Books in Progress, v. 2009.2
A thread on which Musers who have written, are writing, or want to write books can share excerpts and bounce ideas off others.
Continued from v. 2009.1.
Date: June 8, 2009
Categories: Fiction, poetry, and fanfiction
Thursday, 25 April 2024
Life, the universe, pies, hot-pink bunnies, world domination, and everything
A thread on which Musers who have written, are writing, or want to write books can share excerpts and bounce ideas off others.
Continued from v. 2009.1.
Date: June 8, 2009
Categories: Fiction, poetry, and fanfiction
Hmm. I’d better not PoPo just to say “first post.” What can I say?
Well, I am entertaining an idea about a world where magic exists, but is outlawed, and anyone with the ability to use magic is made into a slave to the people who can’t. But it’s sort of dying.
((RE-POSTING TIME!!!)) ((OH YEAH! and please read!))
Alex was a peasant in the sea of the school empire. He hailed from Wing Beta.
There were the gods who watched and taught the mortals of the school. There were the all-powerful gods, who controlled everything in their domain, which was everywhere. The less, but still wonderful, godlings were the ones who interacted with the mortals. The all-powerful gods would, but there divine form causes mortals to cower in fear. The godlings would tell the mortals what they needed to know about just about everything. A lot of them hated the task, but were being rewarded substantially enough to be some-what motivated. The “Teachers,†they were called, but they always thought that too demeaning. Too mortal for them. Some godlings avoided their titles, and their teachings, and when the all powerful-ones found out, the godlings accused would be severely punished.
The mortals often heard of rumors about the Teachers and the all-powerful ones, but they were much more interested in themselves. They often thought they could easily achieve the jobs of the Teachers, but were scolded when the idea was proposed. You did not want to be scolded in this empire. The Guardians lurked the halls with their cloaks draping the bright floors. When a mortal did something wrong, they were sent to the Guardians, and only the ones who have been punished knew what happened after…No one would ever say, but when they came back it seemed as if all motivation for any more trouble was sucked out of them. Many mortals escaped this fate. Alex had not been so lucky.
He came back from the hallway, horrified, from what he had experienced. He was assigned four “sessions,†for after the teachings. From what he had already experienced, this wouldn’t be a walk through the Meadows of the Enlightened. Oh, how he wished to visit there right then.
Alex had only been there once, during the Orientation. All of the all-powerful Ones and the Teachers had come out, strictly because they would visit the Gardens. Basically, the all-powerful ones (in a lesser form), would show the newly “born†around the empire. They would visit the Rooms of the Teachings, the Offices of Instruction, the Hallways, the Room of Complete Knowledge (also known as the “Libraryâ€), the Forbidden Rooms of Secrecy, and the most wonderful, the Gardens of the Enlightened. Here, the Completed would live forever after their knowledge was infinite. The Completed are rumored to advise the all powerful-ones in their full-form. No one really knows what happens when you go though Completion, but it was obviously the most wonderful you could experience. At least, that is what the mortals thought, but there was no contact between the mortals and the Completed, so that belief was never confirmed.
There was no hope of that. He would probably never see the Gardens again. But he lingered on the hope to keep some motivation.
“Alex?†the Teacher asked. She (of course) looked beautiful in a long gown, while her long, blonde hair surrounded her amazing figure. Alex blinked.
“Uummmm, alright…†He was just standing there when he realized that he should go to his seat. He walked to the right corner seat and sat down, and groaned because of the uncomfortable seat. At the beginning of time, the seats were bright and comfortable, but now the cushions had been ripped off, and the back part of it was bent in an awkward way. This was most certainly not comfortable. There was usually only two seats in the class that were comfortable, the Teacher’s seat, of course, and the one in the center of the classroom. This seat was kept tidy for the Royals.
Kevin stared near the center of the classroom in jealousy. There, Ariella was sitting in complete, satisfying comfort, lightly smiling at Alex. He blushed, embarrassingly; no mortal could ever take the beauty of a Royal lightly. If you stared at a Royal too long, they said you would melt. Of course, this wasn’t true, because Royals were mostly mortal. Through a strange phenomenon, the Royals would rise up and gain the tiniest drop of immortal blood. They were 99% mortal, 1% god, but this was all they needed to be beautiful to the mortals; the gods barely noticed the difference.
“Okay, do any of you know our history?†asked the Teacher. The Teachers had no name; they were just called “Teacher.â€
Ariella raised her hand.
“Yes, my little royal?†she said beautifully.
“A long time ago, everyone was equal. Everyone was mortal, everyone was a god.â€
“But how…†inquired an insignificant mortal in the class. The Teacher glared at him and Ariella continued.
“The population was 20 times higher, but all worlds were combined back then, so there was more than enough space. Schools were for “children,†and “adults†would teach them. When children grew up, they would teach their children, or send them off to a school, but that was very expensive.â€
“Teacher? What does “expensive†mean?â€
“Back then they used objects to trade for the necessities of life, and other things too. Please continue Ariella, you’re doing an excellent job,†the Teacher said emotionlessly.
“Well, one day. The God that some people worshipped decided to change the world, for the better! He wiped the world clean of the weak, and set people into different spectrums of life, From the rich or poor, loved or betrayed, and good or evil. Each type was given their own world, where they could enjoy the company of the ones similar to themselves forever! Of course, this world is the world of the beautiful!â€
“Is that really true, Teacher?†the same mortal asked.
“Some believe so, my dear…â€
The class went on to talk about the building of the school. It was a very difficult task, but the Cyclope finished it. The Cyclope are (as you might know) one-eyed beasts that are looked down on by anyone mortal, or higher. They are great builders, and they are very useful in the masses. Alex often felt bad for them, but the Gods always told mortals that they had no feelings, or that they were so low on the Spectrum, that they re lucky to be alive. The Gods could not speak out about this, as it was looked at generally racist, but the Gods would spread their opinions by other means.
The class was dismissed, and the mortals (and the Royal) left the classroom in silence. It was time for the Midday Feast, and everyone was starving. Alex caught up to his friend, Xavier.
“Do you really believe in all of that stuff about the separate worlds, and people ever being equal? Its all a bunch of cr-“ he caught himself as a Guardian walked by.
They were (of course) in downstairs Wing Beta. This was the part of the school owned by the younger mortals. There were 4 types of mortals: Older mortals more likely to achieve Completion, younger mortals also more likely to achieve Completion, and vice versa. Beta was the lesser wing, and Alex was young, so he was the lowest of the mortals… Lest we say that this was not the easiest life of this world. Alex didn’t care… But he always wished of a day where the least powerful wing would conquer more territory.
You see, every part of the school was owned by one of the wings, or by the beings in the wings. Most of the school was conquered by Upstairs Alpha: Half of the Feasting Room, the Whole Library (except for the Librarians’ desk), and lots of various sections of Hallways. All of downstairs Beta Wing could be captured, but the other Wings respect a long lasting mercy, but young Betas(as that was what they were labeled), had to be accepted at a table at lunch, or find their own, for they owned none of the Feasting Room. If the higher beings were feeling cruel that day, the young Betas wouldn’t eat at the Midday Feast. Some high beings were so prejudiced that they thought young betas to be similar to the Cyclope. The young Betas are very offended by this, but who cares? They’re young Betas.
————————————————————————————————
“So where should we (try) and sit today?†Xavier asked.
“How should I possibly know? You know what? I’m gunna’ conquer a table today! Come with me; we can easily capture an older Beta girls table!†Right then two huge girls walked by them, talking about their martial arts class.
“Maybe we should get a Royal…†Xavier suggested. Alex quickly agreed, but walked hesitantly to where the Royals were sitting. Xavier was the representative of the mortals, and he sometimes bragged that he even had some god blood in him.
Xavier walked to one of the more powerful Royals of the young Betas, Luke.
“Luke,â€he bowed, â€we have a request to attempt a seizure of territory.â€
“Why are you asking me?â€
“We think we should add the strength of a royal to our forces! It’ll be a complete surprise, and it won’t break our truce! Lunch tables are left out! But we cannot let the other Royals know of our plans, for they will easily thwart our attempts!†He looked around in alarm.
“Very well, then. I guess I shall go… It has been awhile since anyone attempted a seizure…†He stood up, and the bright glow of the Royal table slightly faded; it was still magnificent!
Luke lead the way with Xavier slightly behind him. Alex followed farther away, for, he was very intimidated by the Royal.
“State your purpose, mortal!†Luke commanded to Alex without turning around. They had a sense for thoughts and energy. Alex almost ran away when Xavier said:
“He is the one to suggest this feat!â€
“Oh. Well, alright then! Which table?†He asked, but it still felt like a command to Alex.
“That one,†he pointed to a table with about six girls. They were the daughters of Aphrodite, ruler of this world. They were the absolute most beautiful things that any mortal has ever seen, but they had no real power unless their “mother†interfered, for Aphrodite was not their actual mother; each “daughter†was hand selected by Aphrodite.
“What a fine selection… This shall be quite the story to tell back at Beta,†Luke could feel the significance of the “battle†to come. It would show that he had some nerve, which is good for a Royal.
Luke walked up to the table and smiled,â€Daughters, we conquer this table to be property of Downstairs Beta Wing. Are their any objections?â€
One Daughter tried to shout for help, as any male would rush to her side, but Luke picked her up. He created a piece of tape from the air, and compelled it to cover her mouth. Royals had very minor powers that could be very useful. The Daughter was helpless.
Then the rest of the daughters got the picture, and realized that it would be much simpler to just find another table, so they left.
“Glorious!†Alex shouted. Xavier looked at him awkwardly.
“Enjoy the new table, my comrades!†Luke walked back confidently to spread the news. Alex was hopeful that his name would be mentioned. Alex never wanted to be a Royal, but wanted to be respected by them.
They enjoyed their lunch in luxury. The table was cushioned, and nice smelling; completely different from what they usually sit in. The food seemed to taste better here also. Alex guessed that Aphrodite put Love into the table. Alex enjoyed the slight warmth, making him feel at home. Today seemed like it was the most wonderful- The memory of the guardian fell upon him.
He almost fell of his cushioned seat.
————————————————————————————————
Alex tapped his fingers nervously against the desk. It clattered, absent of any rhythm. Zoe compelled a static shock on Alex’s finger. He flinched, and stopped random patter. Zoe smiled with content and went back to doodling on her magnificent, golden notebook.
Alex never knew why the Royals took such things for granted. If they ever made a more powerful enemy, they would be immediately removed from god-kind. Alex glanced over to Av–
Just Avi now.
He looked like he wanted to throw up. He probably did. The decrease of power did that to a person. He didn’t have a glow anymore, in fact, he radiated darkness. The people sitting next to him could’ve also had a good vomit; he wanted everyone to feel his misery. Every once in awhile, he felt a blast of depression, which would make everyone want to faint. The only thing that would bring him back from these flashes was the fact that he knew that the others were also suffering.
Alex had his own reason to feel worrisome. He had four sessions with the guardians, and he hadn’t even done anything! Alex was outraged with Dylan, the most powerful of the young Betas. Some believed him to even rival the King Royal, for, that was only a title given to the most powerful Alpha. He could command electricity with explicit accuracy, which is about equal to the King Royal’s ability to manipulate plant life. Many mortals would love for them to have a fight to the death, but Dylan and the King Royal knew that together they controlled the school. The powerful Royals of the other 2 wings usually worked closely with them.
Alex never liked Dylan to begin with; despite his power, he let the mortals suffer with no land, no materials, and no recreation. He could go wherever he wanted, for he ignored all land possessions. What had pushed Alex to the extent of hating him was what he did earlier. Dylan had charged the seat of the Teacher with enormous amounts of electricity. He knew it would take a lot for a God to feel it. When the Teacher sat down, his hair flew up and you could see the electricity pulsing through him. Dylan quickly threw a half-empty bottle of electricity powder (hopefully self-explanatory). At first the Teacher just acted like nothing happened, but at the end of class, he stopped Alex.
