Creative Writing Really Short Stories

I had this idea today looking through a bunch of old stuff I wrote a few months back. I have a whole lot of short stories of the very short variety. We're talking under a page in length.
Why don't we all write a bunch of really short things?
Here's one to get us started:

My Bloody Valentine
Our blades clashed, and the most beautiful sound sang out through the field. The duel was like a choreographed dance; we moved in perfect unison, neither of us showing weakness. Each blow was countered evenly, so never was a true hit scored.
High cut. Middle parry. Low thrust. Low jab. High parry. Low slash. Low parry. My moves were a routine of battle prowess. Never had I seen a more skilled warrior. As good as I was, my opponent showed equal power. I barely defelected a volley of jabs. I was losing ground.
I made my strike next, a series of rapid diagonal slashes. Each blow was countered, until the last. With great difficulty, I made a glancing blow on my opponent's breastplate. I noticed that this was the only such mark. The armour was either very new, or I was duelign a real master. I took a moment to reflect on this, my sword moving with a mind of its own.
By some absurd twist of fortune, my opponent made a fatal error, leaving his right side open after a wide slash. I seized the opportunity to strike, lunging deep.
Apparently, it was not an error but a feignt. A split-second after I thrust forth my blade, I felt a tug on my ankle and heard the scrape of steel greeve against greeve. A second later, I lay on my back, staring up at my defeator's helmetted visage.
"Brave knight," I uttered. "truly it has been an honour to face a man of your skill and might."
The victor only nodded in response.
"I must ask you," I continued. "one favour before we part ways. May I know the name of you, great knight, so I may spread rumour of the most skilled man in the realm?"
My opponent removed his helmet. Long, deep-red hair streamed about the face. I quickly realized that my opponent was not a man at all.
"They call me 'the Blood Rose'", the champion answered.
As she turned to leave, I was too stunned to say anything further, by both the amazing duel and the beauty of the victor. A strange feeling was mixed with the agony of defeat in the pit of my stomach. It was not embarassment at losing a battle to a woman, nor was it confusion as to how such a lady could learn to fight so well. Could this feeling have been love?
I arose to my feet heavily, chasing after my bloody valentine.

 

I can't stand short stories because I have a hard time writing them myself... I'm too much into introducing lots of settings and characaters, really...

But however, i will show this one, tho it is not my own, it still sends shivers down my spine.


The last man on the Earth sat in a room all by himself when there was a knock at the door.

The one sentenced story. --; kowai yo.

 

He went to the shop and got a pack of biscuits and now he's dead.

 

She smiled grimly as she raised the gun. A moment later, she shot him dead.

The last frappucino was hers.

Game over.

 

Losing faith in everything dear to her, she silently went mad. Silence can be deafening, when there is no one to listen with.

 

Oi, isn't that taking it a bit too far? A simple "bite me, Novus" would have sufficed.

 

I disagree. I think that they're trying to take your idea further. It's okay if they want to write shorter short stories, and I think they're all marvelous. This is just my opinion, however.

 

Yeah, we're not being mean, these still qualify as short stories, and one sentence stories are fun really X)

Oy, sorry if I caused a bit of a mess. ^^;

 

The guy who started this thread misinterpretted things again. He apologized for this, and was forgiven by everyone (I hope).

 

Bite me Novus, she said. But it did not suffice. Hence the thread continued, and all were happy to post one liners which invoked deep thoughts and images.

 

Femme could barely contain her love for k0ge and her perpetual wittiness. It will have to wait, she told herself. I cannot reveal my true feelings now, for fear that I will frighten her. I must just sit, content to write little stories, waiting for k0ge to acknowledge me. Only then may I tell her of my undying luff.

 

Zack could only stare in complete and utter disbelief at what had spawned off at this point. With a shake of his head, he clicked his tongue before deciding to bite down harshly upon it. Of course, not as harsh as the words he felt like saying, as if he were to do it with that much force, he would surely bite his tongue right off. Instead, he merely turned his back to it all and bid them a soundless farewell, wandering off to at some point, on some day, return to the madness of it all.

 

With a whir and a hum, the machine sprung to life. Nothing could stop it now. They were doomed.

