The SP Library

[Starr Polish]

Want to see a couple of my short stories? I'll post 'em here.

If I decide to start posting one of my longer, potentially novel lenght stories, I'll start another thread.

Warning: Some of my short stories are very dark. They don't exceed the PG-13 rating of the board, but a few have been labled as slightly disturbing. Most of the darker stories were written a few years ago, during one of the lower points in my life. They do not necessarily represent any actual events in my life, nor do they reflect on the person I am today.

Stories:

Spin, written 2/8/2001. Mildly dark, implied suicidal thoughts. Page 1.
Raccoon, written 2/12/2001. Slight fantasy feel, stupid high school students. Page 1.
Tough As Snails, written 8/3/2001. Fantasy. Page 2.
Untitled Excerpt written 5/2/2003. Very short. Page 2.

[Lief Erikson]

I'll be happy to read and probably comment on any stories you post . I've got several other short stories that I'll be posting. It's up to you whether you post your dark ones or not, though if you consider them dark you might want to post a small warning before the story. It would help people to have easy reference if you post each short story with a single thread for it. That way they don't have to seek through the library to find them . Unless of course you were to say which pages each one of them are on, in one of your earlier posts. You don't have to anticipate which page they'll each be on, but can continually edit one post as you post your short stories.

[Starr Polish]

Spin, written 2/8/2001

Author's Note: Some of this is really badly written, but I still like the initial idea, and the beginning and the end. Also, minor swearing in this story.


Do you remember the game you used to play as a child? The one where you all began spinning, seeing how long you could do it without falling? Eventually you would fall down, down in the soft green grass, and grip the ground, because the entire world was turned upside down. You gripped on because you felt tipped over, and afraid that the world was going to throw you into the sky, where you would fall endlessly. It was bliss tinged with fear. Eventually the world would slowly return to normal, and you would continue the game.

That's my life.


The last time I actually played that was when I was around five. I remembered my mother leaving to go to the store.


"Be a good girl Geena. Mommy has to go to the store. I'll be back soon," she said as she picked up the car keys and headed for the garage.


She didn't come back.


I had been outside when my father told me to news. I remember his hands shaking and seeing his eyes tear up, and how his voice scared me.


"Geena, oh Geena, I'm sorry, but Mommy died today. You understand what I'm saying, don't you?" He said, holding on to me. Of course I understood, but I didn't say anything. He began to cry, and I ran out of his arms and began to spin. I was spinning so fast that the color became undefineable. Everything was an amazing blur. Nothing had definition. The I fell to the ground, my eyes stinging with salt water I could not control.


My world tipped over that day and became bitter. I can't swallow this anymore, I'm thinking as I stare out the window. The beautiful sun and sky was mocking me. Everyone else is happy, why aren't you? They say, taunting me. There's a knife on the table, but I won't touch it. My father still needs me.


It's been ten years since that drunk b*stard hit my mom. He walked away without a scratch, but was charged with drunk driving. Boo-hoo for him. I want to scratch his eyes out. A jail sentence and fine can't bring my mother back, can't the stupid law makers see that?


The mechanical creaks of the garage door warn me that my father is home. Even after ten years, he still can't forget my mother exactly how she was. He has never had any interest in any other woman. There are pictures around of her everywhere. My mother, pregnant with me, on the mantel. Their wedding day above the television. Some glamour poses of her in the hallway. Even one of her sleeping. It's hanging up in the kitchen. My father, who has been in love with only one woman his whole life. His next sentence shreds the small bit of reality I still have left.


"Geena, will you be okay alone tonight? I have a date with Mary from the office," he says, straightening his tie, acting as if this statement is of absolutely no importance. He doesn't notice I'm staring at him with fire in my eyes until he begins to feel it boring in his back. "What?" He asks innocently. My father isn't stupid. I know he knows what is wrong. I stare for another moment before I quietly explode.


"Um, Dad, I think your forgetting something," I say, the words nearly catching in my throat and choking me.


"What could that be? I am wearing pants, aren't I?" He laughs, but stops abruptly when he sees I'm not going along with his old joke.


"You're forgetting that," I say, pointing a finger toward the picture of my mother, her hair splayed out on a pillow, her features delicate and perfect.


