The Fall. Short Story.

Hey, sorry this is up late. I’m horrifically procrastinatey today as well.

My weekend was fun, went out, got drunk, danced. People don’t seem to understand the concept that if I am tipsy/drunk and offered a drink, I will take it. Also, the booze was cheap before midnight, so my usual drink was 6 euro rather than ten, so my money stretched a lot further than I expected, plus sharing drinks with my friends. I didn’t bring much out and figured I just wouldn’t drink that much. Damn bars. Foiling my plans.

Ok. That makes me sound vaguely alcoholicish but I’m not. I wasn’t that drunk. I never progressed to dumping my money on the  counter and saying “I’d like alcohols for this many please.” Going into the place wasn’t that fun though. I was talking to my friend and not really looking where I was going and tripped over a step, so I announced “There’s a stair there.” As I usually do. It breaks the awkwardness and by the time people figured out what I said I’m already gone, however, that’s not how it worked this time. The bouncer just stared at me. I hadn’t even drank anything at that point. Smooth.

That was really it for my weekend, had a bit of a marathon of True Blood, haven’t seen the new series yet but watching through the older seasons again, it’s pretty fun.

I’m off to make dinner now, so on with the show!


The Fall.

He was walking slowly in the rain. Normally he enjoyed rain, sitting somewhere warm and listening to it patter against the windows, watching as the rain fell faster and faster, seeing the puddles afterwards, the smell when the rain disappeared, how everything smelt fresh and new. But today, he didn’t like it. It wasn’t the first time he had walked in the rain, he had done so many times before, though usually with an umbrella. It wasn’t too bad when it was a light drizzle, or even just raining normally, you didn’t get too wet and it could be quite fun, but the rain today was torrential. He was only out for a few minutes and already he was completely drenched. His jeans were wet right through and each step he took pressed the cold, water logged fabric against his legs. His t-shirt clung to his body uncomfortably, stealing his warmth. He was going to take a hoodie but it wasn’t that dark out when he left. It looked like the rain would hold off for a little while longer, but not long enough apparently. He was in a bad mood enough as it was and he had hoped that a short walk would cheer him up, a bit of fresh air would help clear his mind. Even if it did start to rain slightly, it wouldn’t be so bad. But this just made everything worse. Before he was miserable, now he was miserable, cold and wet. He was looking forward to getting home, once he was home he could have a nice, long, relaxing shower to take away the chill that entered his bones and that would at least cheer him up.

He stepped into the shop, dripping water, outside the rain continued to pour. He felt guilty as around him a puddle slowly grew. He wanted milk and he wasn’t going to leave the shop without it. Ignoring the trail of water, he went straight to the milk and picked up a bottle. He was shivering slightly now, it was much colder in the refrigerated section. He walked quickly to the tills and dug the change from his pocket, it too was wet. The woman at the till looked at him strangely, but didn’t comment on his appearance. He paid for his milk and left, looking away from the man setting out the “Caution: Wet” sign at the exit. He stepped outside again, back into the rain. It was much worse this time. Still, he had gotten his milk, he’d be home soon and then he could have his shower and a cup of coffee. Maybe watch a movie or something, get a fire going, it was a day for one.

He was thinking of what he would make for dinner when the pain first struck. It was slight, not too bad, but noticeable. Like the early beginnings of a cramp. He paused for a moment, waiting to see if it would hit again and when it didn’t, he started walking. He’d make something warm and hearty, maybe a stew, that was easy and it wouldn’t require too much effort on his part. Simply throw everything into a pot and let it simmer. He settled on the idea when the pain struck again. This time it was much, much worse. He cried out and fell to the ground, his legs no longer supporting him. Pain coursed through his legs, he was unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything. It travelled from his legs and up into his torso, moving with lightning speed around his body, nothing was spared. It seemed to go on for an eternity before finally, the pain receded, slowly at first, but then it fled. He tried to sit up, but his body wouldn’t respond. He tried to move his arms, his legs, anything, but nothing was happening. He was stuck. He tried to open his mouth to cry out for help, but his mouth wouldn’t move and no sound came out. He stared into the sky, rain falling on his face, into his eyes. His vision blurred, he couldn’t blink them clear. People began to stop, a few ran over having seen him fall suddenly. People crowded around him, creating a canopy with their umbrellas, keeping the rain from his face and body. The sky was blotted out by the dark circles, pale faces staring down, people were trying to talk to him, words that meant nothing. Someone was on their phone, speaking frantically. Someone knelt down beside him, their hand moving out of his sight. They placed their hand on his shoulder, trying to rouse a response, but there was nothing, he stared outwards. Quickly, they checked for a pulse, trying to find some sign of life. They held their hand against his neck, then took it away. Their eyes going wide briefly. They reached out and carefully closed his eyelids. His world descended into darkness. There was no sound, no moving, everything stopped. He tried to scream, to shout, to tell them, but there was nothing. The coldness began to leave his body, he could no longer feel it, he couldn’t feel anything.

About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
This entry was posted in Horror, Short Stories, Suspense and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The Fall. Short Story.

  1. jaxgrampy says:

    Whoa, that one hits a little close to home!

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