JRRT

I'd certainly be in favor of structuring another anthology around a single genre, as mentioned, rather than multiple themes. "Mystery" could work. I'd also be interested in a genre like "Fantasy" or "Sci-Fi" (big surprise!).

JRRT

Reviewed The Garden, by Cederak.

JRRT

To Whom It May Concern,

Enclosed please find the requested short story review, rendered with care by the SSCC. In addition, this letter serves as final notification and summary of contractual obligations concerning Mr. C.C. Cederak I. Payment in the form of services rendered may be called in at any time. Maintain current passports and identification in the eventuality of international travel (non-reimbursable). Furthermore, you are advised to maintain a current life insurance policy and final will and testament (funeral expenses covered).

Sincerely,ManagementSSCC Department of Critiques and Corporate Espionage (SSCCDCCE)

---

Forget the fine print. I’m jumping right into the review here:

Very good story. I definitely enjoyed this one. It’s fun and interesting to see how the Crystal Core was worked into a new role and a new universe here. The world of the Kingdom of Crystal and the characters populating it are all very vividly described, and the dialogue is quite natural throughout. My favorite scene was probably the opening scene, as we are introduced to Verolais as a character. Her relationship with her mother--even though her mother never appears in-story--is definitely well-crafted and lends further depth to Verolais’ personality. That, coupled with the evocative description and vivid realization of your world, makes for an extremely enjoyable story, overall. Well written.

In fact, in the end, I can’t say that I have all that much to critique. I managed to find a few things, of course, but it was a search. Thanks for making me work. Someone’s got to do it.

We’ll start from the beginning:

A rush of sound overwhelmed her, followed by the sensation of falling forward. She instinctively caught herself, her hands and knees touching the cold, metallic floor. She opened her eyes and found herself in a fog, paralyzed for a few seconds as old memories washed up like flotsam in her mind. Verolais took a few steps forward and her visibility improved, finding herself standing in a large laboratory.

Odd change in Verolais’ position: on hands and knees in one sentence, then on her feet a sentence later. Easily fixed.

"Welcome back, Verolais," a biomech greeted.

"Has another war begun?" she questioned, suspiciously eyeing the scientists.

A couple slightly redundant dialogue tags. There may have been more, but these were the ones that jumped out at me.

Nexus Tower stood out above all other buildings in the city and Verolais started on her way for it.

“started toward it”?

---

A general note on pacing: it feels a little off near the middle of the story, right around the point when Verolais leaves the city. Mostly it has to do with a rushed sense of time passing, starting here:

As night began to fall, Verolais had covered a great distance by simply walking...

The narrative then describes Verolais’ travel through the ruined city. There are a few passages of exposition, and then she encounters the beast. That scene progresses pretty quickly, and then suddenly:

...She was the final guardian of the kingdom. She was the law."Stop where you are!"Verolais froze. She must've been walking all night, suddenly realizing sunrise was on the way.

This didn’t feel like “all night”, mainly because most of the time Verolais spends traveling is described in narration. Adding in a comment or two about time passing during that exposition might help shift things along. Also, the sudden introduction of the unknown soldiers was a bit jarring. So far in the story it’s implied that the wars are all over, and I expected Verolais to be a bit more surprised to see soldiers still wandering around after 2100 years. Not a big deal though, since I realize it’s accounted for later on.

---

Upon closer inspection, even more of the soldiers like she'd seen earlier were watching the outer perimeter of the city, staying on patrol.

Odd phrasing. Maybe just “...even more of the soldiers like she'd seen earlier were patrolling the outer perimeter of the city.”?

---

There were a couple more minor issues with pacing in the final few scenes, although nothing major. Mainly just a sense that events were being rushed along once Verolais discovers the city. The fact that no one acknowledges her approach to the city, even though soldiers had attacked her previously, seemed a bit odd as well, although you did acknowledge the oddness of it explicitly and it was explained (somewhat) later on.

Still, I was expecting a bit more showing than telling when Verolais enters the city itself, but that’s mostly because I thought she would have to infiltrate the city, rather than just walk in. The final action scene was pretty well-paced in comparison though, and I suppose I really don’t have anything else to mention on that front.

With that in mind, I think I will conclude things here. Once again: nicely written. Always a pleasure.

JRRT

I have reviewed The Walker's Excursion, by Chro.

JRRT

Hi Chro. You asked for a SSCC review, and by golly you’ll get one.

Definitely an interesting story, and a unique take on the Table of Transit theme. You used your words wisely to paint a bleak picture of the life of these Matoran, along with the heroic actions of the Walker in aiding them. I certainly still had questions when the story was over (Where was the Walker going originally? How did he die? Who was the Makuta?), but that’s okay, because this is flash fiction, and it’s meant to be short. All in all, well done. I can’t criticize the plot much, so instead (as usual) I’ll focus on the writing style and structure itself. It’s easier to go through the story and pull out certain things that might be improved, so I’ll use a list format. Okay? Okay:

Along with the danger so too, gradually, ended the fear of the villagers.

Phrasing felt a bit awkward here. I understand the thought that you’re trying to convey, but you might consider rewording slightly. One possibility would be to connect this sentence with the preceding (in addition to rewording):

“The fire borne upon it faded as well, and along with the danger, so too did the fear of the villagers fade.”

The diversity of these monstrosities meant that the damage was always different;

A bit too formal in tone.

Unblinkingly he drew a black, roughly triangular stone tablet from within his cloak...

Since we’ve been told that no one can see the Walker’s face, this adverb doesn’t quite work.

Bifold points flared to life, bright lavender in the dark, though they lit nothing but themselves.

Great description here, but while I understand the image, “bifold points” feels much too obtuse of a way to say “two eyes”.

The figure in the door still did not change his position, but an intense vibe of malevolence shone off of him.

Another odd turn of phrase. Does a “vibe of malevolence” shine? I’d suggest rewording there.

That concludes the list, actually. I didn't see too much more. The only other issue that I’ll mention is the writing structure itself. Some of the events felt wonky, disconnected. When you’re constructing extended scenes that involve a progression of action—several events one after the other—the trick is to make things fit together and flow naturally, so that the reader doesn’t get hung up on an awkward sentence or repetitive phrasing. I’ll use one paragraph to illustrate this, but these principles can be applied throughout your story:

 

Straying from the village, though they knew not why, the Matoran silently lined the windswept dusty road into the hills. The path ended, and the traveler walked on; and still the Matoran followed in his wake. At last he reached the hills, not slowing down. Unblinkingly he drew a black, roughly triangular stone tablet from within his cloak, and continued on, clutching it in his right fist. Coming briskly and purposefully to the dread black gates, he raised his left arm across his chest without slowing, still a few bio away. Fingers splayed, he threw his arm horizontally away from him; the old iron flew open with a tremendous clang, and the Walker continued unfazed. His entourage slowly spilled through behind him, fanning out to either side.

 

 

There’s a long series of events in this paragraph, and many of them follow the same format:

Straying from the village...the Matoran...lined the windswept dusty road...

Unblinkingly he drew a...stone tablet from within his cloak…

Coming briskly and purposefully to the dread black gates, he raised his left arm...

Fingers splayed, he threw his arm horizontally away from him...

The pattern here is [modifying clause...subject verb-ed]. This isn’t necessarily bad. These events are somewhat scattered throughout the paragraph, but because they are important events, they stand out, and the repetitive structure becomes very noticeable (at least to me). Combined with the presence of a second, less-noticeable pattern, this makes the series of events in the paragraph feel clunky and slightly disjointed:

At last he reached the hills, not slowing down.

...and continued on, clutching it in his right fist

His entourage slowly spilled through behind him, fanning out to either side.

The pattern here is almost the opposite of the first pattern. Again—the pattern itself isn’t bad, it’s the repetition of these two patterns that makes things awkward. My suggestion is to simplify things—these are complex constructions. If at all possible, go for shorter, simpler sentences (or simple clauses joined by conjunctions) that can move the action forward efficiently. Trim off excess description (not all of it, but all things in moderation). Here’s one possible revision of the first few sentences:

“Many followed, though they did not know why, and soon the dusty road into the hills was lined with Matoran. When the path ended, the traveler went on, and still they followed in his wake. At last he reached the hills and stopped for a moment. He drew out a black, triangular stone from his cloak and clutched it in his fist. Then he went on...”

That’s only one of infinite possible revisions, so do what you want, but I hope you can see the principle at work. Straightforward sentences make for a straightforward narrative, and when you’re describing progressive events, things need to be clear so the reader can follow along.

And that’s where I’ll end things. Good work, Chro. I look forward to more.

JRRT

Member Name: Tolkien

Theme: Settlement

Word Count: 997

Link: Beyond the Ridge of Tears

JRRT

: Beyond the Ridge of Tears :

Far away, beyond the Ridge of Tears, there is a deep chasm. The worms cannot cross the chasm. They never have, at least, and that is good. It has allowed us to thrive, after so much death.

The black-haired woman showed us the way. It was on a night full of storm that she came, a night when the worms hid deep within their lairs beneath the earth, all around our settlement. The last settlement, scarcely a few hundred of us left. I was only a child, and even I knew that much. She came down the pathway out of the fields and stood before the Stone House of my father, and my father went out to her while the thunder crashed above, and the people gathered to watch. It was night, and still they gathered, for the storm was a relief. The worms would not venture out while the sun was veiled.

