Caleb Arentz
Stories (7/0)
Breach
The walls were rough. The rags he wore were rough. Even the air scratched at the walls of his lungs. His dirty hair hung from his head, obstructing his vision. Not that there was anything to see, his containment cell was always the same gray concrete, and the fluorescent bulb hanging from the ceiling always flickered in the same irritating pattern.
By Caleb Arentz3 years ago in Fiction
Walkers
Aiyana had always enjoyed her job at the Shiner Shack, an underground bar and general store that sat beneath a moonshine production camp. Of course, there was no longer a government to tell them that producing their alcohol was illegal, but the name was catchy and most people knew what it was, so it persevered. The bar was alive tonight, the band was happily playing their music and almost every patron was tapping their foot or nodding their head as they conversed with each other. She found herself swaying to the familiar beat as she served the people drinks, the charms on her belt clinking as they lightly hit each other. Her attention was drawn to the door, which swung open to let a trio of wanderers enter.
By Caleb Arentz3 years ago in Fiction
The Next Step
Silence is usually something rare, something to be treasured. But today, in Barghest’s cabin, it was deafening. He sat at his table, his brow furrowed as he stared at the package sitting in front of him. It sat atop its paper wrapping, the opening at the top staring at him like a black, lifeless eye. He calmly stroked his beard, stuck in an ouroboros of thoughts on what to do about it. He shook his head, trying to break himself from the trance. A pot of coffee had been brewing at his stove, and as he waited by it, his eyes wandered to a framed picture hanging on the wall above his hearth. Though the frame was clouded, he had looked at the photo enough to remember everyone in it. His eyes focused on a young boy, smiling with all his teeth and his arms open wide. Standing beside him was a much younger version of himself, his smile and pose more muted and dignified. The old man chuckled, pouring himself a cup of coffee as he fondly remembered that time. His gaze then shifted down to the double-barreled shotgun mounted to the stone wall. He sighed, moving towards it. He ran his calloused fingers over its engravings, a series of etched silver chains wrapped around the blackened steel of the barrels, giving it the appearance of being shackled. He stared at it, empathizing with the feeling. He paced his home, looking at the box on his table occasionally, a small part of him hoping it would disappear upon another glance. It never did, instead it just sat there, reminding him of what needed to be done, and who needed to do it.
By Caleb Arentz3 years ago in Fiction
Simple Pleasures
The saloon was abustle with the merriment of working folk, drinking away the fatigue of the day that was now behind them. Observing their fun from the second-floor balcony was the town sheriff, nursing a bottle of ale and quietly tapping his foot to the bard’s jaunty tune. Though his demeanor was stoic, he was happy to see his people enjoying themselves.
By Caleb Arentz3 years ago in Fiction
Fimbulvinter
The wind whistled through the forest of pines, small bits of snow falling from their drooping branches. A male elk moved carefully through the brush, followed by two females and a calf. They watched him, mimicking his steps to move safely through the woods. He lowered his face to the ground, brushing the snow aside to reveal a cluster of mushrooms. His calf approached, nibbling on the vegetation as the adults kept watch. A slight rustling of the brush in the distance put them on high alert, but they had no time to react before the snap of a bowstring resounded through the air. The buck fell, an arrow sticking out from his chest. The rest of the herd bolted into the woods, letting out sharp cries as they were forced to leave their only protector behind.
By Caleb Arentz3 years ago in Fiction
These Hands
When I was a child, I was always told that I was big. When you’re young, everything is bigger than you, so when people compliment you, saying you’ll be a great football player or wrestler, you don’t know what they’re talking about. You’re just happy that those smiling faces are pointed at you, giving you attention. You’re told you’re strong, and they celebrate when you break a large stick in half or throw a ball an impressive distance. You don’t understand why they’re clapping and cheering you on, but you know you like it. It’s your first taste of pride, and you revel in it. You bask in the glory of attention, but you don’t understand why they sing your praises. It is because of this ignorance that leaves you desperately trying to understand why those same faces look at you with horror when you show them a new feat of strength. The chicks had just hatched, and you wanted to show that you were stronger than that hen that chased you around the yard. The chick barely struggled as you closed your hands around it, and it made only a few sharp peeps as you squeezed it until you felt the crunch of its bones and saw the bright red liquid trickle down your arm. Your mother screamed when you presented to her your new conquest, looking as though you were the monster you were afraid hid in your closet. She never tells you what you did wrong, only screams at you that it was while she cleans your hands of this apparent transgression. From then on, they don’t look at you with those admiring eyes. They stare nervously as you pet a dog or collect eggs from the chickens, constantly reminding you to be nice to them. You’ve always been nice to them, why would they keep saying that?
By Caleb Arentz3 years ago in Motivation