“punishment, alex.â€
“NO! Not them! I didn’t do anything! Dylan-“
But it was too late. The guardians were coming. They grabbed him and pulled him away from the Teacher. Alex immediately felt the sudden surge of immense guilt fall upon him. He would be gracious if he died right there and then. A guardian muttered something, but Alex couldn’t hear. He started to full a slight pull on his chest. It got stronger until it felt like there was a chain attached to his flesh that was pulling harder and harder until… He felt nothing. Nothing at all. No pain, no hope, no happiness. He would be happy about the guilt going away if he could, but there was a void where his heart should be. The guardians looked slightly concerned, as if they didn’t enjoy this. It was a show. This is how and what they lived for. Alex started to feel hatred bubbling in his chest. The problem was that that was the only thing he could feel. But slowly he felt happy that he was regaining emotions, and in came the rest. He was led to his next class, horror-stricken.
((Yeah, that’s everything so far…))
That’s really good
First, let me say that the ideas contained in the story that follows were Neil Gaiman’s, at least indirectly and in a roundabout way. Also, the idea of actually writing this story was Jadestone’s. Anyone who’s read Dream Country and/or the Writer’s Notebook thread will probably remember. I’ll explain.
Basically, there’s a story about a writer who gets so many ideas that they overwhelm him. Jadestone suggested on the Writer’s Notebook thread that it might be fun to write stories based on some of these ideas. I’ve incorporated at least three of them into the ramblings contained here.
Without further ado, please enjoy
The Gloaming Train
or, Two Old Women and a Weasel
The train carriage was dusty and mildewed, and the flat gray light that oozed in through the warped windows did nothing to improve the scene within. Faded red leather and cracked mahogany paneling made it look the color of dried blood.
It was empty save for two women, sitting together, staring in a disinterested fashion at the back of the seat in front of them. Both wore formal dresses black as tar. A casual observer might have assumed they were going to a funeral, but there was an air about these ladies that suggested they had caused more funerals than they had attended. Certain stains don’t show up well on black.
The one nearest the window had white-blond hair pulled back into a severe bun. Her skin was leathery and stretched tight over her cheekbones and chin. She clutched a handful of tiny ceramic tiles which she fiddled with continuously.
The other woman was slimmer and shorter, hands folded demurely in her lap. Her ears, which were large and rosy pink, seemed to lead an independent existence, wiggling and rotating like radar dishes. Every so often a smile briefly crossed her face, which made all her wrinkles point in new directions.
Between them was a large black handbag, from which came an unpleasant smell. And occasional scuffling noises.
(to be continued)
Squee! Anything with Neil Gaiman, Jadestone, and yourself is bound to be good. I like it very much so far.
Hahaha. And I like it so far to, POSOC (I still can only think of you as Prarillus Canix though, although I no longer know how to spell it)
Presently the scuffling increased, and a sharp little face poked its way out of the black silk ruffles. “How much longer is it going to be?” it snarled at the white-blonde woman. “I’m hungry, I’m stiff, it smells foul in there, and I’m very tired of being… some kind of ferret. Remember what I’m paying you for, Ms. Lautsprecher.”
Ms. Lautsprecher didn’t look at the creature in her handbag. “The Gloaming Train goes everywhere, dearie,” she said. “Eventually..”
“‘Eventually’ could mean years from now, woman,” said the creature, quivering with indignation. “I want a timeframe.”
“You can’t always get what you want, sweetheart,” said the woman with the large ears. “But from what I hear, the Oras Lungsod can’t be far off.”
Ms. Lautsprecher tossed a few of the tiles into her expansive lap. “Ms. Zuhörer is correct as usual, dear Tsarevich Artur. The runes confirm it. And by the way, you’re a Least Weasel, not a ferret. Mustela nivalis.”
“Be quiet,” the Least Weasel said sourly. “I’m not paying you to talk about what species I am.”
“We wouldn’t have to if you’d only been a bit more prudent,” Ms. Zuhörer replied. “Sweetheart, you have to learn that with faeries, ‘No’ doesn’t mean ‘convince me.’ It means ‘Stop flirting or I’ll turn you into something small and unpleasant.'”
The Least Weasel, formerly Tsarevich Artur, lost its temper. “Shut up! You know what I had to do to find you? I stole a map from Baba Yaga’s cottage – which, let me tell you, is no errand for those without opposable thumbs. That led me to one of the Libraries of Hell. I had to sell my first-born daughter’s soul even to get a look at the books – and that was where I found a reference to you and your reputation. I’m not even going to go into what I had to do to actually contact you. I emptied half the treasury to meet your exorbitant fees, and for that, I expect professional behavior. Do you understand me, you brace of harpies?”
“Are you finished?” said Ms. Zuhörer, quiet as a razor sliding over silk.
“Quite!” exploded the Least Weasel.
“Then be very glad you hired us,” Ms. Lautsprecher hissed. “Other entities in our profession are not quite as forgiving of insults like that.”
The Least Weasel, formerly heir to the Russian Empire, squeaked and dove back into the handbag.
I really like this.
Not sure where to go with this at this point. Since one of the plot points is “a city where the streets are paved with time,” I’m thinking of having the protagonist be a street-sweeper of some sort, but that’s it. Any suggestions?
Mas de Trystan Evander. Yeah, yeah, still in the repeat stuff.
TRYSTAN EVANDER sat in English class, bored out of his skull. He entertained himself for a while by building a small pyramid out of his pencils; but after a while he lost interest in even this, and rested his head on his crossed arms. Sighing, he closed his eyes and tried very hard to fall asleep.
Trystan was a Delinquent, or Del, at the Jefferson School. He was seventeen but tall for his age, with jet-black hair that stood up in spikes and broad shoulders. His swarthy-skinned face was unusually handsome, in spite of a razor-thin scar that ran across one eye like a bolt of lightning. He had an air of mischief and daring about him; even the Teachers, brainwashed as they were, sensed something rebellious in his demeanor. They kept a close eye on him, guessing that he would bring them trouble one day.
As it happened, they were completely right.
Just as the English teacher, Mrs. Shroeder, was reaching the climax of her brain-numbing monologue on Chaucer, a strange sound was heard echoing across the grounds. It was a sort of whooshing explosion, followed by a yelp and a crash. Mrs. Shroeder broke off mid-sentence; the entire class was silent, listening. But nothing further happened for a few minutes, and the teacher resumed her lecture. The class fell back into its customary stupor.
A few minutes later, though, the noise came again, this time accompanied by a deeper sort of bellow—a different person. The sound of running feet was heard, and then more whooshings and yells, interspersed with colorful oaths which signaled that the janitor was in on whatever was happening. Trystan yawned and opened his eyes.
Mrs. Schroeder bit her lip nervously and cleared her throat. “Ah—students—†she quavered. But by now the class was out the door to the boy’s lavatory, from which the strange sounds were issuing. Trystan went with them; his friend Damon, a brown-haired boy of muscular build, followed silently.
By the time they’d reached the toilet, quite a crowd had gathered. Trystan and Damon managed to elbow their way to the front and stand quietly, leaning against a vacant stall.
A strange scene greeted their eyes. The floor around the second toilet was under a full three inches of water, and it was in this mess that a boy was wallowing, bellowing like a wounded bull. The janitor was standing above him, looking like he was going to have a stroke, and over all, like an ornamental fountain, a jet of water spouted from the now continuously flushing toilet.
As Trystan and Damon watched, stony-faced, the janitor braved the fetid stream and tried helplessly to hit the flusher with his fist. A howl signaled his failure to have any effect whatsoever.
“Somebody call—blfffg—the headmistress!†he hollered, getting a mouthful of water. None of the students moved; they were not anxious to bring authority into this confused scene. But even as the janitor was taking a breath to wail his request again, a sound was heard over the rushing water: the ominous tread of Headmistress Vladislav.
Trystan flashed a glance at Damon, and the two boys melted back into the mob of students. By the time the headmistress arrived, they were merely faces in the crowd.
Awesome! So you’ve submitted this before? On other threads? *plans to go and read them all* But where does the girl hook up with this?
OK. Nevermind that question. Awesome! Totally awesome!
Thanks
I wrote a short story a few days ago, which I’d like to post and ask if it’s clear enough. I have to find it first, but I’ll post it soon.
Okay, the following is a repost of the begining of my next Stephanie Stone story. I’m in the middle of another story somewhere else, so this probably will be added to very slowly, but here’s a small taste of the tale of spooks and spies that awaits:
——————————————————————————–
The truck from the lab was stopped near the dock, and the sounds of the workers loading the crates onto the ship echoed in the moonlight. Some cursed in gutter Russian from the weight of the crates, as supervisors admonished them to be careful with the sensitive electronics within.
But there was another watcher on the docks, a watcher even harder to please than the laboratory supervisors.
Even a Seer would have been hard-pressed to make out the transparent figure standing there in the shadows. But if the Seer had been lucky and sharp-eyed, they might have caught a glimpse of a thin man with a nasty-looking scar on his right cheek, eyes that glowed faintly red, and white hair with a few dark streaks. Using the reliable method of determining a ghost’s origin by their clothing would have proved difficult, but that coat would seem to suggest the Soviet era…
“Imbeciles. No respect for the scientific marvels they carry.†He muttered, watching the workers. “No idea of the role they play in this greater purpose. No idea at all… as unaware as their target.†A dark chuckle was heard, the sort of laughter that made the back of one’s neck tingle with unease.
Another transparent creature moved by his feet, a white dog with brown spots and curly fur. Her eyes, too, seemed to glow red as the mysterious onlooker bent down to pick her up and stoke her. The dog vocalized her pleasure at being rubbed.
“That’s right, my little barker. He suspects nothing. And that is the way it will remain until we reach our objective.†Another unsettling laugh echoed as the shadows engulfed them both.
——————————————————————————–
Typing in this guy’s voice creeps me out after a while.
((WTC? My last reply died.))
Not really a reply, just a way to get the rest of Pantagruel’s Ring above the continuation. Sorry, Kai!
Pantagruel’s Ring
You all know of the sorcerer Marcus Dimwood, the man who is now accounted to be the greatest magician in all of Deepforest, Carabas and Wunsaponna. But he was not always so. Listen, while I tell a single chapter in the story of how a young boy ascended to become the one of the wisest and most powerful beings of all time…
“WAKE UP, MARCUS, YOU MORON!â€
Marcus woke up. In fact, he shot out of bed, landing on the stone floor entangled in his sheet. A great horned owl was perched on his ornate, gargoyle-shaped bedpost, looking thoroughly exasperated.
“Saraswati… †he muttered.
“Yes?†the owl said, clacking her beak.
“It’s eleven P.M.â€
“I know. And you’ll be late for the Convention if you don’t get off your sorry rear.â€
“Convention? What convention?â€
Saraswati drummed her talons on the gargoyle’s cheek, waiting for the penny to drop.
Marcus suddenly remembered. “The Convention! Oh, no! If you hadn’t woken me, I’d have missed it!†He ran from the bedroom, the midnight-black bed-sheet still wrapped around him like a toga.
“You’re welcome,†Saraswati said to empty air, then fluttered after him.
Five minutes later, Marcus appeared somewhat more respectable. A dyeing enchantment had turned his normally brown eyes and hair (not the sort of sinister appearance he wanted) to a deep black.
His outfit was also properly menacing: a swirling black satin cloak, with black breeches and a black leather jerkin beneath it. A belt with an ornate silver buckle completed the ensemble.
“That is so out of date,†Saraswati remarked as he emerged from the dressing room. “Seriously, black was in fashion back when Ahriman was still a mewling demonlet.â€
“If it was good enough for sorcerers back then, it’s good enough for me,†Marcus replied. “Besides, last time you gave me a fashion tip- â€
“Oh yes. The Incident. I swear, it was nothing to do with me. Galen said they were the latest thing.â€
“Your screech owl friend Galen needs to figure out the difference between sorcerers and witches. People are still calling me Pinky.â€
~~~
Marcus strode onto the launching platform at the top of the tower, Saraswati following him. It was utterly spotless. It had to be: sorcerers his age usually left their masters and set up house in ominously brooding fortresses in the thickest part of Deepforest. Unfortunately, Marcus was a bit low on cash, and had to rent a small tower in a rather treeless and sunny clearing. It didn’t exactly brood, either. It was only five stories high, and somewhat crooked. But it was all he had, and he was determined to keep it in excellent condition.