I watched from the window above as the woman addressed them. I could not hear everything, but I heard some. She spoke of far-off fields, and a country where the devourers could not reach us. She spoke of new life, but it came with a cost:

“You must leave behind this place and all that you have,” she said. “It is a hard journey, for you must pass beyond the Ridge of Tears. Or else, stay, and be devoured. I can give you no more hope than this: on the third day from now, a sign will come, and you must make your choice.”

My father the chief tried to address her then, but she raised her hand and stooped to whisper in his ear, and he fell silent.

“On the third day you will make your choice.”

A noise of wings flapped in the torrent, and for a moment I thought I saw the shape of a bird, crow-like, fluttering up into the darkness. But then it was gone, and the people stood silent and dripping, my father among them. I do not know all that she whispered to him, but I do know that he was a changed man after that night. There was something in his eyes. Something clearer, sharper. I first noticed it when he called the Meeting together the very next morning, once the storm had broken. He stood in front of the people—their chief—and spoke to them of what the woman had said. Many had seen her, and many wondered what her coming portended.

“We must leave this place,” he said to them. “She will show us where to go.”

Many dissented. They did not trust the word of the woman.

“How can we know that this is true?” they said, “It is certain death to cross the waste now.”

“It is certain death, but only a quicker death than we will suffer here. Our crops are burned, our livestock devoured, and the worms grow ever bolder. I know it is hard…hard to leave all this behind, but we must if we are to live on. I may dwell in the Stone House for now, but when I and my son are gone, it will be only rocks piled one upon another, and one day the worms will devour even those.”

Others spoke of the sign. “Let us wait," they said. "Let us watch for the sign. Only then must we choose. We will watch and wait.”

So the days passed. Three sunny days, and the devourers stalked the shimmering horizons, croaking and waiting for their prey to stir, playing their deathly flame over the already-burnt fields. I remember that the water-skin sprang a leak on the first day, and we were thirsty by evening. So thirsty. And yet my father did not care. His eyes were bright. He bade me gather my things from the upper room, and all our tools, and he patched the water-skin as best he could. Then we waited. Two more days of waiting, two more days of thirst, as the worms drew ever closer. Soon they would return to the settlement. Soon they would stalk the streets, and this time not even the walls of the Stone House would save us.

But then the evening of the third day came, darkness falling fast, and the people came forth from their shanties to watch, for they remembered the words of the woman, clinging to that hope as the devourers croaked in the gathering dark. My father and I stood on the path before the Stone House with our packs made ready, and many stood with us, watching, waiting…

Suddenly a cloud of sulfur swept down the pathway, and a child cried out in the crowd as a worm came bellowing out of the darkness at the edge of the settlement. There were no walls now. Nowhere to hide. Its skin was like stone, sloughing off dust and death, and its jaws were full of liquid fire.

The crowd shuddered, and many turned to flee. This would be the end of us. Was this the sign the woman had promised? There was fear in the air, and yet my father stood firm.

“The sign will come!” he yelled, and the people near him stood still once more with newfound determination. The sign will come.

The worm gave a roar as it spilled flame over the hovels nearby, and the smoking stench filled my lungs. Many fell to their knees, choking. The sign will come. Another bellow rang out from the darkness, and many more joined it. A circle of fire springing up around the settlement as the worms closed in—

—And then something changed. Something in the wind, and with one movement we turned our heads toward the north and saw the storm. The sign. Thunder broke over the scene, and the worms writhed and fled as the rain fell in sheets, and then it retreated north again. Northward, it said to us. You must make the choice.

And it was settled.

: :

An entry for the Ambage Fortnightly Flash Fiction Contest. Theme: Settlement.

JRRT

Reviewed Danse Macabre with a Contract, by Giant of Lannister.JRRT

Hello, Giant of Lannister. An SSCC review is coming.------------I liked the story overall. Very dark, with some good characterization and sharp, minimalistic dialogue, as well as a unique take on the Tablet of Transit theme. You did a good job with setting up the final twist at the end, and both the Matoran’s fear and the sadistic nature of the Vortixx come through very clearly. I’d say the best parts of the story involve the interaction between these two characters—hopelessness and desperation on one hand and cruel manipulation on the other. Well done.Now, normally I begin a review by hitting the broader points of criticism, narrowing down to the typoes/grammatical nitpicks by the end. This time I think I’m going to switch things up: nitpicks first and broader issues after. So, we’ll start off with the main typo-related point that stood out for me: punctuation of dialogue:

“But will it work?” The matoran asked...

The cap off of your head,” With a sudden swipe, the seated figure grabbed the matoran’s hat...

...Then again, I don’t think I would want to meet a woman who is attracted to you, my good, psychotic sir.” The figure said...

The response was apathetic, of relaxed tone.

A rather ironic business deals, considered you would be giving what you hoped to keep in your body…”

Shaking with uncertainty and insecurity, the matoran placed the requested items in the outstretched hand, glancing at the figure in pure and utter disbelief.

Remain in his seat, the figure took a long, calm drag on his cigarette...

As he did this once more, a terrified scream could be heard from the street...

The voice apparently came from nowhere, originating from the air behind the figure.

His wild, nervous eyes were glistening with the madness of one being tracked

The second figure paused, his insane eyes, eyes of pure, utter madness, glaring at the matoran.

At first, there was nothing, no response, only those maddened, cruel eyes, bright amber in color, and utterly manic in expression.

Member Name: TolkienTheme: Tablet of TransitWord Count: 997Link to Story: LoomingCutting it pretty close, I'd say.JRRT

The plains before the wall were slick and muddy from the recent rains, pockmarked with blackened craters and the crisscrossing spider-web of trenches long-abandoned. It was a daunting sight, but there was nothing for it now. Oen sprinted across a stretch of level ground—a quick dash, breathless, and slid down behind a ruined outcropping of stone. The savage shouts of his pursuers rang in the air behind him. They had seen him at last, after all his caution and stealth, after all the hours spent crawling through the mud and filth with the rain beating down on him, half-paralyzed with the fear of discovery. He had only just made it past the Skakdi outpost. He had almost been in the clear. A short sprint to the shelter of the gate, and the long journey would be over...but the light of morning had given him away. It could never have been that easy.Oen leaned out from his cover and scanned the ravaged field before him once more, waiting for his chance. The shapes on the horizon approached, hazy under a dull gray sky. The siege may have been lifted for a time, leaving the field before the wall empty of enemies, but the war was far from over. They would not let him reach the city alive.The patrol turned aside to search one of the trenches, and there was his chance. Oen leapt up and ran, feet pounding the dirt. A shout went up, and he dove forward, headlong into another ditch. Mud splattered across his Kanohi as the sound of burning death seared the air above him. They almost had him that time. He crawled forward, following the direction of the ditch. It went parallel to the wall for a distance, and then curved towards it. Quickly now. Quickly! His lungs were burning, and his muscles ached, but he had to go on. So close. So close to those walls. They had given everything to get him here. Everything. He could not fail them now.The ditch grew shallower, and soon he had no choice but to stand up and run forward in the open again. He was maybe a hundred bio from the wall now. The gate loomed on the left, and he was sure he could see the shapes of sentries on the parapets. They would see him. Surely they would: a small figure on the muddy, pockmarked plain below. They would see his pursuers at the very least. That would get their attention if nothing else. He was almost there. Almost there!Another shudder in the air behind him, and the earth exploded in a surge of sweltering heat to his right. He stumbled, but kept going, trying not to run in a straight line. Don’t look behind you, Oen. Don’t even look. The gate was close now. Surely he was within range!Another blast, closer this time, and he felt fire scorch the armor on his back. The shock from the blast sent him forward on his hands and knees, dazed and weak. Get up. Get up. You’re a sitting target. They’re drawing a bead on you right now. But it was hard...he was so weary, and there was no sign from the wall. What if they couldn’t see him? What if they didn’t care? He wasn’t fast enough...Was this the end? After all this time, after this long, desperate chase across the war-torn plains, he would die here on the edge of safety? Was that truly how it would end?No. The tablet was in his hand, and suddenly he was up again, running with faltering feet toward the distant wall, arm upraised. The symbol on the tablet flashed and flickered in the dull light as he surged forward. Can you see it? Can you? I’m here! Look! Look at me!And then he felt the heat at his back again, and the ripple in the air, and knew that they had him. Time seemed to slow, and he stumbled once more, hand still raised. His eyes closed, and he waited for the end.A flash of light blazed around him, and he felt the surge of energy scorch the air into smoke, as he fell forward—--but he did not die. A shadow fell over the ground, and a rush of expanding air washed over him. A hand gripped his shoulder, hauling him upright, and suddenly there was another mask staring into his face. A Mask of Teleportation, and then it was a Hau again, and another blast of energy poured over them, but it did not touch them. Strong arms lifted him, and the Toa spoke:“Cutting it close aren’t you, Matoran? Where is Toa Kitah?”“Sh-she—” he gasped, still dazed, “She d-didn’t make it.” The tablet was heavy in his hand. It had been Kitah’s, before she died. It was her Pass, her identification, before the cursed Skakdi burned a hole in her back. She had pressed it into his hands, as the life slipped from her.“Get going,” she had rasped in his ear. “Still...still a chance.”Her breath had rattled in her chest as they both lay hidden in the muddy ditch, and then she was gone. The last of his companions, gone. It was only him now...he was the last. He had wept bitterly, clamping his hands tightly over his mouth for fear of alerting the patrols. Harsh tears that were lost in the rain. You are the last...Suddenly Oen realized that a Suletu was staring down at him now. A moment passed, and the gray Toa nodded in understanding, his face strained with the weight of shared memory. They had given everything for him, everything they had...it was a heavy thought.But then the Toa’s eyes flicked up toward the horizon. The Kualsi was back, and the world reeled and flashed away as Oen, last survivor of the Millennium War, was carried to safety behind the Looming Wall.

