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Five Steps Denial“...What? You can’t be serious. No.” I shot up from my comfortable position on my bed, concentrating on my laptop, flicking through new posts by my friends. One after another, they confirmed it.My classmate Rahul was dead.It seemed like a dream, a nightmare.I had known Rahul since we were both in sixth grade. In tenth grade, we went to Beijing together, spending a week there, a week of conferences, late night partying, Coca Cola and fun. He was there when my head started spinning and when my friend Aku was stressed out. He was there for all of us, always.That one line sums up who he was.Rahul was the most calm and composed classmate I ever had. In eleventh, we were all stressed and stretched beyond our limits by an enormous courseload. Most students failed, a normal circumstance given the high curriculum bar and our school’s policy of strict marking to enforce self-study.What they didn’t realise was the emotional scarring it gave all the students who couldn’t handle the syllabus.When a classmate failed, Rahul was the first to comfort him and drag him back to class, where no one blamed him for failing. After all, most of us had too.Rahul had opted for the most challenging subject combination available to a student. He was our school band’s bassist and furthermore, he was pursuing extra studies for college admissions, a common phenomenon in Indian schools. Many students fail balancing the extra studies and schoolwork. Predictably, Rahul too failed.The difference was how he took it.I swear that he broke out a metaphorical case of beer.I never knew him to have a day’s stress.And now I was being asked to believe that this fine specimen of a young adult had died of a heart attack. He was the only classmate I’d ever lost. In an instant, I was taken back to the day I woke up to find my grandfather dead, my uncle dead.It wasn’t just hard to believe. It was impossible. For all of us.Even today, 72 hours later, I kept thinking I’d see Rahul log on and post “April fools, dudes! Did you really think a little thing like death would get in my way?”AngerSoon though, most of us had, to some degree, realised that Rahul wasn’t coming back. That he was really gone. Frustration and fury took over then.“Rahul, stop this. Come back. You *****. Don’t do this to us.”Our band’s guitarist wished nothing more than to hear Rahul curse at him one more time. He blamed himself for not picking up Rahul’s calls, for being too busy to answer his texts. The anger we bore Rahul, bore God, became anger at ourselves. It only made it worse for his parents that both were doctors, and had been unable to help their elder son.“These words won’t leave my mind: ‘After the exams, we’ll go to Dharamsala again and have fun.’” Anger at the lost opportunity. Anger at life for denying friends the chance to spend time with him. For forcing us to live on borrowed time.I couldn’t remember the last thing I’d said to him. Probably, “Have you studied for the exam? Lend me your notes?”It’s harder than anything, to know you left it all unsaid. To know that you didn’t say thank you, you’re a great friend, glad to know you.Bargaining“A million tears won’t bring him back.” But I wish they would. Because they’ve all been wept by now.When you’re so upset, it seems like you’d cut your heart out just to hear his gravelly voice one more time, to see him lumber down the corridor one more time, to duck as he threw a lunch box at you, just one more time. That’s how I saw him last.Bargaining didn’t last long for most of us. Because of our tradition of cremation, many friends went to see their brother one last time. When you’re staring at the glassy eyes that once shone with laughter, the empty face that always held a smile, it’s hard to believe that somehow, we can bring him back if we make this sacrifice or that.We still tried. The number of candles that were lit, the number of condolences that were posted that night must have crossed a hundred. It seemed that with so many people regretting the loss so deeply, the skies themselves would split open to