Three Very Old Stories

This article was written by ShadowWalker on 2011-12-14 under Novels & Stories.

Hi ya'll. These are a bunch of stories I found deep in my files yesterday, and I thought I might as well share them on here. Keep in mind I wrote them a good two or three years ago, so they are pretty crap XD.

Yeah like I said, very old, I wnt through a story phase for a few months.. keep in mind I was probably what, 11? Something like that. If it generates enough interest, I'll post my more recent (A* YAY) english short story... which is very gruesome. A lot of people gt killed in rather weird ways.

 

This is the oldest one, and therfore the crummiest. It's also a pretty inaccurate depictation of Lilith, but I please kep in mind this is fiction.

Lilith

In the beginning there was nothing

. . . . . . . . . .

Everybody’s name means something.

   In the book of genesis, on the seventh day, God created Adam and Eve. However what most people don’t know is that Eve wasn’t actually the first woman. Adam’s first wife was Lilith. Lilith refused to do what Adam told her and claimed equality because they were created from the same dust. God banished her from the garden for this, and created Eve from Adam’s rib so she could never claim equality. Lilith was expelled from the garden, or, according to some records left the garden before Eve was tempted, and so avoided the old age, death and disease that came with eating the apple. But some believe that before Lilith left she had a child with Adam, and that a few of us are not descended from Adam and Eve but Adam and Lilith. Lilith’s children tend to be strong willed, highly independent and extremely intelligent.

My name is Lilith

 

 . . . . . . . . . .

 

Chapter One - Break Out

   The room I was imprisoned in had a bed, with a lumpy mattress on it, a door leading to a tiny bathroom, a wardrobe and a wooden desk holding an ancient computer. My fingers darted across the keyboard, and the machine chuntered away, trying to keep up with the stream of information that was being inputted. I glanced away from the computer for a moment, and up at the clock face. 12:50. Ten minutes to lunch. I turned back to face the computer screen, but in doing so I managed to glimpse myself in a mirror. God. Seven weeks indoors hadn’t done any wonders for my already pale complexion. My long black hair lay lank and dirty against my back. It hadn’t been brushed or washed for at least a couple of weeks. My uninteresting grey eyes were bleary and tired. My figure was okay for someone who wasn’t able to work out anymore. However the chunky metal manacle around my bare ankle slightly ruined the image of a graceful young woman.

 

   It was a state of the art tracking device, connected to a phone line to the police. I’m under house arrest for treason to the American government or some other jumped up charge like that. To tell the truth I did hack into the CIA’s computer system. But I only edited a few files, because, well, I had to do something. I couldn’t just hack into a highly sophisticated system without leaving my mark.

   I didn’t write anything rude. Or offensive. Just my name. Over and over again. Lilith. I can only imagine the chaos that started in America when the names of top secret majorly confidential files started changing to Lilith. I guess somehow they traced it back to me because a few weeks later a garrison of police officers came to arrest me, armed to the teeth. They must have been surprised when they traced the hacking back to Mrs Smith’s Orphanage. From the way they came at me they were expecting a gang of armed and dangerous criminals.

   Not to say that I’m not dangerous of course. My parents started me on karate at the age of five. One day, with no explanation, they had taken me to the local club and I had never missed a session since. Last year I graduated to the dan, or black belt. At the age of 14.

   I took out three of them before they got me. The first one, a blond guy with piercing blue eyes pinned me down with a gun to my head. Cold, metal. Not very gentlemanly of him, after all it was only a bit of fun. I took him out with a straight punch to the back of the head. The second and third men came after me together. I hit them both with one kick. They collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

   They started to get the idea now and after a bit more fighting one hit me in the back of the neck with the butt of his gun. I was out like a light. Next day, I woke up in a cell. They told me I’d be going to court the next week.

   However, at court, they decided I was too dangerous and, at 14, too young to go to juvie or prison. (They thought I might scare the other kids. Or train them perhaps.) So they put me under house arrest, forcing me to stay inside Mrs Smith’s Orphanage 24/7. I wasn’t even allowed a computer, until Mrs Smith complained that I kept escaping from my room. They never put a proper lock on the door, just the rudimentary, cheap, bicycle locks that could be picked in five seconds.

   A flap on the door swung open, and through it a pair of invisible hands pushed a bowl of soup and a glass of orange juice, diluted. I didn’t get up. Someone knocked on the door. Mrs Smith. I let her knock five times. That’s the amount of time it took for me to close all the ‘incriminating’ files on my computer.   