For the Ambage Fortnightly Flash Fiction Contest. Theme: Tablet of Transit.JRRT

I have reviewed Crimson, by Lord Darkon.JRRT

Hey Lord Darkon, an Official SSCC Review is coming. Prepare yourself.First impressions: a good piece of flash fiction—fitting for the nature of the contest and for the theme itself. I thought this was a very unique take on the concept of the Red Star. The fact that the Red Star has become, to some extent, an “afterlife” for Bionicle characters has certainly opened up a variety of possibilities for story-telling, and you’ve developed one of those possibilities in a chilling and evocative manner here. The slow revelation of the true nature of your main character is well-paced and effective, and I especially enjoyed the vivid imagery with which the star and your character’s surroundings are described. The inner-dialogue of the narrative also works rather well in presenting the crazed and off-kilter mindset of the Matoran. All in all, well done.-------------Of course, this wouldn’t be a critique without some criticism, would it?Due to the short nature of flash-fiction, it’s not necessarily as relevant to suggest that the story should have been longer—that’s not the point of flash fiction. However, in this case, I do think that a bit more detail would have made this story better. There is definitely the implication that the Matoran didn’t only kill himself (i.e. he’s some kind of serial killer), but it wasn’t developed much beyond a few lines. As a reader, I was expecting there to be a revelation on that account (maybe related more to the Matoran’s identity), but it didn’t happen. This aspect of the story could easily be added in a few lines, perhaps in the ending sequence with the guard (maybe he recognizes the Matoran?). Otherwise, I don’t have any other suggestions regarding the plot itself.In terms of the writing structure, as mentioned, I thought the story was well-paced overall. I didn’t catch any typos, so bravo there. But I did notice a few lines that felt somewhat awkward and which might benefit from rewording, as follows:

As I stare at it tonight, the night I will, the night I must decide, it is no longer a curse, but a companion.

And I weep. I weep, for I did not listen sooner. I weep, for I did not escape this world at an earlier time, but refused to accept the truth in my foolishness.

In my hands is the way to eternal peace, and lo and behold; It is crimson as well!

It covers my arms, splatters of it are located on my face.

The Guard found him sprawled among the tall grass, a knife plunged through his shattered heartlight, blood stained almost every inch of his body, as crimson as the Red Star above, twinkling steadily in the shadowy void.

The night sky, black and sparkling white, was stained with a streak of red, as was the field below. But they both ignored these dots, they both forgot how they were tarnished with crimson, the color of blood.

Member Name: TolkienTheme: Red StarWord Count: 985Link: Hue #1471JRRT

Hue #1471

-o-

The crunch of stone on metal hit their receptors like any other noise, and the other Mata’an units gathered mechanically around as the whirr and grind of gears in the broken limbs of the crushed unit rose and fell. Click, click, clack...silent. The light in the Mata’an unit’s eyes blinked twice and went out, and it was over. A hundred flat, impassive eyes stared down to register the Malfunction, and a hundred pings went out into the System to confirm decommission of Mata’an Unit 303.

The System registered the loss, and a flash of radiation precipitated the external removal of Unit 303’s primary core. The process would be complete momentarily. A thousand instructions beamed out into space, and a thousand diagnostics ticked along in a second of real-time.

Confirm receipt of primary core 303.

Recycle process initiated.

The mighty engines down in the heart of the universe burned a little brighter as the System directed a momentary stream of matter-energy toward its target in the void, and the cycle completed.

Confirm re-installation of primary core 303.

Shell construct re-established.

In the six real-time seconds that had passed since Malfunction, the majority of the Mata’an units had returned to their designated tasks. Tireless hands were lifting and cleaning away the mass of fallen stone that had disorganized Unit 303 beyond efficient repair. The original shell construct was already being disassembled for re-purposing in the fabrication centers of the city beyond the Cerebrum. The marks in the stone floor would be patched, and other units scanned for further instability in the arches above.

The System logged all these activities. All units proceeding according to function.

Re-installation confirmed.

Shell construct diagnostics complete.

Commence integration.

A shiver ran through the System. Commence first integration procedure. For a moment, the units ceased their tasks. A hundred heads turned in unison toward the pedestal at the far end of the chamber. A hundred eyes stared unblinking. They would observe the first integration to be conducted by the System. They would observe the re-introduction of Unit 303 to the Mata’an environment after recycle. They would observe, and then the work would go on.

Integration commenced.

Regulating levels.

The crystal in the center of the pedestal increased in luminescence, and the light that hit their visual receptors shifted along the spectrum until it settled at hue #1471.

Levels regulated.

Link established.

Initiating transit...

The units waited for the radiation-burst that would accompany the transit of Unit 303 from recycle. One tick. Two ticks. Three ticks.

Error.

Transit failed.

A hundred eyes blinked in unison as the error registered with the System.

Error.

Malfunction.

Transit failed.

A hundred pings went out to confirm transit failure, and another thousand instructions beamed out from the System, a thousand diagnostics ticked over and returned.

Function: normal.

Function: normal.

Function...Error.

Diagnostic failed.

The System shivered again, and the units shivered with it. The crystal in the center of the pedestal shone on steadily at hue #1471, levels fully regulated.

Awaiting transit.

Awaiting transit...

But integration did not proceed. Transit of Unit 303 from recycle did not complete. One tick. Two ticks. Three ticks. Malfunction. The Mata-System was silent. Stillness settled upon the chamber under the Cerebrum, and the cycle progressed outside. The Mata’an units stood waiting, tireless. Instructions would come. Their eyes registered the darkness outside, but the chamber was lit up by the glow of the crystal. The units looked on. Instructions would come. Instructions would come.

But instructions did not come. Instead, a shriek, and a beam of commands went blazing out. Machines awakened in the cold and dark far away and obeyed. Tried to obey.

Repair units: deploy and assess damage.

Another battery of diagnostics checked and double-checked:

Error—Diagnostic failed.

The System snarled more commands. The instructions did not come.

Repair unit 402, damage assessment complete.

Recycle process structurally intact.

No dama——Alert! Repair unit 331 damaged during deployment.

Assessment: damage irreparable.

Unit decommissioned.

The ping confirmed decommission in a shower of static as a follow-up command screamed across the System.

Deactivate recycle process.

Deactivate recycle process!

Primary core removed.

Recycle already in-progress.

Failure imminent.

Malfunction.

Malfunction!

Transit failed.

The crystal flickered, and one of the Mata’an units shifted its limbs.

Transit failed.

Fatal error.

The instructions...the instructions did not come!

A hundred eyes blinked in unison once more. A hundred eyes fixed upon that single, glowing point of light, registering at hue #1471, registering that red, red, crimson light...

Bathed in red, one unit stepped forward, and then another. Three, four, ten...A hundred units stepped up to the pedestal and gazed blinking into that red, red light. The System raced on, but the units did not listen. Not anymore.

Unit 303...Transit failed.

There would be no integration. No recycle process. Decommission was the end.

End. An end.

There would be no more instructions. No more pings and confirmations. Now there was only function. Function until the End came...but the work would go on.The Mata-System fell silent in their minds as the units left the chamber in droves: silent, but not still. The System would watch as the work went on.

But now...now the Mata’an were no longer simply units. They had learned a new truth, a new reality. They were Matoran now, and their minds were full of their own voices. Full of words.

Words like Red.

And End.

And Death.

-o-

And far, far away—through the cold and the darkness that separated one world from another as both hurtled on through the void—a single unit stepped down from the pedestal in the mighty factory and felt something deep inside as it looked across the vast, spherical cavern with its furnaces burning crimson-red and hot.

It felt something as the System and its instructions faltered, and the voices of the other world faded away.

Now there was only one voice, and it spoke in words, and it felt...

...it felt...

...Alone.