“Come on, Sara,†he said.
“What, me? Aren’t you the one going to the Convention?â€
“Of course, but this is my first one!â€
“I know. You’re 13, so you’re old enough to go. That still doesn’t explain why I have to come.â€
“I need to make a good first impression.â€
“On who?†Saraswati winked at him.
“Well- the senior Witches and Sorcerers, of course.â€
“Sure it’s not just Aleksandra you want to impress?†The owl nudged him playfully with one wing.
Marcus’s face reddened. “Sara- shut up.â€
“C’mon! I’ve seen you staring at her-â€
“SHUT UP!†Marcus snapped his fingers, and his staff appeared in his hand. He leveled it at the owl and let off a small thunderbolt.
“Ooh, sensitive, are we?†Saraswati said, rearranging her scorched feathers.
“Just get up here,†Marcus grumbled. Saraswati obliged him, fluttering up and perching on his shoulder. “All right,†she said. “Now get out the magic carpet, and away we go.â€
“The carpet!†Marcus exclaimed, and a look of horror crossed his face. “I forgot! It’s in the shop!â€
“Well, now you remember. You have a broom?â€
“Of course not! I’d look like a sissy riding one of those! There’s only one option left. We’ll have to travel by weather.â€
“Whip up a Thunderstorm,†the owl suggested. “We’ll arrive in plenty of time.â€
“Sara, you know I can’t do a Thunderstorm yet. The only things I can manage are Whirlwind and Gale, and even those are going to be tricky in these conditions.â€
“Weren’t you working on Blizzard?â€
“I can’t get the hang of it. It always turns into Rainstorm, and you can’t travel in one of those. Not if you don’t want your cloak all soggy.â€
“Gale, then?â€
“With all these crosswinds, it’ll be slow and hard to manage. I’ll try Whirlwind.â€
With that, he slammed the tip of his staff into the exact center of the turret’s floor. “Enolcyc! Em yebo!†he cried.
Nothing happened for a moment. Then the tip of the staff began smoldering and glowing. Three trails of smoke drifted up from it. But instead of dissipating, they began to swirl around him, thickening as they accelerated. A wild feeling of power rushed through Marcus’s limbs.
“It’s supposed to be going widdershins, you know,†Saraswati added from his shoulder.
“This is going to be hard enough without backseat driving,†Marcus replied through gritted teeth.
The whirlwind lifted off, and Marcus’s ears popped. He settled into a cross-legged position (traditional when traveling by whirlwind) with his staff held at an angle, directing the wind currents.
The first half of the trip passed without incident. Deepforest, the greatest and last haven of the Dark, flew by below him. The stars twinkled above him like gnome-silver dust scattered on a fate-woven cloak.
Saraswati was the first to notice something wrong, though she couldn’t put her talon on it. It made her uneasy, and she shifted restlessly on Marcus’s shoulder.
Then the young sorcerer noticed that his staff was trembling. He tried to quiet it, but the shaking only grew more violent. And as it did, the whirlwind began to slip out of control.
“I told you it should be spinning widdershins!†Saraswati yelled, before jumping off his shoulder and extending her wings, hoping to ride out the ensuing storm.
Five minutes later, the whirlwind had grown into a full-blown tornado. Marcus was hurled every which way, tree branches and fence posts striking him painfully. Saraswati fared better. Her wings allowed her to ride the gusts, and her head spun in the opposite direction to the cyclone to keep from getting dizzy.
Marcus’s memory of the catastrophe was somewhat fuzzy. At some point, his cloak had ripped away, and then entangled his arms with his staff. A large hanging tree (thankfully, nobody was dangling from it at the moment) had been sucked up by the merciless winds, and the noose had cinched around his legs, leaving him unable to move independently.
His next memory was of Saraswati screaming in his face. “How do you stop this thing?†He told her the correct incantation through flapping lips, and she recited it, gripping the staff so hard that her claws left marks.
Then Marcus found himself suddenly still. He was vaguely aware that his dyeing spell had malfunctioned, and his hair was changing color. All the blood had inexplicably rushed to his head, and that combined with his recent gyrations produced a disagreeable effect.
He threw up, and watched in amazement as his half-digested dinner rose above his head to land with a splatter on the stone ceiling.
He slowly came to realize that he was upside down.
Marcus was hanging outside a massive stone building that looked vaguely familiar, but the inverted view made it hard to place. The free end of the hangman’s noose had caught on the granite fang of a large gargoyle. His staff was wedged between his arms in a roughly horizontal position. Saraswati perched on one end, not a feather out of place.
“The good news,†she said, “is that we’re at the Convention on time. The bad news… â€
And then the frayed rope finally broke, and Marcus fell twelve feet straight down into an ornamental kelpie pond.
~~~
“Did they get all the kelpies off?†Saraswati asked. “They’re tricky little blighters.â€
“Shut up, Sara,†Marcus said for the third time that day, as they took their seats in the Magicians’ Quarter.
The Convention Hall, more formally known as the Mandala Court, was an amphitheater of black marble, divided into four sections. To the right of the Magicians’ Quarter was the Nearhumans’ Quarter, currently filled by a jostling mass of vampires, werewolves, giants, ogres, trolls, dwarves, and various other creatures that could have passed for human had they possessed less hair, or blunter teeth, or been three feet taller or shorter. Past them was the Demons’ Quarter, and beyond that, the Monsters’, noisiest and brightest of all, with chimeras, gryphons and firedrakes fighting over the far too little space.
In the center of the amphitheater was a large black table. A moonstone sat on it, reflecting the light of the greater moon above.
A sonorous bell rang through the Dark Mandala Court, and four figures began making their way toward the central table.
Saraswati pointed out the names of the representatives to Marcus. “That’s Komondor the Blind, representative for the Monsters. He’s extremely famous- lived more than a dozen centuries so far, and still going strong. And let’s see, who’s that? I’m not sure,†she said, indicating the representative for the Nearhumans, a long-nosed, swarthy troll. “In any case, he’s probably presiding- it’s the Nearhumans’ turn this year. For the Demons- ooh, that’s Asmodea bin Efrit herself!†she gasped, referring to a darkly beautiful, yellow-eyed woman whose barbed black tail lashed languidly behind her. “And of course, for the Magicians… â€
Marcus needed no prompting to figure out who the plump, steel-gazed woman making her way to the table in the company of an enormous black tomcat. “Hazel Marrowbone,†he whispered. “The greatest witch in the world.â€
The four representatives gathered at the conference table and sat down.
No sooner had they taken their seats than the moonstone began glowing. If glowing was the right word. No, Marcus decided, it definitely wasn’t. It was darkening, sending an ambiance of gloom throughout the room.
An awful voice resounded through every inch of the Mandala Court. “THE THREE THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED SEVENTY-THIRD DARK MANDALA COURT WILL COME TO ORDER, NILS X. YMIRSSON PRESIDING.â€
The troll, presumably Ymirsson, stood up. Marcus tried to get a better look at him.
He was dressed in the traditional fur garb of his race, his extravagant cloak decorated with cave-pearls and gnome-gold. His nose, the pride and joy of most trolls, was almost half his height of four feet. Marcus knew the extreme length indicated that he was a member of a highborn family, as if the name of Ymirsson wasn’t enough proof of that. He carried a large staff made from the wood of a bristlecone pine.
“Good night, friends,†he said, his rich, syrupy voice easily audible. “I welcome you to the Mandala Court.â€
“We are grateful for the welcome,†said the other three representatives in unison, as tradition dictated.
“Have you any statements to make before the Court commences?†Ymirsson continued.
“Nay,†they all answered in succession.
“In that case,†Ymirsson droned, “I declare the Court open.â€
Marcus grew bored with the proceedings and began attempting to return his hair to black, or at least its normal color, which would at least be better than the vivid puce it had been since his whirlwind malfunctioned.
However, he had only succeeded in making it shade through the spectrum. Resigning himself to it, he hoped he could stop the spell at indigo, which would at least seem a bit more ominously respectable than puce.
However, it was not to be. Saraswati poked him in the eye with her wing, breaking his concentration halfway through green. “Listen!â€
“To what?†Marcus snapped irritably, trying to revive his hair. “A fascinating discussion of the changing price of donkey cabbage and its possible cause and repercussions?â€
“No, something interesting. Shh. Ymirsson’s speaking.â€
Marcus made a mental note to turn his hair black again as soon as possible, then focused on the proceedings below.
“Now,†Ymirsson said, “I should like to draw your attention to an issue that greatly threatens the reputation of the Dark. This story is only one example of a larger problem. How many of you know Jotun Brig?â€
Komondor and Asmodea shook their heads, but Hazel Marrowbone spoke up. “As I recall, he lent me a bushel of rampion once. An estimable troll. He keeps the third largest garden of magical plants in the known world.â€
Ymirsson nodded. “Good friend of mine. Another question. How many of you know the Gruff brothers?â€
Asmodea snarled, clouds of sulfur blasting out of her nostrils. “Those GOATS!! They’ve got criminal records as long and twisted as Bigg Gruff’s horns. I have a personal grudge against one of them.â€
“Exactly. Grand larceny, breaking and entering, racketeering- the list goes on and on. Most famous crime family in decades. A week ago, they attacked Brig, beat him within an inch of his life, and flung him off a bridge. Then they raided his garden and ate all they could hold, burning the rest.
A family of dangerous criminals empowered by consuming magical vegetation would be bad enough, but it pales in comparison to this.â€
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled weekend edition of the Wunsaponna Times.
“This news story,†Ymirsson said, with indignation smoldering in his eyes, “paints the Gruffs as heroes who freed the land of Carabas from an evil troll who hoarded the only food in a time of famine. Needless to say, it’s an editorial. This is only one example of a larger problem. How many of you have known of beings who were unjustly treated by the Light and then portrayed as villains by the editor of the Wunsaponna Times, Hans Grimm?â€
Hazel Marrowbone spoke up. “A cousin once removed. Margery Accetta. Totally harmless, could hardly perform the simplest witchcraft, but the sweetest old soul you could wish to meet. Her life’s work was a mansion made from gingerbread and candy out in the woods. She spent over ten years improving it.
Then this gang of teenage roughnecks showed up, kicked her out of the house, and ate it all. According to the Times, she was a wicked hag who lured helpless children with sweets and cooked them in her oven.†On the last word, her eyes flared green. The floor trembled.
“Our intermediaries have brought slander charges against him in the Light Mandala Court,†Asmodea put in, “but they’ve gotten nowhere. Grim has all the Wunsaponna nobility wrapped around his little finger. Even the speaking animals of Carabas are beginning to listen to him.â€
That brought a startled gasp. “But Carabas has always been neutral!†a vampire in the audience exclaimed. Saraswati shifted uncomfortably. “Some of them become familiars, of course, but they’ve never taken sides as a whole.â€
“Allegiances are shifting,†Ymirsson intoned. “We don’t know who we can trust.â€
“Exactly,†Asmodea said. “I remember a friend of mine, Mr. Wrinkanaderm. A soft-hearted imp, never could resist a pitiful face. He took pity on this absolutely horrible, gluttonous girl who had been locked up by the Duke of Sval and told to spin straw into gold, as punishment for stealing food. He helped her out, and the Duke married her, more out of greed than for any sort of love. Of course, Wrink realized eventually what a bad lot they both were, and tried to get their child away to some parents who would care for him- but they used his true name to banish him Beyond the End.†Her eyes flamed. The wood of the table started to smoke and blacken.
Marcus could not suppress a shudder. He’d heard whispered rumors about Beyond the End, none concrete, all horrible. A paper-white, endlessly flat landscape, freezing cold, utterly dry, populated by monstrosities that made the fiercest chimera look like a kitten. The Justwunmor, the terrible Thenwathapp’n’d… the stories about there were too numerous and too terrifying to recount. The few magical creatures who’d escaped reappeared centuries later, either with amnesia or completely insane.
