Found this with the random storygame button, and really it should just be taken down. It's frickin random all right and completely incoherent.
I mean I wasn't expecting great things about a 1200 word story about strolling through the woods, but I'm positive anyone currently on the site could do better given the same limitations.
2013 was a dark time indeed.
I'mma attempt it! But first, I have to read the original storygame.
Edit: Okay, so it's about a stroll in the forest. That's a simple idea. But I feel like I'll need more than 10 minutes.
Phew! Then I can continue writing wholesome stuff!
A walk through nature will always clear your mind!
Eugene remembered those words and scowled. There was nothing good about memories of his childhood. He had to rely on his asshole parents who kept coddling him and treating him like a child. Just because he had actually been a child doesn't change anything! Oh, but now he would be able to—
Something rustled in the bushes to his right. Eugene turned on a dime, ready for anything. He stared at the dense trees along the path; the rustling got louder. He started sweating profusely as absolutely nothing continued to happen. Suddenly, a deer emerged, and then another, and another, and more and more. They stared back at Eugene with their beady black eyes. He was almost paralyzed. He'd never seen a live deer before. Perhaps there was something to this walk through nature bullshit that his mom always blabbed about. No, there couldn't be. The deer were now moving in a wide berth around him. There must've been 10 in total, and something about them just made Eugene stare. They stared at him like the kids at school would stare, and laugh. Could deer laugh? Eugene started to tear up
"Shoo! Get out of here!"
What was he here for anyway? Ah, right. Eugene continued following the well-travelled forest path. Hopefully no more interruptions would distract him from this walk. It would just be a simple goodbye.
As Eugene was thinking this, he stumbled upon a clearing. A few square meters of trees had been cleared out to make space for a firepit and a couple sideways logs. There was enough space for a tent as well.
He remembered the one time his horrid family forced him to go camping. They were sitting in the woods and his dad was regaling them with stories of his life at sea, and how it was basically camping, considering the poverty of the ship he travelled on. Eugene was laughing along with his mom. The fire was warm, and somehow being in the middle of nowhere eating canned meat and peaches was enjoyable. See, look how much fun camping is! I told you that it would be fun! Remember when you threw a tantrum over it? Eugene stopped laughing and looked at his mom. Why'd she always ruin everything? It's all her fault.
"Damn this forest. Why'd she have to be buried here and not in some graveyard like a normal fucking person?" Eugene said to himself, kicking a rock for emphasis. Her death hadn't come as a surprise to anyone but Eugene. He'd cut contact with his parents immediately after high school, causing them to slowly wither away. But he wouldn't need them. He was way more capable then they ever were, so college would be a breeze, especially without them lecturing him.
A sudden cold gust of wind swept across the path, biting through Eugene's trench coat. He had dressed up warmer than necessary, but against this gust the layers of fur and fabric seemed to do no good. My son... Eugene shook his head.
"Ha, the wind sounded like a voice. I must be going crazy!" He turned, talking to a nonexistent travelling companion.
The chilling wind picked up from behind Eugene this time. He started walking a little faster. You should really wear your windbreaker to school today, it's really windy! He had told his mother he knew better than her what to wear to school, so he went without a windbreaker. He had nearly frozen by the time he got to the bus.
He heard a branch crunch high above him in the canopy. Looking up, Eugene saw a giant raven watching him, as if judging his character. Don't mess with ravens, it's a bad omen, his mother had said one day, when he was throwing rocks at birds. He had killed a few pidgeons but never managed to get a raven. Now, as the raven contemplated him, Eugene contemplated it as well. It kept examining him, it deserved this. He took his revolver out of the concealed holder in his trench coat, aimed, and fired.
"Stupid bird. Can run from rocks, but can't run from bullets," Eugene said smugly, kicking the ruffled, bleeding corse off the path. Another freezing gust of wind rattled his teeth. He turned around; he did a double take.