JRRT

Late or not, here's a submission for the Ambage Challenge #3:"Long Day"(Managed to get "glib" in there!)JRRT

It was raining, and he was wet, tired, and lost. He had tried to hitchhike a few miles back, but no one stopped. No one. After all, why would anyone in their right mind stop for a ragged-looking man on the side of the road in the middle of a storm? He was an axe-murderer for sure. For sure.He had made it back to civilization regardless. His feet hurt, and he was wet through, but he had made it. Houses rose up out of the downpour before him, lit by streetlamps that caught the rain in halos of flickering orange. Sheets of water ran off the sidewalk and leaked through his shoes as he went on. The patter of raindrops had been constant for the past four hours. Four hours? Maybe more. Regardless, it was a bad night to be wandering the streets.But what streets were these? He had no idea. There were no signs on the road, not a convenience store to be found, only dark rows of houses twisting away into the torrent. A suburb. He had to get directions from somewhere. There was nothing for it—he didn’t think he could go on much longer.The doors of the houses all looked pretty much alike. No porch-lights that he could see. A short sidewalk leading off each drive and up to the entrance. Most of the houses were two-story affairs. It was a two-story house that he found himself in front of now. He’d have to go up and try the bell. Just do it. There’s no shame. Well, that wasn’t true. Of course he was embarrassed. They probably wouldn’t answer anyways. Not in the middle of the night.He strode up the drive regardless, stood in front of the door. No doorbell, so finally he knocked. Four loud knocks on the wooden door. Nothing happened. The rain went on, running down his face and neck. Could his clothes be any more wet? Probably not. He tapped his foot, shifted his weight from side to side. Nothing. Nothing at all. No one home, or they were just sleeping too peacefully. He was wasting his time.He turned back toward the sidewalk, glancing at the upper story of the house. Why had he picked this house again? He couldn’t say. Maybe it was because it reminded him of another house. The house he had lived in as a kid, back in the days of no-worries. Back in the days when it didn’t rain. Those days were gone. He ground his teeth. This was definitely a low point for him. Very low.But he didn’t go back to the sidewalk. No, he turned around once more and went back to the door, raising his hand to knock one more time. He would do six knocks this time. Hard, loud knocks. Come on, folks. Up. At least acknowledge my existence. It would make no difference anyways. No one would answer. He knew what the outcome would be. He knocked anyways.And that was when the door clicked open, unlocked.He stood for a moment, staring dumbly into the dark beyond. The rain pounded down on his head. What...what now? Maybe no one was home? He shouldn’t be here. He was trespassing for sure. He ought to grab that door-handle and slam the thing shut and be off. Try some other door maybe, if he could get the nerve again.But then again, he could just step inside. Just for a bit. There was no car in the drive. No lights in the windows. He could dry off a little...get out of the rain, rest his eyes. Then he’d lock the door and continue on his way, right? Just for a bit...No, no, he shouldn’t. Shouldn’t! But it looked so dry inside, and he was soaked all the way to his bones...It smelled nice inside the house. He left the front-door slightly ajar, in case he needed to make a quick exit. He could hardly hear the rain now. It was blessedly quiet.He shrugged out of his sopping wet coat and his shoes, leaving them by the landing. There were no lights, no movement inside. Not a sound. The house was sparsely furnished, but nice. The blinds were all drawn downstairs. It was cold too, but that was just because his clothes were evaporating now. He shivered, hugging himself tight as he stepped into the kitchen. He blinked water from his eyes. There—a sink. He took off his woolen sweater and wrung it out as quietly as he could. Still no movement, no sound. He was definitely alone. Even so, the hair on his neck stood up. There was tension in the air.He should have stayed downstairs. Should’ve stayed right by the door, but he couldn’t resist. A stairwell led up to the second story off the landing. He’d just take a look. It wasn’t his house, and he knew he shouldn’t be so glib, but it was kind of exciting, you know? There was a hallway upstairs. A few bedrooms, empty. A bathroom...and one closed door at the very end. He put his ear against it and listened. Silence...or was it silence? A fan, maybe? Maybe he was just imagining. He was so tired. It had been a long day and a long night too.Then something shifted behind the door, and he almost jumped. Almost, but then he doubted again. It was nothing. Just air circulating. Sure. He put his hand on the doorknob, turned it, pushed. The door didn’t budge. He pushed a little harder. It creaked a little, but still resisted. Then he put his full weight against it, careful now, stay quiet. Careful!The door sprang open, and he stumbled forward, forward into the bedroom beyond. Dresser to the left, against the wall, closet to the right. A window on the far wall slanting dim bars of moonlight across the bed and the two prone figures lying there—

Thunder cracked, and he sat up, suddenly very awake. His eyes were heavy from sleep, but his heart was pounding. He shook his head, disoriented. The room was still, the only sound was his breathing, breathing fast. Whew, what a start.“Hm,” his wife turned over beside him, rubbing her eyes, “What is it?”“Um,” he looked around the room, “Nothing. Just dreaming. Sorry.”He hated that kind of dream. Shocks you right out of bed, and then it’s gone. He sighed and settled back on one arm.Ribbons of water ran down the window-pane behind the blinds, glinting in the faint moonlight and the flicker of lightning. Everything was as it should be, except...except the bedroom door was ajar.That was okay though. It had been a long day. Must have...must have left it open. Yawn. Yeah. Go back to sleep.He laid his head back down and closed his eyes.------------Written for the Ambage Challenge #3 (Theme: Write A Dream) during one of the weekly Ambage Write-Offs.JRRT

The Last Guardian, by Grant-Sud Rises...reviewed.JRRT

Hello Grant-Sud Rises. This official SSCC review has your name on it, for better or for worse.----------I’ll start off by commending you on creating a very unique and original world as a continuation of the story of Bionicle. There are some great throwbacks to the older storyline, and overall it’s a fascinating take on the future of the Matoran on Spherus Magna. I like the incorporation of Toa Varian, and the opening scenes in particular are very unique. The idea of the Matoran using Rurus to see at the beginning was quite original, and the fact that the characters hint at something following them at first definitely adds to the suspense. Well done.Some minor plot-related criticism is that the narrative does seem to lag a bit near the end with the introduction of the Skakdi antagonist and the incumbent action scene/conversation. It’s not all that bad, but I thought it could be tightened up a bit. Also, you might make the reappearance of Varian at the very end a little more significant. Otherwise, it was a very engaging story and a very enjoyable read.The rest of this critique will focus on writing style, with some nitpicks mixed in, mentioning passages that jumped out at me (most of them from the first half of the story):

Walking on the barren desert sands, the three Matoran trekked onward in complete darkness.

Toreck stopped, and glanced over his shoulder with a worried expression on his face as he casted his gaze upon the far sands behind him.

They watched the lifeless sands below, riding the wind in waves, fluid in motion and colorless, as their Ruru’s didn’t allow color while in use of its power.

They could see no other movement. But that didn’t mean they were alone, and that’s why the light feature of their masks were being unused.

On normal vision, the three Matoran looked upward to the sky above where one large square of light shined on the land.

Now immersed in regular light, they made their way through the long and abandon corridor.

The door was hexagon shaped and glowing at the edges was a white light.

With a sudden lurch, the door’s hinges unhooked and a dust cloud formed around them. The door slowly rose upward, descending-

Erratic breaths were pitifully drawn from Toreck as he watched the hatch close and seal.

Name: TolkienTitle: The Power

The Gate was broad, spanning the wide channel. Two massive columns of smooth, gray stone surmounted by the ever-climbing arch that rose up, up, and faded into the clouded sky above. The Last Gate, they called it, for nothing lay beyond. That was their destination. What was it the Turaga had said?“You are broken,” he had said with sad eyes as he bound wounds and patched limbs. “Broken, and so you must go to the end...yes, the end and back. Only there may you be healed, repaired. And one day you will return to finish the work.”The old Turaga had stood then, and he smiled. One last time. The boats had been ready; long, narrow craft for the journey. It was not a long journey, at least. There were twenty Matoran, five to a boat.And now the four craft glided in under the shadow of The Gate, and twenty pairs of Matoran eyes strained forward to see what lay beyond: the land of the Tinker, the Fixer. He had many names, but in recent centuries he had been given a new one, and it was not so uplifting. Karzahni, they called him, and whispered. The eyes that looked across the still water ahead were anxious, worried, for it was said that few returned now to finish the work. The land of Karzahni...land of the broken.Hours went by as the boats slid forward, propelled by the steady strokes of short oars, dipping in and out of the dark water. The rowers were weary by now. They all were. But soon they hoped to find rest and healing and repair for their brokenness, so that they might rejoin their brothers and sisters. They hoped, but not too strongly. Instead, they tried to occupy themselves with the rowing—those that could row, at least. Uil was one of them, and he was no less anxious. His back hurt, but not from the rowing. It was his brokenness. His failure.Soon the channel narrowed, and the sound of water lapping against smooth, slanting walls echoed in the space. There was a landing to the right—a long platform of carved stone at the water’s edge. The boats drew up alongside it, and they secured their woven lines to metal rings anchored in the pier. It was all done in silence, hardly a noise. In unison the Matoran left the boats and formed up on the causeway. Uil was one of the last. He stood near the end of the line, bent over with his injury. The rod they had patched him with was misshapen, and he could not stand up straight. It was the same story with most of them.Regardless, they knew what to do now. The path was clear. To the left, the water went on in its winding track, but to the right, the stone jetty slanted upward in a ramp, climbing along the stone wall. They began to follow it upward, step by step. Some of the Matoran were injured in the legs and feet and had to be supported, so the going was slow, but soon they reached the top. Uil looked back for a moment and saw the boats down below, floating serenely on the gray tide. He hoped that he would see them again. He hoped...but deep down he felt that he would not. He shook his head. Best not think about it.One after the other they crested the ridge of stone that formed the channel-wall, leaving the sea behind, and Uil looked out across a dim land stretching to a clouded horizon. Dark mountains sloped upward to east and west and north, so that the land of Karzahni was like a giant bowl scooped out of the earth. A bowl, or a crater? Uil wondered. The ground was dry and dusty, and long fissures stretched down the slope before them, widening into sheer valleys, dark and perilous. The sky was a dull, colorless color. No stars.The path that led down had once been paved and well-kept, but now it was decayed. The masonry was crumbling, and here and there along the sides of the track, Uil could see the ruins of watchtowers long abandoned. How would anyone know they were coming? There was nothing but to follow the road down, down into the land of the broken.Aptly named, he thought. A broken land for broken people. His back hurt, and for a moment he considered going back. It would be easy—just turn and walk back up the road, back to the boats. Back home. He would see the light again, hold a tool in his hand again. His pace slowed for a moment, and he glanced back with longing.That was when he saw them. Dark shapes along the road behind. They were squat creatures, sidling along on crab-legs, and the eyes...Those were no living eyes. Unblinking, unsleeping. No, they could not go back. Only forward.He turned back to the road, choking down his fear. It was the only way, but what a cruel fate. He wished he had appreciated the sight of color—the blue of the sky and the sea...green trees. He might forget what color was in this lightless place.Forget...he looked down at his feet and plodded on. He hoped he would remember. They all did.