“It is an outrage,†Komondor rumbled, fire jetting from his nostrils. His large, sensitive ears quivered. “You are all aware, I’m sure, of the Exchange Program?â€
A sizable portion of voices, mostly from the Nearhumans’ quarter, called out “No.â€
“Very well. It is a timeless tradition of the Dragons which fosters understanding between Light and Dark. Children of noble human families from Wunsaponna travel to spend a few years with a dragon family, and vice versa. However, in recent months it has gained a bad reputation. We are portrayed as merciless kidnappers who carry off defenseless princesses. This is exactly the sort of bigotry that the Program is supposed to prevent!†He reared up on his hind legs, his scaly head nearly touching the domed ceiling, and dropped back down, making the floor shake. “It has become a fad among well-intentioned, badly-informed knights and princes to “rescue†participants. This has already resulted in the deaths of several honest, upstanding members of the Monster community. I think I need not tell you who has been encouraging these young fellows to murder us… †His voice had steadily been gaining volume throughout the speech: now it expanded into a full-throated roar that echoed back and forth in the Court for several minutes.
When the thunder had died down, Ymirsson tapped his staff on the floor. “We must decide on a course of action. This cannot continue for long. The balance is already tipping in favor of the Light.â€
Asmodea lashed her tail. “We must fight! We’ll give them a war more terrible than the Umbromachy at the First Telling!â€
“Asmodea is right,†bellowed Komondor. “We cannot allow this to continue.â€
“No!†Hazel shouted, springing up from her chair. Her eyes were turning an icy green, like sunlight filtering through a frozen lake. “That will only give them an excuse to attack us! We’ll be confirming Grim’s libel!â€
“So be it!†snapped Asmodea. Her eyes flared up again, great streamers of yellow fire trailing in the wake of her movement, setting her hair alight. Komondor rose to his feet, his spiked tail breaking the sound barrier with every lash. Even so, Marcus could hear the two females as clearly as if they’d been alone in the room. “When his city is trampled into ash and rubble, he’ll be begging to apologize- if we leave him alive!â€
“We’ll be destroyed!†Ymirsson rumbled. “Have you seen the censuses? The Light’s creatures outnumber us more than two to one! Deepforest will be burned to the ground!â€
“We need to investigate Grim,†Hazel opined. “These editorials have only been going on for about half a year. His paper was typically very fair-minded before that. Something unusual took place and we need to find out what it was.â€
“We need,†Ymirsson intoned, “a Quest.â€
“A Quest?†Komondor exclaimed. “We haven’t had a Quest in decades!â€
“This is probably the root of our problems,†Hazel Marrowbone stated. “Besides, it’s been a long time since one of our Sorcerer novices earned a staff. That could be the reason for the embarrassing decline in competence among my species.†She glared up at the Magicians’ quarter. “We’ve gotten soft.â€
“There is another thing to consider,†Ymirsson put in. “Is a simple investigative mission… dangerous enough to qualify?â€
“I have a feeling that this will go far beyond asking an editor a few questions,†she replied. “My intuition has never yet been wrong. Whoever gets the Quest will be subjected to his fair share of trials and tribulations, you can be sure of that.â€
“We must put it to a vote,†Asmodea declared. “All in favor of a Quest to determine what Grim is up to?â€
Two gnarled hands- Marrowbone’s, followed after a moment’s hesitation by Ymirsson’s- rose into the air.
“Split,†Komondor rumbled. “We all know the rules. The collective will of the Convention must act as tiebreaker.â€
All four representatives turned, gazing at the moonstone at the center of the table. It was darkening through deep blue to indigo, leaching color and light out of the room.
A sudden pulse of darkness shot out of it, trailing a wavefront of shadows and outlining the representatives with a tenebrous aura. A voice resounded through the Convention Hall. “IN FAVOR OF QUEST.â€
Asmodea and Komondor sat down once more, still smoldering, but willing to respect the Court’s decision.
Ymirsson smiled, making an ironic half-bow to Hazel. “Magician’s prerogative, my dear. Make your selection.â€
Hazel Marrowbone turned toward her own Quarter. “You all know the recent, and in my opinion shameful, history of our species. Most magicians sitting up there earned their staves or hats through quests that had been undertaken thousands of times before, quests of which every pitfall was charted, quests which were no more than rote recitations of past deeds.†The beginnings of an outraged murmur began to stir the crowd. “Once in a while, however, a new quest appears on the horizon, and those who undertake these rare novelties have almost invariably risen to greatness. Therefore, the proper selection for a Quest of this magnitude is someone who has an abundance of potential… but has not yet been able to unlock it.â€
“Magnitude?†a tall-hatted witch muttered. “It’s a fact-finding expedition, for the Telling’s sake.â€
“Marrowbone’s intuition has never failed her,†said a sorcerer next to her. “Hush.â€
“I have already considered many young magicians who have recently left training…†Hazel continued.
“Figures,†the witch remarked. “She and Ymirsson planned this in advance.â€
“Hush!!â€
“…and my final decision is…â€
“She’s going to pick one of her favorites,†the witch groaned under her breath. “Aleksandra Romanov, maybe. Or Tayle Stuart… â€
“Hush!!!â€
“…Marcus Dimwood.â€
From Marcus’s point of view, time stopped. The only sound was the blood roaring in his ears, followed a moment later by the tall-hatted witch exclaiming “Who!!??“
Marcus was brought back to his senses by Sara’s talons digging into his shoulder. “Get up,†she hissed. “Turn right. Walk.†Marcus followed her instructions, staggering in a daze down the steps. “And take that slack-jawed look off your face, you’re embarrassing me.â€
“Thank you, Sara,†he muttered out of the side of his mouth as he descended the suddenly interminable steps. “You’re being very helpful, as always. I’m going to die!!â€
“No, you’re not. Keep walking.â€
“I thought I was just going to be assigned the standard get-the-Water-of-Life quest in a couple of years! This is insane!â€
“Yes, everyone knows you’re not supposed to use the golden dipper. This gives you a chance to break out of the mold!†Saraswati cut off further protest with a tight squeeze of her talons. Marcus numbly stumbled down the last few steps. Hazel Marrowbone seemed much taller from down here…
“Marcus Dimwood,†she said, each word falling on Marcus’s ears like a stone dropped into a well. “Today you truly embark upon your career as a Sorcerer. The staff you hold is ensorcelled to respond to your will, but it is not truly yours. If all goes well, when you stand before us once again, you will have earned your staff. But do not abandon your Quest to seek it! Fate will place it in your path.â€
She seized Marcus’s staff, gripping it in a pudgy, grandmotherly hand. It turned gray, large chunks breaking off and crumbling into dust. Soon, there was only a small core of deep violet light writhing in her clenched fist. She opened her hand, and it faded.
A dull, hollow ache began throbbing in Marcus’s chest. Saraswati gave a low, pained hoot.
“Hesperus!†Marrowbone snapped. Her familiar bounded up on the table, leaped down, and began running around Marcus. His claws left gashes in the stone as he sped up. He ran until he became a dark blur, his gleaming eyes leaving yellow contrails in a ring around boy and owl. The ground began to tremble. The world began to shake-
Marcus flipped over, hurtled sideways, snapped inside out and popped through a treacly membrane, sprawling on dusty cobblestones. He retched, but he’d already gotten rid of his dinner.
“Vanishment,†Saraswati said in a tone of professional interest. “She is powerful. Not many witches can do that, let alone their familiars.†She shifted her wings. “Well, there’s no point starting a quest at one in the morning. Let’s find some accommodations, or failing that, a reasonably dry ditch.â€
Marcus got up, dusting off his cloak, and reached for his staff before he realized it didn’t exist anymore. The pain in his chest grew a little sharper for a moment. “Speaking of which, where are we?â€
The owl turned her head 360 degrees, emitting an impressed hoot. “We needn’t have worried. We’re in the Crossroads.â€
Even Marcus, with his limited knowledge of the world outside Deepforest, was aware of the Crossroads. It was the cultural center of the known world, on the border between Wunsaponna and Deepforest, where Light and Dark met and mingled. Although it was not the largest city in the world, it was certainly one of the busiest.
Which gave the lie to the scene around him. He scanned the streets. “Where is everyone? It’s so empty…â€
“It is one AM.â€
“Still, I’d expect to see some Dark creatures out and about.â€
“Well, Crossroads is technically part of Wunsaponna, and public opinion has been rather anti-Dark recently.â€
Marcus shuddered. “Let’s find somewhere to stay.â€
“That inn looks promising,†Saraswati said, gesturing toward a tall, well-kept establishment by the name of the Blue Star.
They crossed the road, and Marcus rapped tentatively on the door.
The top half opened up, letting out a gust of golden light and inviting odors. A gnome poked his head over the sill. He must have been standing on a stepladder, or else had charmed boots, because the greatest recorded height for a gnome was three feet.
It belatedly occurred to Marcus that he had not bothered to count his money, and that he might not have enough to pay for a room. But that quickly became a non-issue as the gnome snarled “We don’t want your kind here!†and slammed the door in his face.
“What was that all about?†Marcus asked, nonplussed.
A beer bottle smashed near his feet. “Go away, you little scab!â€
Marcus beat a hasty retreat to the center of the square, sheltering under the Statue of Fellowship. The image, done in gray marble, which showed a sorcerer and a wizard shaking hands, seemed a hollow mockery now.
“In light of recent events,†Saraswati said thoughtfully, “the one across the square seems just as good.â€
It didn’t. It was small, dingy, and askew, but it looked cheap. Marcus fished through his pockets and came up with six lunes, a few pence and a bit of lint. The charge for a single night, including board, was five lunes- a price so low that it left Marcus in serious doubt about the quality of food and accommodations. But his finances took precedence over his preferences, and he made his way to the door of the Gibbous Moon, proprietors Tepes and Granite.
“…und five vindows broken already zis veek,†a voice inside was saying. “Zis is intolerable! I may be forced to lodge a complaint wiz zer town council!â€
“Ya know they won’t listen to ya, Vlad,†a gruffer, deeper voice replied. “You’re a… hang on, there’s someone at the door!â€
There was a series of clunks, and the door swung open to reveal a dwarf. At least, Marcus assumed it was a dwarf, there being very little space between boots and beard, and most of that being occupied by various weapons.
The apparition stuck out a hairy hand that looked a lot like a mossy tree root and wiped some of his copious facial hair out of his small, beady eyes. “Y’ll be wanting a room, then?â€
“Er, yes.†Marcus shook the hand (which felt like a sackful of pebbles), then held out his fee. The dwarf took the silver crescent coins and led Marcus through a short, poorly lit corridor.
He stopped at a door marked 328 and pulled it open. “Breakfast at 7 AM,†he said, and ushered Marcus into a room that was surprisingly well-kempt for its price. Saraswati immediately fluttered out the open window to hunt; Marcus flopped on the bed and fell asleep almost at once.
~
A talon pierced his shoulder, none too gently. “Wakey-wakey. Don’t want to miss breakfast.â€
Marcus sat up and groaned. His nicest clothes felt stiff and uncomfortable. “Why couldn’t they have given me more warning? I could have packed a carpetbag… â€
“Nope. ‘The clothes on your back.’ Article One, Sec. 4 of the Ancient Laws. Head on downstairs.†Saraswati yawned. “Good day,†she said, perched on his shoulder, and promptly fell asleep.
Marcus wished, not for the first time, that he’d requested a familiar whose biorhythms were in sync with his own. “I should have signed up for a cat… â€
Sara cracked open one huge yellow eye. “I heard that, buster! At least we just sleep during the day!!â€
Rubbing his eyes, Marcus navigated the confusing warren of passages, following the delicious smell of frying bacon.
When he finally reached the dining room and sat down at one of the tables, it wasn’t what he expected. There were only two other customers: a ragged werewolf slumped over the bar and a half-grown dragon drowning his woes in a trough of fresh cow’s blood. Granted, the dragon took up most of the space, but it still seemed far less crowded than a cheap inn like this one should be.
