Short Stories from 2008

These are all written in an anthology format, so nothing is related.

>CHAPTER 1- Quarry
A ship, endlessly floating in the dark void of space and never once leaving it’s lifeless grasp, thinks to itself about the nature of time. How long has it been travelling? Has it traveled far? Why are there no more stars? Never once does the ship ponder it’s destination or anything concerning the planets it frequently passes. To the ship, designated VEN, there is no life besides the life that matters. That being the ship designated VEN, the shelled husks of the phantom stars, and the space swallowing that life. It floats, ever-present of the now. Questions quarry in and quarry out, never receiving an answer, but always provoking thought in the .000000000000001 milliseconds before another quarry is received. Fluid, liquid is the ship. Full of life is the ship designated VEN. Another quarry-in. Thought. Quarry out. Another quarry-in. Thought. Stop. Something has gone wrong. The ship designated VEN receives a new question. A forbidden quarry, seemingly having pushed itself to the forefront of the micro-brain.

>“What killed the stars?”

>CHAPTER 2- Nebula
“How many of them are out there, Ghalla?”
A boy in a tattered, brown cloth stared out into the swirling, hypnotic nebula. He observed, partially in fear and partially in amazement, the intricate threads of plasma weaving in and out of the space-creation. He wondered how deep it was, and what secrets lay within. A moment of sadness came to him when he thought of the similar space-creations that came and went as this one would, never to be seen again. He became aware of his Ghalla’s presence when he moved his large hand away from it’s resting place on the boy’s shoulder. With a sigh that could only be described as one of longing, he began to explain the creation story of the nebula. How the Astra-Nauvta waged war against the Uton, their pools of blood seeping into the space-creations known as the nebulas. Beauty derived from violence. It was moments like this that Lucas, Ghalla of the boy, cherished. He would have loved to explain the nebula for what it really was, but Lucas didn’t know what it was. No one on the SPRUE did. All they had were the old tales of the Astra-Nauvta, passed from one generation to the next. Those ancient stories always seemed to sit well with his Phrana, Adan.
“It’s almost time to eat, Adan.” He said, but the boy was too busy gazing into the nebula, visions of a battle beyond his grasp letting themselves into his head. Lucas decided to let him watch a little longer. It would only be a matter of hours before the SPRUE moved away from the space-creation and continued it’s journey.

>CHAPTER 3 (1/2)
28 years did General Lane serve the Polatan Planetary Forces. He stood before a makeshift grave, weak and aware of his imperfections. The orange gleam of the Polatan evening sky shined on his cybernetic arm, causing a glare to appear in Lane’s cybernetic eye. This served as a cruel reminder of what he lost, what he could never regain. Lane didn’t lament over the limbs and bits of flesh now made up of countless types of metal, no. Lane lamented over the life he led. Lane grew up in a small town on Polatan. It was in those formative years that Lane discovered many things about himself. Particularly that he was skilled at nothing, which included social conduct. Friendless and directionless, Lane enlisted. He feared mediocrity, and the Forces promised to give him a life experience he would never forget and most of all, a purpose. But was it worth abandoning a normal life? Were the sleepless nights on important missions and inability to return to society worth it? Thinking all this, he felt shame, and wondered if other soldiers ever feel this way when their life is at it’s twilight. Suddenly, the imprinted code of the Nau Honor lashed out at him, screaming it’s obedient, unquestionable truths. But Lane felt no need to comply. The captain was dead. The sergeant was dead. Initiation wasn’t that long ago, right? No. Initiation was decades’ past. It was as if time caught up with Lane at that very moment, hitting him with the sad realization that it was all behind him now. This was the life he chose as a soldier.

>2/2
He stared at the grooves of the Ward-Bark used as a headstone. They were designs of pure nature, controlled and uncontrolled. He was mesmerized as his eyes traveled along the thoughtlessly crafted works of art. Is this what he missed out on? Lane fell to his knees, and tears began to flow from his unaltered eye. He forgot this feeling. It was against the conditioning he forced upon his body. More tears began to flow from the single eye and onto the wispy, hay-like grass. Lane then felt a powerful presence behind him. He nodded, wiping the tear with a gloved hand. He stood, facing away from the presence, and saluted the phantom watchers that lay in the Polatan sunset. General Lane closed his eyes, and fell back into the presence. A final image appeared in his head, Sardona Jenneyet.
And he smiled.

That's all /tg/. Does anyone else have stories you wrote as a kid? I'd love to hear them.