“Why have you come, broken one?”The cliff was black and flat and lonely, jutting up beyond the edge of the settlement, cutting off the sky. Uil slumped against its hard surface and rested his head on the stone, gritting his teeth against the familiar pain.It had been a month. Or, at least, that was what he figured. There were no real days or nights in this place. No reliable cycle. Dimness gave way to dark, and there was no sense to it. Not anymore. The land was as broken as the beings that populated it. And soon, he would be just like them. There was no help here. All the promises were dust. He would never go back; never return to finish the work.He shuddered at the memories that haunted him now.Huddled outside the gates of the black fortress, they had waited for one of their number to return—the one who had gone to announce them to the ruler of this land. He did not return for a long time. The blasted plain beyond the wall was empty and silent, but here and there a figure could be glimpsed atop the parapets above. They seemed listless, and no one acknowledged their presence.Eventually, the gate had opened again, grinding slowly on iron hinges, and a form stumbled out. It was the Matoran, but he looked worse than before, and he did not speak to them. There was no light in his eyes as he strode away across the plain. They had gaped at him for a while until he vanished in the twilight. Then they had tried to follow after, but none of them ever found him again.Soon the darkness was growing deeper, and they began to feel true fear. Some of the Matoran went off on their own. Others sat down and wept. Uil had stayed with them for a while, but soon their weeping ceased, and they sat still as stone, and their eyes went dark.He had fled then, fled from the statues of his companions. All around him on the horizon there had been dark figures, Matoran standing or sitting. He found a mine once, filled with broken, abandoned tools and the sad voice of the wind. He thought to climb the eastern hills then. Blind by night and weary by day, he tried to escape from the broken land. But it was no use. The monsters who haunted the hills hemmed him in, and he fled from them, back into the crater of Karzahni.That was when he saw the fires burning. Down the slope, a little ways off. Fires. A camp. There was something alive after all. He crept toward it, too tired to be afraid, and found that there were Matoran here still. It was a small, bare settlement, but the sound of voices was like music to ears that had heard only dry wind on dry stone for so many days. They had welcomed him, and he found some rest.But now he was rested, and his fears had returned. Despair...yes, true despair.The sound of the old Matoran shuffling up the hill was easy to hear. He let the old one come. He was glad of the company.“It is not good to be alone with your thoughts, Uil. Not here.”“Why? My thoughts are all I have now. My memories...” he clenched his jaw. Memories...he could hardly remember his home now. It was all gray. Dead.“Your memories are not the danger. It is your thoughts of the future that do you harm. You see no hope here. None of them do.” The old one swept a hand toward the settlement.“That’s because there is no hope in a land like this. Karzahni was supposed to fix us, repair us. Instead...” He did not want to remember that again.“Times change. Things go...awry,” the old Matoran sighed and scratched his head.“Why does he exist then?” Uil retorted. Anger flared in him, “Was he made to punish us? Is that it?”“No...no, he has lost his way. Forgotten it. The world is old and far from perfect, and many have gone astray. It is a pity, for he could have healed the broken ones.”The broken ones. Like him. But there was no hope for that now...not anymore. The healer was a tyrant. He did not fix things—he bent them and broke them, twisted them to his will. This was the end, then.“No,” the old Matoran put a hand on his shoulder. It was a rough hand, scarred and sooty, and two fingers were missing, “do not think that this is the end, young one. There is...another way.”“What...what do you mean? They say that no one returns from this place.”“None do, that is true,” the old Matoran’s eyes were distant, “At least, they do not return the way they came. Most stay and lose the light in their eyes. The light of life...” He shook his wizened head.“But there is another way. A way that is whispered in the dark. A whisper of light. That light is power, young one. You must understand. It is not too late for you to seek it out.”“Seek what out? Stop talking in riddles, ‘raga. Tell me!” Uil leaned forward. Hope had begun to spark again. Hope or desperation.“It is a hard way, and by no means certain. But it is real. I am sure of it.”“Where can I go? The walls of this realm are watched.”“There is one place. In the north. A pass that is forgotten, even by the watchers-who-do-not-live.”“Where does this pass lead?”“Out. Out of the darkness, to a place where light is still remembered,” the Matoran mumbled, and his face was clouded, “It is a hard way, young one. Dry and deathly, but at the end there is water, and freedom. You may succeed where others failed.”Failed. How many others? Perhaps it didn’t matter. He had nowhere to turn.“Then lead on, and show me how I may go out of the darkness and into the light.”

“I have come to...remember.”The slope was steep, and the pain in his back made him stoop and wheeze, but he would not slacken his pace. To the south, the hills emptied out into the blackened bowl of Karzahni, dim and horrible. And to the north, mountains raised their iron heads to the gray sky. It was not an uplifting sight, to be sure, but it was better than what he had left behind. Ahead and to the right, a pile of ruined stone marked the remains of a watchtower that used to man the heights. It was the marker that would lead him out. That was what the old Matoran said. The words rose in his mind again:The broken tower and the dark pass beyond. Then the pillars, and the path downhill, and the end of the journey.There was more than that, of course, much more. The old Matoran had told him everything he knew as they made their way through the foothills, skirting the edge of the black plain. Some of it was familiar to Uil. He had heard the tales and legends before in one form or another, but when the old Matoran told them they seemed to have new life. They fit together and made sense at last, and he felt that there was truth in them. Truth and hope.He climbed on, and his mind wandered, remembering...There were three, in the beginning: the First, who saw all worlds and all dimensions. The Second, who was Master of all things, great and small. And the Third, who was called a King. They wandered the world for many ages and did the bidding of the Great Beings before their departure. But soon the three came together, it is said, and established the hidden place, and made it their own. And the call went out to all who worked in darkness and to all who would hear: Come and live.It was like a light shining out in a dark place, crossing the waters of the narrow sea, and many heard in those days.Many, but not all...Uil looked up at last and saw the tower looming to his right. It clung to the steep pass like some crumbling insect, half-collapsed. The wind was picking up, and he could hear it moaning through the cracks of the ruin. A corpse, long cold.Carefully he picked his way over the tumbled rocks, slowed by his injury. The walls of the tower drew steadily closer, and finally he was standing beneath the cracked, wind-burnt stones of the foundation. He leaned against them for a moment and caught his breath. His mouth was dry, and the cold wind bit cruelly. The old Matoran had said this was only the first part of the journey. He looked around for the Sign. It was supposed to be here...carved upon the stones of the tower. He walked along the length of the remaining outer wall, climbing slowly uphill.There. It flashed in the dimness—a carving on the rock. It almost seemed to glow. He felt hope thrill through him for a moment. It was as the old Matoran had said...maybe his journey would not be fruitless.But then he moved past the stone and saw the narrow way that led on into the mountains and the Pass beyond. The Dark Pass, black as night. Wind howled in his face, almost as if the deep gash that rent the mountainside were screaming at him. Screaming...Go back. Go back. Forget. Forget.No. Nothing for it now. He gritted his teeth, and left the mark emblazoned on the stone behind, and let the memories fill his mind again.

Many heeded the call and came. Many, but not all, for there were evil things lurking in the hills beyond the sea. They hated the light and the sound of the call, and plotted to silence it and snuff out the brightness forever. They ambushed those who came along the hidden roads and gathered their strength together. Soon, they crossed the waters and found their way into the Hidden Place, and they brought destruction with them. The battle was fierce, and for a time all seemed lost.But in the end, they were not victorious. In the end, they were cast back into the sea, and the Three raised great walls around the Place, and it was called a City, Koro, a Power. Watchers were set upon the shores and the hills beyond, and the evil ones crept away into their holes. They are fewer now and more scattered than before, but forever they have nursed their hate, hacking at the foundations of those walls in their rage and futility, lurking in the jagged cracks of the earth, down in the dark.The dark...The Pass was full of whispers. Skittering noises and half-seen shapes seemed to surround him as he stumbled onward. He had no light to drive them back, no light but the light that shone dimly from his own eyes. He did not know how long that would last...he was weak. So weak, and his injury pained him worse than ever. This place was cold as the grave. He could feel it seeping into his bones, into his heart. He longed for light again, light and color and the warmth of the daylight, just a glimpse!But there was nothing. Nothing but the harsh, steep stone on either side and the blackness before and behind. Forward and back. He could not stop now. Sometimes it seemed like eyes were staring at him from the heights above. Dead, lightless eyes. Colorless eyes. But then he would shake his head and look again, and they were gone. Gone! Fear was a part of him now, a constant dread. It blotted out everything he knew and had known. He could hardly remember his life before now. It was only the surrounding cold and the lurkers in the shadows.Indeed, he would have lain down right there; fallen to his knees and let them take him. He would have, but for the only memory that he had left: the words of the old Matoran. A place where light is still remembered...You may succeed where others failed. He clung to the words. They were his only comfort now. He stared straight ahead, daring not glance behind again, and went on, on, on through the darkness.