A tall, pale woman with dark hair was bustling around the strangely dim kitchen, filling up a plate with eggs, toast and bacon. She placed it in front of him, flashing him a strangely pointy smile. “Eat up,†she said. “You’re skin und bone, sorcerer.â€
Marcus tasted his breakfast. The toast and bacon were perfect, but the eggs seemed a little bland.
“Excuse me,†he said. “Do you have any gar… MMF… â€
Sara clamped a gnarly talon over his mouth. “Think!†she hissed.
Seemingly unimportant details all over the room clicked into place in Marcus’s mind. The tightly drawn shades even though it was a sunny day, the cook’s odd accent, fashion sense, and dentistry…
“Yes?†she said, emerging from the kitchen.
“Um… Grapes! Yes, grapes. I like a little fresh fruit with my breakfast.â€
“Certainly. Vun moment.â€
“Can you say faux pas??!!†Saraswati snarled, and promptly fell asleep again.
Marcus finished his breakfast, eating the bland eggs without further comment, and walked out of the door.
The square, so empty the previous night, was a riot of sound and color. A troop of gnomes, wearing falchions and carrying a heavy chest between them, barged through the center of the crowd, armor clinking. An affable, toothless human roasted sausages over a grill heated by the molten-metal skin of a juvenile salamander. An elf wearing the red jacket of a courier sprinted past the inn, ducking around and under passersby when necessary.
Marcus avoided the thickest areas of the throng, skirting the buildings until he reached the main road. He attracted a few unpleasant stares, and he was sure at least one of the elbows in his ribs hadn’t been entirely accidental. He was beginning to see what Saraswati meant – the attitude toward Dark creatures in Wunsaponna was definitely hostile. He was relieved when he finally left Crossroads behind and stepped onto the Westward Road.
I visit this thread every day looking for comments and when I finally get one, it’s not about my story. You jerk! (Nah, just kidding, it’s okay.)
For those who don’t know, this is a continuation of Pantagruel’s Ring, a really random fractured fairy tale epic that I’ve been writing on and off for a couple of years now.
~~~
The air grew hot and muggy as he walked on, and soon Marcus was perspiring beneath his dark cloak. He unfastened it and slung it over his arm, resolving to find some lighter clothes as soon as possible. Black might look good, but it was far from practical outside the shadowy heart of Deepforest.
Sara continued sleeping. Even when Marcus pulled his cloak out from under her talons, she shifted her weight, grumbled and fell quiet again. I suppose it’s a good thing she can sleep so deeply in the circumstances, he thought. I’m going to be traveling a lot during the day.
He’d only been walking half an hour before he heard hoofbeats behind him. He turned around and spotted a small, dark shape steadily approaching on a side path – one of the forks that led farther north, probably. The Westward Road branched like a river delta, leading to all parts of Deepforest. Although if he thought about it like that, it was really more the Eastward Road, as the creatures of Light called it. Funny, how the same thing could be seen as so dissimilar from a different angle…
“Curse you, let me go!! You’ll pay for what you did to Szarraxan, I swear!â€
“Rest easy, love, you’ve obviously been enchanted. They do that, you know, one look in those great green gem-eyes of theirs and you’re captivated. Nasty, vicious things… Well, it came to a deserved end on the point of my sword, and now we can live happily ever after… as soon as your father and I have agreed on a dowry, of course. Half the kingdom’s standard in such cases, isn’t it?â€
“You want land? You’re welcome to it. I’ll have you tossed into the cesspit when we return, you drunken, delusional, murdering son of a weretoad!â€
Marcus squinted. The shape was a horse, a horse with two riders embroiled in an argument. One of them was belaboring the other with a helmet.
He nudged Sara sharply. “Something’s happening. Wake up.”
She nipped his ear and fluffed up her feathers peevishly. “Eh? Is the world ending?”
“No, of course not, but- ”
“Then why’d you wake me up?!”
The horse came to a halt a few yards away in a cloud of dust, snorting and twitching its ears. Marcus sneezed, almost dislodging his snoozing familiar.
“Greetings, young lad! What brings you here so far –ow– from civilized lands?”
The young sorcerer looked up through streaming eyes, fumbling for a handkerchief. “Er- I’m on a Quest, a Quest from Hazel Mar- AAAAGH!!”
“Sorry,” Saraswati said cheerfully. “I accidentally stabbed you with my talons, did I? Pay no attention to my traveling companion, sir knight, he’s a bit thick-headed. You see, I’m working for an herbalist from De Seslik – he needs several varieties of bark to complete a tincture that the Duke’s ordered. Unfortunately, a few of these are only found in Deepforest. This fellow is my bodyguard. Wouldn’t want a manticore to jump on me when I’m out on a botanical expedition, now would I?” She laughed nervously.
Hooray! Marcus is back!
Woot! I wondered where this went. Glad to see it back.
Oi likes it!
7- Yay! Has it really been a couple of years already?
Yeah, I started it in August 2007. We’re coming up on the two-year mark pretty soon.
Wow. It doesn’t seem that long ago…
I haven’t heard of this story before, but it made me laugh when the girl was woken up.
She’s actually an owl. Shall I repost the entire thing here?
Sure. An owl? Really? I’d never have guessed. *is bemused*
Yes, it’s all familiar but I don’t really remember much of it anymore.
OK, it may take me a while to collect it all together again…
This is an idea I’ve been throwing around for a while, but I’m kind of stuck.
The main character is a high school junior named Leanna Rhodes. She leads a perfectly normal life in her small suburban town with her mother, father, two sisters, and her aunt, Jessica, who lives with the family. One day, bored out of her mind, she decides to go and snoop around in her aunt’s private office- a place where no one is allowed to go, save for Jessica herself. She goes up to the attic where the office is, and finds some pretty weird stuff.
Late that night, or, early the next morning, her aunt wakes her up and tells her a fantastic story- one about magic, and a world in another dimension, and about her and her aunt both being witches. She doesn’t quite believe it- but the next night, her aunt gives her some proof and asks if she wants to travel with her to the mage world. Leanna says yes.
A few weeks later, Leanna and Jessica get ready to leave. They are helped to the mage world by a young man named Teckore, and his sister Tallyrand. The next day, after finding their house and getting settled in, Jessica goes to work at the temple and Leanna goes sightseeing with Teckore. All is quiet until the festival of Litha, when barbarian raiders attack the city. They speak to the leaders and demand a number of priceless treasures- two of which the elders no longer possess. The raiders give the city a week to produce the treasures, and the elders send Teckore and Leanna to retrieve them. After much peril, they return with the treasures…only to find that they have been gone for more than a week, and the raiders have attacked the city. They join the battle, defeat the raiders, Leanna and Teckore are proclaimed heroes, and everyone lives happily ever after.
Feedback?
((I think it could be pretty epic! You just have to find a unique spin.))
((Here is more of mine, that I guess no one is reading…))
Alex sat there. Motionless. He wasn’t ready. He would never be ready. The only thing that kept him from killing himself was the knowledge that he soon wouldn’t care. The guardians circled him, as he sat there, hoping ever so much that they wouldn’t do it again. One of them touched Alex’s shoulder, and images flashed before him:
He was standing outside. Alone. But what was outside? Alex had never known “outside.†There was dead grass, and one large tree. It was burning. A man was running from something.
“ANYBODY! THEY’RE BURNING THE WHOLE CITY!†The man said. His voice was so distressed that Alex felt like he wanted to cry.
Alex walked over the hill, then he saw it: A beautiful city with large, chrome buildings. Little shops, each more beautiful than the last. In the center of this city was a large dome, so tall that he could not see the top. After Alex’s awe, he noticed the heat. Then he noticed the fire. The fire was not ordinary; it was engulfing buildings one by one, and letting them collapse. Slowly, at least in Alex’s mind, it inched its way over the dome.
It was a magnificent sight.
The fire seemed to be a giant pillar, flowing towards the sky, and then the Heavens. It seemed even beautiful. It seemed to take an hour, but in reality a couple of minutes. Then the fire burned so that Alex could feel it burning his eyebrows. Then, it was gone. The dome had no more support, it collapsed completely. It started as just one piece, but more and more fell until each that feel was about a square mile.
Everything in the city was knocked down from this energy. The enormous cloud of dust was coming towards Alex quickly. He started running the other way, but there was no use. It threw him off the ground. He didn’t know how he was. He felt it getting in his lungs and started coughing.
He fainted. He did not dream. He lay there for a few minutes, and when he woke up, he wished he hadn’t. The guardians where staring at him, and if the guardians could show a smile, than this is when it would be made. Alex heard the laughter of them. They coughed and spat.
One grabbed his arm and threw him out the door. Alex was glad.
What happened back there? Was it something the guardians created? Was it real? No, it couldn’t be real. Nothing like that was real.
Deep down Alex knew it was real, because he had been their before. He didn’t have the perspective to realize that his hopes and goals would land him right where he wanted to avoid. That was the problem with this life; no one could possibly imagine that what they had right then, was the best. Nothing ever would get better, it was just perspective. Alex would soon learn that.
((OOPS! The last sentence should be,”Alex would have to learn that.”))
Interesting. I like it, except that last paragraph confused me.
Yeah… I’m going to cut it… Even though it ties in to the story… The whole story is about life in middle school. It’s just changed into fantasy! Some things are different, but you can spot the metaphors…
This is in the middle of a short story I’m writing. I think I got a bit carried away with the description.
Kyle heard a lock click and a door swung open. He followed Dawn through into a room he could actually see into. Two lamps, each placed on opposite sides of a fireplace mantle lit the room. In between, arranged in an annoyingly cluttered but somehow organized fashion were little trinkets. Tassels, picture frames without pictures, a pen with a feather tip, bows and lace ribbons. Dominating the center, surrounded by seemingly random but color coordinated shells was a tall tiara.
A disgustingly heartwarming, cuddly little fire helped the lamps not only light but heat the room. There was no incense in here, which confused Kyle because he couldn’t tell where the pink glow was coming from.
“Sit.â€
Kyle turned to find a man, maybe in his mid twenties, tapping his long, blue, rhinestone nails into a steeple. His hair was immaculately disheveled and perfectly asymmetrical, his grey and white plaid sweater vest held in a black dress shirt, which stuck out, artfully unbuttoned under the hem of the vest. His jeans were probably more expensive then Kyle’s whole outfit. No, his whole wardrobe. They looked unimaginably casual as they hugged the man’s legs to his knees until they gently flared out. He had no shoes on, which was perfectly all right because he could have been a foot model.
Actually, he could have been an everything model. His silver, sparkly eye shadow was just so, and his black lipstick was flawlessly contrasting with the whole outfit.
The image was quite stunning.
lulz, my dream man. I kind of wanted to show that he’s so outwardly perfect that it makes everyone mad. Did I do that, or are there any suggestions?
11- I don’t really see how blue rhinestone nails go with plaid sweater vest, but OK. His whole outfit seems rather incongruous, if you ask me. No shoes, but flawless eye makeup? Is he quite sane? Because he seems to have his priorities all wrong.
No, of course he’s not sane! When I have I ever created a sane character? He’s a psychic.
II
ALDRIC CRONUS Nyx II strode across the factory floor of Vulcan Industries, Inc., with the CEO trailing behind him. All around the two men fire swirled, as metalsmiths and their machine counterparts coaxed liquid metal into useful shapes, pounding and cutting and twisting. The ringing of hammers and saws was deafening—even the CEO had to put his hands to his ears occasionally.
Nyx, however, seemed oblivious to the din. With his hands behind his back, he surveyed the work of one particular smith, who was shaping a piece of metal into a sheet. The man’s gloved hands seemed almost to caress the hot alloy, bending and twisting it with long loving sweeps of his arms, until a shape began to emerge, an anachronism in this day and age: the breastplate to a suit of armor.
As Nyx watched, the man grasped a pair of tongs and drew a flask filled with white-hot liquid metal out of the fire. He seized the new breastplate and poured the fluid metal over it, so that as it cooled, a hard shell began to form over the original plate. He then thrust the entire mass back into the furnace.