   “Come in.”

   A large motherly woman in her mid-forties waddled in, pausing to sniff at the air for the remains of cigarettes. Finding none she continued into the room.

   “What do you want?” I was bored. She looked at me quizzically. I knew precisely what she was thinking. Mrs Smith viewed us all as her children but she knew that to some she would never be mother. Ones like me, who could still remember their parents were the hardest, the babies were the easiest. She paused again thinking of the right way to phrase this.

   “Are you...okay?”

   “Yes.” My answer was curt.

   Mrs Smith had only a faint idea of what had happened. I was her star child, smart, vaguely athletic, although incredibly apathetic about the world of organised sports. Then one day police came knocking on her door and turned her world upside down. She couldn’t quite look me in the eye anymore.

   “I know you won’t tell me what happened, and I’m not sure I’d understand anyway, but just be careful.” I smiled sadly and looked straight at her. I wanted to memorize her face, knowing I probably wouldn’t ever see her again.

“I will.”

 

 . . . . . . . . . .

I can still remember my parents. They died when I was six, and as I had no other relatives in England I was sent to an orphanage. My parents were murdered. The police say there is no proof of this, but I think it’s quite hard to shoot yourself in the back of the head. They had no reason to kill themselves. However they did have plenty of enemies. We moved house seven times before they died, and my parents would never say why. Even as a kid I knew. The letters that came in the post that scared my mum so much. The disappearances that followed us like an unwelcome ghost.

   We were different. Parents would whisper to each other in the playground, looking at me. They told their kids to stay away from me, which is probably why I had plenty of friends. Kids always want most what they are not allowed to have.

 

...................................................................................................................................................

The End of the World

'This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang, but a whimper'

Prologue-The End

   The car bomb had exploded next to me. Thousands of pieces of shrapnel flew up into the air and rained down over the horrified onlookers. One man, who had been in the car died instantly, without knowing what, had happened. His body was consumed in the ever growing flicker of flames. Red, gold, amber. So beautiful. Then the screaming began.

 

...........

 

   “Kathy?”

   “Mum, I’m on the phone.” I sighed wearily. “I’ve got to go Neil sorry. Love you.”I whispered the last two words. Mum didn’t approve of Neil, she thinks he’s a bad influence.

   I hung up, placing the phone on my bed and swinging open the door. Leaving my bright, colourful room (painted in several fluorescent colours and covered in posters) for the slightly more neutral colours of the rest of the house.

   “Kathy, come here right now.” She sounded stressed, panicked. That’s unusual. Normally my mum would have been unflappable. I ran down the stairs and jumped over the final step. Mum just pointed at the TV, mouth hanging open. My sister Zoë was standing next to her silently. Another first. On the screen was a news report. Words flickered across the screen; devastating images filled it. I could only pick out a few words. Car bombs. Resignation of the government. Unknown assailants. Terrorism. My dad rushed in.

   “They’re on the streets. Thousands of people just walking, carrying guns, knives, anything they can find. Britain’s going to war.”

   “With who? Nobody knows who sent the bomb, nobody’s taking responsibility. It says so, on the TV.” My mum babbled, fear slowly taking over. We lived in London, only a 10 minute walk away from the scene of the disaster.

   “They’ll turn on each other.” We all turn to face Zoë. She's taking psychology at college and is smarter than any of us. Her angelic face looks horrified. She’s blonde, petite, with blue eyes, my complete physical opposite.

   “It’s the end of the world.” It took a couple of days for it to really sink in. In just two days gangs took over the city. There were three and nobody was quite sure what they were doing, apart from burning buildings and starting fights. People started going missing. Bodies started being found. The man next door, the one who used to give us cookies? They found him at the bottom of the lake. He had concrete blocks tied to his feet. Nobody ever mentioned him again.

   We had stopped going to school. Hardly anyone teaches there anyway. It’s just easier to steal. Which, surprisingly enough, seems to be something I’m quite good at. I’ve been doing gymnastics since I was 5 and karate since I was 7. I’m also quite good at getting into small places. And picking locks. When I got home it was still normal. Or as normal as it can be, under the circumstances. Nobody was screaming or dying or anything. In fact nobody we knew had died that day. It had been a good day. Zoë turns on the TV. We all sit down and start to eat. Casserole. I turned and faced the TV, as a news flash came up. It’s ludicrous. 7 car bombs had been sent off, 27 people had been killed and the unknown assailants were still at large.

