Short Story: In Another Life

So some background info for this story is that I have to submit this for my portfolio in creative writing workshop. It's about 19 pages in size 12, Calibri. It needs to be 20-30 pages of complete short story, hence it's long length. Apologies beforehand.

It's my first complete short story, but I'm not sure if I'm quite proud of myself. Also, I'm posting this as unedited since I like to take a long-ish break before editing, but who knows when I'm coming back on here to actually post it for those that were curious.

Feel free to comment/critique! Just know that I'll probably edit it myself before I read any left here. ^^;" I know I'll have to expand it to meet the criteria; but, again, feel free to say something if you want to!

In Another Life

As Harvey stared at his sister’s picture, her calm and smiling face deconstructed. As though he placed fire at her face, her features melted away in his mind. He, at that point, could replace any girl’s face in the frame easily. Sometimes he wondered if his sister was truly his sister. The more he kept looking at the picture, the more he almost did not recognize her; that she was a stranger their family decided to preserve in memory.

Harvey’s grandmother had told him to be dressed in his best clothes and make sure they were not too colorful. They, she said, could possibly upset others if they were bright. He had done so; and, now, he sat on the couch two hours before he and his family needed to leave. In the background, he overheard the conversation his parents had, such as where to place the flowers, what to say when they got to the church, when it was appropriate to smile or not. When they got to the topic of his sister Jeanne, Harvey tuned them out.

Finally after spending five minutes sitting still, arms folded, Harvey stood and walked over to the video game pile he left on the floor for days. Jeanne’s life force was in these games, spread out in each title until a total time of 17 days, 46 minutes, and 23 seconds was recorded in his notebook. His parents liked to think otherwise, ‘proving’ to him by showing an urn that they said housed her soul; she could not possibly be in the video games. Whenever they tried to reason with him that way, Harvey frowned and shook his head. All of Jeanne’s efforts and emotions were in them. He was sure of it.

His hands picked each game up. Robotically, Harvey shook his head and placed a game into a new pile. This process kept repeating until he got to the second-to-last title: Another Life. He had already beaten the game, but he still smiled looking at the box, excited for the endless actions and decisions to make. Besides, he had finished the campaign about a year ago. Following the completion, Harvey had played and ended other games; his memories on this particular game were foggy. A new game was going to be nice to walk through as a new life.

Popping the game into the console and letting it load, Harvey walked back to the couch, picked up the game controller lying nearby, and gave his wide-eyed attention to the television screen.

The opening sequence played, where the silent protagonist with the default body and face was falling from the sky, grinning at the camera. Possible decisions formed into words floating by as clouds. During the descent, the protagonist crashed through the clouds, and their appearance changed to fit the decision’s consequences. Events that had to happen, though, showed as visions in the sky, far away from the protagonist’s reaching hand. So fast was the fall that the player would not be able to see what the protagonist did. In some moments, the protagonist was laughing, crying, or screaming with no noise to escape. Panning to the land, a child version of the protagonist looked at the sky, unable to see the visions or the clouds themselves. Still, the child protagonist smiled honestly at the camera with the words “Start a new life with the decisions you want to do, or wished you could have done.” underneath him before blacking out to the title screen.

The child protagonist continually walked towards the camera, observing the environment with curious wonder, giving their approval or disapproval at the occurrences. Their body eventually faded to show a teenager form still moving but now pondering over the past and showing apparent concern of the future, displayed when they sometimes stopped on the road and looking forward with a frown. Adulthood came the same as the teenager except they ceased the journey completely, gazing behind them and having fear draped over their face. They dissipated as well, returning to the child. Each cycle ran for five minutes.

Whenever Harvey started up a game, he liked to watch the sequences and little quirks. To him, they enhanced the experience he was about to divulge. He wetted his feet viewing the cutscenes, prepping himself of the game world he would interact.

Harvey clicked on “New Game” and was brought to the customization screen. He remembered that he imagined up an entirely different character the last time he played because he wanted to try something new. In this file, Harvey decided to base the protagonist after himself, as he was feeling uncreative currently.

