Richard Schiver

Category: works in progress

  • Weekly Writing Challenge 02/04/2026 I Am.

    Weekly Writing Challenge 02/04/2026 I Am.

    Gus backed away from the three men, then turned and fled towards the only building that had any color in his featureless world.

    “He’s got a gun, get him.” He heard the shouts behind him as he fled across the open ground. A farmhand appeared at the door before him, his relaxed features giving way to sudden surprise when he found himself staring down the muzzle of the pistol as Gus pushed past him into the interior of the building.

    He stopped just inside the door, his wavy reflection stretched out at his feet in the surface of the highly polished floor. A door stood to his right and as approaching footsteps came from around the bend in the hallway before him, trapped between them and the pounding footsteps that were fast approaching behind him, he slipped into the room.

    Beyond the door, on his right, stood a row of stalls. Gray walls wrapped around toilets to afford the user a degree of privacy. Opposite the stalls was a row of white porcelain sinks and above each was a mirror.

    Gus was drawn to the mirror, having never seen himself as much as he could recall, the sound of movement in one of the stalls interrupted him and he spun around with the pistol leveled at the door as a farmhand emerged from within the stall. It was the one he recognized as Brodie and he stepped towards him. His hands spread in a questioning manner as Brodie backed away.

    Gus grunted, unable to make any other sound, his hand once more going to the puckered wound on his neck, he could feel the stitches with his fingers.

    “Don’t hurt me, please,” Brodie said as he backed away.

    From the corner of his eye Gus caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror to his right as Brodie backed towards the door. It drew him like a moth to a flame and with Brodie forgotten he spun around to look at himself in the mirror. What he saw gazing back at him was the same face he’d seen upon his arrival.

    Short sandy hair crowning a face that formed a near perfect circle with wide spaced eyes, and a pug nose above a thin mouth.

    No!

    It couldn’t be, it wasn’t possible, he wasn’t one of them. He had a wife, kids, a home. He had been the assistant manager of a farmers co-op. His finger went to his throat, he fel that puckered wound, the stitches protruding from his flesh. But when he looked in the mirror all he saw was the unblemished skin of his neck.

    No!

    A commotion at the door drew his attention and he turned to confront several farmhands pushing their way through the door with weapons aimed in his direction. He lifted the pistol and aimed the shaking muzzle at them. Bullets ripped through tender flesh, spinning him around and he fell face first towards the floor, his last thoughts clinging to the notion that it had all been a terrible mistake.

    To be continued!

  • Weekly Writing Challenge 01/28/2026 – I Am

    Weekly Writing Challenge 01/28/2026 – I Am

    They’ll be coming soon, they’ll let me out soon. The two thoughts chased one another through his mind as the night gave way to dawn and the sounds of a new day filled the compound.

    “What about the one in the box?” One of the farmhands shouted from somewhere nearby.

    “Leave him, he hasn’t learned his lesson yet.” Came the answer that sent the first waves of panic washing through his body. They weren’t coming to open the box anytime soon, not before he learned his lesson.

    What lesson?

    He hadn’t done anything and he fought to quell the panic that threatened to turn him into a raving lunatic that would batter its flesh against unyielding steel in a mindless foray into madness.

    It won’t be much longer. He tried to convince himself but that need to stretch his legs grew with every passing moment. The steel around him became warm as the suns rays broke across the horizon. Spilling through the countryside like a river unleashed from it restraints. Running wildly as it cast long shadows for the remnants of the night to seek shelter in.

    He focused on keeping himself calm, a nerve-jangling panic thrumming just beneath the surface of his consciousness as he pressed the palms of his hands against the warming steel that was mere inches from his face.

    It won’t be much longer.

    His leg jerked spasmodically, driving his knee against the lid of his prison, coffin, and pain washed up his leg as panic and rage swelled within him. He screamed as he beat against the lid of his prison, soft flesh turning to mush against the unyielding steel as flecks of blood rained down upon his face. He thrashed back and forth, bouncing his head from unforgiving steel, his screams filling the confined space, ringing in his ears as he pummeled the lid.

    He didn’t know how long he had been screaming before the lid was lifted, he was only dimly aware of the cold gray steel replaced by a featureless blue sky. Rough hands reached into the box and pulled him to his feet, standing him next to the box where he collapsed onto the ground.

    “On your feet boy,” that familiar voice shouted and he struggled to stand as gloved hands held him steady. He was whimpering in his throat as he gazed about the compound. The featureless gray buildings that surrounded him represented his future. Endless days beneath a relentless sun and the stinging whip of the overseer. Bent to his task until he could no longer stand up straight. Scrabbling through the remainder of his short life like a deformed crab performing tricks for its master for small scraps to sustain itself.