   Then the door opened and 5 armed men walked in. It seemed ridiculous, a scene off a movie. A normal family of four, sitting around a table eating dinner, casserole to be precise. Five men, armed to the teeth, pointing guns at them. I froze mid bite.

   “Wot we go ‘ere? Two ickle girlies, a traitor oh and a very beautiful lady.” One of the men spoke, leering nastily at my mum as he did.

   “Leave them alone. It’s me you want.” My dad stood tall, proud. He was still standing tall as they shot him in the face and chest. We all screamed, ear splittingly. One man holding a gun actually winced at the noise. I’m proud of that. My dad is lying on the floor, his face horribly deformed where the bullet hit it. His eyes close.

   “You’ve killed him.” My mother’s voice shook.

   “No, shit Sherlock.” He replies sarcastically, swinging the gun round to point at her. Then he shoots her. A strange irregular red mark appears on her shirt, soaking through until it’s more red than white. My mum looks down, puzzled, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’. Then she crumples to the floor and doesn’t move. And it hits me. Not the bullet dumbo. I’m an orphan. Probably soon to be a dead orphan, but still an orphan.

   “I don’t appreciate your humour Watson.” My sister’s tone dripped with malice. Ever the smart alec.

   “Make all the bloody jokes you want. I will have the last laugh. And now... you.” He shot my sister once. She fell, gracefully, without screaming or crying. It felt anticlimactic. Then he turned to face me.

   “Goodbye.” Then, for the second time that evening, the door swung open. But this time people poured in, filling the room. For a moment I was furious. I wanted to die. I had nothing left to live for. But then Neil pushed forward and stood next to me.

   “It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.” And then everything went black.

 

Chapter One- A New Beginning

 

“Can you hear me? -

Go on open your eyes... -

Does this hurt? -

Can you squeeze my hand?”

 

   I groaned. My head was pounding and I just wanted everybody to go away. I didn’t want to wake up. My family were dead. I had lost everything I had in a just few minutes. Then I heard Neil, and I had to answer because, well I owed him. He had saved my life. He was my boyfriend after all. So reluctantly I surrendered the last dregs of peaceful unconsciousness I had, and woke up.

   What I saw was a crowd of people peering at me, doctors holding clipboards, strangers and Neil.

   “Kathy?” he sounded...apologetic.

   “I’m okay.” I was lying. I highly doubted I would ever be okay again. The images of my family, dying, ripped my heart up.

   “You’ve been out for three days.” His voice softened. “I thought you were...” He broke off, looking away. Another person’s face came into view, pushing Neil out the way. It was a young girl, 14 maybe 15 with short spiky hair and a mischievous face. I liked her immediately.

   “I have to say it girl, you’re a mess.” Neil nudged her. “Oh I’m Lara, by the way.” She pulled a mirror into my view. I looked into it, shocked at the distorted version of my face that looked back. I looked awful. My long black hair was matted and knotty. My uninteresting grey eyes had sunk into my face and I looked half starved, like those people you see on the charity adverts on TV. You could see all the bones in my face. I tried to get up but Neil wasn’t having any of it. He pushed me back down. I couldn’t fight him. I gave up, slumping back down into the bed.

   “Where are we?” It looked like a hospital but dirtier.

   “You my girl are in the TOP SECRET headquarters of the coolest gang in London. My dad runs it.” Lara was bubbly, excited.

   “I’m in it.” It was Neil who had spoken. Sensing my hesitation he spoke again. “C’mon it is the best gang. You don’t want to be with the ones who killed your family do you? And I'm not leaving you to fend for yourself.” At the mention of the other gang I froze. Before my family had died I had never truly hated anyone. But these insane, twisted people made my blood run cold. I wanted to kill them. Whatever the price.

 

...................................................................................................................................................

This Book Has No Name Yet (Shiver? Breaking Point?)

Chapter 1.  - Impossible just so happens to be my speciality

 

   As I’m going through the city I wonder what I’m actually doing here. I don’t have a hope in hell in getting what I want. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here more than anything. And yet...here I am. Stuck in this stupid city, that’s so very different to my own. It’s all...glass buildings and pot plants. It makes me feel like I’m in a giant airport. It’s too, nice. Maybe I should go downtown? I will definitely feel more comfortable in the dark alleyways and the shadows.

