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(21) I'm a terrible person who was terrible for updates last week. I know. But I have ideas for this week, and PLEASE bug me if I don't update. I want to update on time and stuff. Anyhow this is an idea that came to me sometime earlier this week...it's rough. Very rough, I'm not really that impressed with it--however the concept isn't complete. Word count: 1,072 Enjoy! Consciousness 1.0 Code streamed across the many monitors that lay scattered across the small desk, the rapidly scrolling text dimly lighting the large room. It was a vast expansive room, a high-topped ceiling with various chains hanging at differing lengths and a guide rail that surrounded the small recess where the screen--and the two men, were located. It was this recess that the room appeared to be constructed around--though it could have been a warehouse at one point, it was now separated into many different recesses, all linked together by the sprawling network of railing that ran the length of the complex. And it was in this small, dimly lit room, that two men worked tirelessly. Their backs hunched and their goggled faces averted from the streams of text that even now filled the screen--had they looked, they have seen the blinking lights that alternated between red for two pulses...and then switched to green. However these two men were far to enrapt in their work to notice such things. Each had eyes only for the object that lay on the table before them. At first glance it was a body...which would have made the two men a sort of twisted doctor...and in a way that was true. However once one looked past the rough humanoid shape, things would come to bare that revealed the true origin of the object. It was large: about 6 feet long and a good 3 feet wide, but more than that it was heavy and...plastic. While some exposed metal remained on its outline--which the two men worked furiously to cover, nearly the entire shape was coated in a smooth grey plastic that gave a vague human shape to the thing--all but its head. Where the face would be on a human there was nothing more than an ovaloid dome of tinted plastic. There were faint lights beneath that darkened dome, and if the men were not so focused on the machine's knee joint, they would have noticed that these too pulsed in the same order as the computer. Holding a solid red for two pulses, and then switching to green. A loud grinding sound caught their attention and the two men gasped as they rose from their work, glancing around to see where the discordant noise had come from. "A bit of a shock, eh, Fred?" Said the shorter of the two, wiping the back of a black-gloved hand against his forehead and adjusting his goggles with the other. "Yes indeed, Dominic" the taller said, running his fingers through his sandy hair. "Jeese..." the one called Dominic spoke quietly, glancing in the direction of the machine's hand. "Is it supposed to do that, Fred?" he said nervously. The machine's digits shook almost violently as power coursed through the arm circuits; the fingers snatched and clawed at the empty air...before finally clenching into a cold metal fist. All this time the light patterns beneath the tinted 'skull' continued to pulse rapidly. Fred watched this with a detached calmness, returning his tools to the workbench as he watched the machine's hand grope the air. "Don't worry, Dominic." He said slowly "That thing is strapped down for a reason...still, I wonder why it's reacting so oddly..." There was a loud shriek of metal as a door above the two men opened and a figure in a black business suit walked in, staring down at them from above. "Gentlemen, I trust that your project is coming along well?" the man spoke smoothly, almost offhandedly, as he adjusted his tie. "Yes sir." Dominic responded, removing his goggles and looking up at the man. "However there is a slight glitch, it seems" "A glitch?" The man frowned, drawing out a small metal cylinder and pressing it to his temple. "That's not going to make my bosses happy." Fred, face averted from the smooth-talking man on the catwalk, scowled at the attitude of the man's words. With a sigh he turned to face the man and spoke: "Sir, if you'd like to come down here...perhaps you could see for yourself." In response the man simply raised an eyebrow, then, with an expression of interest he descended the staircase; the metal stairs clanging loudly with his every step. "I must admit, I'm interested in seeing this glitch" the man said glibly, sidling up to the two scientists. Both Fred and Dominic chose not to spoke, instead indicating the still moving hand of the machine as it grasped the air. The man, for his part, simply smiled. "That's no glitch, gentlemen" he said with a wan smile. "That's exactly what we want." Fred and Dominic stared wordlessly, indicating for the man to go on. "You see, gentlemen," the man began, watching the machine's hand endlessly clawing the air "You're not building a cyborg or an automaton. This is not an AI operated machine." "I don't understand..." Fred muttered, removing his goggles to better see the man. The man pointed in the direction of the various computer monitors that were scattered across the table, and to the code that still streamed across every one. "That's not a computer program, per se." he said teasingly. "Rather it's the approximate digitization of one of our fallen comrades...a backup, if you will" "So this is operating off a computer program based around a dead former employee?" Dominic asked, incredulously. The man simply laughed, withdrawing the metal cylinder from his breast pocket. "Not entirely. This cylinder is my backup...every one of us is assigned a backup. However that is old technology--not something that we would assign two top level scientists such as yourself." Both Fred and Dominic acknowledged the compliment, but still felt a shudder of dread run through them as the man spoke. "No gentlemen, what you're creating is but the frame...the shell, if you will. And we all know that a shell is useless without a soul." "You can't mean..." Fred began to speak, his eyes widening slightly. "Oh yes. This is our first experiment in harnessing the spirit of a deceased person--to give them a new lease on life!" Behind the men the monitors ceased their constant streams of code, now only two words blinked on the green, surrounded by the pulsing green lights. "STATUS: OPERATIONAL" The man glanced at this and smiled at the two scientists, laying a hand on each of their shoulders' "Congratulations, gentlemen. It looks like it's a success."
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FOR SCIENCE! 2.0 (6) I'm tired. Very tired. This is what runs through my head--except this is like, maybe five-to-ten minutes of a dialogue that runs all day long. Wordcount: 536 (Anyone else notice the shrinking wordcounts? I do!) Enjoy! So I did A soldier screamed as he fell, clutching his arm where the magic still burned his flesh. All around his comrades were dropping, their primitive blades no match for the small band of mages that had surrounded their leader. “Fools!” The archmage hissed, magical energy erupting from his body. “Taste my wrath!” “Nah” I thought, mentally shelving the idea. Almost instantaneously the battlefield melted away and I was left with a blank slab of sun scorched rock hanging high above a small winding river. Nearest the edge of the enormous stone was a figure cloaked in shadow, its eyes just barely visible through the darkness of its hood. “Why have you come here?” the figure questioned, and my view shifted to a shaded enclosure where a young man stood, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “To learn the truth” He muttered grimly. “Nope” I thought to myself. “Not quite what I’m looking for” As if it were a rubix cube my brain reassembled pieces of the scene until they resembled something completely different. Now I was in a deep pool, out of the corners of my eyes I could see my arms furiously driving in and out of the water---of course they weren’t my arms, and as my view shifted away I saw a young girl of about 20 pushing herself to her limit as she swam from one end of the large pool to the next. Then I found myself viewing the scene from underwater, large goggles filling my vision. For a moment I pondered. “I do love this feeling” I felt myself thinking “I really love the separation between above water and below. I love the way that line is so thin that all it takes to plunge your head in and it’s something completely different…and I love how peaceful it is under the water.” Already I could feel pieces clicking into place, replacing and altering themselves. No longer was it a young girl in my minds eye, instead it was an older man with the body of a swimmer. The pool itself melted away, leaving a vast oceanic plain for the man to cut through with his body. But I could feel the weariness though it wasn’t my own, could feel the way his body ached—could even feel the bite of the cold water as it surrounded his body. His face dipped under the water, revealing sights of beauty untold. Just beneath the surface lay all manner of life—but I could still feel the weariness, and could feel the man slipping further and further. My mind had already written the end to this tale, the man would die surrounded by the beauty of the ocean. “Nah, too depressing” I found myself thinking. For once my brain wasn’t able to think of anything further. The scenery of the ocean melted away into absolutely nothing, for the briefest of instants my brain was absolutely silent. Then came the image of me seeing the previous storylines in my head. A bit Meta, but I eventually figured it out “Oh. I get it. I’ll write about the process I go through to make a story for For Science! 2.0” So I did.
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(20) It is DONE. And with this the summary of my time off last week is basically complete. I was on various fun things that caused me to have dulled...everything. SO READ ON AND FIND OUT. Word count: 820 Enjoy! I wanna be sedated Well, after all the fun I'd had not a day ago (See: The Joy of Painkillers for more information) I quickly figured out how to actually ingest a painkiller. Oh the fun. It wasn't that bad, actually. In fact if I avoided biting into them then the disgusting taste was barely present. They went down just like any other vitamin. However, as I got used to my little routine of swallowing a painkiller in the morning, a painkiller at lunch, and a painkiller later in the night...I was unaware of the fun that lurked for me in the future. You see, I had conveniently forgotten about the prescription my dentist had written for me. Why? Because quite simply, he told me as he began to jot out the various pills I'd need to be taking: "I'll write you a prescription for an antibiotic to help your gum heal, and I'll give you some Advil to help the pain. However I'll also give you a prescription for Tylenol threes. They have a sedative in them." Now for those of you who actually know what I do. you will know this is the antithesis of what I need--for those of you who don't. You need to stalk me more effectively. I kid, of course. I am a Martial Arts instructor--you can see how well that would match up with taking a sedative. The answer, in case you are wondering, is not at all. And so I simply 'forgot' about my prescription. Or rather, I misinterpreted it. I believed rather foolishly that my dentist had written me two prescriptions--one for a painkiller WITH sedative and one for a painkiller WITHOUT sedative. I was dumb. Unfortunately it was my very own dear mother who realized what a putz I was. She very quickly informed me of the fact that I had only one painkiller prescription and that I would have to take a sedative--what fun. And so it was that one I came home and two pill bottles rested on top of the counter, almost innocent in their commonality. Of course they contained the things I really wasn't eager to be taking. "This one is your antibiotic" My mother dearest explained, indicating the bottle with MASSIVE pills inside. I mean pills that were bigger than skittles. It was terrifying. "You'll need to take these three times a day." Joy. Then of course she picked up the second bottle and told me that it was my painkillers--and that while the Advil was good for me for quick pain (and indeed, the non liqui-gel stuff actually tasted kind of skittlely on the way down. Mmmm) the Tylenol is what I would need for big pain--so I'd best take it at lunch and allow the painkiller to run its course. I complied. Getting myself some food I downed the painkiller, it was easier to swallow than the antibiotic or the liqui-gel capsules before it. However I didn't really feel much different. "Hum" I thought to myself "Perhaps it takes some time to take effect. After all, even the so-called fast acting advil took about ten-fifteen minutes to activate and dull my pain" And so I waited. And waited. I mulled various thoughts in my head as I surfed the internet, waiting for my supposed sedative to take effect. I mean, the pain was dulled but that could have been after-effect from the advil I had taken that morning. Where was my sedation? I frowned and continued to surf the internet listlessly. Then, following a request from my father (and upon realizing that I needed to put my dirty dishes in the wash) I made my way to the kitchen. Or rather, I attempted to. You see, my legs appeared to be stuck fast to the ground, and in no apparent hurry to move elsewhere. However I being a Black Belt, knew how to force my way past such menial things and heaved myself from the chair. To say that I did a nose dive isn't entirely accurate. I began to fall into a nose dive, however quick thinking avoided such a fate and I fell rather heavily into my chair with a "Whuuuuuh" sound. My father made a comment from the kitchen about my inherent wussiness to sedatives. I ignored him and attempted to stop my head from spinning. To sum it all up, sedatives are not fun, but they're also not entirely what you expect. Sedatives dull the senses and make you freaking TIRED. I would have gladly slept for HOURS with that dang thing in my system--so for those of you who have not yet experienced the so-called 'buzz' that these painkillers can give off...that's basically it. You get really, really tired. So basically you can get the same feeling from staying up really, really late. Which I do anyhow. I think I'll stick to that, sedatives suck.
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(18) Really not much to say, I've had stuff on my mind. Some of that came out in tonight's entry, some of it didn't. Oh, play Cave Story. Word Count: 991 Enjoy. The Truth I'm writing this (though I am more than away it's no story) not so much for purposes of entertainment, so much as the purpose of expressing myself and allowing you to better know me. I've always found that writers use their art to express who they are, and upon some self-reflection I found I needed something a little more...intensive, shall we say? You see, for as long as I can recall people have found me an interesting individual, whether it was my writing, my viewpoints, my MOCs or Models--people have always found me someone who they enjoyed speaking with. Why? I really couldn't tell you. You see, the truth is...I'm not. I'm not an interesting individual, in fact this entire entry is dedicated to that very fact. It amazes me daily to know that I've inspired people and that people find me fascinating--because quite frankly I'm nothing more than anybody else. More particularly I'm more annoying than most. I hide it, I've always been able to hide it remarkably well (and that has obviously served me in my life) however the fact remains, and seems to have eternally remained--I am but a boy with delusions of grandeur. Truly it is infuriating. You see, I write because I enjoy it. I truly do. There are all sorts of things that I have written, or drawn into concepts that nobody (and I do mean nobody) will never ever see. Why? Because I love writing and always have. But then I get that little worm of a thought into my brain that little "I should post this" parasite that niggles into my thoughts...and shortly thereafter my will is reduced into...well, nothing. I almost always end up posting it, and then I watch, I wait. I act like a hawk slowly circling, ever circling its prey. I wait and I wait and I wait for that first comment. And then it comes! And my thoughts? "Well, that was okay" And then I return to my waiting, my watching. I await what I view as the inevitable second comment. Often I wait for quite some time...or I give up waiting as I realize that the comment isn't coming. "But wait!" you cry, "Isn't this entry supposed to be about you, and your delusions of Grandeur?" Ah, patience gentle reader. It is. This is not by any means a slandering of those who do not leave comments, I do not even know you, how could I possibly slander you? No, this is more to say that I expect it. Why do I expect it? Because clearly I am superior, clearly I am quite an incredible person with amazing talent and surely everyone will realize it when I post this handwoven masterpiece of supreme amazingness! Yes. I am that bloody arrogant. This is what my mind whispers to me, day in and day out. Now I do my best to counteract this pervasive influence, but one has only ask my friends...honestly -ask- them, and they will tell you. I get defensive with my writing, I get catty and snarky and angry and bitter when people make comments on my writing--why? Is it because I believe in my craft and think that these comments are obviously out to insult? Lord no. It's because deep in my mind all I can see is "How could they not like it? I mean, I did my best HOW AM I NOT THE BEST?" Arrogance at its finest. When at last my inner egomaniac is subjected I am left with a feeling of melancholy and sadness, because I clearly cannot be the best. Clearly I am the worst, I am nothing and I am terrible. While that was done out of sarcasm, that is truly the thoughts that play through my mind. Really, I'd love for this not to be the truth. I'd love to just be able to say to people "Yes, I am that amazing." I'd love to be able to actually believe what people say about me and my work. But I've fought long and hard against allowing my ego to consume me, and I have to continue. Because I am the most arrogant person you will ever meet. Though I am not proud of it, I look down on people who I do not even know--because they're 'wrong' and they clearly 'don't understand' and a litany of other ridiculously stupid excuses. I have always believed, even from the youngest of ages that I was destined for something better, that somehow I above all others was superior, was the better of everyone else--how this happened, what with two older sisters who were all too quick to put me in my place, I will never understand--but regardless it did. In fact, for as long as I can recall I've been having experiences that have simply cemented that twisted thought, the thought that I am in fact inherently superior to the rest of the planet. Some were paranormal in nature and some not--the common thread amongst them is very simple, in looking back I cannot honestly detach the true event from my embellishment. Because no matter what I must be the best. I am a fool with delusions of grandeur. I think I am far better than I am. This is not to say that I do not accept any of my talents. I am not here to say I am a terrible person and I should be reviled and suffer the slings and arrows of the world. I'm saying don't always believe what you see. I'm an expert at maintaining a facade, I have been for a frighteningly long time. And please, please, please feel free to call me on my arrogance. Do not allow me to insult you or your works in my tone or my actions. That's really all I have to say. I just needed to get out the truth.
