Two Short Stories

[Andy]

Yes. I felt like throwing these out here. For the heck of it. These two are short stories which I wrote for school, normally they are based off of a certain novel's themes or plot.

For my first short story, I was focusing on Hemmingway's darkness and light contrast, as well as some other literary devices (forgot which). Overall, my pastiche turned out to be quite good, if I say so myself. Now- Enjoy the first short story.

[Andy]

The Life of a Puppeteer

The city bell’s toll sounded throughout the plaza as evening approached. Overhead, the bright orange sun shone brightly as it started to set in the horizon. The rays struck buildings, illuminating them with a bright glow as their shadows lengthened behind them. Nearby the bell tower, two people were conversing as others were finishing up their day.
One of the figures was an old man, frail and bent over, while the other was a young boy.
“So tell me ,Tony, what are you planning to do with your life?,” asked the old man.
“I don’t know sir- its so hard to choose,” said the boy.
“I know it is and everyone else has the same problem choosing their path, but you should decide early on. It would help if you prepared before your time came.” Pausing the old man asked thoughtfully ,”So, do you have anything in mind?”
“Yessir, I do have one occupation which I would enjoy doing,” the boy replied.
“Well, what is it?”
“Sir- I would like to be a puppeteer like you sir.”
Closing his eyes, the old man sat silently for a bit before he grimly replied.
“You are a fool boy- a complete utter fool.”
“B-but…I-I mean you asked what I wanted to be-”
“You’re a fool boy. A fool.”
The old man was obviously displeased by his answer, yet the old man knew that the kid needed to go home before dark.
“It’s getting late. We shall talk again tomorrow if you want, but for now we end the conversation here. Go home boy,” he said as he departed.
The night grew cold as the last rays of sunlight diminished taking its warmth along with it. The streets of the city grew dark and shadows fell into place. The moon slowly rose above the city. As he walked home, he saw the bridge which connected the east side to the west. He slowed down his pace as he walked over the bridge and stared at the serene water flowing effortlessly southward. The man continued to stare for a moment then continued on his way. The bridge meant more to him than anyone could comprehend.

He thought about the memory which had disturbed him deeply for so long…

He had been getting ready for a puppet show in front of the cathedral all morning. As he looked out of his apartment window he saw the old cathedral in the distance with its doors wide open. Packing his things, he headed out of the apartment as he headed for the cathedral with high hopes. The problem with puppeteering was the pay; there was no actual pay for putting on puppet shows for spectators; only loose change thrown after the show. As he was reminded of this he tried not to think about the monthly rent fee and the price of commodities. As he crossed the bridge he looked into the river, whose waters were always comforting to watch. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his heart. He stumbled forward, dropping his puppeteering equipment as his world started to fade slowly…

The next thing he remembered was the bright sunshine streaming through a window. Sitting up, he looked around and immediately realized he was in the hospital. Amidst his confusion and surprise the doctor came in, greeted him and enlightened him about his sudden collapse. A heart attack. As he listened to the doctor he knew that his time on this world was limited…very limited. The possibility of another-….

His memory was failing him, as he could not recall what the doctor had said. Sighing the old man continued onward.
Not too long after he had went across the bridge a series of buildings appeared in front of him shrouded in darkness as clouds blocked the moon from shining its light upon them. He opened the door to one of the buildings and climbed the stairs leading to the uppermost floor. As he climbed the seemingly endless stairs, he passed by a window which immediately pierced the darkness with a bright shaft of moonlight which illuminated the wall to his left, revealing cracks and apertures. Slowly, as the old man continued upward, the window and the moonlight were left behind, which led to the gradual darkening of the building once more as he reached the top floor. Holding his keys tightly he searched in the darkness for the door to his apartment, and proceeded to open the door. Inside, he viewed his small rectangular room which contained a quaint bed, a small table for writing and dining, a bathroom, a window which showed a beautiful view of the city, and a kitchen within the far upper left corner. On the front wall, the wall which had the entrance, there was a variety of puppets; marionettes they were called. One marionette had a broken neck, and its head was hanging loosely from its body. He decided to fix it in the morning. On the floor were supplies used for maintaining, fixing, and modifying the marionettes he used.

He remembers the first time he had obtained a marionette from his father, who was a master woodworker. At first sight, he had felt a connection with the puppet. With its gleaming, glossy eyes, movable joints, and string-controlled movements, the marionette was the pinnacle of entertainment in the lower society. Or at least, in his eyes it seemed to be the best.
As he played with the marionette he gradually learned how each string worked, which parts it controlled, and how to make the movements flow smoother. Over the years, his father brought him more and more marionettes to play with and to test out. Eventually…he decided to become a puppeteer regardless of the circumstances involved in the occupation. He wanted to become famous, to be recognized among the people, to become rich through shows and performances. Unfortunately, his dream crashed and he became a poor street performer, yet he decided to live with his passion for puppeteering and to keep performing. He remembered his father’s urging words during a conversation they had together.
”Alphonse, please son… choose another job. A job which will keep food on your table. A job which will provide you with enough money to see you through hard times.”
“Father, I will not stray away from my passion. Even though I focused on fame and wealth as well as this, I will not throw away my passion for the likes of fame or wealth.”
“All I’m asking is for you to obtain a job which you can support yourself with while continuing your puppeteering on the side. The problem is neither your hobby nor your application of it son, but the problem is is that puppeteering is out of date nowadays. No one is willing to pay to see puppet or marionette shows anymore.”
“I’ll find a way to turn that around.”
“Son-…”
His stubbornness would prove to be his downfall. How he regretted not heeding his father’s words that day…

He had a hostile conversation with the landlord about a payment he had made last week.
As the landlord hung up, he decided to take a shower and go to bed. The moon was high in the sky by now, and the stars decorated the sky. His shower was a brief one, as he doused himself in cold water and washed with mediocre soap which hardly produced any bubbles. Drying himself with his scratchy woolen towel, he wiped off the remaining water from his body. He completely forgot to brush his teeth, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was some sleep.
The room became shrouded in complete darkness as he turned off the light switch save the moonlight which was filtering through the window. As he lay in bed he pondered about how things would have turned out if he had been more careful. He thought about Tony, about how he had gotten angry at him. He decided to speak with Tony again tomorrow, and try to dissuade the kid from making the same mistake he did. A sudden sound awoke him abruptly. Propping himself up on his elbows he scanned the room. Nothing registered at first, until he spotted the headless puppet mounted on the wall. He looked down and saw that the head was on the floor. The head was facing him showing him the marionette’s visage which had a large crack through it from forehead to chin. The crack had broken the marionette’s eternal smile into two halves. Grimacing, he tried to move over to pick it up when he felt a violent spasm within his chest. A sudden jolt of pain had him flat on his bed as a sense of vertigo washed over him. Eyesight blurring, he clutched his chest as he struggled to breathe. He felt one last jolt in his chest as his struggle to live came to a close.
The next day, Tony came to visit, to see if old man if he was alright. As he entered the unlocked apartment he spotted a figure lying in bed.

“Sir. I came by to see if you were still upset about yesterday.”

No reply came from the figure, as its hand slipped limply out from under the covers and off to the side of the bed. Tony’s face paled as he saw the limp hand. He made his way over to the bed and held the hand for a moment. Crying he let go of the hand and ran out of the room.

-Fin

[Andy]

That first story seriously got me going. Whew! A nice load off of my documents. Well, anyways....onto the next and last short story! If I can find it-
I think I deleted it.



Aw damn. If I find it i'll post it up. To whomever may read this- please enjoy my dark stories. Thanks!