How do you write a short story?

Question by asdfghjkl;: How do you write a short story?
My cold arms shivered under his breath. His tone was ice. His face shifted and turned knots into my stomach as he spoke. He was a wicked, wicked man. The God that had shown his eyes to all before their day of birth missed him. Not one ounce of him wanted to feel happy or smug. This was a menace standing before my eyes. His eyes shot hatred at me. My eyes simply threw warmth back.
“Merry Christmas, then,” I said as I departed the Bay Legal Institute.
“Opposite to you,” he smiled as he leaned out the door. Scrooge-like, I thought.
Through the sunny valleys I skipped. Only in California were the men and women in Christmas swimwear at the beach. What the heck, I thought, and ripped my shirt off. Into the water I plunged from a bay, forgetting the angst of the man I talked to before this. It took but little time to swim to shore again, so I did. When I came off the sand, my mind was cooled.
“How did it go with Bale?” My sister asked as I stepped inside the beach hideaway.
“Pleasant,” I remembered, “I said ‘merry Christmas’ and he said ‘opposite to you.’ I found it cheerful.”
“Only you would,” Mara reminded me. She paused, “Why are you wet?” I hated when people asked such unneeded questions.
“I took a saltwater bath,” Mara nodded toward my drenched clothes. She expected further explanation. “In my day clothes. It was instantaneous. One of you those things you just need to do.” She laughed.
“Wash up. You’ve got to catch a plane.” My eyes wrinkled with surprise. Where was I to go so near Christmas? My plans were to stay in California, the sun always at hand.
“To where?” I smiled. Mara had to be kidding.
“To Pennsylvania, of course, where Mom and Dave are.”
“I’ve never spent a holiday out of California. I am begging you. Sell the ticket.”
“Now, come on Jason, that isn’t needed. Be rational. Mom is all set for you to stay at her house in Treasure Lake, with Dave. You haven’t met Dave yet,” she reasoned.
“What do you need me out of the house this badly for?”
“Eric is going to propose this Christmas. I see it. I’d rather have a romantic setting, without you and your brainless friends here this year.”
“Sunshine to you.” I packed my bag.
“Opposite to you.” She chuckled in memory of Mr. Bale. Once a year he endured a stay at the Legal Institute, and once a year I knocked on his door in ask of blood for the hospital. It was a surprise I knew the man at all, for there was only 1 in 365 possible days I could run into him. His blood was a rare type, and the hospital was in need of such. A donation from him meant someone with rare chances to live much longer got a couple more years. He didn’t seem to care. I took this at no surprise.
Into my room, I lumbered. There was a lot I had to do and say to everyone before I left. I was 19, I could easily skip out on the plane and stay at a friend’s. An abundant group of my friends were married. I laughed, a painful laugh before I continued packing. My Palo Alto branded polos were a necessity. My Charlie Brown shirt couldn’t sit here all Christmas break. Superman, Batman, and Spiderman would surely pop out of their friendly logos and attack me if I left them here. After a while, my drawers lay open, and barren.
“What in the heck do you need that for?” Mara yelled from below as she heard the rolling of 6 suitcases.
“What do you care? You’re the one sending me off,” I bellowed back.
I drove myself to the airport and found the proper flight. Eight hours later, we landed in a snow-cleared airport. Whatever drove my mother down here was absurd to me. As I got off the plain, wind muddled my wrinkle-free coat. It was agonizing here already. A note laid on one of my cases, clearly my sister’s curly script.
Take the Cab 618 to the train. Get off nearest DuBois, Pa – wherever that is. Your ticket is inside the pocket of this case. I did exactly this.
While waiting for my mother at the station, I studied the cars around. A lot of them were big cars, ready for snow, I assumed. A fresh black Chevy pulled up to the corner. Maybe that was my new stepdad. A woman stepped out. It wasn’t.
About two hours of blistering cold later, a little white car pulled up, silver stripes agleam. Out stepped a man seemingly familiar to me. Where from, I couldn’t be sure. I stared for a while. My eyes blinked as I carefully scrutinized him. His black overcoat was from a good designer, I could tell. His hair was unusually perfect, as opposed to the puckered hair of the other pickups. It took a while for me to notice the sign situated carefully between his palms.
Jason Smith. He was here to pick me up. I got up abruptly, rolling all my suitcases at once. One look at me got the man startled, but he complied to my mother’s orders. “Jason Smith,” I held my hand out. His glance leered downward to my hand. He nodded, politely dismissing it. Wordlessly, we drove to a location somewhere deep in the woods.

– WHAT DO YOU THINK?

Best answer:

Answer by tis_the_season_to_eat_holly
Dull.

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