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(17) AGH. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH. THIS STORY WOULD NOT END. I seriously tried. I tried, I wanted to end it around 1,000 words. BUT IT WOULDN'T LET ME WHY WOULDN'T IT EEEEEEEEEEEND? Read. Please read. AGH. *Brainsplode* Word count: 3,017 Enjoy! Let's do the Time Warp again! Blazing heat emanated all around the dry dunes of Po-Koro, and amidst this heat the Toa Nuva, brave heroes that they were, slogged onward. All about them there was only desolate desert, the only hope for some revitalizing shade being the distant canyons and mountains that ringed about the arid wasteland. It was towards those canyons that the Toa made their way, their eyes set grim and their weapons slung like weights across their backs. Pohatu led them across the blazing sands, and he was the first to break the heavy silence that had fallen across the group. “We really have to do this again?” He muttered grimly. “Unfortunately” Tahu grunted, wiping a bead of moisture from his mask. “Couldn’t we at least have the Matoran carry us? I mean, we are Toa!” Lewa chirped in “Nuva” Kopaka added curtly “What he said.” Onua began, always quick to ensure proper word usage amongst the Toa. “Well…that, and the fact that the Matoran are all living in Metru Nui, so there’s nobody here.” “Oh Yeah” Pohatu and Lewa both chorused. “As for why they didn’t put this thing down in Metru-Nui…” Gali murmured. “Budget!” All the Toa yelled synonymously. When at last they had made it to the inviting shade of one of the canyons the Toa allowed themselves to relax, depositing their weapons into one of the conveniently placed “Tool” storage bins. Then they all got ready for their least favourite experience. Before them, in the shadows of the canyon stood a newly erected Theatre, this time easily four times the size of the last. “Think they’re compensating for something?” Lewa snickered upon seeing the massive tower. “Yes.” Kopaka muttered, the rest of the Toa Nuva simply chose to ignore the two of them. “Well, may as well just get this over with...” Tahu muttered, striding toward the massive stone structure. Suddenly he halted mid-step and put up his fists, shouting “Toa! Get ready!” and each Toa in turn began powering up their elemental powers, temporarily devoid of their weapons. “Stupid bins!” Lewa was heard to shout as he saw the danger that now faced the Toa…a danger that seemed rather…uninterested. “Hmmm? Oh. Hello Toa.” Came a dark and gravelly voice “Nuva” Onua corrected. “Yes, yes. Toa Nuva. Whatever” The Master of Shadows said offhandedly, waving an armored hand. “Makuta! Enemy of the Matoran and Toa everywhere, how dare you come to invade our former home!” Tahu shouted, raising a flaming fist toward the imposing figure. Makuta frowned and checked what appeared to be a watch on his wrist. Then he looked nervously toward the sky, one of his heavily armored feet tapping the ground in an odd tattoo. He appeared to not even notice Tahu’s challenge. “Um?” Pohatu responded, finding it very difficult to look imposing in the face of Makuta’s utter indifference. “Makuta?” Gali questioned, allowing her elemental energy to fade and walking toward the armored colossus. “Hmm? Oh, what do you want Toa?” “Nuva.” Onua interjected helpfully. “Whatever!” Makuta snapped. “I trust that you are not here to deny us entry, or otherwise impede in our mission in any way?” The Toa of water said soothingly. The Master of Shadows simply sighed, his entire body slumping forward. “Indeed no, Toa Nuva. I am not here to be your enemy…in fact I do believe we have both been called here for the same reason.” Tahu’s eyes became wide. “You can’t mean that you’re going to be in the storyline again! You’re so…so….” “Dangerous? Menacing? Cruel? Wicked? Villainous?” Makuta inserted, hopefully. “..Overdone.” Tahu finally finished. “Yes. Well...” Makuta faltered and fell silent. “Um…shall we head inside?” Lewa spoke, indicating the enormous building and its now-open doors. Makuta said nothing and lumbered off toward the shadowed building, and after a choice “Awwwwwwkward.” By Pohatu, the Toa set off behind him. They’d almost made it to the towering theatre when they heard a cheerful voice shout out: “Master!” In response to this Makuta mumbled something vaguely threatening…but incomprehensible to the Toa. Luckily enough the cheerful voice was more than loud enough for everyone to hear. “But master! This is just a temp-job! Something to help me get back on my feet, I’ll be back to scheming with you in no time!” Makuta simply growled at these words and stormed inside. “Um, guys?” Lewa whispered “Isn’t that the guy who worked at the theatre last time?” And indeed, the black Rau’d Matoran who had staffed the ticket booth previously was sitting atop a luxurious looking stool directly outside the doors of the new building. “Oh. Hi, Toa.” He said with a nervous grin. “Nuva.” Onua muttered. “Right, right. Hi, Toa Nuva! Welcome to the theatre, how are you today?” The Matoran spoke incredibly rapidly, getting more and more flustered by the second. “You work for Makuta?” Kopaka asked, his voice like ice. “…Yes.” The Matoran replied truthfully, lowering his head in shame. “What’s the pay like?” Kopaka said, after a moment of consideration. “Well…I get to live!” The Matoran responded. “Not worth it.” Pohatu said with a frown as he passed through the doors. The Matoran simply shrugged his shoulders. “I also get to control Rahi and wear this totally awesome mask!” The Toa Nuva gave no response, simply ignoring the diminutive Matoran and walking into the well-lit hallway of the theatre. They promptly blanched as they saw Makuta, Master of Shadows…attempting to hide behind a garbage can. “Um?” Lewa said, dumbfounded. “Makuta?” Gali said gently, holding her hand out to the massive figure. “It’s light in here. I hate light” Makuta said simply. Then, with a strong blush evident on his mask he stood up and walked through the door into the theatre proper—leaving a large Makuta-sized hole in the wall. The Toa Nuva followed him wordlessly. Once inside (and once the Black Rau’d Matoran had been summoned to fix the gaping hole in the wall) they quickly found seats…as far away from the Master of Shadows as was possible. Unfortunately for all involved, they had all arrived horrendously early and had nothing to do to kill time. This of course led to conversation. “So…Makuta…what brings you here?” Tahu managed to force out, maintaining a large, fake, smile on his face the entire time. “Oh.” Makuta responded simply. “Apparently they’ve decided that one Makuta isn’t good enough, so it’s no-longer just my name, but the name of an entire SPECIES.” “Ohgod” Lewa squeaked, hiding half of his mask behind the stone backing of another chair. “Yes, that’s the response I would expect,” Makuta said haughtily. “however I simply don’t like it! One: It takes away from my individuality…after all, they’re all going to be just as powerful as I am!” “Mata-Nui…” Onua whispered, before joining Lewa in cowering behind his chair. “And Two: The only way they can get a sufficient amount of Makuta into the story is to make them canister sets! So there’s going to be six incredibly powerful Makuta (who aren’t me!) running around, while looking about as strong as you Toa!” “…” Kopaka said nothing, simply choosing to duck out of sight at that time. Thankfully, before any more Toa could be petrified, the speakers and screen activated and that horribly annoying voice once again assaulted the Toa’s ears. “Well hey there Toa! (and Makuta)” “Nuva” Onua popped up quickly, before retreating behind his seat. “We’ve got a fabulous show for you tonight! In fact we’re going quite a bit ahead in this one, this is Circa 2008, the “Final Battle” we like to call it. It sounds really dramatic, don’t you think??” “Desperate is more like it…” Tahu muttered, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “Anyhow, without spoiling too much, it’s about The Toa Nuva’s face off with Makuta’s evil army of Makuta…wow that sounded confusing! Either way, it’s a desperate race for a Mask that none of you know about yet! And also there’s flying ships with tons of guns! Man are the kids going to love it!” “Please, please, please tell me they’re kidding.” Gali murmured, all idealism lost. “They weren’t kidding about chainsaws, why would they kid about this?” Onua muttered darkly, finally having returned to his seat. “Oh, one more note!” the announcer said cheerfully, his face filling the screen. “Due to….the creative process taking longer than it should. We’re only going to be able to show you three of each team: Makuta and Toa Nuva. We’ll call you back when they’re all finished!” Almost immediately as he finished speaking, the Toa Nuva looked at each other and then began fervent prayers that they wouldn’t be one of the three shown. “Anyhow, on with the show!” the announcer cried, and the screen faded to black as drums and guitar riffs kicked in. The Toa Nuva were not so easily tricked this time, not even one of them moving an inch as the music played. The Master of Shadows, however, seemed helpless to the thrall of the music…Even playing Air Guitar at one point. “Dude.” Was Lewa’s only response. Suddenly the screen lit up and text scrolled rapidly, explaining that the song currently playing was “Gravity Hurts” and that while it would be available for download in 2008—all of those in the theatre could purchase an advance copy for only $19.95! The Toa simply stared. Makuta bought five. The music continued to play, but now a short video was playing, showing figures flying through a dimly lit sky amidst massive stalagmites. When it ended (with the words BIONICLE 2008 – THE FINAL BATTLE) the true show began. A bright orange and grey figure appeared helicopter through the area, holding up massive claws that split into propellers and aiming an incredibly large cannon. On his face there was some sort of blue bubble and…. “The Mask of time!?” Tahu gasped, incredulous. “Pohatu Nuva – Adaptive Armor” The screen stated, explaining that his armaments consisted of a “Midak Skyblaster” Twin Propellers (that double as drills) and the Kakama Nuva. “What.” Pohatu said dumbly, looking at the screen, then removing his mask and comparing the two with a quizzical look on his face. “How is that not the Vahi?” Tahu grunted. “That is totally the Vahi.” “I agree, Toa” Makuta responded, suddenly sitting right beside the rest of the Nuva. “Why are you orange?” Gali asked. “I….I don’t know!” was Pohatu’s only response. “Could be worse?” Lewa chirped in helpfully. “Mata-Nui…next!” Onua shouted. The screen flashed with thunder as a sinister looking red and black creature flew down, its clawed feet landing on the rough stone beneath. It was a lanky looking thing, with large bladed wings and vicious looking swords in its hands. Its chest seemed to be a glowing, pulsing orb, and on its face was a brutal looking mask unlike the Toa had ever seen. “Makuta Antroz” the screen explained. Listing his armaments as a “Tridax Pod” the Kanohi Jutlin, and poisonous fangs and claws. Both Toa and Makuta alike stared, mouths agape. “Scary mask.” Kopaka muttered, crossing his arms. “Why are my soldiers anorexic?” Makuta said with a frown. “What’s wrong with having a villain with some meat on his bones?” “There, there…” Gali said, patting Makuta on one of his massive shoulders. “Anyone really afraid of running into this guy?” Tahu asked “Nah!” The rest of the Toa responded. Makuta began to cry. “Next!” Lewa cried. The screen lightened considerably and a powerful thrumming noise could be heard as a grey and lime green figure streaked across the screen three times before gingerly landing. The figure was tall and imposing with a single jagged blade and large get engines strapped to his arms. On his face there was bright green Kanohi with jet-intakes in the sides. “Lessovikk?” Gali murmured. “Oh wait, I’m not supposed to know who he is. Carry on!” she said quickly, ignoring the strange looks the rest of the theatre was giving her. “Lewa Nuva – Adaptive Armor” The screen said, showing his equipment consist of a “Midak Skyblaster” the Air Saber, and of course the Miru Nuva. “It’s not as ugly as my current one!” Lewa cried happily, looking at the mask. “What is with those giant cannon things?” Onua muttered darkly. “Why do you only have one sword?” Kopaka asked slowly. “I’m not entirely sure. I’m also not sure where my WINGS are and why I have JETPACKS. But my mask is less ugly and that’s all I care about!” Lewa cried, looking about wildly. “But it still looks nothing like your original Miru…or your Miru Nuva.” Pohatu said carefully. “LESS. UGLY.” was Lewa’s only response. Tahu sighed. “Next!” Everything went dark and only a silhouette with piercing yellow eyes could be made out. Gradually as the light returned to the screen it could be seen that the figure was entirely black and silver, with cruel looking blades for hands and large batlike wings. Adorning its face was a vaguely skull-like Kanohi, and like the creature before it, its chest pulsed with an eerie orange light. “Makuta Chirox” The screen listed, showing his accessories to be a “Tridax Pod” a pair of Hook Blades, and the Kanohi Shelek. Makuta screamed. “Oh come on! You can see his ribs! Why are all of my soldiers so blasted skinny!?” “You don’t feed them?” Pohatu said with a shrug. “Of course I don’t!” Makuta trilled. “Do I look like a mother to you? But I do make sure that they eat four square meals a day—otherwise how can I expect them to kill you accursed Toa?” “Fair enough point.” Kopaka said offhandedly. “Still, those blades look pretty scary!” Gali said in a desperate bid to pull Makuta from his funk. Of course Onua didn’t exactly help matters when he finally spoke. “…So far they look like I could break them in half. Without using my Pakari.” in response Gali shot him a glare so venomous that even Maktua winced. Scrambling away from Gali Ground Zero, Pohatu shouted “Neeeext!” Light flooded into the room as the screen displayed a dark grey and white warrior effortlessly cruising through the air. With a slight spin and a loop-de-loop the warrior landed, folding large wings behind his back. He was holding an enormous cannon like the Toa before him, but this time it was two-handed with a tiny blade peeking out from the front. His mask was entirely white and resembled a cross between the great Ruru and the Kanohi Akaku. Kopaka looked up in abject horror, his mouth constantly moving but no words coming out. Then at last the inevitably happened and the words appeared. “Kopaka Nuva – Adaptive Armor” showing his equipment to be a “Midak Skyblaster” a Blizzard Blade, and the (There was a howl of agony from the audience) Akaku Nuva. “THEY GOT IT ON THE WRONG SIDE!” Kopaka shrieked, his normally cool exterior gone. “I could live with the butterknife. I could even live with the lack of a shield…but HOW in the name of MATA-NUI did they get my SCOPE on the WRONG SIDE?” Throughout Kopaka’s entire outburst, Makuta stayed oddly silent…then began whistling and twiddling his thumbs. Kopaka whirled on the Master of Shadows, his eyes ablaze. “This is your fault. Your entire existence will be agony so long as you live.” He said coolly, and then seated himself. The Toa simply sat there with stunned looks on their faces. “All in favour of never ticking Kopaka off…ever?” Lewa said meekly. Both the Toa and Makuta alike raised their hands in utter silence. “NEXT!” Kopaka growled, his eyes never leaving Makuta’s. The screen flashed with lightning as a dark, bat-like shape prowled through the air, at last coming to rest upside down. From their vantage point the Toa could see that the figure was almost entirely dark blue and silver with a blunt, vicious looking mask and baleful eyes. They could also see that unlike the other Makuta before it, it was not humanoid: With large looks for hands and wings sprouting directly from its arms…not to mention diminutive feet and legs, it resembled nothing more than an enormous bat. “Makuta Vamprah” the screen declared, explaining that his armaments consisted entirely of a “Tridax Pod” razor sharp wings and claws, and the Kanohi Avsa. “Now my soldiers don’t even have legs?” Makuta said blankly, his eyes wide. “What had I done so wrong?” “Try and conquer Mata-Nui and kill us, maybe?” Pohatu responded glibly, ignoring the vicious glare that Makuta sent his way. “It was just a thought” he said with a shrug. “Maybe it helps him fly better” Gali said soothingly, gingerly patting the armored colossus’ arm. “And that’s another thing!” Makuta said suddenly. “Why are there no girls in my army? I am an equal opportunity employer!” “Yeah, we know.” Tahu said darkly. “We heard all about Roodaka, thanks.” At his words the entire room shuddered violently, remembering all the trouble that Roodaka had caused with her blatantly female form. “I think even I could break this one in two” Lewa said cheerfully, glancing at the screen. Makuta gave out a wail. “Well that’s all there is to show, folks. We hope you enjoyed this preview! Remember, these aren’t final—after all, the focus groups haven’t gotten their chance yet! We’ll call you back in a few months to show you the finalized versions—and the rest of the lineup for the FINAL BATTLE. DUHN DUHN DUHN DUUUUUUHN.” The entire theatre blanched. “Did he really just do that?” Pohatu asked, wincing. “Yes, yes he did.” Gali responded with a sigh. “Let us leave and never again return?” Onua questioned hopefully. “Contract doesn’t allow it.” Makuta responded darkly, stalking out of the theatre. “May next month never come…” Tahu said grimly. Together the Toa and Makuta walked from the theatre, ignoring the shrill cries of the Black Rau’d Matoran and picking up their various weapons. They half-heartedly swore to defeat each other, but both sides could tell that their hearts weren’t in it. Everyone was too preoccupied with thinking of what horrors yet lay in store. If they only knew…
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(16) Late. I know. I'm a terrible person who has been busy and lazy lately. This story came to me last night before I went to bed and is probably better than what I'd had planned beforehand. I hope to have a second story up today, and then both days missed will be made up for. Yarr. Word count: 1,040. Enjoy! Deprivation To say I was afraid of the dark wouldn’t too far from the truth, but I was never the darkness itself that frightened me so. Even the thought of things lurking in it did not perturb me. Instead, somehow, it was the thought of what wasn’t there that caused me such fright. The absence of light was the obvious fear, but my nights were filled with vague horrors of myself grasping blindly about in the blackest of night, reaching and groping for something that no longer existed. And just to add on to those existing fears was the pervasive knowledge that there was no way to escape the darkness. No matter what it would come. Even the brightest of lights would eventually flicker and die—leaving me alone in the darkness, where things moved on their own and I vainly struggled to find what I would never be able to. You can imagine, then, how I felt when I awoke to find myself in a brightly lit cell. The floor had deep recesses in between crisp white tiles and dotting the walls and high-anchored ceiling were powerful floodlights. It wasn’t a painful amount of light—all it really did was make me aware of just how large the holding area was. I stood there, washed in the powerful lights that shone all over the room, and felt that prickle of fear. I could only identify one exit and it was magnetically locked. I knew that much. “How are you this morning, Doctor?” came a slightly garbled female voice from the loudspeaker. Of course they were observing me. “Quite well, and yourselves?” I managed to get out with only the slightest quaver in my voice. “We’re quite eager, Doctor. You were doing some truly fascinating work on light deprivation…” I heard snickers in the background, her comrades no doubt. I heard papers being flipped over…those cretins were looking through my work! For an instant my fear was forgotten as rage took over—First these insignificant snots hold my staff and I at gunpoint and forcefully take over our lab—and now they’re stealing my research? “I’m especially interested in this one, Doctor” Came the female voice again. “And which one would that be?” I bit my tongue, holding back a choice name. “The theory that the human brain can be so very disturbed by darkness that it can seem like objects are moving. I’m most eager to test this.” I could hear venom dripping from her voice—I only hoped that my other staff were managing to escape torment like this. “And how do you suggest you do that?” I asked meekly, disgusted with my own cowardice. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll find a way.” As she spoke, the magnetically locked door snapped open and two men dragged in a large couch with some very lumpy pillows. I raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “I’ll let you get acquainted” She said maliciously, then the loudspeaker went dead. I’m not ashamed to admit that the second the loudspeaker was turned off I let out a stream of venom and curses the likes of which I’d never uttered before…These impudent brats deserved every word of it. It was then, gasping with breath, that I moved to investigate the strange couch—and jumped back in shock and revulsion as the lumpy pillow began to thrash and convulse. Sickening though it looked, I swallowed my fear and moved forward…finally catching sight of a zipper. To say I was shocked and disgusted didn’t even come close, one of my staff was in that! Angrily I grabbed the zipper and pulled it down, revealing a familiar form. “…Martha?” I gasped out, seeing my wife before me—I hadn’t thought that these sickos would stoop so low! Martha for her part was silent, and it took me some time to discover that was because of a gag roughly stuffed into her mouth. Gently cradling her with one arm I undid the gag…just in time to see the lights go black. “Fred!” I heard Martha cry, but to say that I was slightly frightened wouldn’t have been accurate. I was terrified, and in that terror it was all I could do not to hold Martha in a vice-grip. “Shhh, hon,” I murmured, attempting to quell her fears…and with luck my own. “we’ll be fine, let’s just move to the door…maybe we can get out of here when they open it!” I spoke, sounding far more confident than I felt. Martha for her part, had always been a strong woman and giving my hand a tight squeeze she moved from the couch and to the tiled floor, with me not far behind. About midway through the room (I estimated, it was impossible to see anything…or gauge distance in the thick darkness) I paused, frowning. “What is it, Fred?” Martha whispered, sensing my reticence. “The couch.” I muttered. “I just can’t figure out what the point of the couch is…surely they could have just dropped you on the floor?” Martha made a small noise of indignation at this, bringing a smile to my lips. “If it’s bothering you that much, why not go investigate it?” She said softly. “I can make it to the door on my own, and then we’ll meet up, okay?” Hesitantly I agreed and set off toward the direction I thought the couch was in. About twenty minutes later I became aware that I was hopelessly lost…but that didn’t make sense. Martha and I had moved in a straight line from the couch…and I had just reversed that…it should have been here…unless… “Martha!” I cried, panic gripping at me. “Martha!” There was no response. I searched the room for hours but it was exactly as I had expected…not just the couch, but Martha too…had vanished forever. Visions of my wife reaching blindly in the darkness came to me, I saw her fingers groping for something, anything before…before whatever it was that happened. I knew it couldn’t have been the door, because not only would I have heard the magnetic lock, but the light from the corridor would have been near blinding. Though it defied all logic, my wife had simply vanished into the darkness…and I was left. Alone.
