My first video game based short story - Engineer's New Hand

[ChappersTeddy]

I was building my first sentry, a normal day. An hour later, I was finished. My creation beeped, then made a blue transparent shield around itself, and immediately shot my left hand off. I was thrown to the side of the room, scared of how I made this mad creation. I looked over to my desk - the other invention I made that day - The Robot Hand. I ran over and quickly blew up the sentry, fitted the hand on, and put a glove over it. I now had my new building hand.

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[Mega-Bear]

~8 short, badly written sentences isn't a story.

[Tom Gunn]

It was also too fast to even be considered one. You need to add more. You also need to add an indentation at the beginning of a paragraph /Englishclassblah

[ChappersTeddy]

~8 short, badly written sentences isn't a story.

I bet you can't bother to do better.

[Tom Gunn]

I bet you can't bother to do better.

A monkey could have done better. Don't get pissy, just listen to other peoples criticism.

[Vegetarian Zombie]

It doesn't make sense and is frankly far too short to pull you in, in any way.

This is the reason books are long, sir.

[Mega-Bear]

I bet you can't bother to do better.

Five page long short story I wrote a year ago. Titled "The Peaceful Shadows." Not my best work, but I like it.

The Peaceful Shadows

   Tyrone McKinnon wanted to have an adventure, to explore. He had always wanted to be a sailor when he grew up, but never got around to it. So on his thirty-fifth birthday, Tyrone bought a twenty-seven foot long ship, complete with a cabin full of household necessities; a kitchen, a bed, a couch, a table, a bathroom, and a TV. Oh, that boat was Tyrone’s most prized possession. It’s white underbelly, wooden paneling along the side, carpeted interior, leather seats, and relaxing awning above the sundeck. Occasionally on the weekends Tyrone would take the boat out onto the ocean and spend the night on it. He enjoyed the feeling of isolation while still being able to watch the city from afar. Then one day, Tyrone was fired from his job as a construction worker. Nearly the entire field of construction had been taken over by robots, as they required no pay, were easily programmed to perform the work, and ran no risk of injury. In fact, robotic workers had been introduced into nearly every job available on Earth -- astronaut, restaurant waiter, maid, freight ship captain -- you name it. So unless Tyrone were to win the lottery, obtain a human-only job such as CEO or professional athlete, then he was doomed to bankruptcy, and ultimately, would lose his boat. He had only two choice; lose the boat and make another attempt at life, or go into hiding. Tyrone didn’t give up his boat. He took all the food from his house, his TV, videogames, batteries, and other important possessions onto the boat and set sail. Let’s follow him. Closely.