"Hello? Anyone there?" He called out. He swore something had ran across the path behind him. Backtracking a little, Eugene investigated the bushes, revolver in hand. Something was there, certainly. Perhaps a hiker had heard the gunshot and had run up. Eugene frantically shifted branches and bushes. Someone was there, surely! He couldn't be wrong.
A bunny ran out between Eugene's legs, onto the path. A soft, fluffy, gray thing. Eugene hadn't seen one before. It looked terrified. Eugene took aim at the bunny with his revolver. Another stupid animal that would have no clue what hit it. Don't hurt animals! His mother had scolded him when he had kicked his friend's annoying dog at the park.
"The world is ours for the taking, mine for the taking! Animals are worthless," Eugene explained coldheartedly to his still-nonexistent partner, "Wait, where is it? Shit." The bunny had absconded while Eugene was remembering that day at the park.
The cold wind got worse, to the point that Eugene started running. He cursed this forest and all its inhabitants, he just wanted to get to his mother's grave. Eventually, he arrived. The wind ceased abruptly. A serene meadow with blooming flowers surrounded a tombstone with freshly turned dirt, and a wooden bench. On the bench lay Eugene's father. The man looked terrible, with a gray, half-bald head of hair, deep bags under his eyes, and a perpetually sad look on his 40-something-year-old face. As Eugene approached, he woke with a start.
Rubbing his eyes, he exclaimed, "Good god! Genie boy, is that you?"
"I told you, don't call me that!" Eugene shouted, "How many times do I have to tell you old man?"
Gene, please... He heard a whisper on the wind.
"Son, how you've grown. Oh, I never doubted you would go far in life, further than us..." His father said wistfully, "But you killed your mother. How could you stop talking to us? We were so worried, she was so worried. Just one call a week..."
"I owe you nothing," Eugene replied harshly, "I don't have to do anything you tell me to do, I'm better than you."
His father's brow furrowed, he thought deeply, "You know, if you hadn't been such a narcissist, she wouldn't have died!" He stepped towards Eugene, continuing, "We gave you everything, she gave you everything! All the knowledge we had. We asked for nothing in return but your love, and you can't even give that! What kind of person are you, look at yourself!"
His father was screaming in his face by now.
"SHUT UP!" The shout was accompanied by a gunshot. The wind picked up, almost like a tornado.
His father's body crumpled to the floor. The high-caliber revolver's bullet had passed through his heart and had lodged itself deep within the grave.
"I did kill you. But... you deserved it. You criticized me."
Please Eugene, the whisper on the wind, his mother's voice, said, don't listen to your father. I just wanted you to get better.
"SHUT UP!" Eugene approached the grave, "Shut up, please, I'm already the best, I'm great," he despaired, and fired three bullets, one by one, into his mother's grave.
I'll love you no matter what.
Eugene aimed his last bullet. This one would shut her up for good.
Blang! His body crumpled to the floor next to his father, eyes filled with tears. The wind stopped.
I've been reading Chekhov to practice my Russian and my mom found this book of "stories for kids, about kids" and somehow in half of them the main character dies (occasionally by suicide). I think it's getting to me.
Also, none of my previous short stories have ended with suicide, so this is actually a deviation from the norm for me.
Well Chekhov was very profilic because he was like the Russian equivalent of muckrakers like Jacob Riis. He was a doctor who helped poor people and also travelled outside of big cities to treat people in the country, so he saw the terrible conditions in poorer and more rural areas. A lot of his stories expose the shitty conditions in 19th century Imperial Russia and made the bourgeoisie realize that life in Russia wasn't perfect. This specific collection is really only more depressing because of the child POV.
So yea, there's my Russian History lecture that was totally called for.
Well, a lot of funny interactions happened between the rich and poor in Russia. Like the Decembarist Revolt, which is really a fascinating event, and also quite funny.
Here you go, my attempt.
Going to bed now. I think i have class today, maybe? Laters.
Oh, and another thing... does this challenge have a time limit?