return him in a clap of thunder. It seemed that he’d return because Death himself wouldn’t dare separate him and the rest of us.I’ve never seen my friends so religious as when they begged God for one more day for our friend.DepressionBecause so many of us had known him, known what a fantastic person he was. It was depressing to realise that such a vibrant, healthy, happy guy could be taken. I’ve heard a sophomore wonder if he’ll survive his schooling, having been friends with the other student in our school who had died before graduating.You know something’s terribly, horribly wrong when a child is forced to enter the real world before he even turns sixteen. When he’s forced to acknowledge the possibility of death for himself, not somewhere in the distant, blissfully ignorant future, but in the here and now.I’ve never seen such swollen eyes, nor heard such sobs as I did attending Rahul’s final rites. It was almost a moment of pride, to see my classmates, mature enough to know there was no shame in shedding tears for a fallen comrade in the battle of life.The worst victim was Vishesh, Rahul’s little brother. He’s just 15, Rahul was just 18.A few weeks ago, I remember my best friend making some insult about him, annoyed by his attitude in the school band (he was a vocalist, my friend a pianist).Today, I haven’t seen a single person who didn’t stand up for him. And I haven’t seen a person so heartbroken as Vishesh was on that terrible day. He’d lost his elder half. Life must have come to a stop for him and breathing a burden.The broken, unanswered, silent cries of a teenager for his brother are a harsh moment to witness, especially in one so proud and strong. The cries of the bereft child are the cries of a lonely wolf at night, with no one to answer him as he howls in solitude.AcceptanceI’ve never seen anyone as strong as Vishesh. Even today, he was there to support his parents, moving like a pendulum from mother to father, embracing a classmate who delivered a tearful elegy. Grief made everyone more eloquent in eulogising than I’ve ever heard them in English class. “I’m sure he’s looking down at us and going, 'Hey, guys, I’m chilling with John Lennon and Jimmy Sullivan and Zeppelin and whatnot.'”The thing is, life moves on. You have to accept it or you’ll go mad. You have to take it in and forget about it. But you can’t. “It” was someone you cared about. “It” was more than just a name, like he was to so many others, people who still mourned a person they had never known. People who shared the simple bond of a common school, of common friends.I’ve never been so proud of my classmates as I was when we all instinctively, involuntarily, came together to offer support to the family. I’ve never been so proud to be in this school. Because it’s not just a school. It’s a thousand-member fraternity. And Rahul is a charter member for life, because the roster’s written in our hearts with a quill called friendship. We’re sorry we didn’t get to know him for longer but we’re glad we knew him at all.Today, we learnt something. We learnt that we have to stop and take a moment to appreciate each other, lest we “entertain an angel unawares”. Today, we learnt just how much Rahul meant to each of us, whether we knew him or not. Today, we learnt how to come together, brought together in grief but bound together in friendship.Tomorrow, our band will perform So Far Away, Avenged Sevenfold, Rahul’s favourite song. Tomorrow, I’ll give Vishesh the little guitar I made out of beads. Tomorrow, we’ll give in our contributions for a commemorative piece in the school newspaper. Tomorrow, my friend will deliver the proposal for our annual Rockfest, BreakOut. It’s our tribute to a self-taught bassist who never went through formal training yet wowed us with his passion and gifts.R.I.P Rahul. Rock in Paradise.
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Well, I have no idea where I can put this on here, but I just wanted to show everyone that I finished a music video of our favorite Bionicle villain a few weeks ago Here be the results![removed]Hope it didn't turn out too bad.