Finished with the creation, the game took him through the backstory. As recently-made orphan on the streets, Harvey the protagonist was easily impressionable in a medieval world recently at war. In the nation he was in, bandits were going around pillaging and burning down villages amidst the chaos. With the king and his army charging through battle after battle, the only people able to protect the rural parts were the villagers themselves, but they did not have an ounce of courage or strength to drive away bandits. At the start of the game, Harvey and his sister Joan—as Harvey the player read as “Joe-anne” with no in-game vocal support—were fending themselves from starvation and the scorching summer heat.

The two children were naked in the slow-current river near their village, the water high up to their chests. Joan was splashing around, laughing while slapping water into Harvey’s face. She was a girl completely different in appearance from Jeanne; yet, as the protagonist’s sister, Harvey the player was to treat her like a proper sibling. When given the prompt to splash back, dunk her head under the water, or do nothing, he picked to reciprocate her action. Her model shuddered in a happy way.

“Harvey!” Joan said in a text bubble—as would the rest of her, and anyone else’s, speech. (This game did not have much vocal work.) Her character changed portraits to convey her feelings appropriately. She was laughing now. “Isn’t this fun? I’m so happy that we have this river. Are you happy?”

Harvey nodded.

“Yay! Summers are my second favorite season. We get to play with all our friends in the hot weather.” Her picture shifted to the grinning one. “I can’t wait for them to get out of school so we can play. Brother, what will we do until then?”

There was a pause as an implied answer came from Harvey.

“Gather food? I guess we should, shouldn’t we? I am getting a little hungry. And you did kind of eat it all last night.” Joan switched back to the laughing face. “You can be such a pig sometimes. But I still love you, Pig Brother!” Joan’s determined portrait flicked on. “Let’s go then!”

One fade-to-black later, the two—now clothed—were outside the forest’s heart, equipped with baskets and fruit knives, looking straight ahead. Joan had her basket slung over her shoulder as the other hand wiped across her nose. Her model shuffled to face Harvey. Stock bird noises and critter cries emitted from the foliage as the only source of music in the brightly-lit scene.

Joan’s determined portrait came up. “Stick with me, Brother. I won’t hear you if you are too far away. Okay?” Pause. “You know how to use that knife, right? You didn’t forget while we swam, did you?”

Do you need to know how to fight?

> “Yes, I have forgotten.”

“No, I know how to!”

Harvey the player picked that he had forgotten.

Her surprised face popped in. “No way! I was just kidding. I didn’t think you would…” Joan’s humorous lecturing pose—coupled with a finger pointing up—chimed in. “Okay. I’ll go through it as many times as you need.”

As Harvey the player read through the instructions, he was reminded of how Jeanne taught him various skills: appropriate public responses, snapping his fingers, and how to put the proper tone in his writing. To him, they were important to integrate in the world when he always felt like an outcast. Jeanne always had the patience to stick with him until he understood the material.

“Do you remember now?” Joan’s question prompted another choice to make. Picking the appropriate answer, Joan reverted back to the determined portrait. “Okay! Let’s go. Remember: don’t wander too far away from me. I don’t want you getting lost or getting into trouble.”

With a nod, Harvey followed Joan deeper into the forest. Transitioning into nature darkened the view, the high tops of the trees blocking light rays from entering. The intensity of the animal calls increased, to the point the animals were almost near their bodies. Crossing tree roots erupting from the ground, the children traversed into a part of the forest where fruits and berries were ripening from low flora. Joan cracked her knuckles and brought her basket in front of her.

“Yes! Looks like some are ripe enough.” Joan pointed towards a corner of their little area. “You pick over there. Those are short for you. I’ll pick here because they’re taller.”

There was another fade-to-black; but, on the bottom side of the screen, in the darkness, the game noted that the children took a few hours harvesting and checking over the area—even spreading a little outwards, feeling more daring today—prior to nightfall approaching. They had filled their baskets nearly to the brim, to their not-shown surprise and delight.

Right as the game disc loaded the next scene, a wolf’s howl burst into the background. Joan put on her surprised portrait. “Oh no. Looks like it’s getting late, Harvey. We should head back before it gets even darker.” She laughed, “It’s a good thing we don’t have parents, huh? They would have been really worried or angry. That’s what my friends keep telling me. Sally even got punished for staying out too late.”