   I’m attracting enough attention as it is. Stupid loud, noisy motorbike. My life hasn’t always been like this of course. Once upon a time my life had been full of laughter and smiles. The perfect fairytale. But now I’m alone. Shut up mind. I don’t have time for an emotional breakdown today.

   Briefly I wonder why everyone’s staring at me. I check myself in the glass of the building opposite. There is nothing wrong with me...on the surface anyway. I look the same as I always do. Untidy long black hair swinging out behind me, dark green eyes, oh and a seriously cool motorbike. Black leather and shiny chrome. But nothing special, so why were they staring? I stare back. I also consider sticking out my tongue but I suppose that would be childish. Still it’s tempting. Ignore them. I’ve got a job to do. People to find. A way to escape.

 

   In the darkness and the fog it’s impossible to tell where anything is, but that suits me just fine. I’m fed up of people gawping at me, turning their heads to stare. Hasn’t anyone told them that it’s rude to stare? Maybe I don't count anymore. I’m not one of ‘them’ after all. I’m not quite sure who I am.

   But Midnight appears out of the shadows, her glossy black fur shining in the moonlight, which has somehow managed to penetrate the fog, and suddenly everything’s all right. She’s like that Midnight is. She’s my best friend. Not much of a conversationalist, but always there if you need her. Not like some people I could mention. Oh, and did I mention that she’s a wolf?

   There’s someone moving up ahead. Just what I need right now, another gawper. I hiss at Midnight to hide, and then start making my footsteps louder. It makes people feel more at ease if you’re loud, I’ve noticed that. Not that I'm around people much, but whatever. He (it’s definitely a he, I can tell by his walk. Definitely not feminine anyway) is wearing a big coat. That makes me nervous. I can normally look after myself pretty well, but I’m in a strange city, with strange people. For all I knew this guy was dangerous. That would just finish off my day perfectly. First the gawpers and now this. He’s slowing down.

   A streetlight flickers and the light illuminates the slightly raised scars on his dark skin. His brown eyes flashed in the sudden light, just before we were plunged back into darkness. “Alright love?” he rasped in a rough voice that completely suited his face. I ignore him. That’s the best way to get people to leave you alone right? Well it’s not working. “I said are you alright love?” he sounded menacing now and he hadn’t stopped walking closer. A shaft of moonlight fell through the fog and onto my hand. I look down and see that I’m shaking. Violently. And all of a sudden, I know what’s going to happen next.

............

   Nobody here will tell me where I can work for food. Every time I ask or even approach someone I just get silence or dirty looks. Sometimes both. I’ve just been wandering around this town for hours and hours asking everyone. And no one knows. Maybe this is why I’ve always been kept away from people. They won’t understand. They never understand.

   I walk into the local pub ‘cause I’m hungry. Really, really hungry. There is cigarette smoke everywhere, and it stinks but it’s not that bad at all really. I go down to the bar and suddenly the guy behind the counter starts yelling at me. Woah. So of course I started yelling back. (What else did you expect me to do?)

   “What the hell is your problem mate” I shrieked.

   “What...but how did you get in here? That’s impossible. Get out now.”

   “I walked through the door like any other freakin person. How else would I have gotten in? Through the window?”

   Impossible? Good thing impossible just so happens to be my speciality. My best friend is a wolf, so we aren’t talking about an exactly normal, sane person here.

   “Danny ain’t gonna like this...” he muttered. God, he’s talking like I'm not even here. Is this how he treats all his customers? No wonder the place is so empty. Strangely empty actually. Uh oh. A paper is lying, open on the table. And a single headline screams out at me. Man Found Ripped To Shreds. Mystery Killer On The Loose. And then I ran out into the night, not needing to read the rest of the story. The stories were always similar. It was me. Always, the deaths followed me.

   And it isn’t my fault.

 

 

Shiver storyline A teenage girl flees from her wilderness home carrying a dreadful secret, only to find herself in a rural city, ruled over by the NightKing and infested with demonic shadows that stalk the night. The oracle sees that only she can stop the forthcoming disaster. But what is the disaster? And what is the girl’s deadly secret that she protects with such vigilance, to the death?

 

...................................................................................................................................................

 

Yeah like I said, very old, I wnt through a story phase for a few months.. keep in mind I was probably what, 11? Something like that. If it generates enough interest, I'll post my more recent (A* YAY) english short story... which is very gruesome. A lot of people gt killed in rather weird ways.

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