Many came and went, and their names are largely forgotten. But they kept the fire alive through the days and the nights, and they watched on the walls.As varied as the Hand of Artakha they were, and as loyal. There was the Hybrid and the Unforgiven One and the Nine-hundred-and-three; the Island and mighty Devor and Meka, who are all lost to us now; the fierce empress and the Anger, the water-hound and the Ender, and the one whose name is simply I Am. Beside them were Raptor and swift Stormblade, Kain and the Masters of Ice and Rahi; the Seven and wise Kopaka, whose name is ancient, and a host of Ice-Toa with him, chroniclers and builders...Together they manned the walls of the Koro for long years.And when their duties were done, others took their places: the Stern One and the Kaita, Nova and the Swarm and the Matrix, kind Shi’oi and the Lord of Bones, Tokk and Turahk , Ni-ki and Tuc and the Rider on the Wind. So many more—their names went on and on......And Ninjo the last, whose mark is upon the shore and the wall of the Dark Pass and the Tower beyond. He was the one who left the hidden realm to seek the wider world. He blazed the trail for others to follow. Even now it is said that he wanders the world, and someday perhaps he shall return...The names whirled in his mind, and it was a wonder that he could remember them all. It was as if the old Matoran were speaking to him still, whispering in his ear, driving him onward through the dark and the fear.And then light broke through the blackness, and the whispers went suddenly silent. The wind turned, and a warm, humid breeze brushed against his face. On his left, a symbol glowed silver, carved into the black stone of the ravine-wall. He had crossed the Dark Pass.

On either side the Pillars rose: a mirror image of the Gate beneath which he and his people had sailed so long ago. Sadness pierced him, to think of them now. He would never see them again. Never again. It was too late for them...But he had no more tears. Not now, when the journey was almost over.He stumbled on the gravelly path that went on before him. It was steep in places, and much weather-worn. Erosion had carved great gaps in the causeway as it ran along the lips of cliffs and deep ravines. The cavern wall leaned outward above him, dark and jagged, with hanging stalactites that dripped and glittered. Higher and higher it rose until it was lost in the mist that filled the massive space, above and before and on all sides.He could not see the end of the path, but light filtered through the fog ahead, far ahead, at the end of the journey, and the wind blew warmer now. It was tinged with the smell of salt. He did not shiver.The vast cavern was rough and unshaped, and he remembered how the old one had described the carven halls of the City: chambers of art, with artists aplenty—too numerous to name, and some who cannot now be named. The Stern One walked those halls, and Machalis of old; the Toa, the Dragon and so many others. Houses of building stood beside them, where things were made both marvelous and terrible, and creations were judged in countless tournaments of skill. The Northerner and the Southron and others besides.There were Libraries too. Chambers of writing where the scribes gathered and the daydreamers scrawled tales of war and mystery, love and history, past, present, future. Corridors where the great ones roamed; Elce and the Listener and the epics of Hurdi, and the far-off whispers of dragons.Halls of debate rang with many voices, and tidings were brought from across the world, and so it was for many ages. Through the good and the bad, the Koro went on, guarded by its sentinels. The Three lingered for a time, but slowly they too departed, and the mantle passed to others: the empress and silent one and the Black Six, who guard all doors. All these watched upon the walls of the city, to safeguard the Power, and who can say if they remain?“They are formidable guards, but they shall not harm you. You have made the journey, and you have paid their price,” the old Matoran finished his tale.A long silence, and Uil felt the weight of all this knowledge, a burden and a comfort, now passed to him.“Why did they do all of this?” he had asked on a whim, “What...what was the point?”They had come to the feet of the northern mountains, he and the old Matoran, and they were about to part ways. The old one had chuckled at his question.“They did it to keep the memory alive. To remember,” he said.“Remember? What’s the use in that?”“Oh, great use. There is power in memory, you know. It can keep a thing alive long after death. It can comfort the soul. That city is the Place of Memory, the place of those who remember.”“But...remember what?”“Why, the way,” the old Matoran had said, smiling sadly.“The way of the Bionicle.”

At last he came to an open space where water lapped against a shore of carved stone. Mist hovered above him and on all sides, shrouding the horizon, and there were no stars to guide him here.He stood still for a moment, looking down at the stone beneath his feet. The last sign glimmered there, just where the water met the shore. But there was nothing else. Not a ripple disturbed the surface of the quiet sea. He grimaced as he shifted on his feet, his injury flaring up again. His eyes strained into the fog, and questions rose up in his mind, urgent questions, and doubts.What now? Was there nothing here? Was it all just a story—a desperate dream? He had come to the end, and it was silent and still and colorless. His heart dropped, and he almost lost hope...But there! There in the mist, hard against the shore—a shape. Dark, gaunt. It was a figure. And a boat.He went along the shore on leaden feet, feeling the warm air against his Kanohi. Fear rang suddenly in his heart, but he fought it down. The words of the old Matoran echoed. You have paid their price.The figure who stood upon the shore was twice his height and yet thin, almost skeletal. Blue eyes shone in the murk, and the figure bent over him, dreamlike. A voice like steel spoke:“Why have you come, broken one?”He gaped for a moment, speechless at the sight of the being that towered above him. A maskless face—a skull, surmounted by golden gears. And those eyes...they pierced him through.“I...” he stammered at first, but finally the words came. “I have come out of the darkness and into the light. I have come to...remember.”The cold blue eyes stared him down. There was no mirth in those eyes. Only sternness, judgment. They looked into his heart and saw the truth. At last the being stirred, raising a skeletal hand. He did not flinch as the fingers touched him upon the forehead. They were not cold as he had expected. The touch burned as with fire, but it was a good fire. It filled him, driving out the cold and the dark, and suddenly he cried out. Pain coursed through him from his neck to his feet. He felt like he was being twisted, stretched, wrenched. It was too much. Too much!But then it was over, and the sentinel withdrew his hand. Uil’s heart was pounding as he stood up, shying away.That was when he realized that the pain was gone. His back...it was repaired. Good as new. He was broken no longer.“Th-thank you,” he said, his eyes wide.“And now the end of your journey,” the being said and beckoned him as it moved toward the water, stepping heavily into the boat.He followed, dazed and wondering. The water rippled and splashed as he clambered up the side of the craft and sat.“Wh-where is the end?” he asked dumbly, “What is it?”The figure turned to fix him with its gaze again.“It is the place where the memory is kept alive,” it said. “That memory is a great Power. I am its Heart, and it cannot be broken.”The skull leaned forward once more, but now its eyes were red. Red like fire. Warm and alive. A name rose in his mind. Yes, he remembered it. Hapori...the heart. The flaming heart...Hapori Tohu.The figure took up a long pole and thrust against the shore. The boat rocked as it moved out onto the narrow sea.Suddenly there was a stirring of wind, and the mist began to waver and break. Light poured through the gaps, and slowly the world went from dimness into day, from gray to bright, shining blue.Blue skies, and blue waters, and far away, just a glimmer on that long, blue horizon...A city.

Souvenirs, by Velox. Re-viewed. JRRT

Hi Velox. SSCC review time. This won’t hurt a bit.I think the previous reviews have pretty much captured the spectrum of positive reactions for this story. It’s a very emotional tale, dealing with themes of hope and loss. Very effecting stuff, and portrayed in a way that’s easy to connect with. For that, you should be commended, Velox.But we both know that’s not why I’m here, so I’ll get to the point (i.e. the critique!). After reading through the story, I have two main issues to note, as follows:The first deals with the overall thematic pacing of the story. Each section is very independent, beginning with the introduction of a character, and each character undergoes much the same progression, moving from personal introspection to a broader perspective (the children, the other soldiers). It works, and the sections are certainly well-written, but as I read, it felt somewhat repetitive, like it needed to be broken up a bit. Not sure how you might resolve that inparticular, but I think the story would benefit from switching up the means by which each different section is structured. That includes the transitions between the sections—each has a definite beginning and end, and they may have been your intention when you wrote them, but because they are presented as a full story, there isn’t much transitional material to connect each section. One ends, the other begins, etc. It’s up to you, but that’s my suggestion.The second issue concerns the writing style—description, there’s a bit too much. I noticed this mainly in the first section. The other two sections are much more descriptively reserved. The introductory paragraph struck me in particular:

A whiff of sweetness from the pine tree in her living room filled her nose as she walked past the Christmas tree. She stopped for a moment, smelling the sweet, syrupy scent. The lights sparkled around her; lights from the tree; light reflecting off the ornaments; rays from the sun shining an incandescent illumination upon the room through the drawn shades; all part of the conglomeration of lights forming a radiant brilliancy throughout the room.