The game switched Joan’s picture to her being sad or reflective. As she started to walk towards the village, she said, “Harvey, do you think us not having parents is a good thing? All my friends say so. They say that we can go to sleep whenever we want, eat whenever we want, and do whatever we want. But…” She halted and turned to Harvey, rocking her basket gently as a pendulum. “I want a mommy and daddy. I want a mommy and daddy that listen to me, who tell me what and what not to do, and who take care of me. They would protect me. I wouldn’t have to live like this every day. I look at my friends. They have such nice dinners and really don’t have to worry about getting hurt getting food. They have money. I sometimes get jealous.” Joan put on her smiling but sad face. “Do you want a mommy and daddy, too, Harvey?”

Jeanne had said things similar to the effect of Joan’s friends; however, Harvey did see the truth in Joan’s words. He did not agree entirely—after all, he did not like being told when to sleep, and to brush his teeth, and eat his vegetables—but being talked to in a serious fashion, he digested Joan’s loneliness. How her portraits conveyed exactly what she meant in her text, Harvey sensed humanity in her not so much different from Jeanne, despite the fact he did not hear Joan speak. Joan was expressing her opinion much like Jeanne—much like any other human being.

He thought really hard on the prompt and then answered “Yes.” Harvey felt that making Joan sad would have eaten away at him.

Joan beamed. “Thank you. I’m happy you feel the same. Maybe if we help around the village more, a nice person will be our mommy or daddy. That would be wonderful. I’m going to wish for us extra hard on my birthday for a mommy and daddy for us. You do the same too.”

On returning home, the two were implied to have talked more. Suddenly, a rat the size of a medium-sized dog approached them, hissing, spitting profusely. As per the general fare of early-game enemies, it sported red eyes and a messy, dirty pelage. An entirely weak foe; nothing to worry about even with its long and grimy-looking claws, Harvey the player knew.

That did not stop Joan to silently gasp. From her model, Harvey the player saw she was trying to stifle a scream while she closed the distance between the protagonist in natural reaction.

She brandished her knife shakily. “Ew, ew, ew! Disgusting rat! It wants to fight us!” Her head twisted towards Harvey, hearing an unspoken response. “I know that these knives aren’t that good for fighting. They’re good enough for this rat, though, I think. Don’t be scared, Harvey.” Joan plastered on a crying, scared face. “What? I’m not crying! Let’s just kill this thing and be done with it.”

Harvey and Joan entered into the battle phase. Out of the two, Joan had the least amount of strength and hit points, but she was supposed to be quick on her feet. The three took turns attacking each other with the rat attacking Joan more as programmed, since the fall of the protagonist ended in a Game Over. As Joan’s health dropped to fatal levels, Harvey panicked; and, though the rat would have been killed on Harvey’s turn, he used a healing Draft on Joan. She finished off the foe.

They returned to the main world, Joan picking up her basket and sighing. She was then laughing. “Oh, Harvey, you didn’t need to use that Draft. I wouldn’t have died like that.” (The game highlighted the part of the text, as though scolding Harvey). Her determined face flashed on. “Have more confidence in me. I was the one who taught you how to fight, after all. Next time, don’t waste it on me. Drafts are expensive.”

Harvey the player, if he had the ability, would have said differently.

Upon coming to their little shack of a shelter at the village’s border, the two set down their food. Harvey crashed onto the floor as Joan started a fire. The scenery reached to a blackness that the dark firewood was barely discernible; but, once Joan burst them into flame, life returned to their cramped area full of storage furniture and junk. She rummaged through the boxes, tossing them aside if need be, and pulled out something in a wrap. After opening partially, inspecting the contents, and sniffing it, she extracted the salted meat to cook on a dull knife.

“I bought this a while back,” she said, not looking at Harvey. “We could have hunted this, but we don’t have the salts. The people were talking how the animals seem to be disappearing. I bought the meat to save us unnecessary time.” She looked up at her brother. “Where did I get the money? Well… I stole it.” Her sad face showed. “I know it’s wrong. I hope you’re not too mad at me. I did it for the both of us.”

Eating without saying a word, the time stretched to long lengths. Harvey perceived the turmoil in Joan; she absolutely knew that she was a hypocrite, because she always complained when the forest animals or other poor beggars pilfered their supplies. Deep-down, she probably justified her actions since they were orphans and had no family; and, though Harvey, the morally-sound boy, despised his sister when she was like this, he waved his hand at the matter, noting that she really had the best intentions. Besides, now was not the time to fight when bandits were rumored to be in the vicinity.

