Title: The Haunted Wastebasket
Genre: F'ed-up-misc.
Type of written work: Short story
Brief Description of Story: One man's final stand with the forces of nature that challenged the ethics of humanity for eternity (garbage can basketball).
Release Date: ? A few months ago?
Additional Information:
This story has been:
-rated to have the worst ending ever.
-called a "waste of writing skills on the dumbest shit imaginable".
-flamed to death.
Have fun.
The Haunted Wastebasket
By: Kan G./Reives
It solemnly stood, several feet high, as an aura of grimace invisible to the naked eye emitted around its darkened metallic texture. Everyone that had ever set a foot upon the properties of Unionville High School knew of it; they respected it, and feared it.
It was the haunted wastebasket.
As Coby sauntered across the classroom, gazing at its taunting presence, he could not help but remember the most recent horrid incidence that it had caused.
It was just a few days ago, a week before the prom. Rick Powers, the most popular kid in the school attempted to shoot a wastebasket paper ball into it. Rick had laughed about it, joked at its presence as his blind confidence made the shot. Ever so gracefully had Coby seen such a wastebasket paper ball throw has been performed, with such precision and perfection in every movement.
But as with every other fool that had dared to challenge it; the paper ball was no where close to landing in the haunted wastebasket. The crowd had fell into a complete silence, before breaking into chaotic screams and riot. Rick had stood numbly, mouth agape as he stared at the wastebasket; pure horror mirrored through his gaze.
It was said that his girlfriend dumped him within minutes of the event in shame, and Rick was never seen again on the unholy grounds of Unionville High School.
And now, several days later. It was Coby’s turn.
As he stood, sweat dripping freely from his forehead down by his undaunted eyes, there was not a single thought going through his mind. For that he knew, the slightest distraction would cause his failure.
The haunted wastebasket stood still, too. Mocking him, taunting him.
Coby’s grip around the crumbled paper ball tightened itself as Coby took in one last inhale, enjoying the familiar scent of air one last time. The class fell silent, dozens of gazes fell upon Coby’s still figure as they pondered his outcome.
But they all knew; knew that no one had ever made a successful wastebasket ball throw into the haunted wastebasket.
Through the corner of his mouth, Coby let out a sigh. Adjusting his position, his arms held out, gripping tightly around the blunt paper ball as his brows lowered. The crowd held their breath, every second seemed like an eternity.
This is the moment of truth, the moment where a man shows what he is made of.
And that’s where it happened. Out of the corner of his eyes, Coby caught Rick’s figure. Rick, whom had been thought to have disappeared into the abyss, had remerged.
With the swiftest movement, Rick’s grim figure tackled Coby, and ripped off his ass with one foul swoop.
Where Coby’s ass once was, there was no more. The crowd stood still, silence roared through the seconds that resembled an eternity.
This was the moment of truth, the moment for a man to show what he is made of...
FIN
[/b]
On a less ridiculous note, here's the first segment of the first chapter of my novel-wanna-be. This was from a few years ago, fixed it up now and then. I've stopped working on it at around 120 pages a while ago but now recently wanted to give it another go.
Anyhow, here it is. My main RPG Project, Quintessence, is somewhat based on the main plot of this, with some alterations.
Passage from: Quintessence, Act I
By: Kan G./Reives
Act I
1327, 3rd month, day 5
Second hour and seventeen minutes past midnight
The vase met the ground with a loud clash as the young man rushed by. With trembling hands, he reached under his grass-sewn bed sheet and retrieved a notebook, quill, and a bottle of clear oily liquid. Dampening the quill in the bottle, he flipped to the blank page, fleetly trotting down the words as sweat dripped down from his forehead onto the tawny pages.
1327, Month 3, day 5
I knew something was out of place, but not like this... But if this is so, then where is the real her? And even worse, what if she… What does it mean? No, I cannot state this here, for it is not safe…
But it is still her. If not the real her, she's been her for some time now... And nothing has yet happened. Perhaps I still have time.
Perhaps, just perhaps, I still have a chance.
He took a deep breath and wiped the sweat off his forehead. After redampening his quill in the crude bottle, he signed briefly at the bottom of the page as the rough handwriting above gradually faded into the thin air.
Reivier Wirt
Somewhat relieved that he has gotten it out of his head, he sighed and carefully placed the notepad, quill and ink back under the bed sheet.
The exhausted figure pushed himself up and darted through the opening of the leathery tent. He paused and stared into the calm night scene for a moment, only to hear the wind whistling through the trebled leaves. Dim, silvery moonlight sprayed upon the rustling branches, brushing gently against the thin, autumn night's air. With another sigh he began to saunter silently onward, but the sound of soft footsteps upon the grass made him to stop in his track and turn around.
Turn around to face the familiar figure that was now a stranger.
“Why is it that you are still up at this nightly hour?” The figure spoke softly, with a tone that Reivier had embraced countless times. “Do you not wish to have a restful sleep?” It added after a brief pause.
Reivier’s brows lowered as he took a small step back. His trembling hand instinctively reached behind his belt for his dagger, but it was too late.
Under the serene shadows, the figure swiftly lashed out something colourless, yet shimmered in the reflection of the mellow moonlight.
Powders, perhaps.
But that was the last thing he saw.
----End of segment.
(Then it goes to one day prior to the incidence.)