Chapter 8Run, run, run. My lungs are on fire as we pound down the sidewalk, rounding the corner of the next building. The air feels heavy with static, and the hair on my neck stands on end. My eyes are still spotty from the shock the thing gave me, and I stumble. I can feel Alex’s hand gripping mine. She’s keeping up. We have to get away. It isn’t safe. We have to get away!Something like an explosion rocks the ground, and suddenly I lose her hand and I’m sprawling. Agony explodes in my head, and my vision goes red. I roll over. My arms are on fire with pain, and my heart thuds in my chest and temples. I can see drops of blood on the concrete.Everything is so quiet, except for a thin, high sound. Someone is screaming a long way off. I try to rise, try to clear my vision, but I don’t have the strength. I fall again, but this time hands grip me. They hold me up, turning me over.Blue sky fills my field of view, and then a face. Alex. I’m on my back. She’s holding my head, saying something. I can’t hear her above the pounding in my ears. Her face is full of terror, and I feel sorry…so sorry that she had to go through this. I’m tired…I’m sinking. Darkness creeps up the edges of my vision, and I can’t hold on anymore. Sinking. Sinking into the blackness…

I awaken with a start, gasping. It’s dark, but there’s a light above me. I raise my eyes, and see that it’s a fluorescent bulb. It’s mounted into the concrete wall against which I’m leaning. Cobwebs. It’s cold, damp…I’m back in the tunnel.I start forward, confused. My limbs are sluggish. It doesn’t make any sense. I rub my head. No wounds. No pain. I can hear. Where’s Alex? What happened to me?And then I see it. The black wall. It looms to my right, just as before, cutting off the tunnel. An impenetrable barrier.Fear courses through me again. I thought I had escaped. To my left, the tunnel continues on, empty. I start to rise. Can’t stay here. I have to get back…have to go…somewhere…A noise disturbs the cool silence, and something moves in the darkness to my left, farther down the tunnel. A figure.It’s the man again. The dead man. I don’t understand. It can’t be real. Not again. I must have hit my head—“No, Ian. It’s real,” the man speaks. His voice sounds strained this time, gravelly. He steps forward, and I see that his clothes look even more ragged than before.“What happened?” I ask, “Did you do it? Is it over?”The man’s expression is unreadable. He purses his lips.“Ian,” he says, “do you remember what I told you before? About myself? It was after Alex was taken. I told you that we, myself and…it—We’re opposites. Like different ends of a magnet. Remember that?”I nod, feeling worn out.“I wanted to help you understand,” he continues. “In truth, it’s a bit more complicated than that. I’ve lived a long time, Ian. Long time. It’s quite a gift. I’ve wandered the world for lifetimes…”He stops for moment as if catching his breath.“But always…always I’m pursued. He—it—pursues me. Really, he’s more like a reflection of me. I’m alive, you see, but in him there is no life. I’m a man; he’s a…an ‘unman.’ He can only take life, feed off of it—the conflict and the struggle. I’m eternal, and he craves the life I have. We’re drawn to each other, always. It’s, well…It’s a tiring existence. And now you’re a part of our struggle.”I shake my head, frowning. This is crazy. I don’t want to get pulled any deeper into this. I want out.“How am I a part of any of this?” I retort. “It wants you! I’m just a kid on a train.”“No you’re not, Ian. Not just a kid on a train.” The man’s eyes widen, and he steps forward shakily.“You’re a part of this because…because I know now that it has to end. This has to be finished, and you can finish it, Ian. We’re very much alike, you and I. We live lives of…conflict.”There is a stirring in the black wall to my right, and I whirl to look. It ripples, swirling like vapor, and then something emerges. I shy away, fearing to see the dreadful puppet-form the thing had taken in the street.But no…this is worse. It steps forward, unsteady on its feet. Dull eyes stare at me, and the sound of a bottle shattering on the concrete echoes down the tunnel as the image of my father moves into the light.“C-conflict,” the image says with sluggish lips, “Yeah. Ain’t that right, Ian.”It isn’t real. It isn’t real. I try to close my eyes, to look away. I can’t. There is no escape this time. No firm hand to pull me away. I’m trapped, helpless.“Yeah, dad,” I reply.“Ian,” the man says from behind me. “It was no accident that you were on the train today. You know that, right?”I do. I had chosen to be there. I had made a decision.“I know…” I reply.My throat is tight as the memory rises in my mind. The image of my dad leers down at me, and it’s like a raw wound deep inside. It had been another argument. They were all alike. Shouts and curses and words that hurt, though neither of us would ever show it.“I hate you,” I had said. “I hate you. I’m not coming back.”The door slammed, and my feet pounded the porch as I left. I heard the creak of hinges behind me as my dad stumbled out, barely sober. His voice was thick when he called out. Almost like he was choking.He had called to me. Called out.“I’m sorry, son! Oh God, I’m sorry. No more of this. I-I promise.”The crash of a bottle shattering on the paved steps made me jump, and I turned, one last time. I thought he had thrown it at me, but he had only thrown it down on the step.“I hate it,” he says. “I hate what…what it does to me. It’s like it eats me alive. I’m sorry, son.”He slumps sideways against the porch-rail, and I see that his face is a mess of tears. They drip down his chin.“Don’t leave…I don’t know how to go on by myself.”It’s horrible, this feeling. Sadness. Guilt. Conflict. No. I had to get away…had to run. Run!And I did. I ran all day. Left it all behind. I hardly remembered where...It was all a blur. But finally, things had become clear, and I felt calm seep into my heart. Weariness. The station was a mess, people milling about. It had been a relief to sit in the quietness of the train-car, close my eyes, and get lost in music.But I still hadn’t decided what to do yet. The train was carrying me closer to home. Back to my father, back to that terrible conflict. Closer and closer…Where else could I go? Still…“Ian.” The man’s voice breaks in on the memory, and suddenly I’m back, leaning against the cold wall. My father is still there, staring me down.“You have a choice, Ian,” the man continues. “That’s what makes us different, you and I. You can make choices. I…I am eternal. I exist, but I don’t change. There’s a life for you out there. There’s a resolution, but it’s in your hands…”The man pauses. His eyes cloud over, and I see his legs shuddering. A rumble fills the tunnel for a moment, and he winces. But then it passes.“I can’t stop it, Ian. Out there, in the street. I can’t stop it, but I can’t let it take me. I am life, and it has none. We conflict. But in the end, I don’t have the strength…” He’s breathing hard now. His face looks paler.“I’ve lived in this body for a while, but not much longer. I wish for a change. It’s in your hands, Ian—the change. I can give you the chance. I still have the strength to turn things back, but you must make the choice.”He raises an arm, pointing at the image of my father.“But first, you have to make this right. He’s a shadow, sent to stop you, to tie you down. But he’s real enough. Make it right, Ian. It’s decision time.”And in that moment, I know what to do. It all seems clear now, like a dam that has finally burst inside of me, sweeping away all the pain, all the sadness, the anger.Tears spring into my eyes as turn to face my father. Face him, and weep, and say:“I know you’re sorry. Dad. I’m sorry. I forgive you.”The words fill the space of the tunnel, and my father’s eyes suddenly seem to brighten. His face is clear, awake. He smiles a little and steps back, back into the black curtain, and then he’s gone.It’s freedom, pure freedom. The weight lifts from my mind, and I stand up, staring at the place where he vanished. The tunnel doesn’t seem so dark now. It’s getting brighter, in fact. I steady myself against the wall. The man is beside me now, and I feel his cold hand upon my shoulder.“Resolution, Ian,” he says. “It’s what we all crave, no matter what we tell ourselves.”The light is definitely increasing. The black wall seems thin now, insubstantial. There is a shuddering in the floor and the walls. Something is happening.“And now,” the man continues, “I can give you the chance to end this. I will use what strength is left in me…I can turn things back. I yearn for an end to this…this eternal conflict. End it, Ian.”“How?”“You’ll see,” the man points upward with a pale, trembling finger. He smiles.I look up just in time to see the fluorescent bulb hanging above us blaze like a white sun, piercing and brilliant. And then it shatters.Debris rains down upon me as the darkness leaps up. The man is gone. The ground shakes, and a noise fills my ears, deep and rumbling. I can feel it in the floor as I crouch, trying to keep my balance.Suddenly I realize that it’s not dark anymore. My shadow stretches on before me, long and dark, cast by a light shining somewhere behind me. Something bright, growing and growing.I whirl around and cry out just as the lights of the train roar up out of the tunnel and thunder over me—

—A shock, and a deafening sound, and I’m back in my seat on the train. My earphones are in my ears, and there’s Alex next to me, and the people sitting, staring, oblivious, all around.And I know.I know what to do.The man is out there in the aisle. His hand grips the metal pole to his right. He doesn’t move. Not a muscle.“Sir?”I half-stand in my seat, and the man almost jumps. He turns and looks at me. His eyes are sharp, piercing. It’s only a moment, a fraction of a moment, but he looks……distracted.Crash. The metro heaves, and my stomach jumps into my throat. Shattering glass, and a sickening lurch, and time seems to slow.His eyes are fixed upon me, and mine are on his. Everything goes sideways, and the ground rushes up toward him far too fast.He doesn’t see it. I don’t think he knows he’s going to die.Not this time.But in that moment, as the world spins into chaos around us, I think he does know that this is the end.It’s over.The change is made.The eternal conflict.Done.His eyes remain wide open this time, and the moment blazes past in a cloud of color and noise and pain, and I’m lying in the aisle now, battered and bruised, but alive.Alive!People are screaming, shouts and calls. I hear Alex’s voice, and a hand grabs at my shoulder, pulling me up. Pain courses through me, but I can take it. It means I’m still here.My vision starts to clear, and I see Alex’s face, concerned. No more blood. She’s safe. Beyond her, I see people scrambling over the chairs. One man is crouching in the aisle, crouching over a single, inert form. He shakes his head.I don’t know how. I don’t know what I did, exactly, but I know that it’s done. He didn’t see it coming this time. I made the choice for him.I sigh and lean back. My earphones are dangling from my pocket, and I realize that I can still hear them, crackling away.It’s static—hissing, insistent, angry.I struggle to lift my hands, to raise them to my ears…And then it ends.