"Geena, I loved your mother, but I need to move on. I'm not going to marry Mary anyways. Heh...marry Mary..." and I know this is the end of the conversation. He feels that I am becoming unsafe to be around (which very well might be true) and quickly leaves. I look at the knife, it's laughing silver beckoning me. Your father won't need you anymore, now that he has Mary. Go ahead, it says to me. I pick it up, then slam it into it's appropriate drawer. I need to get away from here.


I am running outside, letting the summer wind play with my hair, throwing it's long black strands into tangles. I have reached the middle of a large feild behind my neighborhood, nothing but grass surround me. The distant sounds of the highway remind me of my pain. The world is spinning, and nothing has definiton. Lines and boundaries do not exist, and colors are bleeding and merging. Finally I am falling, my world is tipping and spinning with a beautiful fierceness. I grab the ground for a moment that lasts forever, then let go, falling into the endless sky.

[Lief Erikson]

Is that the end?

[Arat-Falathion]

heh Lief

[Starr Polish]

LoL...yes. My short stories are VERY short, generally. Most of them end with a punch, twist or just kind of hang there...it's my style, I guess.

[Lief Erikson]

Geena really sounds emotionally unstable. I'm afraid I can't emphathize with her very well. The dizziness, falling into the sky, the fact that ten years ago this event happened and she still hasn't come back into reality

His next sentence shreds the small bit of reality I still have left.

really makes me think this. Sorry, I must seem really heartless, but I'm of the opinion that Geena is unstable, possibly partially insane.

I like her father though, and the internal drama going on within Geena, going through her thoughts and such, is well written.

[Starr Polish]

Lief, that was the point. I wasn't exactly emotionally stable at the time either, but I wasn't as bad as Geena (I am guilty of giving my characters horrible names, and spelling them oddly. Other non-fantasy stories include Karry, Kaylen (boy), Kaelyn (girl), Orleanna and Antigone ). Just recently I discovered that parts of this story represent a "friend" of mine very well. Her father died (suicide) when she was very young, second grade, I think.

She'll be eighteen in July and still hasn't got over it. I understand getting over the grief of a parent takes a long time, but she never misses an oppurtunity to bring it up, and because he died on my birthday, I refuse to be near her then, since I would rather not think about death on my day of birth.

[Lief Erikson]

Okay, well, I'm glad I got the point.

I suppose I should wait for other readers to comment before asking to read the next story . I suppose that's the good thing about having a different thread for each story; they can be discussed as people read them and want to comment on them.

[Aralyn]

Oh my gosh I love it!! I don't usually gush or anything but that was really really good. So cool. Do more!!

[Agalayth]

That was great writing. The whole metaphor about the game is very cleverly woven in. It doesn't matter whether it's short or not. It's great work.

[Starr Polish]

Raccoon, written 2/12/2001

Author's Note: Just...odd. I changed one line in this story, since it really didn't fit, but otherwise it is exactly how I wrote it two years ago. Slight fantasy feel.

Buzz buzz buzz the useless alarm clock hollers. Get up, it's time to wake up and greet the world. She looked at the clock and shut off its useless alarm. Karry was already awake. She had been staring at the clock every fifteen minutes, and she wished she could throw it against the wall. Insomnia's fingers had tightened her depression's grip, and now she couldn't shake off her usual sadness. She stumbled through her routine. Take shower. Brush teeth. Get dressed. Eat breakfast. How tedious and long this was. How useless. Just like her alarm clock. She ate her cereal slowly, watching it turn into a blob of slime like substance in the milk.
Karry's mother did not let her daughter's lethargic behaviour and slightly disheveled appearance slip past her.

"Hey Raccoon. Another long night?" She asked, tousling Karry's hair.

"Yeah. Don't touch me," Karry snapped. She wanted to apologize, but her tongue wouldn't form the words. Her sharp teeth cut her tongue, and she knew that she would taste blood if she tried to form these words. Insomnia and depression did this to you.

She trudged to school, one again wondering why she even bothered. Everyone always stared at her, she was so different. They called her Raccoon, but not playfully like her mother did. They called her this because of the dark mask she wore, the circles under her eyes. A tell tale sign of insomnia. Her hair was often a tangled mess that somehwhat resembled a ponytail at times, at others it appeared to be a messy bird's nest. Karry didn't care what they thought of her. If only they knew...