   I had not heard another person’s voice in over a week. Of course, I always had the TV, but a person on television just didn’t cut it. It wasn’t a natural voice, it was a voice that once existed, was turned into radio waves through some kind of scientific tomfoolery, then bounced off a satellite, and sent back to my television as a real voice, but not a real voice. It was at one time a fresh, crisp and pleasant voice that was produced from a real person, but then we degraded it be sending that wonderful sound up into space through all kinds of electronics, then sent it back down to a receiver, who was crazy enough to accept it as a real person’s voice. Well, guess what!--it isn’t. It isn’t a real person’s voice. It used to be. I think if this keeps up, I may eventually forget to speak. I may forget my own name. Sometimes I lay awake at night, just repeating my name back to myself. Tyrone McKinnon, Tyrone McKinnon, Tyrone Wallace McKinnon, Tyrone McKinnon. I’ve stayed up all night just talking to myself before. I think that’s a sign of sea-crazy. I’ve been on the ocean too long, and am going crazy. It is a very possible reality.
   My maps are useless now. I gave up on navigating my way to South America about three days ago, and have just drifted since then. I think tomorrow I will begin to steer in the general direction of Brazil, based only on which direction the maps says Brazil is and which direction the compass is pointing. I’ve always heard that Brazil was a beautiful place, but I am American. I am afraid of most countries that are poorer than mine. I think that Brazil, in all its beauty, will just be a slum with tons of metal shacks laying along a river, until after driving for two hours, you come across the large and happily presented city of Brasilia. Last I heard, the robots were really fixing that place up. That’s pointless, as the city is fine as is. It is the main tourist attraction of Brazil, and possibly of the entire South American continent. If you ask me, the robots need to fix up the unknown-to-the-world towns that not even the inhabitants know the name of. If those towns were given a couple schools and a water purification plant then I think I’d dock there permanently. Though, I’m sure if the robots were ever sent to one of those towns, it would be completely put out of work just like the rest of the world. What a shame.
   I woke up the next day at eleven in the morning, eastern standard time. I had stayed up until midnight repeating my name and pretending to talk with old friends and family. I talked with two of my ex-girlfriends about politics, my divorced wife about local eating (or at least, food that used to be local, when I still had a house), my late father about sports, and my dog about fine literature. I honestly don’t understand what had gotten into me with the last conversation. I must have been very sleepy.
   I groggily walked out of my cabin to let the sun shine on me. The salty water from waves splashing into my boat flew into my face, lightly creating a clean layer of the ocean itself on my skin. I stood there for a moment just watching the ocean. The water was flat, very calm, and wonderfully pristine.  I could see a small coral reef below my boat, with many exotic fish swimming around. A little hungry, I baited my fishing pole and cast out my line. I wanted to have a real genuine seafood breakfast, with an obvious side of cantaloupe to prevent scurvy. After that I would start for Brazil and its glory.
   The line began to tug after a few minutes of being submerged. I pulled the line up quickly. The fish seemed to weigh quite a bit, at least forty pounds. It put up a good fight, but eventually met its fate. As the animal hit my deck, flopping around just a little bit, I gasped. It was like no other aquatic animal I had ever seen. The creature was three feet long, had a green-gray gradient kind of color on it, where the body gradually got greener until the tip of the tail was a sick, polluted hue of green. Its skin was rough, and felt like moist sandpaper. The dorsal and tail fin were round. I managed to open its mouth, and found that it had flat teeth, and two canines on each row of teeth. Whatever this fish was, it had yet to be documented. I quickly emptied the drinks from my cooler and put them in the fridge, then gently lay the fish among the ice. Once it was positioned, I dumped some more ice onto it and made sure the cooler was safely stowed under my small table. When I reach some kind of human settlement, I would take that fish straight to the nearest zoological center.
   After that I caught a tuna, which tasted good with a little cooking. I then turned the boat motor on and steered in Brazil’s direction.
   I listened to the TV as I drove. There were many dark clouds that had appeared overhead not too long ago. It made me miss the clear morning of today. The news reporter on television spoke in Portuguese, which meant I must have been close enough to Brazil to pick up its local news channels. I didn’t understand a word she said, but there were many images of dark clouds and the word ‘Furacão’ appeared on the screen a lot. My best guess is that there is a tropical storm heading my way.
   It turns out my guess was correct. The clouds quickly surrounded me, and rain began to pour down very heavily. Soon, I was overpowered and retreated into my cabin. I made my best attempt to seal the doors and windows from the onrush of waves that continuously rocked my boat, but to no avail. Last I remembered was my ship capsizing, and the cooler containing the odd fish knocking me out.
   I awoke with a burning sensation all over my body. My eyes wouldn’t open. Was I dead? I wouldn’t accept death, and kept trying to open my eyes. Eventually it worked, and I saw the ridiculously bright sun above my head. There were a couple of green objects in my peripheral field of view. My back was horribly hot, so I sat up and noticed the green objects were palm trees. I looked around and saw that I lay on a small beach, with my boat torn in half along the shore, with the opened portion facing myself. Apparently the storm had blown my boat off course, and I somehow survived the whole thing … barely. As I inspected the wreckage, I found the cooler with my new fish still inside, perfectly preserved. I dumped a little bit of melted water out, then stowed the cooler away in my bathroom, to keep whatever ice that was left alive. Once finished, I stepped outside to look at my surroundings. The land was littered with jungle, and had one large mountain in the middle of the trees. I began to walk along the beach to see if I could find any humans, but the entire place was stranded.