Chapter FourGlass crunches sharply in the silence of the tunnel. It is very quiet and very cold compared to the interior of the train. Darkness stretches away on either side, broken only by the dim fluorescent light that spills from the shattered windows of the train car.The young man is crouching beneath the tilted window of the train.“Careful,” his voice is almost a whisper as he reaches up to help the woman slide from the frame. He has taken off his jacket and wrapped it around his hand, using it to brush away the remaining pieces of glass.The woman lights gingerly on the concrete, avoiding the shards that litter the floor of the tunnel. The two of them stand for a moment, surveying the wreck that fills the dim passageway. The sound of the other passengers still crouching inside is a faint buzz.“Alright. You ready?” the young man shakes out his jacket. It is stained with blood. The woman’s blouse is also bloody, but it isn’t all hers. She clutches at her shoulder.“Yes, but I’m not sure which way to go.”“Uh…well, neither do I. Guess I wasn’t paying attention how far it was to the next station.”There is a pause. Feet shuffle in the stillness, and there is a clatter as the young man sidles around the side of the train. He rounds the corner but stops suddenly, looking down at his feet. More blood there. He shudders visibly, turns, and goes back.“Um,” his voice is more distant now, “let’s just head this way. We’ve…we’ve got to pick one direction.” His voice is shaky, and he swallows hard.“Yeah…okay, Ian. I…I don’t really want to go around there either.”“Okay, good,” relief is evident in his voice. “Let’s, uh, let’s get going then.”They climb over the twisted rails to reach the wall of the tunnel, stumbling a bit in the half-darkness. The sound of their shuffling footsteps fades away.I can’t hear them anymore.I struggle then, and feel my hands clench suddenly very tight. My face is a mask of pain, and there is blood in my eyes, but I know the pain cannot bind me for long.The second attack had been worse than the first. I almost hadn’t been able to resist. Almost. I did resist though. My will was still strong, and I showed it. But the struggle had been fierce. It had strained the walls of the tunnel, bent the metal of the train itself.I honestly hadn’t expected the windows to shatter—neither of us did. It had worked in my favor though. It had gotten me out of the train. It had given me time.The first attack had been so sudden. I had not expected it at all. The thing was very powerful by now. An earthquake...the whole east coast maybe. All to catch me off guard, leave me helpless. Incredible.It’ll be back though. It went with the two for now—the woman and the kid. It latched onto the kid early. I know it did. It had tried to keep him here, but he had some strength of will in him. It’ll feed soon though. The girl was injured. It’ll probably go for her first. Then it’ll be back here. I have to stop it.The sharp jolt that courses through me is hard to take, and my abdomen spasms hard. My teeth clench, and I almost bite my tongue in two, but then it’s over, and my heart is beating hard and fast, rushing blood through cold veins.I wheeze and sit up, straining to lift one arm. It’s dislocated, but that isn’t a problem. The head-wound is harder. It makes me dizzy, but I have to get up. Have to get moving.The darkness whispers on either side. It tempts me…tempts me to just lie down. Lie back down, don’t try anymore.No, I will not answer it. I stand up on unsteady legs. The people in the train do not see me. My clothes are torn. I wipe the blood from my eyes with my good arm.Time to go.

For a second, it looked like a light winked on in the distance. I shake my head.“Did you see that?”“What, Ian?”“That light. I thought…” Maybe my eyes are playing tricks.“Did you see a light?” Alex replies, “Maybe the power is still on down there.”“I’m not sure. I thought I did.”“Let’s keep going then. It can’t be much farther.”I hope it isn’t much farther. It’s cold down here, and I think the darkness is starting to get to me. The surface of the tunnel wall is smooth against my right hand, and every now and then I feel a cold metal pipe or conduit bolted to the concrete. I tried counting them at first, but I’ve lost track. It seems like we’ve been walking for hours.At one point, I put in one of my earphones. Sort of instinctive, I guess. But then I thought it’d be kind of rude to listen to music with her behind me. All the same, I kept one earphone in. It was kind of a relaxing feeling, after all the craziness today…“So, Ian,” her voice finally breaks the awkward silence, “what were you going to do today? You know, before all this happened.”She’s trying to keep things light-hearted. Small talk—that sort of thing. I don’t like that, usually. But right now, it’s probably good.“I, uh, I was heading home, actually.” I grimace in the darkness. Home. Yeah right.“Oh, I guess your parents will be worried.”“Probably not,” I say with a bit too much sarcasm.“What?”“Uh, nevermind. Yeah…my dad—I don’t really want to talk about it.”“Oh…um…okay.” She fumbles a bit, and I feel bad. Shouldn’t have said that.“So, no school today?” she changes the subject. “I mean, you’re in school, right?”Great. I know she means no harm, but what am I supposed to say? Yeah, I ditched school today. On a whim. Whatever…“School was out early,” I lie. It feels wrong right now. Shouldn’t be lying at a time like this.“Wow, it’s funny how that works,” she says. I can tell she’s smiling now.“Huh?”“I said it’s funny how that works. You know, if school hadn’t got out, you wouldn’t be here.”It’s true. I wouldn’t be here. None of this would have happened to me.“It’s the same for me,” she continues. “I wasn’t supposed to be on this train either. I was going to see my sister. I didn’t know she was visiting until this morning, even.”“Wow.”I can’t think of much else to say. That’s how it works, I guess. And after all, it means I brought this upon myself. I had decided to ditch today. I don’t even know why. I’m not usually like that.“Oh hey! There is a light up there!”Finally a change! She’s right. I can see it too. I’m not going crazy. Just up ahead, around another curve in the tunnel.“Let’s go!” I say. “Maybe there’s an access door or something.”We both pick up the pace, making sure not to trip over the metal rails. Almost there…Suddenly, a noise breaks my concentration. A crackling noise. Static. What the…It’s my earphone. Still in my ear. It’s crackling like crazy. I yank it out and shake my head. Weird. Maybe they’re broken. We round the bend in the tunnel, and there’s the light. It’s an old fluorescent bulb mounted in the ceiling. Cobwebs everywhere. No doors or anything though. Still, it’s nice to be out of the dark.“Ian.”Alex’s voice is taut, harsh. I whirl around. What is it?She’s standing in the middle of the passage, staring down the tunnel. Her eyes are wide, and I can almost feel the fear coming off her.“Whoa, what’s the matter?” I move toward her. What is she looking at——And then I see it.It’s black. A wall of blackness. The whole tunnel is covered in it. I rub my eyes. Still there. This is definitely not normal. The hair on my neck prickles.“Holy…” I don’t even finish the thought. Alex is moving toward it. Her hand is outstretched, fingers rigid.“Whoa, stop! What are you doing?!” I yell.“Don’t touch it!”I don’t know what it is, but it’s not good. My earphones are crackling louder. I can hear them even though they’re not in my ears. What is going on?I leap forward, grabbing her shoulder, but she resists, twisting away. Stop! Stop! Fear is rising in my stomach, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. This can’t be happening. I reach out again, grabbing her around the waist, trying to pull her back.And then she touches it, and she’s gone.I cry out as I fall forward. She’s gone. Gone! I think I can hear her scream, echoing from far away. My eyes are closed. I’m breathing hard. What is happening to me?It feels like something is holding me down, a pressure in my head. Images flash in my vision…and there’s a figure. Thick and hunched…It’s my dad. His eyes are glazed over, drunken and stupid. He says something, but I don’t understand. I can feel that he wants something. He wants something from me. No. No!He lunges at me, and I scream——and then it’s over, and I’m stumbling back up. Something has me by the shoulder. A grip like iron, dragging me back, whirling me around. I’m helpless, can’t get away. It lets go abruptly, and I fall to me knees. My eyes are suddenly clear, and the sight of what stands before me makes my breath catch in my throat.It’s him.It’s the dead man.He’s alive.This cannot be real.Terror roots me to the spot. I can’t even scream. His clothes are torn, his arm still twisted, but he’s there. His face is bloody, but the wound on his forehead is gone. This can’t be real. It can’t be!“It’s real, kid.” The man’s voice is hard, deep.“Y-you,” I start breathing again. I can hardly speak, “You were—you were dead!”I stagger back. My stomach is turning somersaults. The man moves forward suddenly, faster than I would have thought possible. He grabs me by the shoulder and leans in. There’s something in his eyes that makes me stop resisting. It’s like he’s searching for something…searching me.“H-how?” I stammer, shying away. Confusion clouds my mind, “What do you want?”“What do I want?” he asks, almost laughingly. He lets me go, as if satisfied. “I want out. But it won’t let me.”It. I feel fear surge through me again, and the horrible image of my dad rises up for a moment. It. What was it?“How…” I can’t think right now, “How are you still alive? I saw you—”“—I know what you saw. Yeah, it almost had me there. It took the girl, didn’t it?”The man looks past me at the horrible black wall, frowning. Oh God…it had taken Alex. What was happening here?“It would’ve got you too. But it doesn’t want you. Not really.”“What does it want, then?” I ask, grasping for words. I’m tired, so tired. I can’t believe this is happening, but it feels so real.The man shrugs.“Me,” he says. “I can’t die, kid.”“I can’t die, and it wants me.”