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Discussion Starter · #1 ·
I feel weird for creating this thread (because I am not an ISFP) but I think there are many ISFPs who have great ideas for short stories but don't share them because they are worried about judgement. My sister is an ISFP and I love her pieces of writing! They have so much depth in them and are able to reveal the emotions of others and herself, but I know that she doesn't share them often.
Anyways, I hope that someone will be able to post their stories here comfortably :)
 

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I will post one of my unfinished short stories just to start off I guess ^_^ I don't finnish enough writing pieces.

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The birds soared through the sky; their wings stretching across the blue heavens while they flew in clusters, alternating their order and position frequently. They looked so free and regal as they swooped and dived in the currents of air that brushed past the school building. Slowly, he reached his hand towards them, beckoning them to carry him away. They ignored him as they... "Joshua!"
A loud voice pierced his eardrums and forced him back into dreary reality. In front of Joshua, stood his teacher, glaring down at him with a look of disappointment, she didn't appreciate daydreaming in class. Did she appreciate anything? Yes, she appreciated cooperation, conventionality and complete observation to the established rules. She represented a subjective authority which decided who you were, taught you how to think and desired a community of individuals. Mrs. Eastwood was never content if you showed originality whilst doing problem solving in maths, The classroom echoed with the sound of her slowly tapping her high heel on the floor as she flooded her arms and tried to look as intimidating as possible. Of course, this included what was know as 'The Glare' amongst the pupils; she stared down over the rim of her glasses at him trying to belittle him with a stare, it sounded so stupid. But her glare was not alone. The entire classroom was eyeing him and in a state of excited silence, prepared to hear the teacher's anger, everyone except for Jem. Jem's eyes pleaded him to stay calm, be respectful and to not do anything rash. Darn her.

The teacher opened her mouth and scowled. "Step outside young man."
It was a strict, unforgiving yet almost tired voice, like she was exhausted with the cycle of school life that she was stuck in. As Joshua stood to obey her order, he saw the great weariness that existed in her eyes beyond the strict facade that she displayed. Her presence was concrete, yet uncertain, like an object which was about to break under pressure. A bird which was caged. He walked down the symmetrical rows of desks and chairs and opened the door at the front of the classroom. He stepped outside.

The hallway of the school was a dull place, despite the teacher's attempts to make it more colourful by displaying pupils' artwork and talent, it was a dark and disheartening place. It was crowded with lockers, doors and equipment. It was tinted with the smell of sweat, old bleach and other cleaning equipment; the cleaners tried desperately to keep vandalism and messiness at a minimum but the pupils were able to somehow create untidiness nonetheless...
 

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A short story ordered with extra fricadelli? Ill make one up!

'Heschooooooooo' mandatory adjustments ruffle ruffle Mallard landed in River. Mallard started ahead, the sounds of 'flying water' clinged off. Onlooker bid his farewells. Thanks! he was so grateful. His day had been a fulfilling one Surroundings had touched him. Sometimes it did, sometimes it didnt and this was the kind of day when all clicked into place.

Step-tremor, step-tremor sound, bird, -Girl. Excitement, trouble what to do? eyes in distance. Passing. Too self-conscious aiyke! He yelped inside and tried to regain Composure. Success.

Easing up, the world sings, he started singing. Confidence, contentment. A good day.

Later he'd meet with, and pass, Grumpy. On the outside -nothing, but inside Laughter. He would often laugh at Grumpy. There was Magpie, Bridge, Statue and Beaver -hello!

In the evening he told the stars goodnight and they replied in kind, but he didnt really speak and neither did the stars. Strategic placements, he had slept outdoors before. Fire flamed nicely, he would always make a fire. It wasn't that he needed it, for any reason, he needed it for without one the outdoors wouldnt be worth it.

He went through his routine. Make-pillow beneath head, boots placed on top of bag. Soldier style, ready for the night.
 

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Sure I can't sleep, so I'll write something random.

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"I wonder if life is nothing but a big test. The situations we are put in and how we handle them dictate the grade. Perhaps the people who try us in life are nothing but a difficult problem we must overcome. It's possible that the occasional kind stranger is a teacher stopping by to check on our progress. Maybe they're there to push you along...or simply to make the test seem real.

I used to think that my family and friends were the support system, or maybe some helpful notes I kept for the test. They were there to keep me on the right track. Sometimes though, I catch them watching me with an empty almost calculating expression. It's as if they were trying to decide on how many points I'd just lost for dropping out of college or for getting fired from my job. Maybe I've been too moody and unmotivated in this life. My best friend just moved across the country. We don't speak anymore. It's like... he decided that I wouldn't be passing the test regardless of his actions, so it was a waste for him to keep up the facade and remain in my life.

Will it ever get to a point when I'm left with nobody except for the empty, unanswered questions on the scantron sheet? The problems. The people. The choices. Nothing, but an empty dying world all because I wasn't smart enough or more hard working or less pessimistic. Is everything I do just going through the motions?