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(15) I'll be perfectly honestly with all of you. I have no idea what this is, none whatsoever. I mean, I attempted to add some measure of logic and sense, but my original plan went spiraling madly out of control. For those of you wondering, my original plans were as follows A: Family-type story wherein younger brother discovers older brother is in fact part of a rebel faction that has been tearing apart the community in which they live B: A poem-type thing about said situation. I'm not really sure what happened. Word count: 753 Enjoy! The Masquerades A Half mask was their mark, a harlequin painted strip of fabric—it wasn’t enough to cover their faces entirely, but apparently it was enough to strike fear into people’s hearts. Enough to get them what they wanted. Who they were was a mystery to everyone, there was no statement, no public address…nothing. One day people simply awoke to find that their world had changed, to find that they were living amongst strangers. They didn’t have a name, or a purpose seemingly. The fearful public simply referred to them as the Masquerades—perhaps due to the half-mask that they bore, perhaps due to their penchant for striking at crowded theatres. For their part, the gang didn’t seem to care what they were called, so long as they got what they wanted. Of course that was the mystery…that was the thing that nobody could quite figure out. While it had been hundreds of years since crime of any sort had occurred in the city, they still had records; thousands of files that gave the raison d’etre for many different criminal syndicates. The Masquerades didn’t match any of them. When offered money they simply sneered and laughed. In fact, none of the many different pleasures of the flesh—which had been the reason for many criminals in the past, seemed to appeal to them a whit. They only thing they seemed to take satisfaction in was the deconstruction of everything. They had never killed anyone, never hurt a single person—but the destruction they caused was immense…having burned down several theatres in the span of weeks. Their game plan was simple, really. They would enter the theatre sans mask and split up: From there all but one of them would begin working to siphon each of the theatre goers out of the building while the final member would ignite the building. The most peculiar part was that the Masquerades would not let their captives escape for some time, forcing them to watch the building burn. All the while they would remain silent and simply stare into the flames, half their face hidden by their masks. It came as no surprise when the police force was resurrected to deal with the threat—what was shocking, however, was when the Masquerades simply showed up at the district, masks and all. “We’d like to surrender” they said, raising their hands, half their faces still unknowable. The police standing guard outside of the building said nothing. “It was an experiment, you see” The Masquerades explained as they came closer to the building. “To see where the social structure broke down. To see when we reverted to the system of enforcers” As they said this, each of them reached up his or her face and removed their mask. Girls and boys, whites and blacks, colours of every shade reached up and pulled the garishly painted strip of fabric from their faces. Somehow it came as a surprise to everyone to see that these hated and reviled dangers to society, these menaces who hid half their face behind a mask…were not just children, but their children. To see daughters and sons in a line of what was thought to be enemies was a shock to the system of the city as a whole. And then the Masquerades-no-longer turned to embrace their families, to show them that they were not the monsters that the media had made them to be. A shot rang out, those who had been spared still shrunk back as though they’d been struck. Then gradually a circle formed around the young man in the centre who’d taken the blow. It was a clean shot, a killing shot. The former Masquerades turned their wrath upon the officer who had fired. No words were spoken, no blows were exchanged. The young officer crumpled to the ground. “He…he was my brother” he sobbed. It was later discovered that the young officer had fired simply due to the stress of the situation. It had not been a deliberate aimed shot, simply a misfire due to the overwhelming stress…a misfire that had taken his brother’s life. And the Masquerades saw their experiment bear fruit. After the death of the young man, a newly revitalized police force was instigated—with an in-house police force to supervise them. A single mistake compounded by the naiveté of youth saw the world again restructured as the enforcers grew stronger and stronger yet—until the criminals rebounded and everything returned to the beginning. The dance had begun anew.
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13 You have no idea how long I have been trying to upload this blasted story. I finished it at...oh, about 12:04 AM this morning, and found that BZP's server was dead. So instead of waiting and struggling for an hour (Oh wait, I did do that) I went to bed. I awoke and tried to post it again and found that while the FORUMS were operational, all BLOGS were dead. Oh, unending fury. SO at last I managed to get this story uploaded and I am happy. It's a thought I've had multiple times while flying, by the way. Inordinately creepy, but a common thought of mine nonetheless. Word count: 1,491 Enjoy! White People milled all around me, eyes averted and eyes focused down the end of the cavernous passage; beneath me the ‘fast track’ path ground slowly toward my eventual destination. I was in no hurry, instead I allowed myself to relax languidly against the moving track and simply let it take me to where I wanted to go. Every once in a while people would pass me, their expressions varying from irritation to exhaustion—everyone in this place was in such a hurry it seemed. Pilots and stewardesses bustled in and out of crowds, security agents clothed in crisp white silently watched from their posts—or walked briskly to their destinations. And then of course there were the passengers: Throngs of people all desperate to get to their own destination and all more than willing to do whatever it took to get there. I gazed around at the sea of faces around me, noting the heavy looking carry-on bags that some people carried I rolled my eyes, clearly that’s why they looked so tired. Now me? I wouldn’t ever be that silly. No, instead I always arrived with more than enough time to spare, I didn’t want to rush or bustle. I didn’t want to panic or exhaust myself searching around the labyrinthine airport. I smiled as I arrived at the end of the moving track, hoisting my light bag over my shoulder and setting off at an easy pace. I kept my eyes up and focused, ignoring the thousands of people on either side of me—just as they ignored me. It was a mutual ignoring. However the important thing was that I kept my eyes open and I remained aware of where I was at all times, carefully studying the clean white signs placed around the bustling airport. Within a short matter of minutes I had arrived at my destination. I entered the roughly circular room, taking note of all the various different exit gates in rapid succession. Then, as soon as I had ascertained the location of my gate, I allowed my gaze to drift higher and take in the gorgeous view afforded to me and my fellow passengers by the nearly 360 degree ceiling high glass walls. It was truly a magnificent day outside—a perfect day for flying. The few clouds in the sky were white and fluffy, drifting leisurely through the sky. The sun was out in full force, its rays shining down on the tarmac and the aircraft assembled there, so bright was it that the luminous glare simply became a white blur in my eyes. It was almost painful to look at. Blinking and shaking my head to clear the remainder of the brilliance from them, I carefully found myself a seat and sat down to wait. Then, almost as soon as I was seated, I removed a small book from my bag, a fiction I’d been attempting to finish for the past few weeks. I flipped through the pages until I found my landmark, but found that the glare from the sun was brighter than I expected. Even my book’s pages seemed much more brilliant than before, approaching a nearly white sheen. I groaned internally and rubbed my eyes. Clearly I wasn’t going to be able to read any time soon. Instead I replaced the book in my bag and settled off to a light nap, leaning back in the seat and allowing the comfortable blackness of sleep to take me. I awoke to the slightly reverberating twang of an airline employee on the intercom. I glanced tiredly at my watch, and then at the main desk for my gate. “We will now begin general boarding for slight UA7643.” The young man said, indicating where exactly we should form our boarding line. I felt the slightest twinge of panic rise within me...I had completely slept through the pre-boarding! I could have missed my flight! I felt the prickles of fear threatening to rise and overwhelm my sense and forced them back, lifting myself from the seat as I did so. Then, while I appealed to my logical side to drown out the irrational fear, I slowly slid into line, my face emotionless. To say that the line went quickly would be somewhat of an overstatement. It didn’t exactly fly, nor did it crawl. It must moved along at its own leisurely pace—allowing me plenty of time to learn how best to avoid the bright beams of sunlight that threatened to turn my vision into nothing but a brilliant white expanse. In fact doing this helped to keep myself calm…to soothe the savage beast so-to-speak. When at last it was my turn to hand in my passport and deal with the smiling young man I found that my fear had completely evaporated—in part due to my own management, and in part due to the fact that I was clearly going to be onboard the flight. I returned his smile and retrieved my passport, setting off down the boarding hallway. Upon boarding the aircraft and double checking my boarding pass, I found myself fortunate enough to receive a window seat. A small smile briefly graced my face, and then I had seated myself and safely stowed my luggage. Shortly after I watched vacantly as the stewardesses went through the usual show and dance about aircraft safety—however it was at this time that I realized what good fortune I really had. Not only was I lucky enough to receive a window seat—but a window seat with nobody else in the adjoining seats! I was all by myself in an entire row of seats. How wonderful. The flight passed without even the slightest bit of interference—not even a pocket of turbulence disturbed the aircraft as it made its way through the skies. In fact the flight was as close to perfect as it could have ever been, from my comfortable row I saw mountains and rivers, lakes and cities, great plains of green and jagged peaks of ice. I saw gorgeous scenes stretch below me and I drank in every minute of it. However as is the way of the world, all good things must come to an end. The announcement came on the loudspeakers that we would be landing shortly and the craft began its gradual decline. I turned away from the window and leaned my head on the hard plastic that made up its surroundings. I had just begun to relax when I heard something strange. Sort of a “zzzt!” sound, like what we all imagine an electric shock sounds like. Opening my eyes slowly I looked around the craft and found that everything had gone dark, the lights, the TV screens—everything. All that was lighting the claustrophobic craft was the brilliant white light shining in through the windows. I paused with a frown. White light? Surely the sun couldn’t be that bright? Glancing out the window I found that we were submerging through the cloud cover, meaning that the only light that entered the airplane was nearly white. I made a face and turned back to glance around the cabin just in time to see the entire thing blink rapidly, flipping from total darkness to everything lit up and active multiple times. Getting a headache I averted my gaze again, choosing to look out through the window. This time I could almost see the distant outline of the landscape through the clouds, almost like it was a drawing in sand—the details being washed away by the wind. It stayed there for but the briefest instant before a large cloud mass eclipsed it from view—and at the same time everything in the aircraft blinked off for the final time. I paused in my chair, feeling that familiar panic welling up again. Then I felt it, the plane’s engines were thrumming just as mightily as ever but the plane wasn’t moving. Some how, in some way, the plane had simply frozen in the sky. With a sick feeling of dread I again turned to my window and glanced outside. That cloud mass hadn’t passed—if anything its seemed stronger, brighter. There was nothing I could see outside the crowded cabin of the airplane, nothing but those clouds. I felt my heart leap into my throat. Other passengers were beginning to feel the same feelings of dread that I had, but they hadn’t realized it entirely yet. There were rumblings moving throughout the people on the craft—talking about the strong cloud cover, and of course about the mysterious darkness that had invaded the vessel. But nobody turned to their windows and really looked. Had they, they would have seen what I did. They would have seen the infinte timeless expanse, they would have felt the sickening feeling of being trapped—as though in an enormous block of ice. They would have seen what I saw: Nothing but endless white.
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(14) This story hurt my brain. It really seemed like a simple enough idea in theory--but actually putting it into reality? It feels like my brain was out walking in the wrong side of town and got strung up and beaten until at least two vertebrae shattered. Yes, I am aware that brains do not have vertebrae. FIGURE OF SPEECH. Word count: 115 (SUPAH SHORT) Enjoy! Shyallright Shyallright, thus heer iss atest. Wile et maight luk lyk rendam gybbersh, ets aktully en ettamt tu rite samthin antyrely en a korupt anglysh. Et maight halp tu reed et weth a slyt ecsent. Ubvyusly et’s naut goang tu b es laung es mye uthar wehrks, semplay bikus these s difikult. Oh god, my brain. Ow. Oh man it hurts. Okay that was an attempt to write something entirely in corrupt English. Post your translations and we’ll see if anyone hit it properly. I like experimenting, I’m crazy, and silly. Maybe one of these days I’ll write something entirely in slang, or code. I dunno. It was fun in a brain shattering kind of way.
