Short Stories

[Thundervlux]

Hello all!
 
I, as you can clearly read, am Thundervlux.
 
I like to write, and after receiving much praise about my writing from the many English teachers I had throughout secondary school, and my friends and families when I posted the first short story that I'm going to post here on Facebook, I decided to share my stories with everyone here, and that I would make a place where anyone could share their stories with anyone.
 
I welcome feedback and criticism, but do try to be constructive and kind...if possible.
 
Also, if you post anything here, whether it be a story or not, please do try to use correct spelling and grammar.
 
In conclusion - have fun reading and writing!

 

 

EDIT: After much time trying to paste it from Microsoft Word 2007, and in the end some help from my good friend and moderator Mugendramon, I can finally present to you: 
 

[spoiler="The Mine"]

“Hello?” said the Boy, his voice echoing throughout the tunnel.

After a few seconds of silence, the boy knew that he was alone.
Again.

He was always alone – even at the age of ten, when a child should play freely and have more friends than they would for the rest of their lives; he was still alone. It was no one’s fault – except, possibly, God’s. He had been told, on the many occasions he had asked, that often the problems we face, whether they be physical or mental, are caused by God. It was because of this that he thought it may be God’s fault that he simply could not make friends. He had wondered what he might have done to make God so angry with him that he would make his mind grow blank whenever children his own age were near. Why was it that he such trouble speaking to the few children that still remained in the village? He did not know, and at that moment, he did not have the time to think about it once again.

He waited several more seconds, and when he heard no reply, he sighed, and reluctantly walked forward into the darkness. He hadn’t expected anyone to reply – once someone was lost in the ever-twisting tunnels of the mine, they were lost forever. But, as the newest and youngest boy to join the ranks, it of course fell to him to search for the poor lost soul after everyone else had gone home for the night.
That thought alone angered him – despite knowing that he was much more intelligent that any of the coal miners could ever hope to, simply due to being the youngest – and of course, due to being born into a poor family, like the majority of the unfortunate beggars – he had been sent down the mine to search for a lost worker, a search that would most likely see him lost as well – and, within a few days, probably dead, too – whilst everyone else was at home enjoying the warmth of a fireplace and the delicious food that their mothers and wives had eagerly prepared whilst awaiting their return.

As he walked down the tunnel – with only the acrid smells of coal, sweat and plants he couldn’t identify to keep him company, for a reason he didn’t know, he was reminded of the smell of his Mother’s cooking. The memories of her delicious food made him forgot where he was – and what he was doing – for a few pleasant moments.

That was of course, until the scuttle of nearby rats stirred him from his enjoyable reminiscing, and reminded him of the horrible place he was in.

He hated Rats. Not in the same way that everyone said they hated rats – no, this boy truly hated them. Just as any boy would hate the very creatures that took away from him that which he held most dear – something which he preferred not to think about – not that he could stop his brain from reminding him of the pain at any given moment.

As he walked through the ever-darkening tunnel, the sound of scuttling came from a seemingly impossible myriad of directions – every time he turned around, the horrible creatures would have ran just out of the small field of vision that the torch’s flame gave him.

Even though he knew they no longer carried the infection, he still feared rats. He had seen what they could do with a single bite, the pain they could inflict for hours, days, sometimes even weeks that lasted much longer than the few seconds of pain that their bite actually caused. Even though the adults would try to hide the horror of the disease, and the dead, from the children, he had still seen many of those infected – the living, covered in boils head to toe, their yellow skin blotched with patches with of red, scars and proof and of what they had endured at the hands of the filthy creatures he was now no doubt surrounded by.
Worse than that, he had seen those whom had been worse affected by this illness – the dying, coughing up phlegm blacker than the night sky, so weak they were barely able to breath, let alone stand. And then, worst of all, he had seen the dead. Their corpses had littered the streets, their faced hollowed and covered in boils, leaking red and yellow pus; pus that dried on their faces, no hands having wiped it away before the wearer of the illness’ ugly mask met their mortal coil.

Seeing those unfortunate souls had terrified him, had shook the childlike innocence from him, painfully making him realise that the world is not as kind as it first seems – it is actually a cruel place, that cares not of whom you love, nor how much you love them, for they are simply another person for the inescapable claws of time to crush to dust; but only after they have felt as much pain as possible, experienced as much loss and loneliness, suffered as much hunger and pining; only then can they ascend to the “warm and caring” Kingdom of the great hypocrite who calls himself God.

As the boy awoke from his thoughts, he remembered where we was, what he doing...who he was searching for.

His torch was flickering now – he didn’t have much time left until the flame went out, leaving him in complete darkness, leaving him to attempt to escape the constantly winding tunnels without the aid of that which he would ironically need most – his sight.

He did not know how long he had been walking for, but he knew that by now it would be night – a fact that his stomach seemed to enjoy reminding him. It groaned a slow, whining groan that only a stomach that has gone without food for far too long – and not enough of it even when it was allowed the luxury of eating – can make.

As he approached what for a moment appeared to be the end of the tunnel, he saw two separate paths. Now, he had to decide: whether to give up the search, turn around and lie to the family of the poor soul, the over-ambitious idiot who had gone down these tunnels alone, despite knowing full-well the dangers of this murky mine, or choose one the paths – with an equal chance of finding no one but Death regardless of which one he chose.

He sighed, and chose the left path, knowing he would likely never see the Sun again.

After an amount of time the boy could not measure had passed, he heard yet more scuttling, the horrid creatures once again reminding him of the rotten corpses he had seen not so long ago.

He hated the scuttling of rats almost as much as he hated the rats themselves, because, despite knowing that there is no such thing as monsters – as least the kind that was heard of in Fairy tales – he always found himself feeling nervous, scared that some terrifying creature that he couldn’t even imagine would appear behind him from the darkness, and drag him away to the unreachable depths of the cavern... whenever he heard the scuttling of the rats.

He continued walking onwards, despite barely being able to see now that the flame of his torch had almost extinguished. After but a few seconds, he stepped on something and heard it crack. He jumped back in surprise, then, looking down, realised it had been a hand he had stepped on.

He raised his torch, to examine what he had stepped on, and saw, just as he had expected, a human hand. He raised his torch further, and, just as he had feared, found the empty eyes of a corpse staring back at him.

He did not flinch, or cry out, or turn around and run away – just as he wanted to do so very much at that moment – no, the boy simply stood there, staring at the long-dead corpse of his Father.

The boy dropped his Torch, the impact of hitting the ground causing the last flicker of the flame to go out. And for a moment, he simply stood there, unable to understand how the constantly praised and “merciful” God could be so cruel - so cruel to him. And how the Lord he still had such great faith in could leave him so completely...alone.

[/spoiler]

[MewMew3]

The description and form of your writing is good. I could smell the acrid stench of the mine. Now, the question is... will he make it out alive?