 

This one I written on the fly so to speak.

Decision

The red shiny crystal gleamed in my hand. I had three slots to choose from each option had their own pillar of stone. Each slot held their own fate to the world, one for total destruction, one to proceed as normal even after the Great War, and the last to start over. It is funny how fate would be chosen by me. I have lost everything from the Great War. I have nothing to gain from life starting over. I have no one left to care if the world was destroyed or if it proceeded.

I sat there looking at each place trying to figure out what was best for the human race. I throw the crystal back and forth in my hand. I was too late on the last throw. I watch as the stone fell from my hand. My heart hoped it would shatter and end my torment. It doesn’t. It rolls next to the middle slot. Is that where you want to go to? Should I choose that pillar as my fate to decide with that unpredictable roll the fate of the whole world? To bad for the world I believe in making my own fate.

I walk over and pick up the crystal. I stare at each position. Should I close my eyes and spin around decided by that way? Should I do try canceling one out at a time?

My mind sneaks away on its own. I doubt we both want to think of the possible doom to come. Was there someone else who came before me that tried to make this decision? What did they decided? I glance around the room. There are no signs of anyone here but me.

No matter how long I try to put it off. I still will have to decide the fate of the world. I walk away and face all three pillars. I walk towards one and insert the crystal. It lights up as it reads my decision. It glows dark and a part of my heart rips in half as I realize I made a wrong decision. I don’t even try to correct what I did. I close my eyes and wait for it to come.

 

Very deep.
Here's my next:

I had been stalking it for a week. It was very elusive, much more than anything I had encountered before. The light tracks seemed to go in two directions. I was afraid I had lost its trail, but I could not give up. Not after what happened when the creature got loose in the village; the victim's wife could barely identify his body. I could not let such a ferocious predator escape.
Just as things were looking bad and I was about to admit failure, I finally had a bit of luck. I heard sounds of violence ahead. It sounded like my quarry had found itself an elk. I silently crept towards the sound, pulling my hair back and trying it behind by head. I carefully drew my swrod in one hand and my knife in the other.
Looking ahead, I saw the beast and its prey, or the bloody pulp that had been its prey, at least. The beast looked like any other bear I had ever seen, except for the fur and eyes. The fur was a deep purple-blue in colour, but I had seen stranger things in my day. In my line of work, one gets used to seeing odd creatures. What really startled me were the eyes, the glowing red coals that stood out in the night. The enmity radiating from those eyes was so palpable I could almost cut it with my blades. It was beyond what you would expect from a simple beast.
The creature licked the elk's blood off its claws and turned to go. I saw this as my opportunity to strike. I threw my knife first, striking the beast in the back. It roared in pain, a tremendous bellow that seemed to shake the entire forest. By the time it turned to face me, I had rushed it.
I made a powerful slash across the gut, drawing its dark red blood from beneath its midnight hide. Roaring in anger, it swung its claws and sent me flying into a nearby tree. I picked myself up, but realized I could not move my right arm.
I was crippled now, and I could taste iron in my mouth as a warm liquid dripped down my forehead, forming cakes in my long hair. I looked up and saw the creature running for me. If I did not act fast, I would be the beast's dessert. I picked up my sword with my left hand and rolled clumsily to the right, landing on my feet as the beast crashed into the tree, felling it and sending splinters flying.
With the beast slightly fazed by its impact, I took a clumsy swing with my blade, hitting the left leg. Now it was crippled, too. Perhaps we were on even terms now.
The beast picked itself up and snarled, showing its yellowed, bloody teeth. Its red eyes now glowed brighter than before, burning with a fire straight from the depths of Hell. It again charged, and I was knocked down by a massive paw. I lay on the ground, my sword still clutched in my hand.
The creature seemed prepared to finish me off. It stepped over to my head and, roaring with triumph, it raised on of its paws to take my head off. I winced, preparing for the end.
I was saved by a sudden rustling in the nearby leaves. The beast was distracted for an instant as it looked in the direction of the noise, and opportunity knocked. I pointed my sword upward and thrust the blade up to its hilt in the creature's neck.
The thick blood poured onto my face, but it was like a shower of relief, cleansing me of my peril. The defeated predator toppled over, its still-warm body twitching slightly. My sword protruded from both ends of its neck. I had made a clean thrust.
The leaves rustled again, and I looked with trepidation to see what manner of beasts had come to finish me off. I was frozen in my spot, paralyzed by fear, pain and exhaustion.
Out of the shadowy trees stepped a small chipmunk. It scampered over to me, licked my left hand, and then ran off. I had been saved by a small, furry rodent. The other hunters would never believe it.
From that night on, the entire village called me a myriad of rude names, all regarding chipmunks. They were meant in jest, of course, but every time I was mocked, I just smiled with pride. The jokes were like my battle scars - signs of my hard-won victory and my survival. They all laughed at me from time to time, but I knew the truth. My victory over the beast had made me a hero, and the pride of the entire village.