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(12) This is just a concept I was toying with today, it's a bit interesting in my opinion but harder than I expected to develop. Word count: 495 Enjoy! Epilogue 24 Hours after the world ended. Oh yes, I know just how strange it seems to see those words…imagine how it feels to be scrawling them on this page. Then again, I seem to be assuming this page will even be found—or perhaps I’m simply trying to keep myself sane by inventing a new persona with which to interact. Well hello there possibly-non-existent-person-reading-this, would you like to be my friend? You would? Smashing! To say that the world ended unexpectedly would be…untruthful, all those wonderful theories about the universe imploding, or the underworld vomiting forth legions of unholy warriors, or even the sun exploding…all of them were proven false. Unfortunately that means that with the world ended there aren’t even any downed alien spacecraft to take refuge in—or alien overlords to pack us up and ship us away. All that remains is the desolation of a brutal war. Oh yes, it was we that destroyed us—should that come as any surprise? How often have writers clamored about how our own hubris would destroy us all? Hmm, I can’t recall the exact number, but I do know that philosophers and others of note have put forth the claim that we were inevitably doomed to destroy all that we created—including ourselves. And so we have. It almost seems banal when you think about it. You might expect that I would feel some great sense of sorrow about all of this…I don’t know, after all we just met. However I am somewhat surprised to tell you that I do not, perhaps I’m simply not entirely sure that I’m the last human left alive...after all, doesn’t all good fiction have at least one small group of surviving humans? I half expect to wake up tomorrow and find either a group of mutants at the door, or have the entire ruin in which I am staying transformed into some sort of Mad Max’esque fortress. I feel I must also say that a post apocalyptic world is simply not as interesting as it is portrayed in fiction. In fact it’s quite disappointing. There’s no mutants thus far, no foliage, and nothing prowling about in the ruined city—not even some vaguely disfigured brain-addled humans. Instead there is nothing but the wind blowing its lament over our infinite foolishness. It blows through the canyons that were once shopping malls, through the decimated city, even atop the now-poisoned water. It really is sad in a way. Not just in that we were inevitably failures in our own destruction—after all, I survived…and others likely did as well. So not only is pathetic that with our last act as a species we were still cursed with failure. It’s also sad in that this is the end of the human race. Not some great and splendorous thing Not some monumental crash and epic destruction. No, instead it’s just an old man scrawling out our epilogue. Don’t you think it’s sad, my friend?
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(11) Gah, this took way too long and was way too forced at points. But it's done. There, you have part two. I'm going to curl up and die in a corner now (That means sleep, mmkay?) Word count: 1,040 Enjoy! And Mortals Sam and his new ‘companion’ arrived home, having decided that it would be best to retire for the day. Or rather, Sam felt compelled to leave the rapidly darkening park and without consciously willing it began to stand up and walk through the near-empty streets. “Was that you?” He thought, wondering if his newfound compatriot would be able to hear him. “Of course it was” Came the near instantaneous response. “It’s not particularly hard to control you, Sam. You’re just bits of flesh connected to muscle.” Sam frowned but said nothing, instead concentrating on resisting his muscle impulses…just to see if he could resist the ‘God’s’ power. His legs continued to pump mindlessly and his steps never missed a beat. “Nice try” Came the dark humor of the voice. Sam bit his tongue in response, thinking about what he could possibly do—and the first thing he felt was to get information. “At least give me a name to curse, then” he mused. “I have none to give, mortal. I was given none” the voice responded. Sam’s face crinkled into a frown and his mind raced—in all of the reading he had done, he’d never heard of nameless Gods, in fact every God seemed to have a name and be at least semi-well known by the humans of the era. “And why do you think that is, Sam?” The voice murmured questioningly. Sam paused. “Because….Gods make themselves known to humans so that they might influence their world? Like you’re doing with me?” Dark laughter echoed all around Sam’s head as the voice chuckled maliciously. “No Sam, you’ve got it all backwards. Gods influence the world for only two reasons: To prolong their existence or to exact revenge.” “…And which are you here for?” Sam asked, the question sounding tremulous even within his own mind. “Neither.” The voice replied simply. “I’m here to benefit my parents.” The voice fell silent for the rest of the walk, simply steering the body to where it wanted it to go. Sam, likewise, remained quiet and ceased his efforts to regain control of his body, simply attempting to stop his racing mind from overwhelming him. At last they arrived at Sam’s home, and, upon entering promptly collapsed on the nearest chair. Though exhausted, Sam immediately felt a presence in his home and warily looked over—the child from the park was back. “It seems my experiment was successful” the boy said in his rich, dark voice. “You…left?” Sam asked hopefully. “Not entirely.” The boy said with a smile. “I’m still there, I’ve simply allowed some of my essence out.” Sam sighed. “Tell me again about this, please. Explain it to me, after all if you’re going to be inhabiting my body it seems only fair.” The boy paused for a moment, averting his eyes downward. Then with a sudden movement he stared unblinkingly into Sam’s own eyes. “Very well, mortal.” He softly growled. “It really is quite simple…the world of Gods is very different from the world of mortals—whereas everything here is bound in physical form, the world of Gods is unconstrained energy. Unfortunately that means that in order to access this realm we must also bind ourselves in physical form.” Sam nodded, his mind racing to keep up, but not wanting the boy to stop. “However this binding gives us limited time and once said time has elapsed we’re immediately snapped back through into our own world—naturally the process is quite painful and some of our energy doesn’t make it back.” “…And using me you won’t get snapped back?” Sam murmured, faltering slightly. “I never said that” The boy said with a wide grin. “All I said is that using you I’m able to stay here longer—for all I know you could come to the world of Gods with me…” Immediately Sam’s eyes lit up and his mind began to fill with imagery from the many books he’d read. Massive mountains and pillars of ornate stone, gorgeous scenery and Gods milling in and out of temples erected in their honor. He smiled. “Not quite” The boy said flatly, interrupting Sam’s reverie. “Not only is it not like that…they wouldn’t be particularly happy to see you” “Why?” Sam said, perplexed. “I haven’t done anything to them.” The boy smirked. “Not you personally, no. But Gods and mortals do not get along…very few Gods enjoy spending time with their creators.” “Creators?” Sam said, quirking an eyebrow. “Yes.” The boy said. “Legends, myths. The creation of Gods, the more belief the Gods get the more powerful they get—as their believers fall the less power they have and the more they fall from grace. You mortals are responsible for the creation and decay of every God.” Sam fell silent for a moment, simply allowing everything that he had learned to sift through his brain. Naturally none of his reading had prepared him for anything even close to this. “Then how do you have any power?” He finally asked, unsure. “Because I was born while my parents were at the height of their power and in the front of worshippers minds…but shortly after the entire structure folded—far too early for any child to join the Myth.” The boy smiled slightly. “But that means…” “Yes, Sam. That means that I’m not constrained by you mortals. I don’t have to worry about your belief in me.” “Then why are you here?” Sam asked, mystified. Who was this mysterious God and what did he want? “I want what any child wants, I want to help my parents.” The boy smiled widely and vanished again, simply ceasing to be in Sam’s eyes. Then he again heard that insidious voice in his head. “Gods of War, you see. So you’re going to help me out, Sam. Together we’re going to cause absolute mayhem…and when the streets run with blood then my parents will be revived. Sound like fun?” Sam said nothing, finding his jaw unable to move. He thought a variety of curses but almost nothing coherent, he was scared now. “Like I said, Sam. You and I are going to be getting to know each other quite well. Now let’s hurry…we have plenty of work to do.”
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(10) First attempt at new title graphic, I dunno if I like it enough yet. We'll find out. You'll get part two of Gods another night, tonight I simply wasn't in the mood. Word count: 167 Enjoy. Signifying Nothing Sound and fury signifying nothing…that’s what this entire entry is about. I would have loved to write the second part of Gods—unfortunately when your mind is pre-occupied with other things it becomes most difficult to write to a satisfactory degree. (Or at least I find it hard to match my standards) As such I will instead default to my backup—that being this: A bunch of hot air, a bunch of anger that will do nothing and change nothing. Very little in this world infuriates me more than pointless discrimination—even discrimination is bad enough. However something has happened which I feel shows a clear example of this, and has even set me at the throats of my friends. Something of which I am not proud. But to be honest, the rage has left my system and now I’m just feeling very, very drained. Exhausted, really. So I’ll end this early and go to sleep, apologies for wasting your time. I did say it signified nothing.
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FOR SCIENCE! 2.0 (9) This is an idea that's been floating in the back of my head since last week, and it was going to be the entry for Thursday--but I couldn't write to a degree that made me happy, so I scrapped it. Here is part one in all its glory. Part two comes tomorrow. Word count: 870 Enjoy! Gods Samuel East—Sam, for short, was sitting quietly on a bench outside the park; with a small book open on his lap he sat unobtrusively. To say that he was careful to ensure he was out of people’s way was an understatement. Sam had lived his entire life in this fashion, sitting quietly in the corners away from other people…usually with his nose in a book. It wasn’t what most people assumed; that people simply weren’t interesting to him. No, it was the fact that he didn’t want to be a bother, and so he simply shuttled himself away into dark corners with a book for company. On this day, however, something was different; even Sam could feel it…could feel that nervous prickle at the back of his neck. Glancing up from his book, Sam’s eyes darted around nervously, anxiously scanning the people gently moving around the park. “You won’t find me that way” Came a disturbingly cold voice. A voice that somehow managed to hover just at the edge of Sam’s hearing…making it impossible to figure out where it had come from. “Who…?” Sam murmured softly, half to himself as he again scanned the crowd that milled about the park. “Me.” Came the voice, full of dark humor. “But who are you?” Sam whispered, his eyes rapidly darting around as he tried to find a source for the mysterious voice. “Interesting question” the dark voice chuckled. “Who am I?” There was a pause. “I’m someone on a quest…and I believe you can help me with that, Sam.” Sam nearly dropped the book at this. His pudgy face flush as his hands scrambled to hold onto the book that had almost slipped from their grip. “How do you know me?” He croaked quietly, his throat drying out quickly. “You are full of questions, aren’t you?” came the voice. “Lucky for you at this point I happen to be full of answers. I know you, Samuel East, because I’ve been watching you for the past…oh…month or so, I’d say. And I’ve found that you will suit my purposes quite nicely.” “…You’ve been watching me?” Sam said, voice cracking. “For…a month?” “Yes.” The voice said simply. “Why?” Sam murmured, almost dreading the answer. “Because you can help me Sam, you can help me quite a bit.” Sam wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and looked downwards—having long since abandoned his vain quest of discovering the voice’s owner. “How?” he muttered. “Look up.” The voice commanded. Sam obliged. Sitting on the same bench as himself was a young child—a boy of no-more than six or seven. He had dark sandy hair and piercing green eyes which seemed to be boring directly into Sam’s own. Aside from his eyes, however, he seemed perfectly normal. “Thank you, Sam” the boy spoke. Sam nearly wet himself. “You’re…welcome?” Sam said questioningly. “Tell me, Sam. How much do you know about myths? About Gods?” Sam happened to be quite knowledgeable on this subject, having spent most of his life with his nose burrowed in a book he managed to read most myths at least one, and prided himself on his knowledge of the ancient Gods. “Quite a bit” Sam half-grinned. “As expected.” The boy said with a malicious smile. “Then you would know that often enough they appear to mortals in the guise of flesh.” Sam did a doubletake “You can’t be trying to tell me…” “That I’m a God?” The boy smiled again. “I won’t say anything then” Sam rubbed his eyes repeatedly, all nervous somehow evaporated now that he knew he wasn’t dealing with a human—or at least that’s what he felt. “Open your eyes.” Came the command—and Sam did as he was told. The boy was gone. “You see mortal, regretful though it is, your purposes is this. We as Gods cannot exist for a long period of time in this realm—we bend the fabric of time and space in such a way that we are able to force ourselves through the tiny pinprick that we’ve opened…but all too soon the fabric snaps back and sends us hurtling back into our own world.” “I…don’t understand” Sam murmured, looking around for the boy. “Of course you don’t. The simple fact is that if we want to do anything of worth on this world we need to find someway to avoid this slingshot effect—not only does it damage us, but it severely limits what we can do here in this realm. And so I have tried my own little experiment” The voice laughed darkly. “And what’s that?” Sam said, pocketing his book and standing up. There was no sense in staying on the bench anymore, he just felt it. “Why, having a helpful mortal such as yourself shield me, Sam.” The voice whispered. Sam glanced around, the sense of panic returning to him threefold. He barely resisted the urge to run from that spot and never return, and, taking a deep breath he turned in a full circle to take in the entire park. The boy really was gone. “Nice try, Sam.” The voice murmured. “But you and I are going to get to know each other quite well…”
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FOR SCIENCE 2.0 (8) Well I missed two days last week, one of them was because of a testing at our academy (Which I had to judge for) and the second of which was I was lazy and making excuses. Seriously people, bug me if you want stories. Is this short? Oh yes. Did I have to literally grind this one of out my brain? OH YES. But it's done now. Now I can stop worrying about it. Wordcount: 418 Enjoy! Chronology How then to describe it; the silvery craft that gently flowed through the air? It was sleek and smooth, vaguely oblong with a large protrusion towards the back of the craft. Or at least that’s all that I could see…it was distorted and distended, as though I was viewing it through some sort of inverted lense. The air around the craft seemed almost liquid like, waves of…something radiating off from its smooth silver hull. It stayed there in the air for the briefest of instants, hovering there and causing the air to ripple in a way that I’d never seen. Then it turned, its brilliant fuselage somehow not seeming to move…so much as simply appearing in a new place. From its new position I could see that two large sweeping wings emerged from the silvery hull. I marveled at this amazing sight before, this machine that seemed more organic that technological, this incredible wonder that floated in the sky and yet was unaffected by the suns rays. Somehow the silvery sheen of the craft was light internally—no beam of sunlight reflected off the marvelous thing. And then all at once it was gone. It did not streak off in a ray of light, it did not loop around in the sky and vanish in a flash of light. It simply wasn’t there anymore. I lowered the hand that had been shielding my eyes and simply gazed into the sky… How then to describe it; the land below me that stretched abundantly outward? Boring, quite frankly. It was a veritable plain of nothingness—and the miniscule matchsticks that they must have called ‘skyscrapers’ were but the things of a race in its childhood. My vessel remained temporarily frozen in this primitive time, having been flung from the deeper time space and down into this trickling stream…a time from the past. I grunted irately, taking note of the gawking faces below me. It was amazing that these people thought my ship was such a marvel—I mean I barely tolerated the lumbering hulk myself. It got me to the store and back, but it certainly wasn’t one of the more fuel efficient chronal-hoppers. Frustrated, I kicked a bulkhead—causing my ship to blink into temporal space and immediately outwards again…same time period, just a different direction. I sighed. “Great, just what I need” Then of course I realized I’d left it in neutral, and, mentally kicking myself sped out of that time period and back into the time stream.
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FOR SCIENCE! 2.0 (7) Sleep happens now. Wordcount: 897 Enjoy. Sleep. Four minutes to live Four minutes and counting. That’s what they said. I’m scared…less scared than I expected, but still frightened enough that I’m unable to quell the nervous sweat that’s creeping to my skin. Nor am I able to take control over my breathing which has become more and more erratic as the seconds pass. Four minutes and counting. Four minutes to live. I can hear them all abandoning the room; the heavy thumps of their boots as they clomp down the hallways. I can even hear the them shouting to each other, panicked shouts—they’re just as terrified as I am. But somehow I’m not as terrified as I should be. In mere minutes I’ll be dead…in mere minutes this entire facility will be nothing but ruins, and here I am. Bound to a chair and locked in a room. There’s no lights, no heat, no nothing….yet somehow I’m not afraid. I suppose it could just be shock. You know, you never expect something like this to happen to you. Certainly it could happen to other people, but never you. No, never. Perhaps the brain simply isn’t able to rationally deal with it, and so it retreats into a sense of numbness—leaving me logically aware that I should feel petrified, but unable to feel anything. Heh, listen to me. I’m dissecting my own imminent death, it sounds crazy. The hallways outside are silent now. I can’t hear any more footfalls coming from them, and the cacophonous shouting has ceased as well. I’m alone now. The fear has almost left now…but I’m not numb anymore, some vague sense of emotion is trickling into my body. Anger, that’s it. I’m angry about being trapped here in this room, angry at the darkness that pervades this room, and the sense of fury I have at the men who’ve left my here to die? Well, there are no words to describe it. Still, somewhere in the back of my mind my imagination is running wild. “What’s going to happen to me?” It asks, running through a variety of scenarios rapidly, attempting to determine which one will be the one that gets me. It could be a bomb, I suppose. One planted in the facility—that’d make sense. Perhaps it’s even in the room around me. A localized blast would be the most effective thing for eradicating me. Then again these men are soldiers…they could have called in an air strike—that’d explain them scrambling to escape the facility as quickly as possible. Of course it could also be a poisonous gas, but if that was the case then I’d imagine that they’d have put me next to a vent—just to ensure I actually perished. I don’t even know how much time I have left anymore. And what am I spending my last precious few minutes doing? Trying to figure out how they’re going to end! I’d laugh if I could, as it is all I can do is feel the building rage within me. How dare they do this to me! I hear some sort of hiss in the room, vaguely serpentine in nature—please tell me they didn’t put some sort of live snake in here—something that’ll slink and lurk all about by body before finally piercing me with its fangs….I shudder just thinking about it. I can vaguely make out some sort of nozzle emerging from the wall. Somehow I’m able to see clearer now, the previously impenetrable darkness giving way to a dim foggy sort of light. The nozzle must be some sort of poison distributor. I imagine that any time now I’ll be inhaling the toxins and then it’ll be a short period of pain and a long period of dead. Wait, the anger is back now. They tied me up….they kidnapped me and threw me in here and tied me up! There’s a snap, a resounding crack; I can feel that the ropes holding me have snapped, from there it’s a simple enough process to take the chair I was previously sitting in and demolish the door. Light floods into the previously dark room, causing me to wince and cover my eyes, but I need to press onwards. I take a heavy step, my anger fueling me as I stomp down the hallway, I need to get out of here. I hear voices, soldiers are all around me. They’re yelling in some foreign tongue that I don’t understand. They raise their guns, aim, and fire. As soon as I saw the guns raise I knew there was no way to dodge, no way to do anything but sit there and be ventilated by the many bullets that will undoubtedly be coming my way. But wait. The soldiers are looking confused…fearful? I’m waiting for them to fire but they seem reluctant to…but if they didn’t fire then where is all that acrid smoke coming from? I look downwards, the floor is littered with bullets—and while my shirt has been quite ventilated, I somehow remain unharmed. I hear one of the soldiers scream out, I can’t understand anything he says except “Experiment!” So, I was an experiment to them, was I? I smile, it seems that their experiment failed…but I can live with being invulnerable. Now, how long was it they gave me to live? Four minutes? You know what they say, turnabout is fair play.