   After much walking, I eventually came back to my wrecked boat. I had walked around the entire land, so it was an island. So that was it, I was stranded on an island. I plopped down into the sand and sat there repeating my name to myself. “Tyrone McKinnon. Tyrone McKinnon.” I said. Then I noticed something move around by my ship. I looked up to see the shadow of a fellow human being cast from behind the bow. Immediately I stood up and cautiously walked over to it. When I turned the corner of the hull and saw that no one was there, I shed a tear. The sea-crazy really was getting to me. I kicked sand onto the evidently fake shadow and walked on. I looked back and saw the shadow begin to follow me. So it was my shadow.
   I went back over to the spot I was previously sitting in, and again collapsed into the sand, watching the sun set. My shadow followed me, but then stopped when I sat. “Sit down!” I yelled at the shadow for no apparent reason, allowing the crazy to set. “Sit!” The shadow still stood there, as if someone else was casting it onto the sand. I kicked some sand onto the figure, and it seemed to move away from the pebbly rain. Intrigued, I again grabbed a handful of sand and threw it to the figure. “Stop.” I heard a voice say. I jumped up, shocked. A human voice! A fresh, living human voice! “Who said that?” I shouted. “I, of course.” The voice again said. I asked, “Where are you? Where!” “Down by your side.” The voice said. I looked around myself but saw no one. “I don’t see you!” I said in frustration. The voice replied, “Look down.” I did as it ordered, and looked down at the shadow. “What a peculiar being you are,” It said, “not being limited to mere horizontal existence.” I stared closer at the shadow and said, “What?” Then, as if it was really speaking to me, the shadow said, “You. You are three dimensional. You have width, length, and height. I only exist on the X-Axis.” “The shadow is talking?” I said. As night began to fall, the shadow moved away into the forest. I followed best I could, and right before the sun went down and total darkness set in, I thought I saw more shadows.
   The next day was even odder. When I woke up there were many silhouettes along the ground moving about, seemingly in some sort of chaotic dance routine. I leapt up from the ground on which I had slumbered and ran into the brush, watching this odd occurrence. Everywhere in this open area, shadows similar to the one I saw yesterday were locked in some kind of battle, throwing spears and shooting arrows, all while keeping  a two-dimensional shape. It was like something out of a horror movie.
   Then, after crouching in the bushes for a few minutes and watching shadows murder each other, one of these beings came up behind me and said, “You again.” I turned around with fright and stared at the dark figure on the ground. “Don’t be afraid.” It said. I, for some reason, seemed to loosen up when it said that. It was as if my subconscious knew this thing was of no danger.
   “Please, allow me to explain this.” The shadow said. I nodded hesitantly and listened. The shadow said, “On our island, we have never seen a creature like you. You have the first three dimensions, which we have only theorized based on our mountain and the trees. How is it even possible for you to exist?” I looked at it for a moment, then said, “How is it possible for you to exist?” The shadow lay there still, then said again, “It is obvious that neither of us can think within the other’s dimensions. Then, let me attempt to put all this in terms you understand. We are not of your dimension. We lack the breadth you have. Understand thus far?” My head was roostered, though I did manage to nod. “Good,” It said, “this is going well. Can you imagine, we are speaking inter-dimensionally! Oh yes, might as well keep this basic. Simple. As I was saying, we exist in two dimensions only. This island is home to--” A lighter-colored shadow came up behind the one speaking to me and threw one of their spears into him. I watched in horror and interest as the shadow who had been so fond of I keel over and die. The lighter shadow told me to follow.
   I was taken to what seemed to be a camp made for the shadow people. They sat me down, which would have had no affect anyway, but for them it seemed to be a sign of formality. One light shadow appeared from the jungle and ‘sat’ at the other end of their circle, opposite of me. “Three dimensional man, we welcome you.” It said. “Yes … hello.” I said. This was one serious case of crazy.
   “Tell us, why do you visit our war-torn land?” The light shadow asked me.
   “A storm blew me here.”
   “A storm? What is a storm?”
   “You don’t know what a storm is?”
   “Well, we may know, but we most likely have not been able to name it.”
   “A storm is a large collection of rain and wind that can cause damage to many things. The storm I had, for example, tore my boat in half.”
   “Boat?”
   “You guys really have little three dimensional understanding, huh?”
   “All we know of is the mountain, the trees, and the imperfections of the dirt.”
   “Just save me the breath of explaining every object I know of, please.” I said.
   “Of course. Continue.”
   “Well, the storm simply blew me here. I found one of you shadow-people and he led me to that huge battle.”
   “Ah, yes. I assume you would like the battle explained.”
   “Yeah,”
   The shadow appeared to clap his hands, and a lesser shadow came up to him with some kind of square.
   “This,” The light shadow leader said, “is  our holy book. It explains all.”
   “Really now?”
   “Yes. It can tell me why we have been fighting for so long.”
   “Please, ‘read’ it.”
   With an opening of the object, the shadow spoke, “According to this passage, our war with the darker shadows began thousands of years ago--”
   “You’ve been fighting with the other shadows for thousands of years?!”
   “Apparently. As I was saying, it all began back when we were created two-dimensionally on this three dimension world. We were enemies with the darks from the start. So we had wars constantly, but to no gain. Every night, our life is restored by the darkness. Only on full moons do we not replenish. Then, during the day we fight more. It’s been like this every day for as long as anyone can remember.”
   “That’s messed up!”
   “No, not when your opponent is a conniving race of low-lives.”
   “Do you even know why you two races began to fight in the first place?”
   “The holy book says nothing of a reason to fight, only that fight we must.” The shadow said.
   “Well, can’t you make peace with them?”
   “It is against the holy book!”
   “But, where I come from, we do not let religion get in the way of politics. You see, we find associating the two very juvenile and discriminating.”
   “Discriminating?”
   “Hating a whole race of someone for no reason at all.”
   “But the holy b--”
   “I don’t want to hear you use the holy book as an excuse for everything. You and the darker shadows can make peace, and end all the wars. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
   “Well,” The lighter shadow said.

