Posts by Stairway to Heaven

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  • Random Short Stories. Comments welcome.

    ((Title will usually be subject name.))


    If I could Climb these Stairs...


    [youtube][/youtube]


    The busy streets of Berlin let out their call, as the sound of marching, shouted commands filled the air. The skies were clouded over, and if you looked to the center of the beautiful town of Berlin, you could almost smell the future of death. The streets were busy with soldiers, those who were marching for what they believed. They believed in a world were all were white, all were perfect... without Jews. It was a cruel plan, a very cruel plan.


    My name is Vincent, and I'm going to tell you my story; but I should tell you about myself first.


    I'm Vincent, I'm a young German boy, fluent in German and English, I can speak a little bit of French and Russian to get by where I need to. I'm 5'4, I have short black hair, which is often shaved into a mohawk, and I wear basically old hand me downs from strangers. Mostly things that don't fit. Today, I am wearing a white t-shirt that is almost too small for me, and stained with blood and dirt. It's not my own, and no, I didn't cause someone to.. you know.. get hurt.


    My mother died at birth, and I was raised by father until I was seven years old. Upon hitting my eleventh birthday, while me and my drunk bastard of a father were somewhat celebrating my birthday. I mean.. you can call it a cerebration if he forced our scared maid to make me a horrible cake, my birthday, sure. Anyhow, while celebrating my birthday, my father had forgotten that he owned a strong man a lot of money.. I mean, forgot is my term. I'm not sure if he just didn't care. This strong corporate man, he bust through our door. Click, click, boom. He had a shotgun. Now, you're probably thinking, really? A shotgun? But yes, he game through with a StG 44, a pretty badass gun, if you ask me. He and some of his body guards grab my father, they look at me, and they don't even really care. The coperate man demands where his money is.. Wo ist mein Gott verdammte Geld, du betrunken Narr? Oh, his voice was rage, and my fathers reply was just a drunken slurr of amusement.. I wish he wasn't so stupid.. Wenn Sie könnten meinen Arsch zu überprüfen, bin ich mir ziemlich sicher, dass ich es dort oben. Ugh, why did he have to be so stupid with his word choice. All I heard was another sound.. a quick one.. one that I heard when he first busted into our home. Click, click, boom. I was horrified. I ran, I ran until my lungs hurt, I ran until I couldn't run anymore. I ran until I blacked out beneath an large pine tree in the snow.


    But now, I'm fifteen, and.. I guess my opinions changed. Right now, I'm sitting here on the sidewalk, reading the paper, sipping a stolen coffee, and watching the marching soldiers. I feel so proud of them, and I think they're proud of me. They visited my school today, and out of all my classmates, they asked me all the questions.. Wer ist euer Anführer? I could only grin with anticipation as I stood up, pointing my hand up, into the air, with my fingers extended but squeezed together. Adolf Hitler, Sergeant!


    Now, I get weird stairs from those they call the Jews and Gypsies. Adolf Hitler has just become our dictator, and already so much has happened thanks to him. Something called concentration camps have popped up. I don't see a lot of the kids in my class anymore, most of them were Jewish, if I recall. I wonder if they'll be back soon.


    Today, I went to watch the soldiers march with the ribbon that I had been given at school. They call it a swastika. I have it pinned to my white t-shirt. They say I am to be drafted as soon as I turn sixteen. I'm kind of excited. I'd love to join the military.. I want to be part of what I've been hearing about. I want to be part of the Final Solution, I want to be a soldier of the Third Reich.

  • Random Short Stories. Comments welcome.

    [youtube][/youtube]


    I was young, a drifter is what I called. I had no place to go, and I was always on the move. I went with the flow, I went where others went. I always kind of had my own way. My name is Dakota, I'm 5'8, I have short black hair, I'm Mexican, and I know I'm handsome, and = I have the most handsome dark green eyes.


    On my travels, I was lured to a place, a place they called Hotel California, but the dumb part, we weren't even in California. I rented a room for, like, what, a week? I ordered a good room, but the grin on everyone's face was weird. As I was closing my door, the guy who showed me to my room whispered to me. You can never leave. What? I shook my head, looking towards the window that displayed the road, and open country side. I approached it, moving around the single bed. I looked out the window, reading the sign that was displayed. Check in and out anytime you like! That seemed normal. I moved away, giving a sigh before collapsing back onto the bed. Looking up at the ceiling, I realized it was covered with mirrors, but only over the bed. I sat up, looking around. I hated to look at myself when I slept. It was weird, as if my mirror double wanted to swap places with me. Again, to the window I went, looking at the sky, watching it turn a shade of blue and red, mixed with orange. It was soon to be dusk. I gave a sigh, figuring I'd go out for a ride in my lovely convertible Mercedes bends and huffed. I made my way out, walking quietly, my Indian style boots barely making a sound on the floor. I listened quietly, and I heard it, down the corridor. Welcome to the Hotel California, such a lovely place, such a lovely face, such a lovely place, livin' it up at the Hotel California, what a nice surprise, what a nice surprise, for you alibi..


    My eyes darted down the hall. A heard heavy foot steps running in my direction, and the last thing I remember is running for the door.


    I awoke in my room, laying in bed. The first thing I saw was my reflection in the mirror, barely any light illuminating anything. A chill ran down my spine as I saw myself in the dark. But I wasn't alone in my bed. Something was creeping up the side, a tall, shadowy figure. My eyes slowly moved to the side to gaze upon what appeared to be a shadow with only the top skull of a coyote skull. It blinked it's red eyes before saying in soft song. Welcome to the Hotel California, you can check out at anytime you like, but you can NEVER leave.

  • Roscoe the Rough.

    Character Name:


    Roscoe the Rough. Roscoe for short.


    Gender:


    Male.


    Appearance:



    Personality:


    Roscoe is sort of a bad boy, and often ignores the fact that he is a kittypet. He often finds himself in the worst of places, but somehow still seems to smile through.


    History:


    Raised with his litter, and watching each of them go until he finally went. Once home, he was raised carefully until the age of two, and that's when he realized that just the house wasn't the limit. He explored the outside, and soon discovered that he lived on what is called a farm. He now enjoys the full extent of the forest, and is often seen hunting mice or birds near the farm.