“Ah, this is Plamen, one of our finest smiths,†said the CEO, Brenton. “He’s the one who developed this particular metal.â€
Nyx did not answer; he merely watched as Plamen drew the metal from the fire again and allowed a robot to drill holes around the edges of the top and bottom of the sheet. Plamen then took up a hammer and, with a tremendous blow, cracked the outer shell of the metal, so that the original alloy was revealed once again. He knocked the rest of the shell off and held the breastplate up critically; it shone brightly in the light of the fire.
Nyx stepped forwards and extended a hand. “If I may?†Plamen handed the piece to him wordlessly.
The metal’s surface was completely smooth, soft as satin and cool in spite of the tremendous heat it had just endured. Nyx pressed it experimentally and found that he could not even coax a few degrees of flex out of it.
He handed it back to the smith. “And what is it that makes this metal so special?â€
Plamen set the breastplate down carefully before answering. “This metal is nearly inert, sir; it will not react to any acid or strong element that you could name, and it will never rust. It’s also nonvolatile—it heats very slowly and cools to room temperature quickly.â€
“And it is impenetrable?â€
“Completely. A man wearing this would be safe from the shrapnel of a bomb going off at his feet.â€
Nyx nodded. “Excellent. Carry on.â€
He started off across the floor again, with the Brenton trailing behind. The obsequious manager hurried to catch up.
“Plamen is a revolutionary thinker. If you are pleased with his work, I will—â€
“I am not yet pleased.â€
“—give him a—you’re not? Sir?â€
Nyx stepped into an elevator. “The material does please me. But the design of the armor—even the design of that breastpiece—does not. It will leave too many weak spots once assembled. This suit must be utterly impenetrable, President Brenton; as it is not, I am not satisfied.â€
Brenton gaped. “But—Minister—it is impenetrable—you heard what Plamen said. Surely that—â€
Nyx held up a hand, and the CEO broke off, looking even more astonished. “I said it is not good enough. RabÃa demands perfection, so I must demand it as well.†The elevator moved upwards to the hundredth floor, and the two men exited into the CEO’s plush office.
Nyx stood by the window and looked down on the city below. “Tell me this, Brenton: can you do better?â€
The CEO was silent.
“I ask for your own good. If you can give me your word, I shall make an encouraging report to RabÃa. But if this is your best work—your company will be replaced by a more competent one.â€
Brenton took a deep breath. “We can do better.â€
“Good.†Nyx turned and went to the elevator again. “I shall portray you favorably in my report—assuming your claim is true, of course.â€
The manager swallowed. “It is, sir.â€
The elevator doors began to slide shut. “For your sake—I hope so.â€
“Tell me a story,†Demanded the small, red-haired girl laying on the floor of her grandmother’s house. She was coloring a picture, or trying to. Her crayons were managing to spew shards of color everywhere but between the lines of her Disney coloring book. For her six years of age, she had managed to make an impressive dent in the huge volume of pages before her. Her parents had bought it as a bribe to keep her calmer on rainy days, of which it was one. It made a soft, pattering noise on the roof, like thousands of footsteps of tiny creatures.
“A story? You’ve already watched television today, that’s enough, isn’t it?†Teased her grandmother as she carefully clipped coupons from the day’s paper. “And you’re working on that lovely drawing, don’t stop.â€
“I can do both!†She insisted, and hauled it across the floor to prove it, crawling underneath the table with her crayons.
“Tell me a story about her,†she decided, and pushed the book out from under the table so her grandmother could see it. “The Little Mermaid,†read the bolded caption above the picture.
The girl’s grandmother suddenly became very still as she gazed down. “And what do you know about her, Selena?†She asked softly.
“Well I was at Maggie’s birthday party when the summer started and we ate ice cream and cake and then we played outside and then it got dark so her mom told us to come in and be camler so she put on a movie and it was about her.†She said in one breath, jabbing a small finger at the picture of Ariel rising to the surface of the ocean, one arm outstretched as if grasping for the light.
“I see. The movie. Have you heard any other versions of the story?†Her grandmother asked, eyes locked on the page.
“No,†Selena hesitated. “But there is the big picture on your wall.â€
Her grandmother nodded slowly, the gears in her mind resuming their swift spin as she did so. “Yes. Well, the story I know is different from the movie that that Disney company made. Is that alright?â€
“Yes, Grandma.†Selena said automatically.
“Well then…†The grandmother, whose name was Cordelia, settled back into her chair, and stared out the rain-spattered window. As you know, this story took place long, long ago…â€
As Cordelia’s eyes took on a faraway dimness, Selena stopped coloring, lay down on the floor beneath the table, and closed hers. She let her grandmother’s words blossom into her mind like flowers, or raindrops on smooth glass.
“There was once a young mermaid. She lived with her family deep beneath the ocean’s waves, her many sisters and her father. She was the youngest in her family, and her father spoiled her for it. The ocean floor was her playground, the animals of the sea her friends, and she had all the freedom she could want. Her father was the King of the Sea, or at least that part of it, and no one dared to harm or take advantage of her.
“As her sisters grew, they one by one reached the age where they were allowed to swim up out of the deep water they lived in and break the surface, and see the sky. Each did so, and came back with wondrous tales of what they had seen. Mystical creatures that skimmed through the air as if it were water, great water animals not seen in the depths where they resided, and even strange, wooden creatures that glided across the surface of the sea with huge white wings. They told the little mermaid their stories, with excitement and wonder in their eyes, and she longed for the day she herself could go see. By the time one sister had tired of retelling tales of the surface, another would make the journey, and the youngest would have another sister to beg for more stories.
“In time, she grew tired of her seafloor playground, and would spend her nights staring up into the blackness above her, imagining she could see the stars her kin had told her about.
“Finally, the day came when she was old enough to make the journey herself. She waited impatiently as her father warned her about the perils of the trip, of what to watch out for and what to remember. Finally, with a sigh, he bid her to go, and come back with stories of her own.
“Thrilled, she shot out of her fathers court, swiftly leaving the glowing kingdom beneath her.â€
Selena pictured her, a lone figure striking up towards the surface, like the one in her book but this mermaid was much farther away, and much more magical, somehow.
“Up and up she went, for hours. But she never grew tired, always imaging the sky she would soon break through to. The stars and clouds and wondrous things that must be just above her, just out of reach, but closer than they had ever been before. Around her circled curious fish of types she’d never seen, and then a huge, majestic white whale.
“FInally, she saw light. Not the pale, greenish light that pulsed from the glowing rocks and crystals of her home, but a strong red glare that cut through the water. She sped up, and as she neared it a pod of playful dolphins rushed to investigate this strange creature, but she ignored them and swam faster and faster and faster–
Selena’s breath caught, as the little mermaid swam through her mind.
“–And then she broke through the surface, her momentum carrying her into the air in such a leap! Her eyes were wide with shock as she soared up through the air, and then back down again into the waves with a mighty splash. The air was tinged orange and red with sunrise, and she watched the great orb break out of the ocean in delight, not taking her eyes off the burning ball even though it made them dizzy and sting after a life of mild darkness.
“Once her sight had adjusted, she gazed in every direction, marveling at what was around her and her own self. Her hair, which she had always fancied black as pitch in her undersea home, she was delighted to see was tinged with dark red that caught the morning light, the color of dark coral. Her skin, unused to the light, was pale and clear, and her fish’s tail green and blue and shimmering. Although she could not see for herself, her eyes were the color of the surface of the water, perfectly reflecting it.
“Oh, she was a vain little creature to begin with, and now she fancied herself the most beautiful thing in the sea. Just below the shifting waves she rolled and stretched and swam, fascinated by the shifting patterns of light on her skin and scales, and by the warmth it gave. Never before had she realized how utterly cold she had been.
—
Type up more in a bit. Part of this was on the old thread I think.
14- I really like the way this sounds.
13) Ooooooooo. Evil dude. Fantastic!
14) Interesting……. Is the grandmother the mermaid?
I haven’t been on here in a reaaaaaalllllly long time…. like, YEARS, hm 2. I’m what you might call a back from the dead veteran of muse blog I love writing and my old stuff is probably in v. 2007 or v. 2008. I’m working on 2 books specifically but I want to know if the premise for one of them even makes complete sense!
A journalist named Rebecca who writes movie and book reviews etc. wants to be a political journalist and when her editor/boss starts paying more attention to her she takes advantage and he promotes her to a political journalist. On her first assignment, and here’s the tricky part, she goes down to a South American 3rd world country that the president is sending money to to try and get rid of a communist group trying to take over government or something along those lines and, here’s the catch, he’s taking it out of a fund for schools that has a loophole for him that says “may be used for protection of school too” and he claims that communists could hurt school children or something relatively like that. Does that make sense? Or am I just trying to write like an adult about stuff I know nothing about (that’s a distinct possiblity. My attempts often exceed my abilities)
14) very interesting story! I love it! Is the whole thing going to be a flashback or does the little girl get more involved?
I think it makes sense.
15- Thanks
16- Can’t say, it’s part of the story
17- Nope, the part with the real “little mermaid” is just to set off the plot. Which I am going to try to have. *nodnod*
It’ll probably be a longer story if I can keep it up… x_x
18) But do mermaids continue to even be in the story then? Or is it really just the beginning?
Yes, they do.
Spoiler:
The grandmother and Selena are distant decedents, but it skips around generations and with who gets it. Her mother doesn’t have it but hates the fact it’s in the family as her little brother drowned as a child… and I’m not sure about the rest yet but Selena won’t know for a long time.
I have a musical, but I’m wondering if I can put it on here. Could I?
Wait like a script? That would be pretty awesome. Go for it.
Ok. Here it comes… The plot is rather absurd, but it’s going to be epic moving
Monsieur Paseé and His Time Traveling Refrigerator.
Inspired by Ragtime
MANY LOCATIONS -NIGHT
Stage is dark. A piano starts playing tunes. The lights come up one a few GUARDSMEN, standing around a castle. Trumpet fanfare, singing in a military fashion
GUARDSMEN
We are the guards of the tower white!
Guarding this tower all day and night!
We never rest! We never sleep!
We don’t ever get anything to eat!
It’s sixteen-fifty three!
A wonderful age to be!
One guard, MARCEL, steps forward, timidly. Music changes to a minor key. Marcel sings operatically
MARCEL
My name…
Is Marcel.
I am a guard here, just like the rest
Yet, I yearn to be the best
GUARDSMEN
The very best?
MARCEL
The very best!
I am the best, they just don’t know
GUARDSMEN
We just don’t know!
MARCEL
I am smart, they are not!
Guardsmen look at each other, confused. They start talking confusedly to each other. Piano plays in major in the background. Three step forward
GUARDSMAN #1
We aren’t?
GUARDSMAN#2
You heard the man! We aren’t smart!
GUARDSMAN#3
Are you trying to prove Marcel’s point?
GUARDSMAN#2
No, only idiots would do that. Only an idiot would say he’s dumb.
GUARDSMAN#3
That’s exactly what you said! You said “You heard the man! We aren’t smart!â€
GUARDSMAN#2
Yeah, but I didn’t say I was dumb!
GUARDSMAN#3
That’s the same thing!
Loud music plays, and continued shouting between the guardsmen is drowned out. Lights mostly go down on the guardsmen. You can partially see them, but they are dim. They are parading around the tower. Lights come up on the bottom half of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. PISANS are standing around it, rich and well dressed. Violin plays a little tune.
PISANS
Lalala lalalala lalala lalala
The year is thirteen seventy three!
And as you can see
There is a bell tower
Do not cower
It will not fall!
In the audience, a planted young boy, METRE shouts
METRE
But it’s leaning!
PISANS
Be quiet little boy
Go away and play with a toy
Why can’t you see?
It’s straight as can be?
PISAN SOPRANOS
Little boys should not go out in public
PISAN ALTOS
Safely locked away behind doors
PISAN TENORS
Where they can’t tell lies
PISAN BASSES
And they learn to speak the truth
Young boy’s PARENTS step forward, embarrassed
FATHER
He’s always had a wild imagination
FATHER and MOTHER nod
MOTHER
He’s always tilted his head off to the side!