For the following morning, news spread of a rogue attack at an elderly couple’s house. Luckily, the couple was safe because they went to go visit relatives during the night; but, as expected, all of their possessions were stolen and left not a trace of their own to track down. People speculated—if these were the same bandits setting fire to villages nearby—the reason for no apparent destruction, yet they were unable to have a consensus of a true answer.

Joan and Harvey showed no concern, certain that the adults knew what to do when they were attacked. After all, adults knew everything. Joan had the most confidence between the two.

In the next two days, they repeated their gathering sessions, traveling deeper into the forest each successive trip. They needed to stock up for the brutal summer days, when other children liked to use their favorite dipping spots. Joan also needed the fruits and berries to make sweet juice that was easily packed should the need to move come. The siblings hunted from time to time; but, unable to salt their meat, they ate their pieces on the same night. When not gathering materials, Joan was teaching Harvey other skills essential to the rest of the game.

Conversations with her usually consisted about family, friends, and any updates on what to do as the days were getting hotter; but, she was not entirely positive, as she was prone to complain when the nights fell. Sometimes about the village boys picking on her and calling out names of being a dirty beggar; sometimes about the way they had to live since their parents died from the plague. Each night, she groaned about her issues until the wolves howled, when she apologized—blaming on the rising heat—and went to sleep.

Harvey was accustomed to Joan’s constant—sometimes overbearing—presence. Even while they picked and hunted, she was there to be watching him. Though it had bothered him, he was still blissful that she was around, at the least. She would not be too far away to protect him, and he to her as well. While she had a complaining streak, and he was initially annoyed by it, he was not able to shake off that if she were to disappear, he would miss her.

Five fast days through in the game, the first major event kicked in as crackling sounds. The game had settled darkness for the scene, but Joan’s text bubble popped up, calling Harvey’s name from sleep.

With drowsy hesitation, Harvey got to his feet and dragged himself towards Joan’s ‘voice’, only to be jolted fully awake as his view was filled with red tint. What he thought was the summer heat turned out to be something a thousand times more destructive.

Miles from their shelter, fires were encroaching, leaping from structures in a slow but successful fashion. Smoke billowed heavenward to spread their fabric-like mass out. Harvey noted the slight irritation in his nose, which was probably worse for the villagers near the carnage. They most likely were not, though, as screams and blood-curdling wails echoed in the distance. The sparks were the fireflies flying, casting their signals to the people’s early graves.

Harvey stood solid watching the inferno far away lick tree leaves aflame. His character was mentioned to be shaking—even if the game did not actually show on screen.

Joan shook her brother back to reality. “Harvey! Stop gawking like an idiot!” She handed him a basket. “Pack as much as you can. Don’t worry about not filling it entirely. We need to hurry in case they come here. Quickly!”

Boxes were shoved away as the siblings rushed. Under the villagers’ fearful cries, they hardly heard the crates crash loud onto the floor. Not able to grab much from his side and time being pressed, Harvey was getting frustrated at the almost futility of the situation. Sometimes looking at his sister, Harvey saw the determination yet nervous state of Joan’s, who was getting cut from the papers she was ruffling around. Her basket only had a few items; but, there she was still attempting to snatch any provisions for their sake.

They were about ready to depart; but, upon turning around, the children were greeted with kicks to the ground. Because Harvey’s was to the face, he could not see from the tears welling in his eyes. The game said in text only he did not care that he tasted blood in his mouth, not bothering to spit upon their soles. Joan’s grunts and snarls were all he had to make sure she was there.
Unlike his character, Harvey the player saw all the action going on, looking shocked.

“Let us up, you thugs!” Joan struggled from their massive weight. They continued to kick at her, laughing coldly, while she screamed all the insults she knew. “Piggish brutes! Hurting the weak like cowards. You’re nothing but thieves!”

A gruff chuckle emitted from above Harvey. His body was being crushed further, much to Joan’s dismay. When he wished they stopped stomping his back, he soon regretted so with his face being buried into the dirt.

Harvey the player desperately wanted to tell his character to shove the bandits off, do something before they really hurt Joan. Every second going by, his heart was being crushed in constriction, a tortuous agony.

“What she think she is? A princess? We does know we’re thieves, and bandits, and brutes. What’cha say, Owen? Time to teach the brat a lesson?”