But oh, she did care. How it hurt her to see them make fun of her long black nails and dark, sad eyes. Her eyes were completely empty, devoid of any soul. They weren't cold, no, not nearly as cold as those ice blue eyes underneath sandy and platinum blonde strands of hair. Their tan faces laughed in her pale one. Their sharp words cut the already torn and bleeding heart, until it was nothing but mush, no more recognizable than her cereal that morning.

If only they knew.

Her classes could be hell. The girls, the enjoyed taunting her behind her back, but the boys were the worst.

"Hey Raccoon," Kaylen Price sneered. "I see the rats slept in your hair again," he said, tweaking a stray curl. Karry bit her tongue until she tasted blood. Her sharp teeth were anxious. She bristled, willing her small shredded soul and her body to wait, to be still. School would be over soon.

That lovely bell, oh, how she loved it. The second she heard it she ran away, ignoring the teacher, ignoring her homework, leaving all things behind. She began to run. Run run run. I'll never stop, she thought to herself. She felt herself become free, the worries that so burdened her earthly body slowly fall from her, just as her clothes were. She left a black bread crumb trail from the school to a small creek, so maybe, maybe she could get back. She doubted it.

The birds of the high school slowly devoured the bread crumb trail, trying to find her. It was Kaylen that led the way. The finally reached the creek, where the last piece of clothing lay. There were foot prints on the edge of the creek, but they stopped.

Kaylen stood staring, a black t-shirt in his hand. "No trace," he said quietly.

No one noticed a small raccoon staring at them from the other side of the creek.

[Lief Erikson]

Well written, just like the last one . I enjoyed reading it. I've put a lot of thought into the ending, but I've still not worked it out fully. At first I thought she'd committed suicide, and then I thought that she transformed into the racoon. But the problem with that view is the bread crumb trail that she left so that she can get back, and its getting devoured. I originally thought that was her clothes, but with the transformation idea that doesn't work. If the transformation is the way things really happened, then that explains all of the earlier parts of the story .

Yep, now I'm pretty sure that she really did transform into a racoon .

[Aralyn]

Really good. I like how it does have a fantasy feel to it.

[IronParrot]

I didn't interpret it as a transformation, Lief.

Think back to motifs like the River Styx from Greek mythology. The creek would symbolize the border between life and death; the raccoon is staring at them "from the other side", invisible to us, because she died. That's how I took it.

[BeardofPants]

Originally posted by Starr Polish
Karry was already awake. She had been staring at the clock every fifteen minutes, and she wished she could through it against the wall.

She wished she could throw it against the wall. ??

Originally posted by Starr Polish
There were foot prints on the edge of the creek, but the stopped.

..., but they stopped. ??

I'd like to read some more of your stuff. Do you have some posted on any fan-fic sites?

[Lief Erikson]

Originally posted by Starr Polish
She left a black bread crumb trail from the school to a small creek, so maybe, maybe she could get back. She doubted it.

The birds of the high school slowly devoured the bread crumb trail, trying to find her. It was Kaylen that led the way.

What's the black bread crumb trail then? It says that it was left there so that she could get back. Does someone about to die generally make some sort of a link so that they might get back?

The late nights are extremely well explained if she's been spending time at night as a racoon. Her disinterest in everything which is human is explained well that way also.

Another thing which could be interpreted to show that she transformed is the fact that the language changes. She looks upon the predatory kids as birds; the language changes as she becomes more of a racoon.

However, I agree that the other view, suicide, makes quite a lot of sense also. The disease she was suffering from and the way she was having trouble with everything in life could be very logical pressures for her to commit suicide.

[BeardofPants]

Maybe she wanted to leave it as a lifeline, but because life was already screwing her over, that wasn't an option for her? I agree with IP, it seems that death was the only end for her. Just think of the symbolism of the colour black: black crumbs, black nails, black eyes.

[Lief Erikson]

Well, one further evidence that that's the case is that that story was written only four days after the other one, so Starr was still going through that difficult time she mentioned.

[BeardofPants]

Well, perhaps your idea of the transformation could be symbolic of the death of her "human-ness"? There, a compromise.