Eric's Search for Toast

Eric yawned, stretching his limbs under his cotton blanket. After a second he sat up slowly and let the blanket fall off of him. Without a blanket coldness engulfed him. 

Moving slowly, Eric began to get dressed. He pulled on his grey hoodie and some baggy jeans, trying to shield his body from the cold. 

Eric stepped out of his room and shuffled into the living space of his apartment, sleepily. He migrated over to the kitchen and put on a cup of coffee. 

He opened the refrigerator and stood there for a minute, running his eyes over all the food trying to make a decision. Finally he settled on toast. 

Opening the bread cabinet, Eric was shocked to find it empty. He vaguely remembered eating the last of the bread two days ago. 

He let out a low, deep sigh as he closed the cabinet. He walked over to the front door and wrapped a scarf loosely around his neck. Picking up his keys, Eric opened the door. 

*****************************************************

As it should be at noon on a Saturday, the local grocery store was busy and crammed full of middle aged women dragging their kids through the store. Eric parked his Ford in the nearest spot to the front doors, which was still very far away, and walked in. 

He picked up a shopping basket as he passed. Turning left, Eric entered the isle bread should be in. He passed by the cereal section, then the syrups, then he arrived at the end of the row. 

In the place where bread should have been was nothing. The shelf was completely empty. 

Eric stood there for a few seconds, completely baffled by his bad luck. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an employee walk by. 

"Sir? Sir?" Eric called out, jogging to catch up to the man. 

The employee turned around, "yes? Do you need something sir?"

Eric nodded. "I need bread and the shelf seems to be empty. Do you have any in stock or something?"

The employee said, "No. Sorry. We ran out earlier this morning. There'll be more tomorrow when the shipment comes in."

Eric groaned, shaking his head. "Thanks anyways."

The employee waved. "No problem."

Eric slid back into his car and leaned back in the chair. The second closest store was the bakery, and that was all the way across town. 

Shaking his head, Eric knew he should just go home and find something else to eat. But he had a real craving for toast, and now that he had come this far he knew he wouldn't give up now. 

Eric sighed as he pulled out of his parking spot and drove off in the direction of the bakery. Speeding down the road, Eric made his way towards the store with record timing. 

Then, just before the bakery came into view, Eric noticed the plume of smoke billowing in the distance. The smell of charred pastries wafted through the air. 

Turning the corner, Eric groaned in a mixture of self pity, disbelief, and sadness. Where the bakery used to stand was nothing but a pile of bent metal and ash. 

Near the aftermath of the fire the traffic was slowed down, as it tends to do. Eric pulled a u-turn and changed direction, aiming towards the local, family owned store. 

Once he arrived, Eric walked through the doors and quickly walked towards where he remembered them keeping the bread. Before he could get there, though, all hell broke lose. 

With ear splitting loudness, a gunshot went off. Eric turned around to see quite a scene. 

A masked gunman stood in front of the checkout line clothed in all black. His right hand was extended upward, holding a gun. The shattered remains of a ceiling tile rained down on him. 

The man lowered the gun to chest level and swung it in all directions. At the top of his lungs, the man bellowed, "ALL RIGHT PEOPLE, LISTEN UP! THIS IS A ROBERY! HAND OVER ALL PURSES, WALLETS, AND ANYTHING  OF VALUE AND NO ONE GETS HURT!"

"Jesus Christ...," Eric muttered under his breath. 

Two more black clothed men in masks walked in and began going from one shopper to the next demanding anything from necklaces to nose rings. 

The lady behind the counter looked small and frail (and quite similar to a frightened mouse) as she slowly and with shaky hands emptied out the cash register.

The man waved the gun, "HURRY UP WOMAN!"

The woman let out a little squeak and dropped the bag in her hands. Dollar bills spewed out at her feet. She looked on the verge of tears as she stuttered out an apology. "S-s-so sorry, s-sir," she let out in a squeaky voice. 

The man looked irritated behind the mask, but didn't say anything. 

The two men were slowly working their way towards Eric, getting closer and closer with every passing second. But before the men could reach Eric, blue and red lights filtered in through the windows. Sirens filled the air and looks of hope appeared on the hostages' faces. 

The gunmen grabbed what they had gotten from the shoppers so far and cash register and scrambled to get away like cockroaches. 

After the robbers had left and the police interviewed everyone, Eric made his way towards the bread. The shelf here did have some bread and Eric took two loafs. 

Walking up to the counter, Eric smiled at the man who was taking over for Lisa, the mouse like woman. 

"Is Lisa gonna be okay?" Eric asked as he handed over the bread to be scanned. 

"She's just a little shocked but she'll be fine." The man answered. "Five fifty."

Eric handed over his debit card. The man swiped it and frowned. "Sir?"

"Yes," Eric asked. 

"You don't have enough on your card for these." He said, pointing at the bread. 