Joan’s head was tugged back fierce by the hair. Harvey the player almost felt the her pain reverberate throughout his body, increasingly agitated at himself for having no power as she bit her lips to stifle the crying. He raised his hand at the screen, only to pull it back and ball his fist. Against his wishes, he continued with the scene.

Harvey the player was forced to watch the bandits crowd over Joan and proceed to beat her senseless. No blood or signs of abuse showed on Joan, but he imagined vividly the results. She was not crying, yet he thought he heard her wailing inside his head. Her ‘screams’ were so loud; Harvey the player pressed his hands tight over his ears, setting the controller on the edge of his lap. Tears manifested from his eyes but did not trail.

His legs shuffled a bit, just enough to drop the controller onto the floor and start the next dialogue piece. Harvey the player desperately wanted to scream. He knew it was hopeless to wish such things because he had no voice on the matter. Yet he saw that the scene played out on its own, a part of the scene that progressed without the player’s input. It had to happen. Harvey was sucked into the scene, unable to remember that he existed in a different world.

Before Harvey saw Joan’s injuries, he was dragged out by the legs. His efforts to latch onto the ground were punished with his hands being smashed. Huge hands gripped across his mouth and twisted his arms to his back. Attempts to break free got him a punch to the skull. Harvey kept trying to loosen the hold his captives had by any means, given more beatings in the process. Eventually he stopped. Such negative reinforcement penetrated his thoughts. He wanted to help Joan—his sister was practically dying—but there was no use breaking away. The rogues were just too powerful. They rooted him to a terrible reality.

The men that were in the shelter finally left a few minutes later with no Joan in tow. Now, Harvey was bawling. His captives did not bother to smack him as they threw dry grass around and inside the sibling’s establishment. One of them stood guard with a torch that seductively kept Harvey’s attention, its glow almost inviting to forget the torture he was not able to stop.

All the children’s supplies were being carried out in the crates and baskets they worked so hard to collect. Some of the bandits were already digging into their food, laughing so coldly. When the gurgles and moans of his sister emitted, a man would go back into the shelter. The following silence haunted Harvey.

The man with the torch was given the nod. The flame at the tip cracked into a snicker at Harvey. Its body was about to dance over across the grass blades until time paused. Another decision prompt showed as Harvey’s ray of hope:

What will you do?

> Shout for help.

Struggle once more.

The boy blinked. For a few seconds, he did not understand where he was where words popped as such. Harvey brushed his hands across the leather couch, shuddering from the cool touch instead of feeling the flame’s heat. He sighed out tension. Finally establishing where he was, Harvey carefully read over the words again. Memories flowed in; he scrounged up snippets of his earlier adventure. Joan had disappeared when he picked the top option for his other character. As himself—as Harvey—he knew there was only one option to go with to be true to his character.

Harvey struggled again, making more of an effort as adrenaline was pumping. The bandits were threw punches at him, but Harvey resisted their blows. His struggles involved shoving himself backwards and kicking. When another man missed, Harvey was able to get his mouth into the open air and bite down hard at the arm—mentioned as powerful enough to draw blood. Amidst the chaos, the thieves were tripping over themselves; and, with one final shove, Harvey broke free.

In his struggle, he failed to hear Joan’s text screams inside.

The shelter was already a funeral pyre for his still alive sister. Harvey dropped to his knees seeing the roof collapsed, cooking Joan from top to bottom. The game did not show her actual body; yet, Harvey, again, was able to imagine the scene so clearly. The visions were so vivid he wished they were not so. Her screams became real.

Her screams became Jeanne’s.

Harvey the player set the controller onto the floor. He covered his eyes, but the tears trickled through the cracks and stained his best clothes. His sobs were noiseless. The scene shifted onto the next day; Harvey did not pay attention. Naturally his body curled up on the couch, attempting to shut out the world he was able to watch but not change.

“Harvey? Harvey, hey. What’s the matter?” His mother’s voice sounded worried.

The boy did not take his hands from his eyes. He sensed her presence now on the couch, elevating him slightly from her weight. Gently, she released Harvey’s hands from his face. She grabbed a tissue from a nearby box and dabbed his face. Her eyes glanced quickly at the screen and then back to him. “Harv, why did you play that game? Why didn’t you shut it off?”

