Story short stories/writing samples

[getmeouttaher_e]

short stories/writing examples if you want because i'm too wuss to start writing with other people : D
kinda shit because i haven't written in years and i'm used to one-liners!

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“Hey, Cuan.”
Startled, the boy gasped and slumped over his desk, concealing a crinkled paper.
“Whatcha’ drawing?” a child asked.
Cuan, a short, mousy-haired boy, who consistently sat alone and quiet, shakily turned around at his desk. Crayons of various colors rolled freely on the surface once he shifted.
“Uh, I don’t...” Cuan began to mutter.
“Ha, let’s see!” another child shouted.
The child snatched the paper from Cuan’s grasp, holding it up so his friends could view it. Cuan started to reach for it, but shyly fell back onto his seat. Messily colored on the paper were random shapes and blobs of bright colors, each with its own set of eyes.
“Huh?” One of the children leered at the paper. “What are these things? Some kinda’ creatures?”
“Yeah, what is this?” another child giggled.
“It’s weird.”
Splitting their attention between the drawing and Cuan, the other kids giggled aloud and shouted his name between laughs. Cuan felt a fluctuating impulse in his arms to tear his paper down in pitiful resentment, but he trembled at the slightest rise of his hand. He was locked within, still and hushed helplessly while the other kids rambled on bombardments in his name.
“Tell us!” a child whined. The child stooped down with a stern gaze.
The child’s eyes, whirling with an annoyed expectancy, were returned by dazed blue shells. Cuan gazed in his direction, though pupils quivering in a stupefied manner.
“Cuan!”
His chest thumped and fluttered with uncertainty. Welling up within him was their interrogation morphed into nonsensical screams, piercing his mind a million needles at a time—and his mind, in turn, succumbed to the pressure. Cuan tangled his hair in a flurry to cover his ears.
However, through a lost breath escaping his quivering teeth, Cuan choked out, “It’s my...”
“Huh...?”
The screams ceased. Cuan’s hands fell from his head. He blinked and finally registered that they were gone. The children had scampered off moments ago, taking with them his art.
One of the children grinned and cried to his friends, “Let’s make a paper airplane with this!”
Cuan stared at them. Watching how they laughed, aimed towards each other with loose shoulders and unwavering thoughts, he felt a bit lost. But, they were gone, and so he collapsed on his desk. He immediately heard a whispering:
“I liked your drawing.”
Lifting his nose, Cuan saw a small red blob with a set of eyes. It seemed to smile warmly at him.
“I know you do,” Cuan whispered back.

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[getmeouttaher_e]

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The stained panes of the cottage glowed blue, filtering moonlight that danced upon the floorboards inside. Then, a heavy shadow passed, momentarily banishing the lovely blue into darkness. Ivy grown curled against the cottage quivered as he brushed past.
Tapping the door with a creak, the esteemed hero Ultan crept through with a duck of his head. He whispered gently, "I'm home."
He sauntered into the house, hushed and calm. In the crook of his curved armored arm, a bag of fruits sat nestled against him. He peered through the lightless dwelling, and though his eyesight was not what it used to be, he could discern a concerning struggle. A drawer lay chipped and upturned; a jar of honey lay shattered with flies scuttling about; and small cloaks and dresses lay piled messily near a bloodied dresser.
Ultan lifted himself, suddenly aware of the terrifying silence that haunted his ears. He took a thundering step, rocking nearby slivers of fallen earthenware.
"Ciara!" he called, his voice resonating through the hall. Camouflaged behind his booming yell was an indistinct quiver of anxiety, softly whimpering as terror began to rise in his chest.
Ultan stood silent for a moment. No noise, no movement—save for flies and particles flitting through the disturbed air. He drew a thin breath and thereupon released the bag he carried, sending fruits sprawling, and then charged in heavy to the bedrooms. He noticed dark smears painted on the walls as he strode.

Arriving in a smallish room, walls plastered in rock and blood, Ultan drew to a halt. Moonlight engulfed the space in hazy particles, outlining the slim figure of a young woman. She lay unmoving, her torso twisting with an arm pressed limply against a splintering headboard. Her dark hair lustered in the light, but it shimmered tangled with sweat, and hung disheveled off a ruined bed.
Now, he stepped lightly in a loving manner, leaning down close by her bedside. His armor rang softly as he laid a large hand upon her stomach, wet with blood and glistening. He drew his fingers upwards, where he affectionately held her face, which was cold and tight.
"Ciara?" he murmured, heavy-hearted. "Ciaraín?"
Ultan wrapped his wide finger in a lock of her frayed hair. He gazed with a growing anger into her lifeless blue eyes, which were barren of life though coupled with remnants of fear.
"Ciaraín..." Ultan breathed softly against her nose, then stooped and cradled her like a child. As he felt the limp girl, he found himself groaning with grief between bouts of hatred building within him. "My Ciarín, a stór," he heaved, his breath echoing into a growl, "I will find who did this to you."

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