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ForHonor and Glory...and cookies.Hello guys, i thought i'd make a tribute to my favorite maker of comics (and sprites), so here it is!Including Dark709 and everyone's favorite derp, Bob. :PAs always, a brief explanation on how i started this project:1. First i took another good look at the characters from MoL, to see how their built, what their feet look like, their body's are shaped Etc.2. Then i drew the basic skeleton of Dark, starting at the body and working outwards toward the appendages.3. Drawing in the basic outlines. Once again, working from the body outwards (Drawing the expessions on the masks is always fun. ).4. Details. Details are fun when drawing bionicles, becouse of the fact they're biomechanical. (i.e. they have a lot of machinery in them.) Just figuring out where the machinery goes is really fun.5. Shading and coloring, aka the fun part. Once you start shading, your drawing comes to life, and that encourages you to make the best of the drawing, no matter how dumn the idea is.6. Then i repeated the whole process for Bob. The hard thing about Bob was trying to get his mask JUST right. First of all, i wanted to to stay true to the kanohi Rau in the comics, but i also wanted there to be a little element of the movie stuck in there. And as if that was'nt hard enough, he also had to have a mouth, so he could eat a cookie. Aaaagh, the agony! :cry:Well, at least it came out okay in the end...Hope y'all enjoy it,-Dwanny
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The two of us stood at the entrance to the catacombs. Roodaka’s tall form was slightly crooked in the moonlight. “What are we doing here, Sidorak?” she asked. Her words were slightly slurred together. Only moments ago we had been attending her naming day party, and Roodaka’s only weakness was being served by the cask. She still clutched her glass in her dainty hand. I recall seeing a glazed-over, intoxicated look in her eyes, a look that would never naturally be there. She smiled. This was not the small, coy smile she usually wore, but a large, mirthful, and dare I say, jovial grin. “I have a gift for you,” I said, “I kept it here for a surprise.” Her face lit up as I spoke. I knew Roodaka was quite fond of gifts. “What is it?” she inquired. I could see the greed that glittered in her sapphire eyes as she spoke. No longer was it masked by her false etiquette. “Rubino,” I replied. Roodaka stared dumbfounded at me. “Rubino…” she echoed. I smiled. Roodaka was a fiend for Rubino, a famous beverage that was made in her homeland of Xia. It was frustratingly rare and maddeningly expensive, so it was no wonder that it was her favorite. “Come along,” I said, “It’s rather far inside.” Roodaka snapped out of her trance. “Of course, of course,” she replied, “Let’s be off then.” I lit a torch that I had brought, and we started into the dark, forbidding catacombs. I heard Roodaka giggle with excitement. Her laughter was a rare noise. We journeyed into the deep, cavernous darkness of the catacombs. The walls were overgrown with an insidious crystal; a milky, opaque, mineral that I was unable to identify. Roodaka walked behind me, occasionally stumbling on the uneven floor. “How much farther is it?” Roodaka asked, barely able to contain her enthusiasm. I gave her a warm, reassuring smile. “Not very,” I said. “How did you like your party?” “I suppose it was fine,” she replied, “But I think it could have been better. Let’s not invite the Visorak next time. They got webs in everything.” “Indeed,” I agreed. Even I had to admit that my soldiers did not make the best of party guests. We continued into the catacombs. Here was where the Matoran of Metru Nui had buried their dead. Already I could see that the walls were lined with small stone doors that led into tombs. The doors were inscribed with the names of the deceased. As we descended further we started to come upon skeletons that were laid in tight, uniform piles. The little skulls of Matoran peered up at us in the dim torch light. As we walked I heard Roodaka stagger into the stone of the corridor, and turned around to see if she needed help. She was leaning against the wall, trying to stand up erect. But her level of lucidity was not up to par. I had to help her to her feet, and she wobbled unsteadily on the high heels of her shoes. “Perhaps we should come back tomorrow night,” I suggested. Roodaka shook her head as she let out a small cough. “No, no,” she insisted stubbornly, “I want my gift now.” “Really, I think it would be much better if we did this some other time,” I quickly replied, “You’re in no condition to go any further.” “Don’t be a fool,” she scoffed, “I’m perfectly fine. It’s my Birthday, and I want my gift.” She once again began to cough. I suppose it was the mineral on the walls. I felt the air was rather foul and heavy. I held out one of the bottles I had brought with me. “Have some of this,” I said, “It will do you good.” I saw Roodaka’s avaricious eyes light up as they peered upon the green bottle. “What is it?” she asked as she searched the bottle for some