In any city, in any country, go to any hotel or condominium building you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself “The Holder of the Sun”. The front desk’s phone should immediately ring, prompting the worker to ask you to wait a moment. While the worker answers the phone, go to the nearest beverage-vending machine you can find and, without inserting any money, press the button for the first drink listed. No matter what drink is displayed, the can that comes out will be of plain, unmarked metal and will be hot to the touch. Open the can and drink as much of the searing liquid as you can before the worker hangs up the phone. If you drink enough in time, then you will immediately lose consciousness. When you awaken, you will find yourself on a couch in a magnificent room. The ceiling is far, far above your head, and the massive windows not only wash the entire place in golden sunlight, but also allow a view of the city in which you started – many dozens of miles below you. Seated on a chair not far from you will be a man who exudes healthy youthfulness. He will have just hung up his phone and will be eying you with a mixture of confusion and amusement, for you have rather suddenly appeared on his couch. Sit upright and calmly tell the man your name and age, then proceed to tell him as much about yourself as you can think without making any direct mention of Objects or, more importantly, the other Holders. He particularly does not wish to hear about the other Holders. If, at any time during your speaking, the man lifts his phone to his ear , then your journey has come to an end. If, however, the young man politely gestures for you to stop, then pause for a moment and wait for him to ask you why you have come to his room. When he again gestures for your response, ask, “Who kept them in place when they were together?” The young man will proceed to weep softly at the question. There is no point in trying to console him; instead, stand up and walk to the only door in the room. When you are within arm’s length of the door, the man will call your name. Turn to face him, and you will see that he is floating several feet above the floor and emitting a bright light that drowns out even the sunlight. Do not turn away from this light, and do not blink, even as you feel your eyes dry out and burn away. When your vision has been completely ruined, you will once again fade out of consciousness. Upon awakening, you will find yourself in a hospital or medical clinic, your vision completely undamaged. The medical staff will be confused as to your presence, but ignore them and leave. Upon leaving, search your pockets to find something you did not have before. THIS IS MY FIRST STORY PLEASE COMMENT?
I like it overall but it feels like a part of another story Who is talking? Why would this work at any hotel in the world and while I love the mystery of the NEW thing and the stories it invites, I want a more specific sense of purpose or even finality (if you wish) for that item.
I'm not sure what the story is about. Cool concept though and props for trying a unique-ish writing perspective? (Rather than the common first/third person)
Woah. This isn’t YOUR story. Excuse me missy. Hell nah. I’ve seen this on a third party app or something. I’ve read it before. Inb4lock. Why name it yours if there’s a chance someone knows I ain’t?
If it's just similar, it might've been unintentional. Story plagiarism is hard to call out or even sue for unless it's nearly word for word because a lot of ppl have similar ideas; humans are not known for their unique-ness. Fifty Shades has literal entire passages of plagiarism from Twilight and EL James never faced repercussions
Yeah... Plagiarism just irks me though. Like I’m pretty positive I’ve seen the story somewhere. There’s different kinds all over the web
Thursday is right! This story already exists elsewhere on the interwebs, and on a well known site for self published short stories. I found it here
👀 o, the site has others! I liked this one: In any city, in any country, go to any concert or music hall you can get into. Once inside, find the head custodian and ask to see "The Holder of the Ethereal." He'll blink a few times, as if unsure if what you asked was real. Ask him again so it sinks in. Should he continue to stare and blink, you may wish to close your eyes and hold your ears shut before witnessing your innards being chewed apart by Hell's starving demons. However, if he should shake his head and turn to leave, go ahead and let him walk off, as it means your request was granted. At this point, all you can do is wait. You'll notice the room getting darker and darker very, very slowly, but you can't be sure until some time has passed. As this is happening, the faint, nearly inaudible sounds of a tune will begin to play. This sound will grow louder and louder very, very slowly. Do not, however, strain to listen, for this will cause it to vanish and your ears to be ripped from your head. You must treat it as a background noise and nothing more, even though it will be the most beautiful song you've ever heard. Soon, a low chorus of singing will rise to join in with the song. The lyrics these voices sing are the most foul of any you will ever encounter in your life, but just like the song, you must not focus on them. In heart-breaking and beautiful melodies, they will sing about every murder, every rape, every tale of false and broken love the world has ever known. Should you focus for even a second on any of the lyrics being sung, you will encounter the misery in that lyric a hundredfold until the day you die or go mad. After what feels like a very long time, the song will slowly fade, but the lights will continue to lower until all is pitch black with the exception of a spot a few feet ahead, inhabited by dimly-lit shadows. Don't look too closely into it, for you may well go mad from the sight of the creatures lurking therein. A few moments will pass, and soon an eyeless figure dressed in formal attire will appear standing within this spot, holding at his side an old, rotting cello as tall as he. He will sit in a rusty chair that gradually takes form within the shadows as well. He will sit ready to play, but will not until you ask him one question: "Why do they sing?" He will smile a sad smile and instead ask you, "What did you think of my song?" When he asks you this, you must respond with, "I didn't come just to hear old beauties." He will sigh and begin to play another tune, this one at once lighthearted and heavy, whimsical and heartbreaking. Whatever you do, you cannot listen to the tune he's playing at all, for everything will vanish in a flash and you'll find yourself standing in front of Satan himself, listening to his ear-shattering wails for eternity. He will speak slowly, but at length, about why they sing, about their attempts to drown out their sorrows and mourning with music. He will tell you how music is the one thing able to calm their blood-lust and their rage, even though they are doomed to sing the most horrible things imaginable. Once he finishes talking, his tune should stop as well. If it doesn't, your death will be quick and painless by his hands, and you'll join in with his chorus forever. If it does stop, he will rise and pack away the cello, then turn to you and take a bow. He will then slowly fade away into nothingness, as if never really there to begin with. The cello he left behind is yours to keep. That cello is Object 166 of 538. Playing it will calm the very depths of your soul, but each time you play will cause the chorus from before to rise up in volume once again. And so, you should be careful--not only will they grow louder and more numerous as time passes, but the more you play, the closer you come to joining them...