The Light at the End

Marcus threw the ball  up in the air. It went spiraling high above his head before peaking and tumbling back down into his outstretched arms. He caught it and threw it again, this time jumping with the ball to give it more momentum. It went higher that time, eight feet at least. Marcus threw it a third time, but held onto the ball too long and it went flying backwards into the street.

The boy turned and ran after it. He ran down the grassy hill and didn't slow down when he hit the tar. He scooped his ball up and turned to climb back up the hill when something caught his eye. A car came speeding down the road and then came the sickening sound of metal against skin. The boy went flying backward and everything went dark.

….

Marcus felt cold concrete under him. He opened his eyes and nothing changed, it was just as dark wherever he was. He stood up and took a small step. He felt something touch his foot in the dark, his ball. He picked it up and rolled it around in his hands; the rubber was cold.

Then he saw it. A small white speck of light. It was far, far away and looked like it would take forever to get there, but there was a light.

The boy, merely twelve, had heard tales of the light at the end of the tunnel. He had heard them, but always found them boring. There was no ‘Falling Action’ in the stories. The character dies and the story hits the climax, but then… nothing.

Marcus felt around for a wall and found it. Cold, clay, bricks met his hand and the boy followed them in the wrong direction, away from the light and deeper into darkness. He walked for hours. Just walking along the wall, clutching tightly to his ball.

It hadn’t hurt. It never really does. The shock of being dead overwhelms you and by the time you come to terms with it you aren’t able to feel anything, not really.

Marcus came to terms with this quickly. He wasn’t too sad. He hated school and his parents had always thought him a disgrace. And that was when they noticed him; it’s hard to see someone who is completely engulfed in the shadow his brother had cast. He had never made friends, for he felt that attachments only hurt you and people only let you down. He found that out when his dad hit the cat backing up his truck. Marcus had cried for weeks.

In fact, the only thing Marcus really cared for was his ball. Because his ball didn’t have feelings or desires. His ball would never realize that his owner failed at everything. It wouldn’t leave him for someone else. And even then, in the cold, dark tunnel it was the only one there for him.

After a few hours of walking, Marcus got tired and sat down. His legs were sore, but he guessed that was inevitable when you’re dead.

Marcus rolled the ball away from him, it bounced off the opposite wall of the tunnel, and came back. Then he threw the ball at the ground in front of him. It bounced up at an angle and hit the wall before flying back into Marcus’s face and hitting him on the nose.

Warm blood trickled down his face and dripped down into his lap. The glass in his spectacles was cracked and the nose of it snapped but either way the boy couldn’t see, so he tossed them aside in the darkness.

Marcus’s knees creaked as he stood up, pushing off the wall for balance. He headed farther down the path, blind but not caring. Occasionally he would trip, but he would climb back up and continue down the tunnel.

For miles and miles he went until he was too tired to continue. then he would rest, sleeping until he was well again. Then he would stand back up and walk. And walk. And walk.

Suddenly, after about two days of walking, Marcus saw a light; a light at the end of the tunnel. He sighed, exasperated, and continued to walk towards the light. As he got closer shapes took form and got clearer and he found that in death he could see even without his glasses.

And suddenly he found out what the light was, what it had always been. The tunnel opened up into a subway platform and on the platform, a train was parked. All it’s door were opened, showing it’s plush insides. It was inviting, beckoning Marcus inside of it, and he obeyed.

The inside of the carriage was beautiful. The red seats cushions matched the red carpet while it contrasted with the dark oak of the walls and benches. This was all lighted by small lamps protruding from the wall every ten feet or so. And sitting in one the seats was a man.

“Who are you?” Marcus asked.

The man looked up from his magazine and shrugged. “I don’t really have a title.”

“And where does this train lead,” Marcus sat in the seat across from the man, leaning forward to hear his answer.

“The train?” The man paused for a moment to look around. “Is that what you see?”

“Well, it’s a train. Isn’t it?”

To this the man closed his magazine and sat up straight. “The path to the afterlife looks different to everyone.

Marcus looked around the parked train, “Why isn’t it moving if this is really the path to heaven?”

The man chuckled, “I never said heaven,” He said with a wink and another chuckle.

“But we are going to heaven, aren’t we?”

The man ignored the question. “You asked why we aren’t moving? Well, the train only moves when it’s occupants are dead.”

The boy tilted his head, confused.

“It’s a coma. You’re technically braindead. WHich means you have a choice: Go back or die. What happens next is up to you.”

“I want to go!” The boy said it matter-of-factly, demanding to die.

‘Do you,” the man asked,”do you really?”

A splitting headache coursed through Marcus’s whole body and he slumped in his chair. He saw his hospital bed from the outside. His mother sat beside his lifeless body, tears streaming down her cheeks before dripping off her chin and landing on his chest.