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FOR SCIENCE! 2.0 (3) I was going to write a part two to Days of Future past (You better believe I have ideas for the Phantoka and Mistika), but was unable to because of time constraints. Maybe tomorrow, we'll have to see. In the mean time, I enjoyed this, it was a nice little distraction from everything else. Wordcount: 652 Enjoy! Zero Hour “Ten” The countdown started. In my head I went over the past 24 hours rapidly, remembering all I had managed to accomplish in those last short hours. “Nine” Those now time-lost hours were quite possibly the last time I would spend on earth. Selected as I had been for the top-secret colonization project I had been training and preparing for over ten years—and it was all culminating on this night. I had naturally celebrated like a king. “Eight” I had wined and dined the finest of women, spent money like it was going out of style (And while it wasn’t, I very much doubted that dollars would be in plentiful supply on the moon. We’d need to find some other sort of money-substitute), and had more than enough to drink. Luckily I was in a project that really was the heart of everything scientific. A glass of water and a hangover pill and I was good as new. “Seven” I double checked the consoles all around me, barely paying attention to the readouts. I knew the computer would handle most of the difficult stuff, I was really just along for the ride until we made it into orbit. Only then would I actually get to do something worthwhile. “Six” I allowed my thoughts to drift to the hazy memories of last night. There had been women, that much I remembered. Some sort of expensive food…lobster maybe? Normally I wouldn’t have been so blasé about blowing such a huge chunk of change, but frankly it was on the government’s dime. And they owed me. “Five” I felt a shiver of excitement run up my spine. Partially out for the fact that soon the rocket engines would kick in and I’d be forced into my chair as an immense weight settled upon me—and then I’d be in the stars. Partially because I was remember some of what went on, and some of it wasn’t as hazy. A smile crept to my lips. “Four” All things considered, I felt I spent my last few hours on earth quite well, after all, as my friends used to say “Any night you can’t remember is a night worth living.” Of course I always thought it was rather silly if you couldn’t remember anything. I made sure to maintain some memory of what went on—otherwise what was the point? “Three” I gave the readouts another cursory glance as thoughts floated tepidly through my mind. Something was nagging me, but it didn’t hold much force. At least not as much force as the joke that had been bandied about by us ‘colonizers.’ That we’d have a nightclub and bar up and running within a week. “Two” With that grin-worthy thought out of the quagmire of my mind I was able to think slightly more clearly. Of course all that really did was give added urgency to the stray thought that I was unable to remember. I wracked my brain, mentally reading through everything I had done and was supposed to do. What was that thought that was dancing out of reach? “One” I closed my eyes, forcing myself to think. Inside my head I saw images of the past week I’d spent on earth. Women, elaborate clubs, gorgeous swimming pools, intense sports, and of course large bills…all of these things and more flashed before my eyes. Still that thought remained infuriatingly indistinct, like a word on the tip of my tongue. So close yet not there. “Zero” I felt the rocket boosters ignite, felt the intense pressure force me into my comfortable seat. I even vaguely noticed the ships’ computer taking over and controlling the various readouts. Finally the thought clicked smoothly into place, as thought the force of impact had knocked it loose. As I sped away from earth and to my destination amongst the stars I remembered. I had a casserole in the oven.
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FOR SCIENCE! 2.0 (5) Not such a fan of this one, though ironically enough I feel quite similar to the character in the story. Maybe I'll feel her sense of relief tomorrow? Wordcount: 602 Enjoy! Regular as clockwork Colour splashed across the canvas as the painter began her work, the soft tip of her brush dipping into the thick paint that spilled across the previously blank cloth. She gently drew her brush across the white canvas; making elegant lines with the red paint that stained the material. When at last she had finished with the web of lines on the canvas she carefully washed her brush, watching offhandedly as the paint dissolved in the thinner. She had been painting like this for three days now. On and off spurts of creativity that nearly forced her to work, an immovable wall of force that bowled over any flimsy excuse her mind could muster. Naturally she took breaks, every three hours she would rise from her hunched over position; popping her back and massaging feeling back into her tired limbs. Every three hours, regular as clockwork. She stared into the inky thinner she had placed next to her, gazing languidly at the red paint slowly melting off the bristles of the brush. As she watched the water gradually cloud over in a shade of red she spoke out loud to herself, the sound of her own voice surprising her. “Blood and water…” she paused, not sure where the thought was going. A sigh escaped her lips and she removed the brush from the thinner, tenderly wiping it down and checking the bristles. Next she removed the lid from her next shade, a brilliant yellow to compliment the pre-existing red. She moved to dip her brush into the thick paint when suddenly a shrill ring pierced through the air. She jumped. One hand clutching her chest and the other firmly holding the brush she glanced around the room… and realized that the annoying sound was coming from next to her. Her timer set for every three hours had trilled loudly. She made to stand up, her muscles groaning in protest, before a groan from her own lips joined them. In her previous panic she had knocked the brilliant yellow paint onto the canvas, and now her elaborate spider web of red was being overwhelmed by an onslaught of the bright colour. She cursed loudly, her shriek matching pitch with the still beeping timer. Dropping to her knees she desperately attempted to save the painting, drawing the best patterns she could with the viscous paint. She lost track of time, sweat forming all across her body as she gently traced forms out of the bright yellow paint. At last she finished, a final stroke completing an incredible lattice of red and yellow intertwined with each other in an elaborate pattern. And in the very center of this lattice were two large globs of paint mixing and creating a new colour. She smiled. For once she was really satisfied with a work she had done, for once she had really felt ‘in touch’ with her artwork. It was an incredible feeling for her, something that she had yearned for since she had first begun art. All throughout her working life she had been painting commissions for people, never truly feeling like her heart was in it—but this…accident made her feel a sense of satisfaction she had only dreamed of. She stepped back to glance at her work, unmindful of the now silent timer laying on the ground behind her, and with an earsplitting crack the timepiece announced both its presence and its demise. Oddly enough, she felt unperturbed by this. Bending down she gently cradled the ruined thing in her arms before turning and tossing it in the garbage. She had art to do.
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FOR SCIENCE! 2.0 (4) I'll be perfectly honest with all of you. I had absolutely no idea where I was going with this. The opening sentence "What can I say..." popped into my head and I began to write...from there the character just directed the story. I got a brief idea of what went on towards about halfway through, but even I was surprised at the way it turned out. Wordcount: 813 Enjoy! Just some kid What can I say about Frederick Rollen? He was a punk, a snot-faced little brat who made my life a living nightmare. Am I glad he’s dead? No, of course not; no sane human being would be. But am I glad he’s finally out of my hair? You’d better believe it. Fred first entered my life ten years ago, just as much a punk then as on the day he died. I remember the reaction I gave him, the first words I ever said to him…heh, I told him I had no money for bums. He laughed at that, can you believe it? He, some punk teen of seventeen in his torn jeans and stained jacket; with his dirty hair and greasy skin, he laughed. “Man, I ain’t here for your money,” he said, drawlingly, rubbing his dark hands on his torn jeans. “I’m new to the neighborhood. Name’s Fred.” And with that he extended his hand, his dark, grease-stained hand. Surely you can’t blame me for shutting the door in his face? But I still remember what happened next, I remember it with a clarity that surprises even me. I shut the door on that young man, but I watched him through the peephole…I rationalized this to myself by saying it was to make sure he didn’t become violent, but nevertheless I watched. For a moment the young man seemed taken aback by having the door slammed in his face, then a grin crept to his dark face and he turned his back, raising a hand in a half wave. I don’t know what it was about that motion, but it broke my heart. I still remember the unfamiliar pain, which even now remains as a dull ache. I still remember the fact that I turned away a young man who simply wanted to be accepted. Albeit he was a punk, and he certainly didn’t belong—but nevertheless a man of my upbringing was taught never to turn away someone. I suppose it should come as no surprise that after I led the charge, the rest of the neighborhood was also reluctant to accept this dark stranger; and one by one doors slammed in his face. Nevertheless, young Fred still smiled. He was a mechanic in those days, can you imagine? Someone on a mechanic’s salary living in our neighborhood? Preposterous! Or at least that’s what I and the others told ourselves. We told ourselves it wasn’t the young man that we had issue with, it wasn’t the colour of his skin, or his hair. It wasn’t even the fact that he was constantly covered in grime and filth…it was the fact that he was a mechanic. Even in those days our words sounded hollow, even to ourselves. Now admittedly, Fred wasn’t exactly a saint—nor did he earn many friends on our block. He had the frustrating habit of playing his music too loud…even in the late hours. He also scandalized the women of the neighborhood (and shamed their husbands) by frequently walking around sans shirt. Heh, I suppose it was a simpler time. He did his best to fit in, he really did. But try as he might he simply wasn’t one of us. He didn’t have our upbringing, our education—he just didn’t belong. He was a punk…a punk living like a king, but nothing more than a punk. It came as no surprise, really, when it happened. I can only suppose it happened over money…maybe women. I couldn’t really tell you. All I do know is that Fred had been working late at the shop when a group of hooded men entered and demanded something of him. Fred didn’t know what they were talking about, he tried to calm them down—but they wouldn’t be sated. He tried to run…but they caught up. Two held him tight as one of them administered a savage beating to him… It…it wasn’t supposed to end the way it did. They were supposed to scare him, to show him that he was a punk! That he didn’t belong! I know I said that I didn’t know what happened…but unfortunately I wasn’t being truthful. I saw it all. They beat Fred until he was close to losing consciousness and then turned to leave. Fred was stronger than they expected, more resistant. He struggled to his feet and grabbed a wrench. He charged towards his assailants, knocking two of them to the ground with the wrench…he wrestled with the third before finally being taken off balance and losing control of the wrench. He looked at me with pleading eyes as I raised the wrench. I’m….I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. He needed to understand, he needed to see that there was a difference between us…I never meant to kill him…He was just some punk. Just some kid. And I was a monster.
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FOR SCIENCE! 2.0 (2) Yes. I missed yesterday. I was so ill that I fell asleep at 8:30 PM and still felt tired and ill upon awakening. I am feeling better-ish now. I need to make some sort of header for my FOR SCIENCE entries. its got to be easier than constantly typing out all that code. Anyhow: Word count: 1,393 Enjoy! Days of Future Past Six mighty Toa, elemental guardians of the Matoran stood at the ready; their faces grim and their bodies tense. Though no Kanohi masks were being activated, and no weapons were drawn, the Toa were clearly gearing up for a challenge. “Together we stand” Murmured Onua, Toa of Earth. “Do we really want to be together here?” joked Pohatu, Toa of Stone. “No.” Was the curt reply of Toa Kopaka, Toa of Ice. “Absolutely not” Growled Tahu, Toa of fire. “Nooooot really” Toa Lewa of air said with a half smile. “I don’t know, I don’t think it’s that bad…” Toa Gali, Toa of water, said with a slight frown. “Attention!” Came a loud and shrill voice, drawing all of the Toa’s gaze towards a small Matoran clad in a black Rau. “Attention! Would the Toa Mata please enter the theatre!” The small Matoran shouted loudly, seemingly oblivious to the shudder the Toa gave at being called “Mata.” One by one the Toa shuffled in a grim funeral march towards the large stone construct that the Matoran referred to as the ‘theatre.’ All except Toa Gali who simply frowned at each of her despairing brothers and muttered “I don’t think it’ll be that bad!” One by one each Toa handed in a small stone tablet that the Matoran assured them was called a “ticket,” (They had to wait a few minutes as the Matoran chiseled half of the “ticket” away. They also had to wait longer as the Matoran needed to explain to Tahu why he needed to do this.” After the last dying shouts of “But now there’s only half!” and “I need to do it! Company policy sir!” faded, the Toa found themselves in a large, dark enclosure. Noting rough seats carved out of the stone of the building, the Toa seated themselves and…stared in silence at the large black screen that dominated the entire wall in front of them. “Remind me again why we’re doing this?” Pohatu moaned. “Contractual obligations” Kopaka grated out, dropping the temperature in the room a few degrees. “I hate contracts” Pohatu muttered in response. The rest of the rest of the Toa, minus Gali, simply nodded their heads grimly. As for Gali, she simply sat with her arms crossed and stared at the screen, seemingly ignoring all of her brothers. “I’d like to welcome all you Toa to the theatre” came a slick voice. Turning their heads the Toa could see that the screen had lit up and…what they supposed was the face of some sort of pink fleshy…thing was speaking to them. “I think we’ve got something very exciting for you today. As you know we’re in our first few years of BIONICLE, but through advanced time travel we’re able to show you what you’ll look like in the future. And in place of your bonus this year, that’s what we decided to do!” The last sentence was spoken incredibly rapidly, and it was a few seconds afterwards that Lewa, finally understanding piped up with a “Hey!” but it was too late. The bizarre pink thing was speaking again. “We’ll start with your first transformation. Circa 2002 you’ll be dealing with a new threat, the BOHROK. Sounds scary, eh? But fear not, you’ll be turned into a new form at the end of it…hmm, guess I kind of spoiled that storyline, huh? Oh well, on with the show!” The screen flickered briefly and faded to black while some heavy drums kicked in. The Toa unconsciously began to nod their heads in time with the music, being unexpectedly pumped up by the event going on around them. Then the first slide appeared. “What the heck is that!” Pohatu shrilled, pointing one of his two fingers at the screen, his mask practically falling off his face. “Pohatu Nuva” a different announcer spoke “Toa Nuva of Stone, he wears the Kakama Nuva, the mask of speed” “…A moment of silence for Pohatu” Lewa said with a small laugh, patting his brother of stone on the shoulder. “I really hate contracts” Pohatu sighed, putting his face in his hands. “Next slide!” Lewa shouted loudly, a large grin on his face. The screen responded in kind, bringing up the image of a White-clad warrior. “Kopaka Nuva. Toa Nuva of Ice, he wears the Akaku Nuva” The announcer said clearly. Kopaka analyzed the screen, the various different booms of his telescopic lenses clicking in and out as he gazed. Finally he spoke. “Not bad. Where’s my sword?” said coolly, his single visible eye showing relief at not having a repeat of Pohatu’s fate. Lewa on the other hand was anything but pleased and grumbled “next!” Again the screen switched, bringing up the image of a Toa wielding two large weapons. “Wait…are those?” Pohatu questioned, eyes wide. “….Chainsaws?” Onua finished, clearly aghast at what he was seeing. “Onua Nuva. Toa Nuva of Earth, he wears the Pakari Nuva.” There was a pause in the theatre as the various Toa turned to face Onua. Even Gali looked sympathetic and simply put a hand on his shoulder while mouthing the words “I’m sorry.” For his part, Onua took the news like a real Toa. Only once screaming “CHAINSAWS?!” before turning and staring at the floor. Even Lewa wasn’t able to crack wise about this, and so the burden fell to Tahu to angrily demand “Next!” The screen seemed happy to oblige and changed again, the earthy hues of Onua’s land morphing to the bright greens of the jungle. “Lewa Nuva. Toa Nuva of air, he wears the Miru Nuva” At this announcement even Kopaka couldn’t hold back his snicker. “Your mask looks like a chipmunk.” He said with a snort of laughter. “…He’s right, you know?” Tahu said, staring intently at the image. “….I hate you all” Lewa murmured before looking at the image himself and screaming loudly. “MY MASK!” was all that he was able to get out before Gali put a hand over his mouth and glared “Shh! It’s not over yet!” Lewa simply whimpered in return. This time the screen changed without urging from the audience, the verdant greens of Lewa’s jungle being replaced by rivers of fire and high mountains of volcanic rock. “Tahu Nuva. Toa Nuva of fire, he wears the Hau Nuva.” Came the soothing tones of the announcer. The Toa simply stared at the image. “It’s…not bad, actually” Kopaka stated plainly “Why does Tahu get to look good?” Lewa whined plaintively “Well your sword certainly seems big enough” Gali said, eyeing the picture warily. “…I like it” Tahu said, surprising himself. Then he and Kopaka turned to each other and high fived over the heads of their brothers, large grins on their faces. “We don’t suck!” they both said, clearly relieved. “Shh!” Gali said “It’s my turn next!” And indeed it was. The screen changed for the final time, altering the intense reds for a softer palette of blues, and in the midst of those blues was a figure swimming serenely. “Gali Nuva. Toa Nuva of water, she wears the Kaukau Nuva.” “I….I….what?” Gali mouthed wordlessly. “I’m so sorry” Pohatu said with a sigh. “On the plus side, you got propellers” Lewa said with a grin. “I’d kill for some propellers” “All in favour of not letting Gali Transform?” Kopaka grunted. The Toa raised their hands unanimously. As this happened the screen faded again, and the pinky fleshy thing came back on screen. “I hope you all enjoyed this peek into the future, Toa! We’ll be testing these in focus groups soon, so don’t be surprised if the weapons get bigger…oh, you might get some guns too. Just a heads up!” And the screen went blank. The Toa walked wordlessly out of the theatre, past the black Rau’d Matoran and into the jungle that surrounded the large stone building. Various mutterings of “I want my money back” and “I hate contracts” could be heard through the thick foliage as the Toa wandered dazedly back towards their home Koro’s. As the Toa faded from view the Matoran took out a small walkie talkie and pressed it to the side of his mask. “It’s me lord Makuta, our plan worked perfectly.” On the other end of the walkie talkie a dark voice growled in response. “Wonderful. That’ll show those execs for making me look so terrible as a set!”