Harvey did not answer. He looked away from his mother.

“Harvey…” Her hand stroked his son’s cheek. She tried her best to smile for him, though he caught the sadness in it. “You do know it wasn’t your fault what happened to Jeanne, do you? You couldn’t possibly have done anything.” Her emotions got the better of her, as the heaviness of the topic sagged her smile. “Jeanne wouldn’t have blamed you for not being able to act. The firemen were there to do that.” His mother tilted his face to look at her. “Do you understand that?”

He shook his head.

“I’m sure you’ll understand someday, Sweetie. If anything, Harvey, what happened was your mom and dad’s fault.” Her look lowered. “Your mom and dad are not perfect people. We’re sorry that we were not there to protect her. So please, Harvey, don’t blame yourself anymore. Your sister would not like that.”

Harvey shook his head again.

“In due time, I hope. I know it’s still painful for everyone. Your father and I just don’t want you to be hurt forever from it.” His mother pushed herself off the couch and patted his head. “We’re about to leave in a couple minutes. Get ready. The drive will be a little long. Okay, Harvey?”

Not responding to his mother, Harvey was left alone to stare at the screen, still curled up on the couch. The game had stopped at a text stating the new day’s start, and he did not want to acknowledge that life was continuing without Joan. Life was so cruel to leave her behind. Harvey convinced himself that she was still alive. Just was gone somewhere. After all, she was the type of girl to sometimes leave her brother to do some chore real quick. She was just gone for a little bit. She would be back soon, just like Jeanne.

Harvey was not paying attention to his father coming in. Upon being shaken by the shoulder, Harvey looked up at his dad’s face.

“Hey, Son, we have to go.” His father walked around to the console. “Hope you saved. We’re going to be late.”

Before Harvey was able to protest, his dad shut off the console. Harvey’s face blanked, and he slumped on the couch.

By his dad’s action, Joan’s death was undone. Technically, because he did not save, her death never happened. In the future, when booting up the game, there she would be, smiling and teaching Harvey again the survival techniques, fighting, and expressing her views about the world. Her hope would still be there to make him forget about reality.

Yet, he was not able to persuade himself that her death did not happen.

Harvey’s father was not able to shake his son out of his thoughts. He clearly saw Joan burning in his mind. There was no sound in the game for her screams, yet he heard those. Joan was scared; she called out to him. She, the older sister, was calling to him as the firefighters held him back. They were not able to get to her before some flaming debris from their house fell from above, leaving her unconscious before roasting her. Even when they got the roofing off, it was too late. A perfectly normal girl came in the house to become an ugly charred mess coming out.

Jeanne was dead. Jeanne was dead.

Harvey relaxed, with red eyes on the floor. There was no skirting around the memories floating back in, now clearer. He was the protagonist falling from the sky, and he was the protagonist that walked on the path forward, growing up, carrying all the past moments to challenge his future. Joan’s death—as well as Jeanne’s—was not one thing he was able to change; but, like the protagonist walking forward, he was going to head to the future and not forget about his sisters.

A somber smile graced his lips. His father, once more, patted his son on the shoulder, and Harvey now looked up at his father with renewed hope. Harvey slid off the couch, swiped off lint on his clothes, and walked slowly towards the door. His grandmother and mom were already slipping on their shoes.

“Harvey,” his father said, lowering the urn to him, “Mom and Grandma need to carry other things. Do you mind holding onto the urn?”

Harvey gazed at the urn for a second before nodding his head.
While his dad was getting on his shoes, Harvey continued staring at the urn. Her body was in this little urn to stay until the family decided where to release her. In a sense, Harvey finally understood the meaning behind his parents’ words; though, now, he saw it a little differently. Her soul, her presence, was in Harvey’s memories, where she would live forever running through his stories and writings. Her happy but flawed being, preserved in his mind until he died, and until the people he told his stories to died, and so on.

His family called out to him. Harvey temporarily set Jeanne’s urn on a nearby table to get his shoes on; and, when his father offered to carry Jeanne to the car for him, Harvey shook his head and pulled her back into his protective arms. They all entered the car, his family carrying the conversation on where to go for Jeanne’s release, Harvey listening in with utmost interest. Prior to his dad starting the car, Harvey lifted Jeanne to his face and, smiling sadly, kissed her goodbye.