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Short Story - Thump

Gloria The Camel's picture Gloria The Camel
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Wasn't sure where to put this, so any moderators feel free to move it.

This was a short story I wrote last week for an English Assignment. The task was to write a section of the story, only 500 - 800 words long that incorporated a character that has something bad happen to them, like an injury, coma, or death, they then have a problem they must solve, the twist is the problem is in a different time period. Well I didn't want to change the time period. So I came up with this. You may recognise the Palahniuk inspired style.

Quote:
Thump.

You sit up, the concrete is cold, the wind chills your back as it whistles up the street and something warm trickles down your neck, you can feel more pouring down your neck and on to the ground around you. You dip your fingers in the liquid.
It's your blood.
Your very own blood.
Your very own blood in a pool around you.
"What?" you think.
Why aren't you dead?
This is all that is running through your mind.
Truth is, you are dead. Every last bit of you, compressed into the concrete at a million miles per hour.
9.8 m/s/s for 200 storeys. All stopped by one sudden slab of concrete.
You get up and take a look around. The street is deserted. But one thing catches your eye, there is a body lying next to you. Guess what? It's your body. You quickly realise this. But hey, your a smart guy! A reasonable, logical guy who never loses his cool in dire situations.
You scream.
Scream Louder than you've ever before.
You scream until what used to be your throat ceases to make any audible noise.
But don't worry, you never lose your cool.
After the usual panicking, pacing and muttering you begin to wonder how you got here, how did you end up standing next to yourself in bits and pieces in the middle of a road.
Now, what is the last thing you remember? You think to yourself, you think in that calm, soothing, patronising voice you'd expect from your psychologist sitting in her red leather chair as you lie by her side explaining that you think your fear of heights is from a childhood experience. The one when your brother tied you to the top half of an oak tree. "Mmhmm" she says, "ahh I see" she exclaims whilst glancing between her notepad and the clock on the wall behind your head.
You were running, that's certain, when suddenly there was nothing to run on.
Running? Why?
Lion.
Tiger.
Police.
Mafia.
Killer.
Co-worker.
Wait, what? Co-worker. You were being chased by your co-worker. The guy that sits in the cubical opposite you, the one with the poster on his cubical wall. You know, the one with the kitten slipping off the branch and those wise words; "You hang in there".
Why would Mr. Kitten be chasing you? He had a gun, that part is clear enough, and then you remember.
Bang.
Remember why your co-worker chased you off the roof of your work with a gun.
Bang.
Remember why you received a brick through your study window with the kind words "It's over".
Bang.
Remember why you shouldn't have crept in to your works basement.
Crept in to see where the screaming was coming from.
Crept in to be the saviour of the hour and rescue the one in need;
and what did you see?
Bang.
Well, he died. The one your boss had tied to the roof, his hands held up above him, his feet dangling below. He died. Unfortunately he had a low tolerance to lead. Lead travelling at 370 meters per second.
The man your boss had just shot four times had been the CEO of Ridgetech, a company that sells computer chips. The problem with this man is that coincidentally your boss also sells computer chips for a company named Comten, and unfortunately for the CEO hanging in the basement, Ridgetech does a much better job.
This had been going on for years, kings, rulers, and CEO's killing off the competition, and I had to witness it.
That's why your co-worker chased you off the roof of your work with a gun.
That's why you received a brick through your study window, and;
that is why you are dead.
Because your co-worker is a spineless, gutless weasel who finds himself obliged to kill a man to save his job, and save his life.
To kill a man because his boss told him to do it.
Because his boss told him that if he didn't he would never be able to find another job. Because he too, like the CEO of Ridgetech and like the employee that was chased off the roof, would be dead.

You'd been working for Comten for six years now, six long hard years and this is your retirement. This is how they let you go.
Off a roof.
Very dramatic.
You've known something about Comten was dodgy since you started working there, and it's about time they were brought down.
This is the way one of the worlds major suppliers of computer chips is brought down.
By the remnants of a dead man. A man who cannot be seen, cannot speak, cannot touch and cannot be heard by anybody that still inhabits their living body.
But where are you supposed to start, you think to yourself, how does a dead man change the world?
Mary.
You remember the girl you spent that one night with a few months ago.
She was a writer, she wrote in the business section for the local paper.
Mary.
She could help you.
But how are you supposed to contact someone when you can't be seen, can't speak or hear?
What about poltergeists, they move things around all the time.
Don't they?
Worth a try.

Crits are most welcome, and encouraged. I'm not to happy with the ending, but it was needed to wrap it all up to fit the task.

Cheers,
Eliot.