I didn't intend for that to be that long ... just got carried away.

 

Up above the sky, Apon the Moon i sit. All alone I watch as the Blue marble Spins around and around. Always looking for that something that may Never Be Found. The Man on the moon am I.

 

It is soft beneath her cheek. As another tear slides down her cheek onto the pillow, she wonders why things went wrong. The night closes in, outside the window. Black velvet arms slowly embracing the daylight. A hopeless frustration rises within her, just as before.


She'd broken another nail.



*grinbounce*

I wub you femme!

 

Another one written by me. I stole my first line from a poem I written. I just love the first line.

Destruction

I stand alone in a vast field of uncertainty. I move ahead and watch as a building slowly comes into view. I walk inside the stone structure. "Hello is anybody here?" I call out. I walk down a barely lit hall. I spy a room that has light. I walk to the door and look inside. A man sits in a chair his back to me. "Hello did you not hear me call?" I place my hand on his chair to spin him around to face me. I gasp and I stumble back. My face pales as I look at the ghastly sight. His face is sunken in. He died of horror. The static played by what he saw finally reaches my ear. My curiosity gets the best of me. I slowly move to the machine and rewind the tape. It clicks to the beginning. With fear in my own eyes I press play. The world ending slowly plays in front of me. I fall back and coldness takes over.

 

The gun lay next to him. Why had he made that mistake. Now he had lost everything: his friends, his love, his mind. As he sat there in the chair, he stared at the gun, wondering.
'What's to lose?' he thought, picking up the gun...

 

i have one

She is standing in the shadows, smoking a cigarette. She tosses her head back to get her hair out of her eyes. She watches a happy couple stroll down the street. They do not see her. No one does. That is where her power lies, in her invisibility. She is Rill.

The happy couple giggle and push each other playfully. They stop beneath a street lamp. It is February, so the snow falls uninhibited. Both are bundled in heavy down coats. This will only make Rill's job all the more difficult. The couple kiss beneath the street lamp; a tender, sensual kiss. They are completely oblivious to the rest of the world.

Rill flicks her cigarette to the ground. It sizzles to death in the snow. Now is the time. Rill reaches beneath her coat and pulls out a trusty tool that has always served her well. Her crossbow. She takes her time sighting her target. After all, the couple is likely to stay in that position for quite a while.

When her target is in her sights, and the possibility of missing is nonexistent, Rill pulls the trigger. The arrow speeds through the icy air and successfully buries itself in the female lover's heart. The breath catches in her throat and causes her to make a pathetic gurgling sound. The young woman slides out of her lover's arms and into the snow. Her lover cries out in horror. Rill quickly reloads her crossbow and fires again. The man falls next to the woman, their blood intermixing. Rill conceals the crossbow once again underneath her black coat. She walks out of the alley toward the couple. The woman is dead, Rill can see that. The man, however, is still moving. He shifts his head.

"Who are you?" he whispers.

Rill pulls a cigarette from her pocket, slips it between her lips, and lights it. She takes a long drag.

She smiles with a faux tenderness and does not answer.

She turns as the remaining life drains from the man. As she walks away, she takes a quick look behind her. The two bodies lay in the circle of light created by the street lamp, as if they are in the spotlight on some grotesque stage.

Rill smiles again. This time with pride. “Like art,” she says and walks on.