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FOR SCIENCE 2.0 (1) Lame name, I know. It was either that or the overused and terrible "Fire and Ice" Anyhow, this was spawned by boredom and by the fact that my fight scenes are always attrocious, so I tried this. It's not really that great, but it's something. It may have been better if I wasn't ill all day. Word Count: 1,169 Enjoy. Quite a Team “This cannot be good” The words escaped the warrior’s mouth before he had a chance to stop them. Mentally he ran over the facts in his mind. Fact one: He was trapped on a lava flow Fact two: He was a Toa of ice Fact three: Things were about to heat up quite a bit. The warrior known as Kopaka grunted as his Golden Kanohi Akaku’s telescopic lens shifted and brought into focus the incoming threat. A warrior near-identical to himself, but clad in crimson and amber was bearing down on his position with immense speed. Riding a spit of volcanic rock atop the crest of a massive wave of Lava, the Toa of fire was closing with speed. Kopaka stood entirely still, allowing Tahu to close the distance. He had calculated that if he allowed the Toa to make it all the way to his position, then the Toa of fire would have the advantage in this bout. Something Kopaka simply could not accept. The Toa of ice shifted his masks’ long range vision to Tahu’s eyes, angry red coals that eternally burned from behind his own Golden Kanohi Hau. Kopaka wanted to see the look on his face. With a single elegant motion the Toa of ice had drawn his blade and gently touched the tip to the raging stream of lava all about him. The effect was instantaneous; the quickly flowing molten rock began to harden and cool rapidly as ice overtook the immense heat. Spreading quickly like some infectious disease, the ice crystals made their way up the crested wave that Tahu was riding. Kopaka got a single glance at the Toa of Fire’s surprised eyes before the red Toa was sent hurtling ungracefully through the air. The Toa of ice grinned, he had ensured that the ice would be enough to hold the lava flow for a brief moment—brief enough to freeze the wave, but allow Tahu to maintain his trajectory—and speed. The moment passed, the frozen flow began to crack and split as angry rivers of fire began to emerge from underneath it, with a single resounding crack the weakened ice split, the pieces that remained being quickly devoured by the hungry lava. Kopaka ran over the calculations in his head one final time before watching the stream of lava rush towards him with renewed intensity. He was quite aware that his own spit of land would never hold against such a furious wave of molten rock and so had been running plans in his head while the lava was frozen. As the wave crested and built, rushing towards him, Kopaka leapt from the blackened ground beneath his feet and focusing his elemental energy downwards, created a slick slide of ice that he rode until he reached a large circular area of volcanic rock—roughly ten steps away from the calming lava flow. No sooner had he landed than a growl met his ear. “That wasn’t very nice, Kopaka” the Toa of fire muttered. Flames erupted all about him, their heat intense and the smell acrid. Acting in a moment of instinct Kopaka released his elemental energy in all directions, freezing the massive flames into an enclosure of ice stalagmites. A sudden crack drew his attention and he whirled to face his opponent…but found no one there. He paused, listening, thinking he heard a footstep he struck blindly, swinging his sword behind him to catch the intruder. Instead he found his blade burrowed deep within the ice. Reluctantly he let go of the hilt, wary of using precious time and effort to struggle with his encased sword. He didn’t have time to react. Too late he felt the shattered fragments of ice bouncing off his armor, too late he felt the intense heat from the Toa’s elemental energy, and too late he felt the sharp blade of the ruby hued blade pressing into his side. “Match.” Kopaka spoke simply. Raising his hands in a gesture of defeat he turned to face the crimson Toa and found himself looking directly into Tahu’s eyes. He seemed to be smiling. “You’ve taught me well, Kopaka” Tahu said, putting his hand on the Toa of ice’s shoulder. “You’ve been an excellent student, Tahu” Kopaka said with a small smile, then he retrieved his blade with a mighty heave. “And now I am to be the student” He had hardly spoken before he felt the first impact. Tahu’s fire sword slashing downwards upon his upraised shield—he had reacted instinctively. Pushing forwards to knock the Toa of fire off balance, Kopaka swung his own blade in a downwards arc, watching carefully as Tahu’s Kanohi Hau automatically activated and prevented the blade’s descent. Reacting quickly Kopaka drew back for another strike and, tracking Tahu’s eyes, found his attention completely focused on the blade. “Perfect” Kopaka murmured to himself, and with a torque of his body he thrust his shield into the side of Tahu’s head, knocking the Toa to the ground. Flames sprung to life around the fallen Toa, preventing Kopaka from accessing him further, but rather than calculate and wait he instead activated his own Kanohi Akaku, tracking Tahu’s form through the burning flames and thick smoke. Satisified he hurtled his shield through the fire, watching it strike the Toa in his midsection, doubling him over. Then the Toa of ice launched himself through the flames and into a second ring of fire, his blade arcing downwards. Sparks of metal flew as Tahu’s own fire sword parried the strike, though down the Toa of fire was not yet out. Tahu launched a vicious kick at Kopaka’s own midsection, but the Toa of ice nimbly sidestepped it, nearly tripping over his own shield in the process. Mind working rapidly, Kopaka kicked the shield towards Tahu, watching as the barrier field of the Hau was activated. In the split seconds that his shield attempted to penetrate the protective barrier of the shield, Kopaka focused his elemental energy around him, freezing the roaring flames as he had before. Tahu grunted “The same trick won’t work twice, Kopaka!” he said, the barrier fading as the Toa of fire launched himself forward in attack. Kopaka remained focused on the ice around him, his sword raised to parry, but his eyes closed in concentration. All at once the ring of ice split into thousands of fragments that hurtled towards the Toa of fire, unable to have forseen such an attack the barrier sputtered to life too late, already hundreds of razor sharp crystals had struck the Toa of fire and brought him to his knees, his chin resting lightly upon the tip of Kopaka’s blade. “Good match” Tahu said breathlessly raising his sword in salute of the Toa of ice. Kopaka simply smiled and helped the Toa of fire to his feet, reflecting on the irony of the two most diametrically opposed Toa secretly teaching each other. Then again, he thought with a smile, Fire and Ice together made quite a team.
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Well folks, I've been quite....untruthful, huh? I haven't been doing my writing for quite some time...however I've found that's mostly because I just haven't been inspired by the concept of writing, and so until the point that the inspiration returns, FOR SCIENCE will change. I will no longer do 2,000 words minimum. I'll do however many I want, be it 10, 15, or 3,000. I'll do it until the story is complete, or until I have a satisfactory chapter break. I'll be starting this new copy of FOR SCIENCE! on Monday. See you then! Sincerely, -Janus
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FOR SCIENCE! (13) I'm not sure where the inspiration for this one came from. Perhaps it was the fact that as I left the office today the sun had burned away the morning mist and left only beautiful blue sky with a brilliant sun shining down. Of course the fact that my music swelled at that exact moment could have also helped. Regardless, the entire originating point of this story comes about midway through. See if you can find it! Anyhow, as usual, gimme challenges and stuff. C'mon guys D= Enjoy! Atlantia Light streamed through the trees and dappled the rough soil with a menagerie of colours, had it been any other moment he would have stopped to savour the beauty of the moment. He would have removed the tough sneakers from his feet and allowed his skin to enjoy the moistness of the damp ground, he would have stretched his back up against the rough bark of a tree and basked in the marbled light that shone on the ground. Instead he ran on, forcing his tired beyond its limits and being rewarded with the pain of aching muscles. He doubled over, gasping for breath and feeling the ragged jets of hot air blasting from his throat and into the cold, crisp air. He waited there for less than a minute, then ponderously moved his leaden muscles and forced himself deeper and deeper into the wood. The young man’s name was Elliot, a sandy-haired youth full of exuberance and an adventurous spirit—which was what brought him to the woods bordering his town. Elliot was born in a small backwater town, so tiny and so relatively unknown that he thought it didn’t even deserve a name. In fact the boy refused to refer to his hometown by name, instead he derisively called it “Nowherever.” He picked his rather unique name because he felt the town was simply nowhere, not deserving of any particular title—and because he felt that despite all of his efforts, he would be trapped there forever. Elliot had always been a dreamer and a creative spirit. He had a record of getting into trouble with various other residents of the town, because of his outspoken beliefs…or, to be more specific, his belief in things of old. In his youthful explorations Elliot had come across a multitude of strange and fascinating things, oddly shaped lines that bordered the town, strange lights that could be seen cresting the mountains all around, even mysterious writing on ancient stone. This things captured his imagination and drove his curiousity to its limit. It wasn’t long before the young Elliot had begun to find books dealing with mythology, with ancient and powerful magic…and the various disconnected events around the town finally made sense. It was that epiphany that had him running full tilt through the woods, mindful of the many dips and ravines, not minding the swinging branches and nettles that brought tears to his eyes or cut him. It was that epiphany that had him force past all of these obstacles and distractions deeper and deeper into the woods, far deeper than he had ever been. He passed the ruinous stones that he was certain had once been a tunnel, passed the borderlines that marked the edge of protected territory, and continued to run. The trees and shrubbery becoming nothing more than a mottled view in the corner of his vision, he was wholly focused on his end destination. It was sudden, the way his foot suddenly felt resistance, the way his centre of balance gradually shifted from vertical to horizontal, the way one moment he was flying through the woods as though he were Hermes of the winged sandals…and the next he was lying face down in the dirt. He sneezed angrily and tried to force himself up, his arms shaking with the effort it took and his body protesting every moment. Finally, after various failed attempts, the young man was able to heave his tired body off of the ground and roll his body over, laying down flat on his back, unmindful of the dirt now clinging to his hair. He breathed heavily, watching the slight cloud that formed, and attempted to move his foot. Pain shot through it, not terrible or unbeatable pain, but pain nonetheless. He sighed and propped himself into a sitting position to examine the damage. Elliot’s eyes widened as he looked down…he had tripped and twisted his ankle quite badly but that wasn’t what drew his attention, no, it was the piece of stone he had tripped on. It was slightly larger than his fist, brilliant blue, and almost luminescent. However it was the ornate carvings in the stone that attracted him. Shifting himself into a more comfortable position he reached down to heave it from the earth and found it stuck fast. He grunted with frustration and tired again, using all of the effort that remained in him. Instead his hands slipped from the cold stone and he was sent to the ground, arms flailing. Pushing himself rather angrily from the sodden earth, Elliot changed his tactics, grabbing a large dull grey stone from the earth he began to hack at the ground surrounding the stone. He didn’t care about the dirt and grime that was now smeared across his face and clothes, didn’t care about the large fragments of earth that he was displacing, all he cared about was the fact that the more he drove his stone into the earth the more of the blue stone he revealed. “In fact” Elliot thought to himself “This is more than just a stone…” dropping his own stone-turned-tool he began to dig furiously through the loosened earth with his bare hands, his fingers scrabbling across the hard, smooth, and somewhat warm surface of the strange stone. Moments later he was rewarded for his efforts when his fingers scraped painfully against more stone, this time lying flat. Removing his now bleeding hand from the hole he had dug, Elliot peered in. It was exactly as he had expected, the stone stretched out further…it wasn’t just a stone, it was either a complete layer of strata, or some sort of strange dais…and given all that Elliot had learned recently, he wouldn’t have been surprised by either. He thought of taking out the small leather bound journal that was fit snugly in his breast pocket, but decided against it. He wouldn’t take it out until he had reached the end of the wood. Gingerly raising himself to his feet he hesitantly took a step forward, and discovered that while painful it was in fact livable. Smiling somewhat grimly to himself he set out deeper into the wood at a much decreased pace. Finally he could see it, see the light glowing brightly behind the last few remaining trees. He could hear the tranquil sounds of the sea all around him, and could even smell the harsh smell of Salt Water…he was almost there. He was mindful of the border lines all about this area, making sure to step around their intricate designs rather than risk removing whatever power they contained. Then, suddenly, the greenery vanished and he was standing at the edge of a peak that overlooked the ocean. He glanced down to check the colour of the rock and was unsurprised to find that while the stone itself was the standard dark grey, there were rivulets of crystalline blue running through it. He caught himself, although interesting, the stone wasn’t why he was here. He moved his head slowly, a gentle incline upwards. His eyes strained for a moment, the brightness of the sun causing them to work harder than they had to previously in the dark wood—then he saw it, though it was miles and miles out to sea, he still saw it. It must have been at least one hundred stories high, a massive silver apparatus that exited seamlessly from the waves below, golden light seeming to shine all around it. Elliot sat down slowly, breathlessly, and simply watched the waves roll in the ocean, and watched the monolithic tower stand as it had always stood. After a brief moment he found the journal in his pocket and slowly opened it, mindful of the symbol that had been etched into the front. He had read it all before, his eyes pouring over the transcripts contained within, but somehow he had never grown tired of it, never grown accustomed to the strange truths that were written in its pages. He flipped to a page, which, like the rest of the journal, bore no date. On it was a rough pencil sketching of the very crag on which he stood, and a detailed and labeled diagram of the tower that stood in the distance. The tower, so said the journal, was an enormous solar collector. The central spire being connected deep beneath the waves, and the golden light simply being the reflection of countless solar panels absorbing the light. In fact, Elliot thought it must have been the largest solar collector in the world, a genuine man-made wonder that the world over would be in awe of. However he knew before he flipped the page over why that would never be. His eyes darted from the page to the tower and returned to the page, following the diagram of the incredibly massive central tower and its eventual connection to its place of origin. He read the word in his mind, finding his breath catching in his throat as he did so. He studied the architecture of the buildings, somehow so modern and yet so ancient all at once, then he closed the journal, placing it down upon the warm stone beside him. His mind raced furiously as he sat there quietly; somehow within him he had always known there was truth to the words written in the journal, but he had never expected to witness it with his own eyes. To be staring at the solar collector that had been made hundreds-of-thousands of years ago, to be stumbling upon ruins of ancient technology and magic, both woven together intricately. It was unbelievable. He began to piece together what pieces he had gleaned from the journal and from his own findings, fitting everything together in his mind and forming a picture of what had happened—and was still happening today. It was centuries ago when they had decided that the peoples of the world were too deeply rooted in hatred and war. Centuries ago when the nation as a whole had decided that the world was not yet ready for the gifts they offered—yet to seal its borders and become isolated presented the risk of causing war to break out amongst the rest of the world. Instead they had decided to mask their departure with a false calamity, a display that hubris topples even the mightiest mountain…but how to pull of such a ploy? They sent scouts into any location near them and at last they found it, a location that would allow them to set forth their plans. It was his very own “Nowherever.” With the scouts called back they began sending in scientists, mages, and even a select few of the royal family who had chosen to stay behind. With their combined wealth and power they began to erect the temples and carve the runes and border lines that Elliot had become so accustomed to seeing. Then, with the task complete they destroyed the temples and left them as nothing more than ruins in the deep forest. The runes were apparently to seal the town the forest, to make it impossible to enter. Somehow anyone entering would always find themselves feeling ill it they stayed too long, only those born of the proper heritage and marked would be able to make it inside without feeling the adverse effects. The border lines, on the other hand were for a completely different purpose, they, along with the magic that had once been contained in the temples managed to create a field that shielded the massive solar array from view. Anyone viewing this area from the air, or even from the ocean itself, would be unable to see anything but the rolling waves. Only someone who had crossed the border lines would be able to see the array—and only one set of border lines existed that could be crossed. The ones just prior to the ledge that Elliot was standing on. With all those preparations made, the plan was finally set into motion and the great continent sunk beneath the waves never to be seen again. The gargantuan solar array collecting all the energy they needed to run their various life sustaining systems. Elliot sighed leaned back against the warm stone. He had already pieced together the fact that he was born of proper lineage, otherwise he would have been unable to cross the forest barrier without incident. In fact he imagined that one day his mother would have taken him and shown him the jewel of the royal family as was described in the small leather bound journal. He found it funny, though, how the scientists had been unable to let go of their proud traditions, even naming the new colony after the fallen homeland over which they kept silent vigil. He was certain that one day it would rise again, though whether it would be in his lifetime was unknown, all he knew is that it would rise again. Atlantis would rise again. Word Count: 2,169