sort of label. The thought of that makes me laugh now, because I doubt she would have been able to read one at that point. “Uncino,” I replied. It was a cheap substance, but Roodaka, despite her high tastes, snatched it from my hands. She uncorked it and poured some in her glass, then thrust the bottle back into my hands. She threw back her head and emptied the glass down her throat. I simply smiled again at her. Eventually we reached our destination. At the very end of the Catacombs was a large pit that had been formed when the floor collapsed at some unspecified point before our invasion of the city. It was here that I had placed an enormous cask of Rubino. I had left the top off, and the red liquid glittered like diamonds in the torchlight. Roodaka stared at it transfixed. I was certain she had never seen such a vast amount of it by the way she looked at it with reverence. “Rubino…” she muttered. She moved away from my side to get a closer look at it. She never once thanked me, spoiled, ungrateful creature that she was. But it didn’t matter now. The Vortixx kneeled down, scooped up a glassful and guzzled it down. She let out a giddy, euphoric laugh. Immediately she went to get herself another. With the slightest push of my foot, I sent her toppling headfirst into the cask. She let out a shriek as she disappeared beneath the surface. She came back up gasping for air, with wide, shocked eyes. They soon calmed down again as she saw where she was. She let out another laugh. To my amazement I noticed she still clutched her glass in her hand. “Oops,” she slurred, “Sorry.” She reached out with her dainty hand. “Help me out please, won’t you Sidorak?” I gave her another smile. Then I shook my head. “I don’t think so,” I said. I sat down on a nearby block of stone and watched as the color drained from her face. “Why not?” she spoke in a soft, almost frightened squeak. I never bothered to reply. I simply watched as she tried to lift herself from the cask. She let out a squeal as she slipped back inside. I had covered the outer edges in lubricant. I watched her do it again and again, until she finally let out a low, defeated moan. Then she began to scream. “You’re not going to get away with this!” she screeched, “I swear it! You’ll pay dearly for this!” I never responded, but merely reveled as she continued to rant for almost ten minutes. Eventually the rants became frantic pleas. “Let me out!” she bawled, “Please let me out!” At that point I stood up from my block and retrieved the lid to the cask from behind it. I peered down at the miserable creature. To my surprise I saw a small smile on her face. She let out a pathetic, nervous laugh. “A very good joke, Sidorak,” she said in a sad little voice, “We can talk about it back at the party. We should be getting back to bid everyone good by. Let us be gone!” “Yes,” I replied, “Let us be gone.” “For Mata Nui’s Sake, Sidorak!” “Yes,” I said, “For Mata Nui’s Sake.” I bent down and began to hammer the lid into the barrel. All the while Roodaka screamed mindlessly. I heard her pound against the lid in a futile attempt to push it off. As I drove it further in the shrill shrieks became loud gurgles. When at last I finished I sat back on my stone and listened as the gurgles grew quieter and quieter. Eventually they ceased all together. For a while I just sat in the silence of the tomb. Then I got up and began the long journey upward. My heart felt sick. But I suppose that was just from the strange mineral. As far as I know, no one has ever disturbed Roodaka’s resting place. Puo riposa nella pace!
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Anyone remember my Zamarslide 1.0? Well, I took that concept and made it bigger and better! Basically, it's a Bionicle roller coaster that incorperates a scene from each of the six Koro of Mata Nui. Video: http-~~-//vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=30604526&server=vimeo.com&show_title=0&show_byline=0&show_portrait=0&color=00ADEF&fullscreen=1.swf Pictures: Lots of ugly beams It's a long way down From the back Matoran, Rahi and props Bye! More photos available upon request. This was a challenging build for me. I originally meant to have a loop-de-loop after the Ta-Koro section, but it wasn't tall enough for the Zamars to get enough momentum. I think the hill worked well, though. I never quite knew what the next section of track would be, so it's kind of just tacked-together. Were I to rebuild it, I could make it more stable and uniform. I first started building this forever ago, and then it got stuck in a closet half-built for months while I focused on other projects. It was done for a while before I got around to photographing it. It was dismantled immediately after because it was such a strain on parts. Technic beams and ball joints especially- it used 27 individual ball joints! I plan on making this just the first of a line of Zamarslides, each based around a period of Bionicle. Ruki fish design belongs to Bundalings. I hope you liked it! Be sure to leave some C&C! Oh, and does anyone know how to make the video bigger? I can't figure it out...