    No!

    He looked down, catching a glimpse of a well-worn handle, the butt of a pistol sticking out of its holster on the overseer’s hip. Before reason could stop him, he reached out and snatched the pistol from the holster. He fumbled with it in his hand, not sure how to use it, relying more on instinct as he wrapped one hand around the handle and pointed the muzzle at the three farmhands who had come to take him from the box.

    “Let’s get him back to the…” the man in charge began, the rest of his sentence dying as he turned to find the muzzle of the pistol aimed at his face.

    To be continued!

  • Weekly Writing Challenge 12/17/2025

    Weekly Writing Challenge 12/17/2025

    I began work on this little tale more years ago than I care to admit. In the interim the story became lost when an old computer quit working. I remember at the time that I felt the story was beyond my capabilities. I feel confident now that I may be able to do the story justice.

    Disclaimer: I understand it’s not possible for a memory from a donor to appear in a clone. But when you’re writing, you enter the world of what if, where everything is possible.

    Without further adieu I give you the first 600 words of

    I Am!

    He became aware of his surroundings in increments.

    The tireless voice of a wheel humming on pavement, punctuated by the rhythmic slap of a seam in the roadway that came like the steady tick of a metronome measuring the passing moments. The rocking motion of the vehicle in which he was a prisoner, wearing through the skin at the tips of his shoulder blades pressed against cold, unyielding, steel.

    The air around him was heavy with the scent of unwashed bodies, and though his eyes were open, he saw nothing but the bleak emptiness of despair.

    Where am I? What have they done to me?

    A cough came from above, a grunt from the left. With shaking hands, he explored his prison and found he was sitting in a corner, his hips twisted to one side with his legs curled beneath him. Other sounds intruded upon his terror, adding to the panic slowly nibbling its way through him. He struggled to bring it under control, to try and reason out this problem, but could find no plausible explanation for what was happening to him. At this his panic roared to life as he tried to reign it in. If he let it go, he would turn into a raving lunatic battering its flesh against unyielding steel. He had to center himself if he hoped to survive.

    Bringing his emotions under control, he realized there were others with him.

    But where was here?

    Warm fluid trickled onto his chest, several drops splashing into his mouth to leave a bitter taste as the overpowering odor of urine washed over him, tainted with the sharp tang of shit. He held up his hand to shield his face, his fingers pressing against warm flesh in a tangled mass of coarse hair. His hand brushed against a fleshy appendage and he grabbed it.

    Stars filled the darkness as a hard hand slapped his face and he released his hold to retreat into the corner.


    Who are they? What are they?

    They were trapped, all of them, living in their own waste as the night stretched into forever.

    The last thing he remembered was leaving his office to check on the sound of voices coming from the loading area. The Co-Op, where he’d been the assistant manager for the past three months had been closed for nearly an hour when the sound of the big steel door going up interrupted him as he was counting the till.

    Normally he would have been gone by then, but his wife had called frantic over a report of someone breaking into their neighbor’s house. It had taken Gus the better part of an hour to settle her down, reassuring her as best he could, promising he would be home soon. The memory of that promise, now broken, sent a pang of guilt shooting through him.

    How long has it been?

    Here, time held no meaning.

    In the loading area he had come upon two drivers throwing bags of shelled corn into the back of one of the company trucks. The deliveries had been made for the day so the only explanation for what they were doing was theft. If you’re going to take the risk of stealing something, why shelled corn? he wondered.

    He never got the chance to ask for as he approached them, and they stood up from their task, the younger of the two glanced over his left shoulder. Someone was coming up behind him and as he turned to confront this new threat darkness descended around him with an abrupt finality. 

    Why?

    To be continued!

    This week the short story titled, Brothers, was sent to my newsletter. It’s a story much like this one that was born in my desire to write a series of alphabet stories. The title of each beginning with a letter from the alphabet. I Am! will be the ninth story when it is eventually finished. What you see on my blog is the raw, unedited version. What my subscribers receive is the fully polished and edited version of each story. The stories are sent every other month. During the off months I share a full chapter from one of my works in progress, of which there are currently three.

    If you’d like to sign up for my newsletter, follow the link below and you will get full access to every story and chapter sent since I got serious about following through. You will also receive a full length novel only available to my subscribers. You can’t buy this book anywhere else.