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FOR SCIENCE! (12) This is a ramble, this is just random jibberish. If you can make any point of the below story I truly commend you because I started writing at 11:00 PM and finished at 1:26 AM with a barely sensical story. I really should start on these earlier in the day. Attempt to enjoy! Clox Tick, tick, tick The sound came from everywhere, emanating out from an immense source and echoing into the world; it resounded through streets and up tall towers, it boomed around deep valleys and water-filled ravines. It was a clock. Or rather, it wasn’t a clock. You see, those of you reading this think of a clock as a small little (sometimes rounded) object which fits snuggly on a wall or desk, and ticks away quietly in a corner. Essentially it’s a something almost always forgettable. This wasn’t any of those things. In fact if anything it was a city in the corner of a clock—in fact it was a city on the corner of a clock. The city was called Tenolck and it was a bustling hive of industry, with all sorts of people constantly bustling around doing their assorted tasks; their gears whirring and clicking smoothly as they went about their days. …What? Oh, my apologies. I had so forgotten that for the people reading this, the concept of people with gears is a strange and foreign one. Oh yes, the people of Tenolck had gears, as did all the people who resided in the various cities across the massive clock: Elevetia, Twelston, and all the rest were filled to the brim with various different shapes and sizes of geared occupants. I see that some further information is required. There are four different ‘brands’ of the people of Clox, and of those are brands they are divided into the standard male/female pairing. The first brand is the most common, they’re the Copparst: as their name implies they are coated in a brilliant copper sheen all across their bodies. Their faces are, on average, the most dented of the people of Clox and they are second-to-none in terms of being warriors for the Clox kingdoms. Unfortunately their gears are also the most exposed of all the brands, leading to the rather common and unfortunate fate of a jammed gear. The second brand is the Steelde: Shining a bright silver they are the second most common brand on Clox. While on average shorter than the Bronzst, they are also skilled craftsmen and a highly intelligent people. Steelde’s are also, unfortunately very xenophobic when left to their own devices and tend to cluster around the cities of Sixten and Forson, only occasionally leaving their cities for any other. Only the best materials on Clox are made by Steelde hands. Next is the Ironen, a proud and strong brand. Whilst they eschewed most major cities on Clox for quite some time they have gradually moved out of their primitive ways and developed into the best farmhands in all the land. The Ironen are a squat and, some would say, ugly race; their features being roughly carved out of the harsh metal that makes up their bodies. However due to decreasing iron levels in the planet, the Ironen are in far shorter supply than either the Steelde or the Copparst. Luckily the Ironen also live the longest, having the most solid coating over their intricate gears. Lastly are the most mysterious brand: The Quartzot. Very little is known about the Quartzot except that they reside only within the central continent of Clox. Unlike the rest of the brands who tend to stick to the outer cities of Onel, through Twelston; the Quartzot refuse to set foot outside of the central spite of Clox…given that few explorers have returned from this spire, it remains unnamed. However it is said that the Quartzot are summoning a particular city to dine with them when one of the massive bridges swing from the central spire. The Quartzot are also practical jokers and enjoy giving a large celebration, and announcing their plans to bridge to a certain city—and then releasing a special bridge that only stretches halfway to said city. Due to this nature the cities of Twole and Fivate have refused to allow any Quartzot ambassadors within their walls. The Quartzot are also the strangest brand in terms of appearance, it is unknown if they have gears or not, but their outer shell contains no metallic sheen, instead they are almost translucent, with light seeming to shine through their pale white bodies. And now, with that background information out of the way, let us get on with our story. Where were we? Ah yes! Tick, tick, tick The sound came from everywhere, emanating out from an immense source and echoing into the world; it resounded through streets and up tall towers, it boomed around deep valleys and water-filled ravines. It was a clock. Or rather, it wasn’t a clock. You see, those of you reading this think of a clock as a small little (sometimes rounded) object which fits snuggly on a wall or desk, and ticks away quietly in a corner. Essentially it’s a something almost always forgettable. This wasn’t any of those things. In fact if anything it was a city in the corner of a clock—in fact it was a city on the corner of a clock. The city was called Tenolck and it was a bustling hive of industry, with all sorts of people constantly bustling around doing their assorted tasks; their gears whirring and clicking smoothly as they went about their days. It was in one of the lesser traveled streets of Tenolck where a young male lay quietly. He was an Ironen by the look of him, the coarse, rusted metal of his form giving him away almost immediately. He lay shading his eyes with one hand, listening carefully to the tick that boomed all around the city. Even his gears were silenced in the face of that incredible sound. After the last tick had sounded, the young male stood up, his metal form screaming in protest as his gears whirred madly, pushing his body upwards. When at last his body had ceased its remonstration he began to move from the street and into a darkened alley, his face firmly facing downwards. “You hear that, Crass?” came a mocking voice. Looking up the young male saw a Steelde female leaning up against a wall, her silver joints shining faintly in the darkness and her eyes vaguely beckoning. “’course I heard it, Fel” came the mumbled reply from the male called Crass. “ain’t nobody who din’t hear somethin’ like that.” He continued, walking slowly into the shadows where Fel was waiting. “Yes, but do you know what it means?” Fel asked, her eyes glinting sharply. “Na” Crass replied slowly, gently lowering himself to sit cross legged on the smooth ground. “It means that the bridge is going to be extended to Twelston. The Quartzot are coming out of their self-induced seclusion and are willing to make contact with the world again” Fel responded with a smile, her eyes passionate. “An’ if s’ajoke?” Crass grunted, not bothering to look upwards. Fel sighed and made a small ‘tsk’ing sound before offering a gleaming arm to the sitting Ironen. “How many times have I told you not to blend words like that? You’re a perfectly educated citizen of Tenolck” she said, somewhat harshly. “Yes’m” Crass responded dully. Fel shook her head and grasped his hand, slowly heaving him to his feet. “Come on, Crass. If we leave today we can catch transport to Twelston. We can be there for the bridge!” Crass’ response was an unintelligible mumble, his eyes cast towards the ground as he spoke. “…What?” Fel responded, displaying all the beauty and frustration of a Steelde female. Crass mumbled again, refusing to avert his eyes from the smooth plastic street of Tenolck. Luckily Fel’s keen hearing barely managed to catch it this time “N’money” Fel smiled a gentle smile and stroked the top of Crass’s rough head. “Silly Crass, I know you have no money. But you live with me now, and I do!” Crass looked hesitantly into Fel’s silvery eyes, his own dark eyes filled with doubt. “You…mean it?” He said slowly, clearly enunciating every word as it came out, moving his mouth oddly in order to get out the unfamiliar sounds. Fel grinned brightly at the smaller Ironen “O’course I do!” Crass smiled brightly and wrapped his strong arms around Fel in a tight hug. It was a few short hours later that Crass and Fel found themselves in the transit station from Tenolck to Twelston…along with just about every other resident of Twelston—and Fel could have sworn there were even a few from Elevetia. The narrow building was crammed with gleaming shades of various different metals and filled with the noise of thousands of gears all whirring at various different speeds. After ten minutes Fel put a hand on Crass’ shoulder and they both left the incredibly crowded building. It was Crass who suggested that in lieu of attempting to board the transit line, or make any other attempt to get to Twelston, they simply go to the beach instead. Fel became amicable to this after seeing the growing quantities of people who were rapidly moving to every available source of transit to the city of Twelston. From the central transit center it was but a short jaunt to the water’s edge, its empty whiteness lapping up onto the black plastic shore. On the other side of Tenolck bay they could see the industrial sector of Tenolck, large black plumes of smoke dotting the sky from all the heavy machinery. Fel lightly took Crass’ hand and together they walked onto the rounded dock which offered a nearly unparalleled view. Looking straight forward Fel could dimly see the large spire that jutted into the sky, the centre of all of Clox and the Quartzot homeland—and just south of that was the enormous bridge: Previously linked to Eighre, it was now slowly being pushed towards the bustling city of Twelston Fel and crass walked along the rounded dock for some time, simply enjoying the view of the expansive white ocean, and the hazy views of the other cities, all of them divided by the white waves. Fel smiled at the view and lightly patted Crass on the back, he grinned weakly back at her and sat down cross-legged on the hard metal of the dock. “Fel, why do you let me live with you?” He murmured quietly. “Ironen aren’t well-liked in this region.” Fel crouched down, her silvery faces mere inches from his own. “Because, Crass. You’re like a brother to me.” She sighed softly and sat down completely, her bright eyes fixed to the dark metal beneath her. “I admit, when I first found you I was looking for a skilled laborer, a hired hand. But you’re so much more than that, Crass. You’re family.” They sat there, comfortably quiet for the space of an hour before a loud blaring sound shook them from their stillness. Jumping to her feet, Fel glanced around warily and saw nothing. Crass also stood, slowly, and walked to the very edge of the rounded pier, laying his thick arms on the guard rail silently. Fel glared around her at the unseen threat, but turned gracefully on her heel and walked to where Crass was leaning. In the distance they could see the enormous bridge landing at the entrance at Twelson. “The alarm must have been because the Quartzot arrived ahead of schedule” Fel said quietly. Crass said nothing in return, his dark eyes peering intently at the large black bridge that stretched from the Quartzot spire to Twelson. Fel also watched interestedly as a dim procession of lights made their way onto the bridge. Then, with a sudden movement the bridge swung directly in front of her and Crass, the wind from its arrival blowing over them powerfully and kicking up waves. Squinting her eyes Fel could see that the bridge to Twelson was in fact the half bridge, and the procession from Twelson (including, she assumed, the ambassador from Quartzot) were splashing around in the water. Luckily the Quartzot joke was an old one, and water rescuers were standing by. Even Fel was aware of that. Then it boomed out again, that incredible cacophony of sound. Tick, tick, tick. Crass paused and looked up at the sky, his previously blank expression dissolving into laughter, the metal of his face crinkling as he laughed merrily. Fel watched him and laughed herself, not knowing why. At last Crass’ mirth had faded away, leaving his gears sputtering slightly and his metal warped only the tiniest bit around his mouth. Fel, experiencing similar effects simply sat next to him and breathlessly asked. “What was so funny?” Crass looked ready to laugh again as she spoke “It’s an old Iron’n joke, I ne’r thought it wa’ true.” He said, slipping into his old speech pattern. Fel gazed at him intently through hooded eyes “What was the joke?” He paused and thought a moment before looking skyward again. “That sound, it ain’t letting us know they’re ready to bridge a new city.” He said slowly, carefully picking his words and speaking properly. “It’s their laughter. They’re laughin’ at us. Isn’t it hilarious?” Fel paused a moment and allowed this to sink in, the Quartzot were not some mysterious force who would occasionally allow other cities to access their promised land. They were a bunch of practical jokers who had managed to present the veneer of sophistication to the rest of the world. She had to admit, it was pretty funny. With their energy spent Fel and Crass slowly picked themselves up and walked home in the darkness, laughing the whole way, as the Quartzot had laughed at them. Word Count: 2,272
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FOR SCIENCE! (10) Okay, this is a big occasion for me, I must admit. I hadn't even thought of until now, but It is a gigantic thing for me to say that FOR SCIENCE! has now reached the double digits. For me that is a momentous occasion. However I'm sure that some of you are quite displeased with this being late, so it's time that I explained. Every Thursday night I go to a seminar in downtown Vancouver, this is quite a distance from my native White Rock and thus I end up getitng home incredibly late, usually around 11:30 Now normally this would be no problem, in fact I find I write best late at night, however, upon realizing that I would be coming home so late I began to write my story on the bus (yes, write, as in using paper and pen) and had about 946 words or so before I got home. The problem was this, this story creeps me out, like, quite a bit. It's certainly not the most horrific story I've ever written, and it's quite rough in places, but the whole idea is just very creepy to me...and additionally in my minds eye I was seeing this story taking place in my home. So at about 12:55 I called it quits because I actually wanted to sleep last night. But here you go, the first story of Friday, the second will be updated when the votes are cast. Speaking of votes, because all of you suck, that means we only have two suggestions for this week (and the week before, and the week before). bio djinnie: Also, how about a story involving Furbies, Death-rays, and an ancient orginization of ninjas? Bossman: Write a 4,000 word essay on the topic of your choosing without using a single pronoun. At this time no new suggestions are accepted. Please vote on one of these two suggestions for my 4,000 page story. Anyhow, if you're weak of stomach don't read this one. If you're twisted, like me, then please feel free. Enjoy! Feeler I first heard the voice when I was alone in the bathroom and getting ready for bed. I was washing my face and oblivious to the world around me; all I was aware of was the rough feeling of the damp cloth on my skin, and the rushing water pouring from the faucet. Then there was some sort of shifting, grinding sound—the sort that drags and catches, the sort that has that slight metallic scream that rings inside of your head. I sighed and reached down, gripping the tap handle and feeling the slightly warm metal in my hands. Then, with a sudden motion I twisted the knob and cut the flow of water. We’d been having too many problems with our water supply, things ranging from supply, to temperature, and disgustingly enough…even cleanliness. I wasn’t about to have the water turn putrid on me now. I replaced the damp face cloth on the ledge of the sink carefully and listened to the remaining water work its way through the pipes…I had always loved to listen to water in its various forms: From a burbling creek to a torrential rain, even just the simple pleasure of hearing the sounds it made as it drained down the porcelain sink and into the labyrinth of pipes below. With that complete I studied my reflection in the slightly dirty mirror, noting the gentle curve of my jaw and being pleased by my sparkling green eyes. However I also noted with displeasure my disheveled hair, and a single large zit forming directly where my ear met the skin of my face. I sighed and idly poked it with my finger, as if trying to push it back beneath my skin. Unable to do anything about the unsightly visage of the zit, I instead reached for a comb to remedy my hair; that’s when I heard it, hissing and bubbling but still somehow with a faint metallic tinge. It made my stomach turn just listening to it. I glanced around the enclosed space of the bathroom, attempting in vain to catch sight of whatever was making the horrid noise, but was unable to find anything. Worse yet, though the sound was putrid enough, I found that when I listened carefully enough (in an attempt to find out if yet another thing had gone wrong with our water) I heard what sounded like words… or rather, one single word. Whatever it was it was…speaking…continually repeating one word over and over, slowly dragging out the syllables in a rasping and horrific manner. “Sarah.” My name. Unconsciously I dropped the comb, all thoughts of appearance and beauty banished from my mind as the sickening sound continued. