Who can write the best short story?
Hello. Here is my story. Try to top this story. I know you can.
Come… and Eat Rice
A Short Comedic Story filled with Cliché Lines
“No. It didn’t have to end this way. I believed in you. What have you become?” (A series of several cliché lines combined in one line) said Ken in a disapproving tone. “You were the greatest of them all, yet you turn to our enemy. But just like all of them, you will falter and fade.” He continued.
“Hah. You think you can defeat me? Never!” the Villain said. (His name was too long and weird to be listed: it’s amount of letters rising high above the previous world record) “You. I always despised you. You and your thickheaded ways; ‘Oh! Listen to master Djen. Oh! Listen to Master Kuien. Oh!’ I’M SICK OF IT! Your blood on my blade is destiny.” They both unsheathed their swords, an loud metallic sound erupting. (In the movies it sounds like SHING!) They sprinted toward each other in a slow-mo, cinematic fashion, and for some reason music started. Weird. The Villain (We’ll just call him Vill) leaped into the air, the already “slowmo-ed up scene” decelerated ten times slower.
And just as the music climaxed, Ken deflected the sword. What a coincidence. They continued to fight with their swords without anyone hiting anyone else for a couple minutes while blurting out random lines when they clashed: cliché, truistic sentences. And finally, Ken cut off Vill’s hand; it would have been rather exciting, but such a dull rise up to this point made it become, instead of a scream, just a shrug.
With a flick of his wrist, off came Vill’s other hand. Now it was getting brutal. Ken attempted to kick Vill to the floor, but he missed and flipped over. Just as Vill goes in for the kick, Ken rolled and dodged it, and Vill fell to the floor. Ken picked up a metal pole on the ground that came from, well, who knows, and raised it up.
Halfway to the poles designated destination, a voice rang out, “Boys! Come down and eat rice!”
“Okay mum!” yelled back Ken, or Jacob, as I should say. He tossed aside the mop and ran downstairs. No severed feet, no deaths, no pain- and no Ken, or Vill.
(This should have been called, ”Exploiting Every Action Movie Ever”)
"You can have her for $10,000 if you want her," he replied. He licked his lips, then looked at me intensely.
"Are you serious?" I whispered.
"Yeah. $10,000, she's all yours," he reiterated.
"How can you 'give' her to me? Slaves are illegal..." I jested.
"Human slaves are illegal.." he posed with a sly grin.
"She's AI?" I asked.
"I told you I'd create Jenna one day," he declared.
Then I responded with interest, "Really? What does she do?"
"What does she not do?" he proudly asked.
"Let's pimp her out," I commanded.
"Great minds think alike," he said as he winked.
"Not until I've tried the goods," I demanded.
I walked up to her fascinated and asked her, "You ready to have mind blowing sex baby?"
She slapped me and threw a glass of water in my face.
"Jerk!" she pouted storming off.
"Not her! The other hot girl!" He shouted laughing hysterically to tears, "That one was real!"
Life Isn't a Love Story
"Say 'yes'." I repeated to myself ad nauseam. As she passed I instantly shut up. "H... h..." I mumbled. Man up, I thought to myself. Finally the words came out; "Hey Jenna!"
"Hi Sean." she said back. My heart was racing.
"You wanna watch a movie anytime? I'm free today." I asked, a happy/creepy grin spreading across. We were already friend zoned but not that close. I mean. We usually choose each other for projects and like to talk between periods and at lunch, even for the tiniest bit, but we weren't like aggressive kissing on lockers. After all, we were only starting 11th grade. I don't know if that's too early but anyway, we were cool together.
"Uhh... would tomorrow be ok? I'm kinda busy. You can come over and we could do homework? Go calculus!" Jenna responded (us being the math whizzes in class). Love isn't like what it is in the stories. It was more awkward and sluggish. But, this was the beginning.
We were working on parametric curves. Out of no where, nervously, I blurted,"I like your curves." I know. Not a healthy way to start a relationship. It was still something though.
"Whaaaa?" Jenna questioned, clearly nonplussed.
"You know, I like you." I said embarrassingly, a reddish plum color flashing across my face.
"Sean, this is so awkward. And that pickup line though! Ehh. I liked you before anyway. Wanna hug?" surprised Jenna said. In the middle of our hug, the bad news came; "Sean, I already have a boyfriend." After going home and punching my tear-soaked pillow for several hours, I finally choked down my sobs and called her- angrily. (Lots of swearing.) Here is the phone call without the swear. I swore twice a sentence. Do the math.
"Oh my God, Jenna. I really hoped this relationship would work. I, I-I just wanted a girlfriend. Someone to cuddle. Someone to love. God dang it. Crap. Crap. Oh my god."
"Sean! Chill! Things don't always work the way you do. You may be my best friend, but you aren't my boyfriend."
"Help me Jen. Help me."
The next day at school I was beat up by her boyfriend. I didn't care. I was too caught up in my misery to care. When Jen came, she did absolutely nothing. For the rest of the day, I was a cripple in a bloody puddle. I was hospitalized for 4 months. Unable to walk, talk, move. Absolutely nothing. NOTHING! I just wanted to die. Who cared about my bloody math skills. NO ONE! Not even me anymore. I wasn't myself. I didn't ever think I would be again. I will always be a dead slob, I thought to myself. After the damage was gone, I was never the same. A ruptured liver and lung left me on the brink of life and death. Life isn't a love story; just a disease that makes you live. And die. I remember the time I read a quote,"Life is an STD that always ends in death." Just like mine. Life isn't a love story.
The title of this story
"Life is Not a Love Story"
She sat down at the table I was sitting at. "You him?" she asked.
"Janna?" I asked.
"Yep. That's me. You must be Bronto," she replied.
"I am. You are shorter than I imagined," I stated with a smile.
"Yeah. Yeah. I'm 6 foot tall. I know. I'm a giant. But why does it matter you're what, 6'4?" she responded.
"About that," I declared, "It doesn't matter, no."
"What do you do Janna?" I asked.
"I'm a stripper. Does that bother you?" she asked hesitantly.
"Not really,"I replied," I've dated a lot of strippers. Monica, Julie, Kelly...all work at the Pink Shamrock."
"What? That's where I work! I know them!" she responded excitedly.
"Could you have them call me?" I asked as I began getting up.
"What? What is this?" she demanded.
"I'm friend zoning you I responded, shaking my head, "You're just not my type...sorry.."
"Friend zone?" she laughed,"Wait a minute. Get back over here Mister," she smirked,"You are 'friend zoning' ME?"
"Yeah. Strippers all turn out to be crazy...." I began humming...then burst out in song as the lights began strobing and the band playing,"Happy, happy birthday baby!"
Once I finished the song, I ripped off my mask revealing I was her husband.
"I love you baby...happy birthday." I declared.
"Thank you baby. I love you too," she said with affectionate eyes and a sheepish grin.
I asked,"So...you're a stripper?"
"Shut up..." she replied," Only for you."
"Well...we'd better not have sex in this story," I told her.
She questioned,"Why not baby?"
I responded disappointedly,"Well my opponent wants me to not talk about sex and wonders why he's friend zoned."
She replied,"Aaaaah...he probably thinks he's a 'nice guy' by showering her with gifts and globs of attention and compliments..."
I agreed,"Yeah. He needs to have 'the talk' with Bronto...and bad."
She began walking away and turned her head toward me,"That's too bad. The sex scene in this story would have been ...hot...guess we'll never know..