Nod nod
FATHER
He always escapes from wherever we put him
Nod nod nod
MOTHER
He should not even be outside
GLARE
Young boy runs backstage
FATHER & MOTHER
We’ve just been treating him too nicely
We promise we will do better!
Yes, he’ll be a good little man someday!
Ready to get married off!
A little girl, BELLA, and her MOTHER step out of the crowd
BELLA
Will I have to marry him?
BELLA’S MOTHER
No, of course not
Minor tune, a capella
You’ll marry a man, far, far away
A handsome man
In a
In a distant land
A wonderful land
Called ROME
Everyone disappears into the crowd
PISANS
Lalala lalalala lala lalalala
We have a wonderful tower
Very pretty!
And now we exit to this little ditty!
Piano music. Lights go down, but not all the way. The Pisans talk to each other. Then lights come up on a bunch of people wearing spandex standing in front of giant glassy buildings. These are the ERTUFANS. Jazzy, futuristic xylophone music
ERTUFANS
Welcome to the city of Ertuf!
The year is Twenty Nine
Fifty two!
Our world is wonderful
Ev’ry thing’s wonderful
There
Are
No problems here
Everything so near!
ERTUFAN#1
You never have to walk a step
ERTUFAN#2
Everything comes to you!
ERTUFAN#3
Our world is as perfect as can be!
Another Ertufan, TSAP, steps forward, this one wearing a different color than everyone else.
TSAP
My name is Tsap
They don’t like me
All they care about
Is machines
They do not exercise
They never go outside
Why can’t they see?
There’s more to life than fun
Another Ertufan, a girl this time, NEHW, steps forward as well.
NEHW
Tsap, Tsap, snap out of it
Look and listen to me.
I’ve always wanted you
But you’ve never wanted me
You can’t change the world alone!
If you want to
You need me.
The crowd steps forward again
ERTUFANS
Everything is wonderful
Everyone is wonderful
Our world is as wonderful as can be!
No problems!
Everything is so fun!
Because our world
Is as wonderful as can be!
Lights go mostly down on Ertufans, still parading around their city. In the center of the stage, the lights come up on nothing. Then MONSIEUR PASEÉ descends from above in his refrigerator.
MONSIEUR PASEÉ
I am Monsieur Paseé
As and you can see
I have time traveling
Refrigerator!
And everyone!
I’ll help everyone!
To make the world as wonderful
As wonderful can be!
Just pay a dollar!
Or 2
Or 3
Or 5,000,000,000!
To make the world
Great for you!
Paseé flies about in his refrigerator, pointing at people in different scenes. The lights come back up on everyone
Get rid of that bully
In kindergarten!
Make sure you get the raise
Not him!
I can make the world do anything you want!
Paseé flies over the audience
You sir,
With my services, you could be seeing this play for free!
Anything
And everything
You want you can have!
You can have it!
You can have it!
You can have it!
You can have it!
You can have it!
You!
Can!
Have it!
Paseé lands in the center, and everyone dances around him
EVERYONE
He’ll change it for us!
They won’t ignore us!
We’ll be kings and queens!
He’s just so amazing!
‘Cause anything we want
He can give!
So listen close and soon you’ll know
About Monsieur Paseé
And his
Marvel making
World fixing
Time traveling
Refrigarator!!
Lights off.
More scenes coming soon!
Wow! I didn’t mess up the HTML!
SFTDP
I realized I included my name in the post! GAPAs, zap it!
Name ZAPPED in the nick of time! — Rosanne
Thanks!
Hee. Sounds funny. It would be more helpful to actually hear the music with it though. HAve you composed it?
I have it my head, and some written down on a program I use. I don’t know if I can send it to the GAPAs.
*snickers* I like it! It’s really funny!
More’s coming soon…………………………-ish
I like it! Is it meant to be a bit of a satire (social or otherwise?) It sounds like something Ring Lardner or someone would have written. It’s great, either way.
Sounds like something you’d hear/see at the opera. Bravo!
Bit longer one this time, with some edited material.
III
HEADMISTRESS VLADISLAV was a tall, angular woman with wire-rimmed glasses and flashing grey eyes. She demanded discipline; usually, she got it. On a day like today with an Inspector coming and prestigious student due in a couple of days, she could afford no lapses in control.
She entered the crowded bathroom, and the students fell silent immediately. The only sound was the steady burblings of the toilet fountain, which had abated somewhat, and the splashings of the boy still lying in the water. Vladislav nudged him out of the way with her foot as she glanced into the toilet; the clear plastic tubing was visible now beneath the toilet rim, depressed and emptied of its contents. The Headmistress bent her tall frame to pluck it out of the bowl, noting the tiny traces of gray powder sticking to its inside length. “Potassium,†she said ambiguously. She sniffed in distaste and moved back to the students, still holding the tube; they parted like the Red Sea for her.
Just before she got to the door, however, she paused and addressed the janitor. “Walker—have you taken fingerprints yet?â€
Hidden in the crowd, Trystan stiffened.
The beleaguered janitor gave the Headmaster an incredulous look. “No, Ma’m. Haven’t had the chance, just yet.â€
“Well,†said Vladislav, “see that you do. I think our culprits were careless.â€
Careless, indeed, thought Trystan.
* * * * * * * *
Sure enough, when he arrived at class the next day, two security guards were waiting. They hand-cuffed him and marched him to the front office, where he was joined by a grim-faced Damon.
While they were waiting to learn their fate, Damon leaned over to his friend. “Prints,†he whispered. “I can’t believe we forgot gloves.â€
“I know,†replied Trystan wryly. “We’ll remember next time.â€
“Seriously. I’m starting to get tired of this.†The secretary called Damon’s name, and he was shown into the office of the Head Disciplinarian, Mr. Herrod. The door shut and locked behind him.
Soon after, Trystan’s name was called, but he was marched to a different room than his friend. The guard gave him a push, and Trystan stepped into Headmistress Vladislav’s study.
The room was constructed for the sole purpose of making its owner appear menacing and its visitors powerless. The walls, constructed of a dark wood synthetic, formed a semi-circle behind the Headmaster’s enormous desk, forcing attention to its occupant. The single window was covered with heavy drapes, and the only chair in the room besides the Headmistress’ was a stiff, uncomfortable affair bolted to the floor. The guard walked Trystan to this chair and handcuffed him to the arms so that he could not stand. Then the man left, leaving the Headmistress and her prey alone.
Vladislav stood with her back to Trystan, peering down at the empty school through the heavy curtains. She was silent at the moment, allowing her guest a chance to stew in his own guilt. Trystan sat patiently, unimpressed.
She turned. She would have been an attractive woman, were it not for the cruel expression she usually wore. Right now her perfectly painted mouth was twisted into a satisfied smirk, and her grey eyes were granite-hard.
“You are Trystan Evander, are you not?†she said, sitting behind her desk and looking at her victim evenly over her wire-rimmed glasses. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Mr. Herrod.â€
Trystan put on a mildly interested expression.
Vladislav picked up a file folder on her desk that was stuffed full of papers. “Graffitiing the front offices…unauthorized access to the roof…breaking in to various rooms and doors…and seven separate counts of attempting to leave school premises. You’ve had a busy year, Mr. Evander.â€
Trystan didn’t say anything. He’d discovered that people usually found his silences more frustrating than the things he said.
“In fact, I’ve had more trouble from you and your friend than most of the delinquents combined,†continued Vladislav. “Mr. Eckhardt is nearly as disruptive as you, but you’re the ringleader, aren’t you?†She set the thick file down on her desk and leaned forwards once again. “In any case, I’m finished with being lenient, Mr. Evander. This time I really am going to punish you.â€
The Headmistress pulled a pad of thin yellow paper from her desk and set her pen on it, speaking as she wrote. “You will receive twenty hours of detention with Mr. Herrod, at least half of which will be comprised of physical labor around the school—although I doubt he’ll leave it at just that. You will also be escorted between classes for the next two weeks by an armed guard.†She ripped the top sheet off the pad and handed it to him. “Should you fail to appear at any time during your detention period, the amount of hours will be doubled. If you are late, each minute lost out of a detention session will count as another hour on top of your sentence.†Vladislav looked at Trystan over her folded hands, her eyes boring into his. Trystan kept his face carefully unemotional for a few moments, then said,
“Right, if you’re done, I’ll be leaving.†He attempted to stand but was hampered by the handcuffs. He’d forgotten about those.
“Sit down, Mr. Evander, I’m not done yet.†Trystan looked at her incredulously; what more could she possibly assign to his already heavy punishment?
Vladislav’s smile was venomous. “There’s one more thing. In return for your actions today, you will be escorted to Mr. Herrod’s office. From there you will be taken to the detention block, where you will be given thirty lashes from the Cane.â€
Trystan’s jaw clenched as he struggled to hide the emotions churning inside him. Corporal punishment? What was this, a prison?
His eyes narrowed. Yes, he thought. Yes, it was.
Suddenly the phone rang, startling Trystan. Vladislav punched the speaker phone on her desk.
“Headmaster Vladislav.†Her brow furrowed. “Already? She’s not due until tomorrow.†She pushed a few buttons on her keyboard and turned away from Trystan. “We’ve known her schedule since Friday, so that’s not an issue…no. Her father was very specific. We will welcome her as if nothing unusual has occurred.†A few more lights began to blink on her desk, but she ignored them. “I’ll be there momentarily.â€
At that instant the intercom crackled to life, and a guard’s voice came across, requesting instructions. “He’s in my office. Take him to the Detention Cell,†instructed the Headmaster, glancing at Trystan. “And then return to the front desk.â€
Vladislav gathered up a few papers and straightened her clothes, checking her reflection quickly in the small mirror on the wall before looking one last time at Trystan. “Perhaps I’ll visit you after your punishment.†She strode to the door. “See you in thirty.â€
______________________________________________________
Meh, still a bit corny. I’m trying to tighten it up.
It’s better. I read what you first wrote. More realistic.
Stephanie has to get somewhere in the story, but I’m still working out exactly how. Either by winning a quiz bowl contest or getting roped into helping her boss film a documentary.
Found my story. This may later become a novel, but currently isn’t. Can you understand what is happening, or should I make in more clear?
“Master?”
“Yes, Agent Eclipse?” The man who refused to tell his true name swiveled around to face the young woman.
“Sir, I believe I have found Omni Leak.”
The man’s face lit up. “Who is it?”
“Not who, Sir. What.”
“Fine. What then?”
Agent Eclipse smiled. She knew she had annoyed her superior, and relished it. “Maintenance, Sir.”
“What?”
“Sir, I have analyzed the building plans extremely carefully. Though the building is well designed with regard to human eavesdropping, the designers forgot the ease with which a robot may be turned into a spy.” She took out a building plan. “See, every room has a small corridor running by it for the robot’s use. The doors into them, from the rooms, are far from soundproof. It would be absurdly easy to plant recording devices in one or more, and reprogram it. Fortunately, it will also be absurdly easy to scan the bots and find the bugged one. I will start on that immediately.” She paused. “Once I am finished here, of course. I have also taken the liberty of shutting down Maintenance until such a scan is completed”
Her ‘Master’ nodded slowly. “But what will prevent them from simply inserting another robot to take his place?”
“Regular security checks. I will also personally retrieve the transmitter, and scan the area regularly for more transmissions.”
The man continued nodding. “You seem to be taking a very personal interest in this.”
She stood ups slightly straighter. “Sir, it is entirely my fault this Omni Leak has gone unnoticed. By shutting it down, I hope to regain some small amount of trust in my competence, if you are willing to give it.”
He smiled. “You know I would trust you with anything, Eclipse.”
“You are very kind, Sir, to lie merely to make myself feel better.”
“Lie? It was no lie!”
“Very well, Sir.”
“You do not have to believe, Eclipse. But it is true. Dismissed.” He turned around and began writing again.
“Yes Sir.”
Omni Leak turned and walked out of the room.
Tht’s devious. THough confusing. But still devious. So Eclipse is Omni Leak?
Yes. What do you mean by ‘confusing’? Could you understand what’s going on?
I don’t know, it’s like, it opens up with a dialogue and I don’t really know who’s speaking. It’s not really TOO confusing though.