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the comb contacted the white porcelain of the sink with an almost melodic sound, and the terrible illusion was shattered. I say it was an illusion, because it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened to me. For all of my sixteen years on this earth, thirteen had been plagued with horrific imaginings of life unseen, hallucinations that encroached upon my mind. It wasn’t that I enjoyed frightening myself, but that somehow my subconscious literally craved that feeling…or at least that’s what my therapist had told me. I wasn’t sure I fully understood… something about adrenaline. I put the incident from my mind and prepared for a restless night—usually when a single hallucination occurred it meant that several more were to follow. Regardless I decided it was best if I took the medicine I had been prescribed. I was supposed to use it just this sort of situation, whenever a strange or frightening hallucination occurred, my doctor said “When anything happens that you know cannot be real” I was supposed to take it…apparently it would dull my senses and make it easier to sleep…but I doubted anything would be able to stop the nightmares that would be coming. I sighed wearily, allowing myself to focus on reality, and gingerly picked up the medicine bottle; reading over the instructions as rapidly as possible. I groaned mentally…it needed to be taken with water. I battled myself for a period of about 30 seconds, fighting with myself as to whether to risk the night terrors that would surely raise me from my sleep, or attempt to use this pacifier, and risk the return of the water…thing. Finally my rational side won over and I popped the lid of the small container, drawing out a single tablet and placing it on the side of the counter. With that done I grabbed my glass and looked tremulously at the empty sink. I could do this. Finally I reluctantly gripped the now cold metal of the knob, turning it almost violently, and watching warily as the clear water filled my glass. With a shaking hand I held onto the knob and gently eased the pressure down. Then I stared at my glass laying in the sink as though it would burble my name again—though I have to admit, the idea of my glass of water speaking to me brought a grin to my face, instead of a shudder of fear. With that done I took my pill and walked sleepily to my bed, where I quickly fell asleep. I didn’t know what time it was when I woke up from my dreamless slumber, my head groggy from the hard work of producing nothing. Breathing in deeply I allowed my head to loll to the side placidly, my eyes tiredly scanning over the illuminated numbers on my alarm clock…it was 11:30 PM. Somehow I’d only managed to sleep for an hour and a half. I grimaced and rolled back over, feeling the comforting warmth of my blankets wrapped all around me. Only and hour and a half? That was unheard of, even without these supposedly calming drugs I had always slept soundly. “In fact” I thought wryly, “It’s always a pain to get me to wake up” I felt my mouth turn to a frown, as my mind, gradually recovering its acuity, began to grind into action; pondering the reasons for my strange awakening. All sorts of strange and disjointed thoughts whirled around in my head, but gradually, gradually the chaos ceased and my mind settled only on known facts. A simple base would allow a more precise answer, I thought to myself tiredly. It was in that space of mental clarity that I finally heard it, before it had been hidden by the electric buzz of my alarm clock, by the rustling of my sheets as I shifted, by my dulled senses. But now I could clearly hear it, the steady rush of water splashing loudly; the echo reverberating repeatedly in the enclosed space of the bathroom. Even in my clear state of mind, however, I was unable to come up with a reason for why the faucet would be running at this hour. After all, I knew well that both my parents had long since retired for the night. I willed my mind into action, attempting to force it to take these disparate pieces of information and somehow make them make sense. Anything, anything except the fact that the drugs had failed, that I was trapped in a horrific hallucination—or that I was still asleep. Finally my struggling brain seized upon an idea: My father, being occasionally absentminded, must have simply left the tap running by mistake when he went to bed. That made sense. Unfortunately it didn’t fix the problem, the rapidly rushing water was not only wasteful, but there was no way I’d be able to sleep with the sound—not only was it distractingly loud, but it also summoned disturbing memories from earlier this night. I groaned pitifully and with the slow, ponderous movements of someone woken reluctantly, I raised my tired body from underneath the warm covers and walked haphazardly to the bathroom. Yawning tiredly I flicked the light switch, and, covering my eyes to protect them from the harsh light that spilled out, reached blindly toward the sink. Grabbing hold of the hard wooden counter, I gently eased my eyes open so that I could stop the water’s relentless stream. I blinked. Then I blinked again. The faucet wasn’t turned on, there was no water pouring out of it at all…but I had heard it, I was sure of it. I shook my head as if to clear it of any lingering dreams and then walked slowly to the kitchen, checking the faucet there as well. It too lay silent. I had turned my back on the darkened kitchen when I heard it. “Saaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaahhhhhhh” It made my blood run cold and a violent shiver start at the base of my spine and go through my entire body. I pivoted to face the empty kitchen and could hear that strange grinding sound from earlier…but the voice was gone. Frightened I turned on the light and walked slowly into the kitchen, my entire body now alive with real fear. I thought I saw something and whirled to face the sink, watching as a small, wriggling tendril disappeared through the drain. I shuddered violently, I’d heard the stories of snakes and other such things coming up through drains or toilets. That must have been all it was, maybe I’d just caught the tail end of a snake wriggling its way through the pipes—a very thin, almost gelatinous snake… “Ssssssssaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh” This time it was coming from the bathroom, somehow sounding even creepier as it echoed down the empty hallway. I caught myself hyperventilating and slumped against the wall, willing this away, willing this horrid hallucination to leave me be. Instead it persisted in calling my name beckoning me. I thought, in a moment of panic, to go to my parents, to wake them up, beg them to check the pipes for monstrosities…but that thought was fleeting. I knew my parents wouldn’t want that, they’d been dealing with my hallucinations long enough, I couldn’t wake them up just because I was panicking. No, I had to confront this head on, I had to be unafraid. Unfortunately I was terrified. With trembling legs, I pushed myself forward, willing myself to walk to the bathroom, from where the horrible voice emanated. I walked slowly, as if drugged, dragging my feet as I moved and feeling the rough carpet across my skin. Why couldn’t this just stop? I paused, I had left the light on in the bathroom, I was sure of it…but somehow the light was off again. I reached for it, my arm moving as if reaching through molasses. “Ssssssssssaaaaaaarrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh” It sighed again, then, something new “Dddddooooooooonnnnnn’t” Something clicked in my brain, of course, every time I had turned on a light this thing had disappeared. That was the solution, it might not stop the hallucination, but it would give me an advantage over it. After all, I had no choice but to play the game, I may as well use it to my advantage. With a quick motion I flicked the light switch, now seeing the little tendril waving around in the sink. Then, without a backward glance I sprinted towards the kitchen to turn on that light as well. The thing, whatever it was, gave out a shriek as it was blocked from entering either drain. Now all I had to do was wait until the morning when I could talk with my therapist, I was triumphant. “Ssssssssaaaaaaaaaarrrrrraaaaaaaahhhhhhh” I whirled around; my hair moving crazily about my face. Where had it come from? I had turned on the lights in the bathroom and the kitchen…there was no place for it come up. “Sssssssssssaaaaaaaarrrrraaaaaaaahhhhh” I realized with dawning horror that there was one more sink in the house—my parent’s bathroom. I attempted to resist, attempted to just go back to bed and forget all of this…but something held me, something made me stay. I’d explain to my parent’s the intensity of this hallucination and they’d surely understand, maybe they’d get me a better prescription too. Yes, this would work. I knocked hesitantly on their door, hearing nothing from within. Then I heard it and a wave of revulsion passed through me, I could almost feel it through the door somehow. “Sssssssaaaaaaarrrrraaaaaaaahhhhhh” I shuddered and pushed open the door, pausing a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When that had passed I glanced around the warm room…my parent’s weren’t in bed. There was the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, and I caught a glimpse of my dad moving around. I’d just go talk to him, we’d figure this out together. I’m not sure when I realized something was wrong. Maybe it was when I became aware of the fact that my dad wasn’t washing his hands, or doing anything, really. He was just standing there in the darkened bathroom with the water running. “Dad…?” I called questioningly, and almost instantaneously he turned to look at me, I expected to see confusion in his eyes, maybe for him to rationalize what was going on, to say. “Oh, hey sprout, I must have zoned out for a bit there” but instead I saw something that caught my gag reflex. My father’s eyes were rolled up in his head, only the milky whites of them shining in the darkness…his entire body was slouched, as though exhausted, and I now noticed that his skin was pasty white and covered in sweat. He opened his mouth “Sssssaaaaaaaaarrrrrrraaaaaahhhhhh” I screamed, I screamed and screamed and screamed, attempting to lunge from the room when I felt a vice grip around my ankle. My father had fallen on the ground and was gripping my tightly—and that’s when I saw the small tendrils that had attached themselves to his spine, the tendrils that pulsed and spread across his back. I forced myself to keep moving, dragging my body slowly forward—amazingly enough my father—or rather, that thing controlling my father, didn’t make any move to pull me back, instead he…it…just remained with the vice grip on my ankle. There was a resounding, and sickening snap and my father’s hand went limp, freeing me to move again. I turned, concerned I had broken his hand but instead I saw that the tendrils that had once reached from the sink and into his back had each split in two, with the still waving tendrils retreating into the sink. Had I hurt it? That’s when I saw it, the tendrils still attached my father’s back began to shudder and pulse violently, burrowing themselves deeper and deeper into his skin until all that could be seen was a series of angry red welts across his back. I realized now that this was no hallucination with the same certainty that I realized my father was dead…and likely my mother as well. Shaking violently I walked from the room, pausing only when I heard that shifting, grinding sound. Like an enormous stone being moved, slowly scraping across something. I knew it wouldn’t leave me alone. “Ssssssssssaaaaaaarrrrrrraaaaaaaahhhhh” it called, and this time I could hear it from each sink, that disgusting voice filling my entire house. And somehow it came to me, somehow I remembered my teacher telling me years and years ago. Somehow in that moment of absolute horror I remembered her voice “The human body is actually composed of about 80% water, you know?” The thing in the sink was just a feeler, drawing in its victims…until it could use them as incubators. That’s what had become of my parents. I don’t know what happened next, I truthfully don’t. I simply remembering waking up screaming, a torrential downpour soaking me as I ran down the road. I could still hear it, though, I could still each of those drops whispering my name. The police caught up with me after it was discovered I was missing. It wasn’t hard for them to, after all, people on the street were quick to report a crazed, disheveled girl who ran through city attempting to flee something unseen. They took me to the mental health ward. I went through meeting after meeting, test after test. They had come to the conclusion that my parent’s unexplained deaths had simply driven me over the edge. I was given all sorts of different drugs in order to calm me down, in order to float me on that euphoric state of absolute nothingness. None of it worked for long, the numbness would fade and I would come back and the terror would return. It would return because every night I went to sleep I could hear it. Curled up tight in my blankets with my eyes clamped shut I could still hear it, I could hear the water burbling merrily from my private bathroom, I could hear the pipes creaking as water was forced through them. But most of all I could it whispering my name every night. Whispering “Ssssssssaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrraaaaaaaahhhhh” Word Count: 2,834
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FOR SCIENCE! (11) Okay, yeah. I was late. I know. Truth be told I was crazy-mega-ultra busy and tired on Friday, super busy and exhausted on Saturday, and even crazy busy and tired today. But such is my commitment to you lunatics that I have completed my requisite torture. I will say that this is, by far, the cruelest challenge that someone can ever assign any author ever. So I gotta give mad props to the Admiral for forcing me to really challenge myself. Thanks dude. I will also admit that I totally cut it short and only did 1,000 words because, quite frankly, nobody would read 4,000 words of ramble. That and I would go inredeemably insane after completing it. a full list of banned words is contained immediately following the cut. Enjoy! Pronouns All, another, any, anyone, anything, both, each, each other, either, everybody, everyone, everything, few, he, her, hers, herself, him, himself, his, I, it, its, itself, little, many, me, mine, more, most, much, myself, neither, no one, nobody, none, nothing, one, one another, other, others, ours ourselves, several, she, some, somebody, someone, something, that, theirs, them, themselves, there, they, this, those, us, we, what, whatever, which, whichever, who, whoever, whom, whomever, whose, you, yours yourself, yourselves. Well here is an attempt at completing an incredibly difficult challenge. The author has been challenged to write a 4,000 word Essay containing absolutely no pronouns, and seeing assaid author is insane, the individual in question was left with no choice but to comply. However two immediate problems were raised by in regards to the challenge, the first was the incredibly unexpected stream of appointments, work, and an assortment of various distracting factors. In addition to the above, please take into account the author’s severe exhaustion, leading to the incredibly large delay of the piece’s completion. The second immediate problem was quite simply, the author had no idea as to the true definition of a pronoun. A limited solution was found by searching Dictionary.com, however the author still has only a limited understanding on the subject, meaning said author expects the piece will receive a large amount of editing via the friends of the above-mentioned author. However under the two of the above mentioned immediate problems lays a tertiary, less pressing problem, but a problem no less important. With the business problem temporarily solved (The author will have a far higher abundance of time today), and the pronoun quandary being somewhat dealt with, the author finds the dreaded task of groping around in the dark for a subject able to be written about In fact, the author just attempted to write a story-within-a-story and found the task was nearly impossible, and the author almost immediately interjected with a personal pronoun. The author would like to curse said lack of pronouns incredibly heartily. The author would also like to say, as a writer, the author finds the inability to refer to the author in first person very difficult. In fact the author’s head is nodding like a bizarre sort of crazed bobble head, in order to show the depths the author agrees with the statement above. The author is quite certain, quite certain indeed, the piece will only draw a small percentage of people, and even fewer will, in fact read the story…except of course the sadistic individual assigning the cruel challenge to the author in question, however, said author has determined said individual’s humanity is lacking at best, and will therefore instead refer to the cruel person as Mandrew. Ah, the author appears to have discovered an alternative way to refer to the person writing the story. In fact the author’s name appears to be Robert, and as Robert is not a pronoun, Robert is staying within the firmly established guidelines of the challenge. Robert is crazy pleased. Robert, Robert, Robert, Robert, Robert. Hah. Now then, Robert is still struggling with coming up with an interesting enough subject, a subject interesting enough to please the cruel and sadistic mind of the evil and villainous Mandrew. However Robert doubts the existence of such a thing. Additionally Robert would like to point out Robert just went through the above page for editing and was immediately assailed with minimum three pronouns. Robert is crazy displeased. The author would also like to note: as of the above paragraph the story contains only 485.. The author imagines the individuals reading said story are just as disappointed in the fact mentioned above, as the author is. Robert would like to say to these individuals, please don’t cry, simply stop reading. Perhaps eventually Robert can stop writing also. Robert is frowning now, in fact, Robert looks insanely displeased. Apparently Robert is very upset due to the fact the essay still has not found a sort of purpose. Robert will now attempt to actually make the large sum of these disparate words have meaning. Robert would also like to add: Robert will eternally curse Mandrew’s name. Robert would also add: upon further research and editing, Robert found roughly 20 pronouns. Robert would like to point out the teeth contained in the skull belonging to Robert, are grinding so badly said teeth are expected to explode shortly in the immediate future. Robert smash. Robert has just discovered the extent of the challenge assigned to the author under Robert’s authorial duties. Upon discovering said torture, Robert has decided to ‘wuss out.’ The author will complete a story of 1,000 words pronoun-less, however said author is unable to go on for a period of time longer than 1,000 words. Partially due to the immense pain of rambling on like a deranged lunatic happening to own a blog. Partially because the list of the words the author is unable to use numbers in the double digits. Contained in said list are seventy three words the author finds unfit to use (or unable to, rather). The author discovered beforehand, as a lucky search provided said author with a list of, let’s call said list, ‘prohibited words.’ The author also found, upon a large amount searching and discovery, almost half of these words had been used on at least a single occasion in the rambling, sprawling, horrid thing the readers are currently reading. Robert is gleeful, having reached the point of 820 words as of the last paragraph. However Robert is also painfully aware 820 words is not 1,000 words, and therefore the punishment Robert is enduring will continue until the point wherein Robert can finally die. Why won’t the story let Robert die? Robert is beginning to question the sanity belonging to Robert, the fact remains the challenge laid down before the author is, without a question of a doubt, incredibly, incredibly difficult. Robert is even aware the author has resorted to cheating in a variety of places, such as using words over and over and over. Robert can see the light at the end of the tunnel. The horrible piece of tripe stitched together out of brain tissue and keyboard fragments will come to an end shortly. Then Robert can die happily. Robert is quite certain Robert’s brain will cease to function immediately following the completion of the project, therefore Robert is waiting for said moment, said glorious moment wherein the author’s brain can simply implode and die. The author is pleased to say: Said moment (originally) happened on the word ‘die’ (however following editing it now falls firmly five words before ‘die’) How ironic. (Orignal line. Much better with original ending point. Such a shame) Word count: 1,044 (No, that does not include the expansive list at the beginning)