And then the boy was back on the train, but the colors seemed duller, somehow, and for the first time he felt truly dead. The man looked at him, “Well, I think she’s noticed you, don’t you?”

And then Marcus remembered all the pain and hardship of his life. He meet the man’s eyes and spoke with a knowing tone in his voice. “How long? How long did it take them to notice?”

Now the man broke eye contact. He sighed, looking down at his lap, before saying, “Five hours. It took them five hours to notice that you weren’t home.”

Marcus nodded, knowingly. “It’s too late.”

“No!” the man looked up at Marcus pleadingly. “They’ve noticed you know and with a close call like this, they will never forget.”

Marcus shook his head that time. “They had their chance and they lost me. I’m sure whatever lies at the end of these tracks is better than a life like that. A life where your son has to die before you notice him.”

“But don’t you see? Not everybody gets this chance. And you’re gonna waste it?”

Marcus nodded again. The man sighed but the doors of the train closed and the wheels started to roll...

Practice Writing

I just wrote a few descriptive paragraphs to practice my details while writing:


When she took to the dance floor everything else faded to the background, obsolete and dull in comparison to her healthy glow. Her blond hair was loose, allowing it to flail around as she twirled across the floor. Her silver dress flowed down to her ankles freely, swaying as she moved. Her red lips were the only thing he saw as he moved towards her. They meet in the center of the dance floor, locked hands, and continued, flowing together to the sound of the music. His steps matched hers, and hers matched the music. He let go of her waist and gave her a spin. She twirled until their hands went slack, and then recoiled until she spun directly into his arms. The song ended and the crowd of onlookers applauded.


The song was unlike anything he had ever heard before. The melody was a mixture of originality and yet parts of it were similar to other songs. The beat began to speed up as it continued, the band playing louder and louder until the rest of the instruments fell in sound, leaving only the loud piano playing. The solo ended and other instruments joined in, again. A singer took to the microphone, her voice as soft as silk and so quiet it was hardly heard over the sound of the saxophone. The lyrics spoke of hardship and depression, so opposite to the melody's tone. The sound touched listeners hearts, moving some to tears. Then, the instruments got softer and softer until only the singer was whispering. Her final words hung in the air as the song ended and was no more.


The child always said he could never understand why people got sad, for he had never felt that way. He always had a wide smile plastered on his face, as if he would not be himself without it. His freckled dimples highlighted the smile and made everyone find him adorable. He was quite the playful lad, always running around and talking to people. And people would always wonder how it was possible to have such a large sweet tooth, for he was never seen without candy in his mouth. He always had good grades and his teachers found him pleasant. But no one ever knew, nor would they understand, the fact that deep down he was really always sad.

The Court of the Gods

The court had been white. Polished marble made up the walls, pillars, floors, and the grand ceiling. Within the court lay a large, wooden table with nine elegant thrones encircling it. Each seat was filled that day, until Ra, the Egyptian god of the sun, rose from his chair at the head of the table.

Ra's booming voice filled the room, "Gods, goddesses, demigods, and devils. We have gathered here today to discuss the important matters of the universe. Today, we are joined by Jesus Christ of Nazareth."

Jesus stood to a round of applause and a begrudgingly slow clap from Satan. "I am Jesus, the son of God himself. I hung on a cross to atone for human sins, but I was raised by my father in order to continue the great work of spreading Christianity and the love of God to all the lost and broken-"

"Yeah, yeah. We all know the spiel, get on with it," Lucifer muttered sarcastically. The comment was greeted by disapproving looks from Ra and Buddha, the pacifist.

"Moving on. Next, let us hear from Allah," sputtered Ra quickly to avoid a giant debate, which the gods are more than prone to getting.

Allah stood slowly and paused to look into each gods' eyes before speaking. "I am Allah. My prophet is Mohammad, through which I used to write the Quron, the holiest book in Islam. My religion teaches that there is no god worthy of worship except the one and only god, me."

Satan and Hades chuckled, and Jupiter puts his head between his hands exasperatedly.

"Okay. Now we shall here from Buddha," said Ra, after a brief moment of awkwardness.

Buddha remained seated and began to speak softly. Some gods on the opposite side of the table leaned forward to catch what he has to say. "I am Buddha, I do not claim to be anyone but who I am. Once, I lived a privileged existence, sheltered from life's hardships. After going on a four day journey and witnessing the hardships of the world, I began to feel I could no longer enjoy my life of comfort and security. I then lived a humble life, teaching that all living things must endue suffering, until eventually being reincarnated as a god."


Ra continued, letting each god introduce themselves and their religions. Odin, then Hades, Athena, Satan, Jupiter, and then himself, "Thank you, Jupiter, for than stunning retelling of how each Roman letter got it's name. And now, me. I am Ra, leader of all Egyptian gods and creator of the universe. I--"


"Actually," Cut in Jesus, breaking the respectful silence, "my dad created the universe. There are documents and everything."


