. The pinging continued and suddenly a thud was heard. I surveyed the room and found a bird twitching, seemed to have flown through the hole I created, the rest of the flock having killed themselves on the windows.
I glide to the entrance and the door swung open to my surprise. Ducking to the side of the entrance, I awaited the kill. The timing had been perfect, too perfect. But that is not concerning, I tend to be perfect. As I tensed, a man walked in that I did not recognize from the intel and promptly lifted his left hand in my direction as he entered. My blood turned cold and then I heard a sudden report. . .
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