'Smile at a stranger +1'

'Spot and avoid an old acquaintance -2'

'Apply for a new job or a different college program +2'

What if I fail? What if I pass?"

---

Eh this didn't come out like I was hoping. A little depressing, but I'm too tired to fix it. Ah well. :tongue:
 

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I just authored this piece. Thought to put it here although it doesn't belong here.
Worn out and scared
Im just as scared as you are probably much more so. Im incompatible with this world, society, people and girls like you..Im worn out and beat. Something broke, I dont know when, why, how. I didnt expect it, but Im feeling so worn from all the conflict and fighting. I write let me be freed.

What mush! May I be replenished.
 

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I love these short stories. They are mesmerizing. lol. Just to give you an idea (as if you already didn't know) how different an INTP short story can be and although you might not understand why these stories are so mysterious at least you can see. my stories are much more...well...different...lets put it that way :)

In that moment he decided that he was going to walk down the dark pathway rather than the lighted one he usually took. This dark pathway, as soon as he set foot in it, seemed to swallow him. He had entered the maw of a great big snake. It undulated and moved this way and that. He struggled to see the end of this stairway. It seemed to lead upwards and then downwards. At one point he had the illusion that he had entered a dark pool. It was cold and the walls seemed to be made of some kind of stone along which a shimmer of water came through. There was the faint patina of moss. A match was struck. Behind it stood the beast. The beast lifted him up gently and moved its hand in a westerly direction. From the opposite direction a lovely and fair maiden came running and gathered him in her arms. She proceeded to deftly slice him up using a carving knife and delicately enjoyed the fingers and toes spitting out the bones as carefully as a princess who was chewing on a choice piece of meat might. When she was done with the fingers and toes, the beast requested the pleasure of his company again. A dark look entered her face and she acceded. The beast continued to lift him, this time in a Northerly direction and placed him on the lighted road. Shorn of fingers and toes he vowed never to take the road less traveled.
 
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sometimes when i'm bored and feel a surge of inspiration i write down little paragraphs and these are a couple i liked looking back:

As I sit on the cool sandy shore and peer out toward the setting sun past the boundless sea, I wonder if there's really nothing more. Perhaps I've already reached the furthest edge of the world. Before I could tell what happened, I arrived the point I always aspired to reach. I did it. And yet, I felt so empty, so hollow. It felt like everything ended in the blink of an eye. I was so obsessed with the notion of reaching the top that I didn't take a moment to enjoy the journey. And now look at me, at who I am, at what I've become. So many sleepless nights. So many innocent people betrayed. So many loved ones abandoned. Is this the price of success? I'm an empty shell of the person I used to be. I wasn't always like this. I used to be such a happy and compassionate child. What happened to me? Well, it's probably too late to expect an answer. I suppose this is my punishment for all the misdeeds I have committed. I wonder how many lives I've ruined to reach this point - the edge of the planet. So I made my decision. I glanced once again at the limitless waters, so calm and carefree, and I decided to take the final step off the edge. I know a part of me already had a long time ago.
(not based on personal experience haha)
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I lost all sense of time as I lied down under the moonlight's glow on that distant hill above the abandoned play structure. It's strange how visible the world became when I closed my eyes at that moment. It felt like everything in the world just vanished except that very second in time in the here and now surrounding me. I noticed the ubiquitous chirping of the crickets prancing about through the night, the blades of grass brushing ever so gently on the sides of my neck, the lingering sensation of the breeze's fleeting cold breath, and if I concentrated hard enough, I could even feel the Earth moving, whisking me away with it. Everything in this fragile moment could have been shattered and taken away leaving behind neither joy nor sorrow, but instead it all blended together to create an ordinary yet ethereal moment that I would take with me through the rest of my days.
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Why is it that I feel so stuck? So distant? They're right there, I know it. I can see them, I can hear them, I can almost touch them. I don't want to be stuck in the darkness anymore. I know that in order to get there, in order to reach my goal, I have to take the first step. So I do. I get up and put my front foot forward. Then the other. I slowly start approaching them. Two steps become three, then four and five. The broken steps turn into a shuffle. I want to go there, to reach them so badly that I can't control myself. Before I know it I'm running. But I don't feel like I'm getting anywhere. The faster I run the further they get. Why is it that despite the effort I put forth, it never bears fruit? Faster and faster, I run relentlessly hoping that one day things will change. But they never do. In the back of my mind, I'm forced to consider the possibility that this is it, that I'm too powerless to make a change. No matter how hard I try, even if I want it with the deepest part of my soul, I won't be able to go to them. No matter what I do, they will always remain a distant dream drifting further and further away until all that remains is the flicker of a lost hope from the ancient past. So this is it. This is where I stand. I've always lied to myself. I've always shut away the deepest, darkest thoughts to preserve hope of achieving a brighter future. But it was all just wishful thinking. In the end, reality forces me to taste the cruel and bitter circumstances of my own limitations. I thought that I could escape the darkness, but once you're in it you can never escape. It will gradually reel you in deeper and deeper until it swallows you whole, leaving no trace, never to be seen again.
 
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