Waste: a short collection

Waste: a short collection

By Maximilian Weihe


Text Copyright Maximilian Weihe, 2016

All Rights Reserved

First Shakespir Edition

License Notes

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Table of Contents

Island of the Misfit Boys

Dungeon Master

Too Far Gone

About the Author




Island of the Misfit Boys

Waste: a short collection

By Max Weihe



“Hey, new kid. What’s your name again?”

“Jamie. You?”

“Colton, but you can call me Colt. Say, why are you sitting in the sandbox alone?”

I tighten my grip around the wooden walls that keeps me safe. “Felt like it,” I murmur.

“That’s cool, I guess. Mind if I join you?”

I was never given a chance to answer. Colt plops down across from me, causing sand particles to thicken the air and grizzle against my skin.

“What’s it like?” Asks Colt.

“What’s what like?” I reply.

“What’s it like being blind?”

“I dunno. What’s it like being whatever is wrong with you?” I ask.

“How do know something is wrong with me? Can you see me?” replies Colt.

“No, I still can’t see.”

“Then how do you know something is wrong with me?”

“We’re in the same class aren’t we?”

“Oh, yeah. And for the record there is nothing wrong with me. My doctor says I’m special.”

Even though I can’t see, I can hear the grin in his statement.

“So what makes you so special?” I ask.

“Can you…” Colt’s voice lowers to a whisper. “Keep a secret?”


“I’m part robot. I’m a cyborg.”

“Prove it,” I say.

“Okay. Hold out your hand and prepare to be amazed.”

Cold, hard fingers greet my hand and dance in my palm. I run my hand up his arm, examining the odd smoothness of his prosthetic. I continue to move up his arm until the terrain changes to his shoulder, wrinkled but filled with warmth. The scars almost burn my fingertips. Chills run throughout my arm and I pull back.

“Keep going. There’s more.”

Colt grabs my hand and places it on his face. At first his face seems normal: a mouth, a nose, eyes, the usual stuff. Above his right eyebrow I find the beginning of a trail. My finger tips sway in and out of the crevice as the cracks on the side of his head splinter and I’m greeted by a metal plate where the back of his skull should be. Colt laughs at the shocked look on my face.

“Told you I was a cyborg,” he says.

“What’s a cyborg doing in Elementary School?” I ask.

“I’m only part robot. Hey, do you want to play a game?”

“As long as it’s not catch,” I say.

“I have an idea, be right back.”

Colt prances out of the sandbox splashing sand into the air once again as his foot steps trail off into the distance. Within moments I hear his steps getting louder as he makes his return to the sandbox.

“Smile for me, will ya?”


“You’ll find out soon enough,” says Colt.

I do what was asked of me and smile. I feel a quick flash of warmth touch my face and a series of clicks and hums coming from where Colt is.

“Jamie, hold out your hand?”

“Again?” I ask.

“Come on, hold out your hand.”

Colt places what feels like a rectangular piece of paper in my palm. I run my fingers across the top side feeling a slick gloss and on the back I feel just paper.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s a picture of you, Jamie.”

“Um, thanks? I can’t see it though.”

“I know. I’m going to be your eyes. It’s part of the game,” says Colt.

“What’s the name of this game?” I ask.


Dungeon Master

Waste: a short collection

By Max Weihe



“Mom, I finished all the milk. Can you get some after work?”

My mother hollers from her bedroom. “Can’t you do it? I have important things to do today.”

“So do I. My team is counting on me.”

“Honey, playing League of Legends isn’t important.”

“Yes it is. Amanda Hugankiss is going to be playing.”

“Napoleon, you’re thirty years old. Just go upstairs and talk to her. While you’re at it go to the store and get groceries. No more excuses or I’ll turn off the Wi-Fi.”

“Fine, I’m leaving now. You’re so unfair.”

“Quit being such a little bitch and leave already.”

“What was that mother?”

“Nothing, love you.”

I roll my eyes and say, “I love YouTube”.

It’s go time.

I grab my flame leather jacket (so the ladies know I’m hot) and my favorite pair of Heely’s to make my journey to the store hastily. With the grocery list in my pocket, I open the apartment door and embark on my quest. I glide flawlessly down the hall until I’m faced with my first decision. Fast travel or the stairs? The decision is easy. I press the button for the first floor and await my carriage.

The carriage chimes and the doors open, welcoming my presence and revealing my fellow passengers. Mrs. Daisy, the old witch who lives in 7B, a worthy foe. Chad, a merchant from the land of Dominoes, he is an experienced traveler who I have encountered many times throughout my journeys. In the far right corner of the carriage, stands the most beautiful maiden of all the land, Amanda Hugankiss, the damsel who puts my heart in distress.

The doors close and the carriage starts its descent to our destination. I make my home as close as I can get to Amanda without seeming creepy. Hopefully she can smell my cologne. I used my best can of Axe this morning.

Amanda breaks out in a frantic seizure of coughs.

The spell is working.

“Yo, Napoleon, back away. You smell like ass.”

“Oh, um, sorry.” The spell was too strong. Maybe switching to Old Spice is the key.

Our carriage lets out a mighty roar, louder than any dragon I have ever encountered and our transportation comes to a halt. What kind of dark magic is this?

The fast momentum at which we stop upsets my fragile tummy. I hear my fellow passengers curse the situation but I am dealt with a problem more internal. Don’t do it man. This will ruin any chance you have with Amanda. My body fails me and I feel the shame leave me and permeate the carriage. One by one the passengers notice the horrid stench that is not my Axe body spray. I use my skills to adapt to the situation and join in with the accusing looks and cover my nose with my shirt.