Jupiter stood up, claiming that he had, in fact, created the Universe. Allah retorted by saying he created the humans, even if Jupiter created the universe.


Odin stood up on his cane, slowly catching his breath after the strenuous activity before muttering, "I made the Human Realm out of the decaying body of my grandfather." Afterwards collapsing back into his chair.


Buddha shouted, "my previously incarnated self came up with the idea before any of you."


"Oh, stop lying to yourself!" Jesus called from across the table.


"Go back to daddy, you spoiled brat!" Ra chimed in.


Jesus stood, face red with rage. "Take that back you senile, old fool!"


"He's old?" Jupiter muttered, "Have you seen Odin?"


Odin grunted, unable to spare the energy to form a response. But this grunt was barley heard over the low hum that had begun to fill the room.


The noise increased as the shadows next to Hades began to morph into a swirling chasm, from which climbed out Cerberus. The three-headed dog leaped onto the table. Unable to grasp the slick edges, he slid off the surface in the direction of Buddha, who levitated quickly out of the way, before settling back into his chair.


"SILENCE!" Hades roared, his words echoing across the chamber before silence settled back among the gods. "Now, perhaps we can handle this civilly. If not, Cerberus has been needing a new chew toy as of late and they are very hard to come by in the Underworld."


No one dared to speak.


"Now, If you would be so kind to explain yourself, Odin, it would be gratefully appreciated." Hades settled back into his seat, Cerberus curled up behind him gnawing on a bone that looked suspiciously like a human head.


Odin stood again, resting lightly on his cane. His raspy voice was barely audible, "When I birthed this realm, I took my time and signed my work." Paused momentarily to cough into his, he continued on, "Located in the North-West region of the stars is a large constellation of myself, proof that I created the universe."


"Yeah," Jupiter said, stifling a yawn, "I've seen it. Looks like a five year old drew it. I have a fancier constellation, and it's stars are much older than the puny ones used to make up yours."


Allah stood up, hands held up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. You got me. When I created the universe, I made a few doodles of my best friends, the gods. You know, all you guys. Wow, I need to get out more. . ."


"I don't see no stars with me on them," Satan muttered under her breath.


"Allah," Hades asked, who was still in control of the court.


Allah pushed his chair back to stand up. "I, unlike all of you, have documentation of my deed." He reached into his deep pockets and rummaged around, before pulling out a small, aged scroll. He held it out before him and read aloud, "Note to self: why not create the universe sometime? Might be fun, right?" He turned it around to face the audience, tapping violently at the bottom right corner of the paper. "It's dates 508 B.U."


"B.U?" Jesus frowned.


"Before Universe. Duh."


There was a slight silence as everyone in the room rolled their eyes (or eye in the case of Odin). Then Jesus stood up, "I believe my evidence to be more solid than that pitiful lie."


"Hey!" Allah started but a deep growl from Cerberus silenced him.


"Hold on a sec. I just gotta get to the page," Jesus muttered to no one in particular as he scrolled through his smartphone, tapping the screen here and there.


"Ah ha! There!" Jesus turned the screen around toward the gods, beaming proudly. On the screen, Twitter showed God's account. "My father has 99,427,862 followers on Twitter. Clearly he made the universe, otherwise he wouldn't have that many followers."


Jesus sat down, arms crossed, with a smug look on his face. A voice, maybe Satan, called out calling Jesus a daddy's boy. Jesus retorted, and within seconds the whole court was up in arms screaming at each other. Hades shouted, banging a gravel on the cold table, but the yelling continued.


The yelling went on for an eternity, until a voice rose above the rest, "Maybe Athena could council us in this matter?"


The voices stopped, pondering this, then all head turned to the Goddess of Wisdom.


The woman had sat, silent and judging, the whole time without moving a muscle. She paused, head tilted at an angle and deep in thought.


Athena pushed her glasses up higher on her nose. "I do not know who created the universe. It could be any of you, it could be all of us, or it could have been none of us. Either way, it doesn't matter. Look at yourselves. You fight and bicker, as do your followers. And tell me, what does it accomplish?! All of you are so powerful, mighty, and knowledgeable; yet you squander all that in some useless quarrel. Illness and war rage on below us, but instead of helping, we fight, and the truth is: it doesn't matter who created the universe, it only matters what we do with it now that it's here."

Welcome to the Highlight of Your Entire Existence

Hey, my name is Austin. I'm basically a 5'4" version of Chuck Norris armed with nothing more than a kick-ass vocabulary. I am a high school student with a passion for writing and, hopefully, you have a passion for reading.

I've made this blog as a way to share my writings with people, as well as get feedback if possible. What I want most of all is to entertain you, because what is the point of writing if no one is getting anything out of it. I am going to try posting short stories on here as much as possible. Enjoy.