   So Tyrone convinced the two races of shadows to end the wars, and they experienced peace on that island forever more. All because of Tyrone, who ended up settling down there. He used parts from his boat to build a humble house, in which a fish unknown to the world is mounted on the wall as Tyrone’s most prized possession. On his island, the television picks up almost any channel on Earth, allowing him to have unlimited entertainment.
   When another human appeared on the shores of Tyrone’s island, he was happily greeted. It didn’t matter who they were, Tyrone would build them a house. Tyrone would gather their fruit, would introduce them to the shadow people, would teach them about two-dimensional living, and all that stuff for a small price. You know what he charged that person for all the luxuries they could ever want? A word a day.

Please excuse my typos and grammatical mistakes, I suck at proofreading.

[Jerkface]

I bet you can't bother to do better.

And even if you still think he's full of BS... Let me mention that I agree with Mega on this, and I have written several stories.

[Mega-Bear]

And even if you still think he's full of BS... Let me mention that I agree with Mega on this, and I have written several stories.

:D

[Freeze]

you basically just said:

engineer invented robot hand then fitted it because of an accident

[Supersylox]

Its missing everything a story needs, for example, a hook

You literally just typed something that could have happened in a minute, with only bare minimum details.

And if a transparent field encloses the sentry, that means you have control of it, and no one would be stupid enough to make it fire at his own hand

[DrenDran]

7 sentances isn't a story.

[Freek]

This story shall NEVER be seen.

[Sheath]

I bet you can't bother to do better.

I won't again post how a "monkey" could do better, but what I will say is this is a common response from defensive failures.

Whether or not he could physically one-up you, he doesn't have to for the right to give criticism. Whether he is any good or not doesn't change the quality of your story.

[Jairo]

I agree with Mega on this, and I have written several stories.