Amanda breaks the awkward silence of stares. “Which one of you nasty asses farted?”

My eyes meet the soulless stare of Mrs. Daisy, who is hiding her nose behind a red bandana. I’m sorry, you got to take one for the team. Before I’m able to point my finger at her, Mrs. Daisy throws up her hands and forms the gang signal for Blood and shakes her head from right to left. As I predicted, she is a worthy foe. Another day.

I turn my finger of accusation, cocked and ready to aim at Chad. Poor Chad, so young and innocent. We were friends once, like two weeks ago when he brought me my pizza. I can see the betrayal in Chad’s eyes as he stares at my index finger in his face. Critical hit.

“It was Chad. He is the nasty ass.”

“Bro, totally uncool. It was obviously you.”

“There is no proof,” I proclaim.

I look to Amanda, to see if she’s fallen for my trap but it has failed, miserably.

“You’re disgusting, Napoleon.”

The sharpest blade cannot pierce my armor but yet I feel fatally wounded by her words. The carriage chimes and the doors open, freeing me from the hell I have created.

I push past the passengers and yell, “Excelsior!”

I flee the dungeon as fast as my Heely’s will go. I glide out onto the streets of San Francisco and let the hill’s gravity guide me to my final destination. My self-esteem may be injured but my quest has only just begun.

Too Far Gone

Waste: a short collection

By Max Weihe



If I stood still the ripples would cease to exist.

If only I could do the same. If only.

My reflection grew tired of looking at the same wrinkled face that shamed my existence. My scalp, covered in gray hairs that tick and tocked in my ears, counting down my final moments. My pale blue eyes are no longer trustworthy as they often fail me.

Death waits for no man yet here I stand, waiting for him.

“David, please come home.”

I look up from my reflection and find my wife standing knee deep in the water of the lake I stand upon.

“I’m too far gone,” I said.

“Come home. We miss you.”

“We?” I asked.

One by one, familiar faces emerged from the water from where my wife stood. First it was my parents then it was their children, then came our children, and then our children’s children. The family was all there.

“We all miss you, David. We miss the old you,” Said my wife.

“I do too, but the old me is gone. He’s too far gone.”

“It doesn’t matter. We just want you back.”

“We all want a lot of things.”

“Then what do you want, David?”

“I want to be forgiven.”

“Forgiven for what?”

“Forgiven for the boys, I killed. I took them from their families. I’m worse then a murderer, I’m a thief. I stole their lives. I can’t keep going on like it never happened.”

“It was war, David. You did what you had to do.”

“I didn’t have to do anything. I did what was asked of me, no questions asked. I was just another fucking tool with a gun.”

“You did what you had to or else you would be the one that was taken from our family. We forgive you. Just be thankful you’re alive, because we are. Please, just come home now.”

“Why should I? Those boys didn’t go home. Why do I deserve to go home?” I asked.

“Because we love you.”

As the words left my wife’s mouth, the entire family reached out their hands in unison to welcome my homecoming. Water dripped of their eager fingertips.

Tears rolled down my face onto my reflection, they rippled as they disappeared into the abyss of the lake.

My reflection now faced toward my family with his hands out and reached for their embrace.

It was time to go home.

I took my first step toward my family, but the lake did not support me. The uncertainty underneath the water welcomed me as it took me below the lake’s surface. The murky water clouded my vision and halted my breathing. I tried to swim up, but no matter how hard I fought back against the lake; the lake won this war and dragged me further down into it’s depths.

Bubbles of air left my mouth, each filled with an image of a family member I was letting down. First it was my wife, then my son, and so on, until the family reunion transcended to the surface of the lake. I reached for each one, hoping for help, but they just popped and sent the sound of gunshots ringing in my ears. The sound of gunshots turned into the screams of the men that I killed. The young men’s lives flashed before my eyes as I ended each one. My arms still ached from holding the weapon. They begged for their lives but I couldn’t hear them underneath the judgmental blow of my firearm. Now it was their last pleas that drowned out my own. I tried to cover my ears, but the water restrained my hands and pulled me down faster. The descent was halted as I was brought down to the lake’s floor and staring into the face of Death. The fear in my eyes made him smile enough to show me his blood stained bullet teeth. Each bullet was etched with a name of a man that I killed. Death wanted them to be the last thing that went through my mind.

Death embraced my presence with open arms.

“I don’t want to die anymore,” I yelled, but the water gurgled my speech.

Death put his hands on my shoulders and said, “But David, you’re too far gone.”


About the Author

Maximilian Weihe is a Creative Writer at Full Sail University in Orlando, Florida. Max hopes to one-day write for video games, film and all things entertainment. Max has had his work published for Down in the Dirt magazine. During his free time, Max enjoys fighting crime, being really awesome, and lying to boost his self-esteem. Max strongly believes that cats are the superior pet. 

Waste: a short collection

This is a short collection of three flash fiction pieces. They all differ drastically in order to show a little bit of my range. The first story, "Island of the Misfit Boys" is about two misfit boys forming a friendship. It's a short, sweet tale, that captures the mind of two kids becoming friends. The second story is "Dungeon Master". It's a ridiculous and humorous tale, about a man that acts like a child. Hopefully others find it as funny as I did. The last piece is "Too Far Gone". This piece is one of my darker pieces, it deals with post traumatic stress disorder, and a man questioning his will to live. Hopefully these three pieces show my range as an aspiring writer. I hope you enjoy.

  • Author: Maximilian Weihe
  • Published: 2016-06-19 19:35:08
  • Words: 2238
Waste: a short collection Waste: a short collection