So ive been wanting to do some short story work and i came up with a general plot line but would like help/tips on how you guys think i could develop it (im struggling ). The General story line goes like this: The story is from the perspective of a man whose just been shot and is about to die. It covers how he can see the face of the man but nothing else. The protagonist then begins to slip away (pass out) and as he does he begins to remember fragments of his life (wife, kids, job ect) but with each aspect of his life he remembers he also remembers the corresponding bad parts of his life (divorce, abuse, getting fired). The story raps up with him realizing the face of the man who killed him was his own and he was really holding the gun. Any and all advice is appreciated! Thanks Connor
What about rather than him having been shot, have him under the threat of being shot? A gun to his back say, held by mysterious character, where he's being forced on a long walk (or journey). And on that journey he does his reminiscing, his life's stock take, and drip feeds clues to the reveal at the end wherein he's at a favourite spot and about to take his own life. This also introduces a will he, won't he angle to proceedings. < The matter of whether he does is your call.
I know this may sound a tad cliche, but have you considered the arguing with the reflection angle. You know the real version on the side of living, and the reflection arguing for the justification of suicide. It is pretty, dark, poetic, and metaphorical, despite the cliche bit. And it shows the duality of the struggle between the conflicting thoughts in his head.
How can he not know that it was his own face from the get-go? Very strong case of prosopagnosia? But even then - he must have known he has shot himself, not?
That's actually a really good idea, a lot more aligned to my writing skills and still very interesting! thanks budd!
Cold steel tapped on my warm scalp, then a rush of air and click of the hammer, any moment a bullet would penetrate my brain. I got to thinking about childhood, and about Mary-Anne, our times together by the riverside, holding hands, the sweet taste of her lips. People said it was wrong we were brother and sister, and then later my job in real estate. I built a small fortune with fargo homes, built a home of my own for Mary Anne, the little ones - Anne, Mary, Ann and Maran my boy. And then later my other job, Xerox salesman in my middle years, those guys were wild, salesmen or gunslingers, who can say, but who would want to shoot me, why was a gun held to my head? Sure I am a little depressed with my arthritis in the knees, and also a little bit drunk. Oh my god I am holding a gun to my own head. What an idiot. I better put this gun away, a busy day of dominoes tomorrow. What the hell was I thinking?
Excellent Matty , repurpose that as a short and submit. Surefire seller. I'll take 20% inspiration (muse) fee.