    Synopsis: Jimmy and his friends have come to the roof of their apartment building to watch the passage of the comet Omega9. Little do they know the dust from the comet contains ancient organisms that are about to turn their world upside down.

    They’re already dealing with tough times, but things get even crazier when Robert’s mom is attacked by his dad and turns into a zombie. This is only the first act in a chain of events that plunges the world into the zombie apocalypse. Forcing the boys to figure out how to survive in this new, terrifying reality.

    Trapped between the undead, and the evil living in the building, their future becomes more perilous until Robert makes a startling discovery in the basement. In the end it’s all about survival, friendship, and facing their fears as they fight to protect each other and their home.

    Sign me up!

  • First Lines Giveaway.

    First Lines Giveaway.

    Everything’s in place. The first draft has been written and edited. The plot has been laid out, poked, and prodded from every imaginable angle in my search for holes. Those I’ve found have been plugged. I’ve delved into the past of my main characters in my search for their motivation, the driving force that will move them forward in the face of impossible odds. I’ve explored their fears growing up, tying everything together to lead them to the final confrontation.

    There is but one thing lacking before I can begin the final rewrite. A simple little thing really. Comprised of anywhere from five to fifteen words. Something I’ve spent the past few weeks searching for.

    I can feel it, hiding right on the tip of my tongue, waiting for me to stumble upon it.

    The first sentence of the story.

    The first line acts as a crucial hook. Like the curtain of a play rising, offering a balance between invitation and resistance to draw readers in without feeling forced. Setting the tone, the character, and the world instantly. Though some great openings are deceptively simple, proving the line’s power is in its promise of the story to come, not just in its stand-alone brilliance.

    Let’s play a little game. What follows are the opening lines of the last five books I read. Everyone who answers correctly will have their name placed in a random drawing and two winners will receive an autographed paperback copy of my novel Cursed. This game will end one month from today, on January 15, 2026.

    5 First Lines

    1 David Arlen’s daughter woke up ten miles outside Fredericksburg.

    2 Blake let himself into the apartment like he did every day after school.

    3 Otto woke to the sound of boots on the floor of the foyer below and even before his eyes fully opened, he knew the nightmare had at last spilled over into reality.

    4 Dennis Lange’s wife found his text messages and told him to be gone by the end of the day.

    5 It was a small town by a small river and a small lake in a small northern part of a Midwest state.

    Good luck.

    What are some of your most recently read first lines?

  • Weekly Writing Challenge 12/10/2025

    Weekly Writing Challenge 12/10/2025

    We have reached the end of Hell Hole. This week I’ve only done 279 words. When I’m writing shorts I tend to let the body of the story simmer before I write the actual ending with the first rewrite. It gives me a chance to consider all the angles of the story and come up with a decent ending. What you’re seeing is only the first draft of the story with very minor editing.When I complete it the story will enter the rotation for my newsletter readers who will receive the fully edited tale. This month’s story is ‘Brothers.’ If you’d like to see it sign up below.

    Join the Adventure: Free Zombie Apocalypse book.

    Every month you will receive either a full short story available nowhere else, or a chapter from one of my works in progress, of with there are currently three. For signing up you will also receive a complete novel available nowhere else. Yours to keep even if you unsubscribe.

    Without further adieu I give you the final part of Hell Hole.

    Continued from last week!

    “Eric,” a familiar voice whispered, coming from behind the crystals on his right. He swiveled his head in that direction, spotting a shadowy shape marring the opaque purity of the crystal.  

    “Who are you? Eric shouted. He already knew the answer to that question but chose to ignore it. To acknowledge what he suspected would send his already teetering mind into territory better suited to the deepest part of lonely nights where dreams became nightmares.

    A soft tap fell on his shoulder and he spun around expecting to find the culprit, but the space behind him was empty. Another tap fell on his other shoulder and he turned in that direction with the same results.

    He had to get out of there while he still could, and he searched for the way out. The exit framed by two crystals forming an X above the way out, but nothing looked even remotely familiar. He had spun around so many times in response to what was happening he had become lost within the forest of crystals. He stumbled to the right, stopping when a shadowy shape appeared within the stand of crystals. He didn’t want to see what they looked like.

    He turned back the other way, stopping again when another shape appeared. They were all around him, closing in, yet still hidden behind the nearly opaque crystals.

    He sank to his knees, hands over his head. “I’m sorry,” he said.

    A firm hand fell upon his shoulder and he looked up into Jared’s face. Only it wasn’t Jared, and while this person looked similar, he was obviously much older.

    “I tried to warn you,” Jared said behind him and Eric.

    The end, for now.