Happy (short story)

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The redeem3r
Dwarf Thief
Posts: 379
Joined: Sat 6th Oct 2007
Gender: Male
Location: On a pale blue dot, traveling wherever the Universe takes me

Happy (short story)

Post by The redeem3r » Fri 1st Nov 2013

WARNING: This short is really, very dark. Probably one of the darkest things I think I've ever written.

Background? I dreamed this story. One of my hobbies is making short films, and for this particular idea, I had to think very long and hard (think in terms of weeks) on how this would work as a written story as opposed to a short film.

So here I am tonight, I'm studying for a Physics midterm I have in 2 hours and the idea hits me, and in my sleep deprived (albeit highly motivated) state, I finally managed to get out in words what I dreamed. This is a ROUGH draft written in 20 minutes - I have no time to get a final draft out, I have a physics midterm in like 2 hours :(

Maybe later I'll improve it. But as for any grammatical errors (I didn't spot any but there may be a few), feel free to point them out. Beyond that, this is also my first piece of writing in 3 years, and to be honest, this has inspired me to pick up writing as a hobby once more.

Don't know if it's because I'm tired or what, but I feel as if their are huge consistency errors. My brain is all "physics physics physics" right now, not grammar or literature flow! I'll try to fix it, but for now all I can give you is a sorry.

But normally I wouldn't write something this dark, but for some reason the idea just fascinated me.


Tied to a chair, restricted, little could be done to solace the notion of forthcoming death. For the most part, any attempt at doing so would exacerbate the situation, and that would lead to the eventuality that is a mental breakdown. It is a common human characteristic, to break down in the face of fear.

I’m sorry, where are my manners? Let me explain to you how I got here.

Growing up, I was always a…special kid. Special in the sense that no one thought like me, no one saw the beauty in my thought process. Some say it started on the playground during the second grade, but no, they don’t understand. Metamorphosis into the type of thought process I possessed wasn’t possible no matter what happened to a person.

Gah, there I go getting distracted again. I’m terrible at telling stories, but given my then present scenario, who could tell a story without diverging at least a little?
The second grade, right. What happened in the second grade was no more a metamorphosis for me than it is for a little chick to flap its wings for the first time and take flight. It was merely a physical manifestation of what I’d call a genetic predisposition. As birds are genetically programmed to fly, I was programmed to kill. A group of kids were bullying me during recess, as they would oft do due to the nature of my natural introversion, and I, not yet having taken my first flight, stood there silently taking it. They threw rocks at me and yelled insults to me, but I didn't mind. I remember, I was fixated on a particular piece of nature that caught my eye. It was a bunny rabbit, and my god was it beautiful.

Eventually, however, the kids saw what I was staring at, and just as all brats, their tiny attention spans caused them to start marveling at its beauty. Of course, their definition -- and I suspect you who are listening to my story -- of beauty was far different than mine. They moved carefully into a circle around it, pointing and commenting how ‘cute’ or ‘fluffy’ it was. What primitive notions of beauty.

They found beauty in the façade that was its existence, and I found beauty in the idea that easily it could die and its existence would be worthless. Most would call it nihilistic, but once again, my mindset is above most people.

I walked towards them and joined in on the circle, after a few attempts to push me out, the brats got distracted by the rabbit again. What happened next, I must say, was marvelous. I was so excited that I could see something so beautiful, and I inched towards it, and from its backside I grabbed it by the neck. The children gasped and yelled my name and the teacher’s name, but I was in a moment of pure ecstasy. I couldn't be stopped. In mere seconds, my tightening grip snapped its neck.

Our teacher broke through into the circle and saw me, holding a now deceased rabbit in my hands; That, coupled with the smile on my face, made her end recess early. Of course, I got suspended. My parents heard what happened and outright pulled me out of school, and from then(allow me to reference my bird metaphor again), I simply improved the flaws in my technique. Like a bird flies smoother with age, I perfected my gift.

Every chance I got I’d kill anything I could. There was so much beauty in the world and for me not to experience it all would be the largest shame a man could feel.

The feeling of powerlessness that death must bring to all life is just fascinating, though I feel I've iterated it enough times.

So, my current situation, what brought me to this point?

The room surrounding me was dark. Not a window graced its walls, and the only source of light to be seen was a single oil lamp in the center of the room, hanging from the ceiling by a hook.

Somewhere in the room, water dripped into a puddle, making a relaxing ambient noise

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound of tools clinking against one another was the only other sound that could be heard. I looked down what lay before me; with each breath I felt…beauty in the air. My back was turned to a man. I had no idea who he was, but here I was, looking at the tools that would lead to his eternal beautification.

Tools in hand, I turned to face him. Tied to the chair he could do little to comfort himself.

One step, then two, and then three. I stood before him, the biggest smile I've ever had decorated my face. He whimpered, he struggled, and he cried, but no matter what he did, he was powerless.

So that’s when I began to work on my first human canvas.

Like an artist that moves from the papers of his notebook to the walls of the grandest of locals, I felt truly….Happy.

The reasons aliens haven't made contact with us because if a species were to become space-faring, they would have no doubt realized that bickering and warring is primitive. They realize that any interaction with humans would be met with hostility on our parts. Only when we can put aside our differences and tear down our borders will be find what we are looking for.

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