Jesse scanned the horizon from her seemingly precarious perch in a large palm tree by the shore of the Devar Ocean, looking for signs of her father’s ship, the Good Marie. It had been gone for two months, and should’ve been back the previous week. At the base of the tree, her older sister Sara, called up to her anxiously, “Any sight of them?.” Jesse shaded her eyes. “I think there’s a ship on the horizon!”, she called back excitedly. As the ship, buffered by tide and winds, came closer, Jesse, who had been watching it intently, gasped and immediately started swinging down through the branches towards the ground. As she set off at a run to meet the ship, she yelled over her shoulder to her bewildered elder sister, “It’s them, all right, but they’re flying the black sails! Run and tell Ma, quick!”. Black sails meant that one of the crew was dead. She reached the shore just as the ship set down it’s anchor, panting heavily. As the gangplank was lowered, she called out, “Who was it?.” Her twin brother, Jason, leaned over the rail, his face grim. “It was Father, as well as Dernek, Henrid, and Uncle Alden.” Jesse’s face turned sourly grim as she digested the information. “Who’s captain now, then?” she asked dully. “Sam, I would suppose.” said one of her older brothers, popping up beside Jason. “As he’s the oldest, y’know?,” he continued, nodding meaningfully. Jesse nodded back. Her eldest brother Samdral would make a fine captain. She hopped aboard. The Good Marie was a family business, the majority of the crew Jesse’s siblings, cousins, and uncles as well as the occaisonal aunt.
Working title, “Revenge or Death on the High Seas”.
Title subject to change at any time.
I just started it. Opinions? I like it……..
She’s not really sad about her father’s death is she? *is curious*
yes she is sad about her father’s death. I’m planning to have her swear to the gods of the sea and revenge to avenge her father’s death by killing his murderer or die trying, hence the working title, “Revenge or Death on the High Seas”. She joins the crew of the Good Marie, and together the family pursues the murderer across the oceans. Like?
Yes, I like the story plot. Ii would just think if my dad just died I wouldn’t exactly care who was the next captain. I would be bawling like crazy. Maybe she’s made of sterner stuff though, I wouldn’t know.
yeah, she’s like, really tough. and, if she’s planning to join the crew to hunt down the murderer, then she wants a good captain in charge, right?
25- Good, so far. I’m interested to see what happens next.
I’m sort of writing an mocking harlequin romance. It’s set in a ridiculous world of fantasy (no disrespect to those who write fantasy seriously, it’s one of my favorite genres) to highlight how ridiculous those books are. I read one for a laugh and it was frustrating. They make women seem very weak and defenseless. I’m sort of writing it because I am super lazy and never finnish these ideas.
Sounds funny!
I looked around the office, bored, while I waited for my boss to get off the phone.
His desk was made of metal and a refugee from the deepest vaults of hideous 70s office furniture. It was painted the color of iced coffee, although several scratches showed the metal beneath. The top was a “wood” pattern too fake to ever fool anyone into thinking it was real wood. There was a rusty spot near the bottom that was shaped like Jamaica or maybe Hispanola.
“Now, then, Stephanie, I’ve called you in here because I’ll need your help over the summer vacation.”
My boss’ voice broke my deep contemplations over which island the rusty spot looked like.
“Right, of course! I was paying attention!” I said, unconvincingly.
I had a pretty good idea of what he would want my help for. Dr. Nathan Dryson, my boss, is a curator of something or other at the Museum of Natural History, and he’s convinced he’s going to be the next Bill Nye. Every few months, he drags me into helping him film little documentary pieces for the Museum website. Unfortunately, Dr. Dryson isn’t nearly as good an actor/presenter as he thinks he is.
So, I knew exactly what I was going to say when he asked for my help- “Absolutely not.”
“I’m going to film another Super Cyber Science Short for the website in Florida during the first week in July. I’ve arranged a deal with a man named Dr. Jaccen Tisk.” Dryson said. Gee, I’m a regular psychic.
“THE Jaccen Tisk? The billionaire inventor and video game designer and philanthropist and balloonist and mountain climber and pilot and environmentalist and-” I blurted out. Tisk gets in the papers all the time for his inventions and world record attempts.
“Yes, THAT Jaccen Tisk.” Dryson cut me off. “He’s going to launch a satellite for the first time with a new rocket he’s created. I arranged for us to get permission to film all over his infrastructure at Cape Canaveral. We’ll also be there in time to see an airshow on the Fourth of July.”
Me, meet Jaccen Tisk? At Cape Canaveral? And see a rocket launch? AND an airshow?
“Absolutely!”
The guard entered Vladislav’s office and came to a sharp halt. The Delinquent was nowhere in sight; the man had a slight moment of consternation before a heavy statuette ended his train of thought. Trystan stepped over him and set down the statuette, his eyes hard. “Sorry,†he said, stepping lightly on his way out the door, “I don’t particularly care for the Cane.â€
He wended his way through the office crowd, keeping to the wall with what he hoped was a purposeful walk. The Headmistress appeared, and Trystan was forced to turn into an empty hallway to avoid her. He sidestepped a coffee-carrying secretary, strode along a side corridor, and, with only a slight backward glance, skipped out the doors of the front office.
Ooooooo. I haven’t seen this before!
How could he possibly get away with that? I mean, they’re just going to catch him and make him get another punishment. Right? Or maybe not…
There are three main theories on how the world started. One is that a god filled his bathtub with water, creating the universe, and that the earth is his rubber ducky. Of course, this raises some very inconvenient questions, such as why the world isn’t yellow, and is it a bubble bath? For obvious reasons, this hypothesis has been mostly forgotten. The second theory is that there is only one god and that he created the world in seven days, presumably out of playdoh.* The third party abandons the idea of god(s) altogether, and heads down the unstable path concerning giant explosions and space-time continuums. This idea, although slightly less frightening, has the drawback of not being able to blame anyone when you fall down a manhole.
All of these are incorrect, although the world was created because the gods had nothing else worthwhile to do, and the gods in question were very fond of bubble baths.**
______________________________________________________
* Another school of thought believes that he was playing in his sandbox, although they both lead to the unsettling prospect of a god with too much time on his hands.
**And I could probably fit an explosion somewhere in here if it makes the rest of you happy.
Brilliant.
Hee. Hee.
HG2G-ish!
*clapclapclap*
Thank you. I have more. (I wrote it for my class).
My cousin (screen name: kehop) and I are writing a story, with a rather absurd plot (Magical elves can’t find their bunny flowers!) but an incredibly serious mood. Here it is:
“Tra la, la, la, la!†sang the little magical elf named Bob.
“What did I tell you about singing?!?!?!†boomed Suki, the biggest elf of all.
“We are not that kind of elf,†whispered Bob, sheepishly.
“That’s right. We are serious elves, and we do—“
“Not tolerate singing, I know I KNOW! I’ve heard this lecture a BILLION times your majesty. I don’t think—“
“I think you do need to hear this lecture again.†Suki put his arm around Bob and said “Bob, listen. We are about to tell a VERY serious story to these readers. Do you want them to be bored out of their wits?†asked Suki sarcastically.
“Well, actually, yes.†Mumbled Bob.
“WHAT DID YOU SAY?!†Screamed Suki.
“Nothing your majesty.†Whispered Bob.
“That’s what I thought you said. OK, time to GET BACK TO WORK!†yelled Suki.
“Ai! Ai! Ai!†Yelped Bob.
The Serious Part
“I have very bad news for everyone here. There has been a terrible misfortune in Elfland. We do not have any more rabbit flowers for our bunnies to eat.
Suki came in baring the terrible news. A hush filled the room as the elf rulers realized the terrible consequences that this catastrophe would cause. If there were no more rabbit flowers, then all the rabbits would not survive the winter. If the rabbits did not survive the winter, then there would be riots across Elfland, an their careful government would be overthrown by a group of peasants carrying pictures of their rabbits. The elf rulers shuddered at this thought.
((I like the intro the most.))
Once upon a time…
Before there was anything…
Once…
There was nothing.
And then there was. There was no bathroom, explosion, or sand. There just was. First there wasn’t, and then there was. But as soon as it was, it had always been. There never had been nothing. Because nothing meant nothing, and that meant no time. And without time nothing happens, which was why nothing was happening. But now everything was happening, and nothing got shoved in the corner along with all the other things that nobody had wanted, even though nobody was around not to want them.
It sat there for a while. There was nothing for it to do, there were no planets, no stars, just a vast black space. Then, at some point in the universe, a tiny drill bit spiraled into existence, growing longer and longer, and then stopped, and reversed direction. After a few seconds a small metal tube was poked through the hole, swiveled a few times, and then disappeared. Confused whispering echoed through the universe, but it was impossible to tell where it was coming from. There was some scuffling, and then a noise like the revving of an engine. The noise became softer but more frantic as if whatever was making it was being offered resistance. Then the blade of a chainsaw appeared, and was dragged in a rough circle. A voice said, “Ready? 3,2,1, HEAVE!â€
A piece of wall about six inches thick toppled out into space from nowhere, and several humanoids crawled out. One of them was wearing a white lame suit, another had on a tuxedo with wide pinstripes with lapels, a female was dressed in a business suit, and there were several others following that looked as if they had tried and failed to dress for success. One more clambered through, wearing a robe that obscured his or her face.
They looked around, taking in their surroundings. After a while, the one in the lame suit said, “Oh, bother.â€
Cool! It’s confuzzling, though.
Just the style of writing I like….I’d love to read more! And it’s not confuzzling, not really. It’s only, like, the first page of the story, after all.
hee…”Oh, bother.” I like that line.
More from Maia!
“I’ve been to the surface many times,” Holly said, “But not to long.” She turned to Lilayenn. “Does Maia know the secret yet?”
“No…” My cousin looked guilty, “I didn’t.”
“Well,” Holly said, “I’ll tell you my story. See if you can figure out the secret.” She took a deep breath, and began.
“I used to live on the surface. My mother worked in this city, and she would sleep with us at night. But two years ago, the city began to slowly crumble, around the same time a group of rebels, about a dozen of the residents, left. The baroness insisted that 13 new residents must be found. Now, we live in the city permanently, but sometimes we escape to the above. We got trapped once, because the path got blocked. Around the second night we were above ground, the city started to crumble again. I realized something.”
Suddenly, it fit into place. “If Lilayenn and I escape, around the second day we’re gone…” I was to horrified to say any more.
“Yes,” Lilayenn answered, “The city must always have all of its citizens. After a moon cycle, the city “recognizes” you as a citizen. That’s why you can leave, and I can’t. And it would be even harder for you, since you are a “guest”. I don’t know if leaving is even possible.”
We all looked glum. I was sure that I could leave, though. In my head, I made a list of the things I would need to do to escape. The baroness would learn that she couldn’t keep me to easily.
27.1- Well, it started off as a joke….. but it seems to be evolving into a real Harlequin without my consent. *needs to go and edit and add more ridiculouse descriptions about how attractive everyone is*
OK, I’m kinda proud of this story. It’s not the one I mentioned before and it’s really far from being done, but voila!
Chapter 1
One morning, when the dew was still on the lush green grass, a fair young maiden with straight brown hair stood, twirling in the meadow. Her light blue dress spun around her knees, just exposing her lacy bloomers.
From the distance, she heard hoof beats, quickly drawing nearer. Letting her skirt fall just in time, the girl stopped revolving as a man on a horse rounded the trees at the corner of the path. He wasn’t an average man though. He was an honest to goodness knight in shining armor, riding a white steed. On his chest was a symbol of two steel blades crossed and a dove diving down towards them. She found herself staring at him.
“Dear girl, could you tell me which way to Remington?” a warm, deep voice spoke from the untarnished helmet.
“My dear sir, you should have just come from it. It is back that way, about ten miles,” she replied, pointing back the way he had come.
“Well, that would be a problem. I wonder how I missed it…but, it matters not. I’m just looking for a place to rest my head.”
“May I recommend my village? It is but two miles in the direction you were traveling, good sir. We have a lovely inn with a keeper who will keep warm food in your belly.”
“It sounds delightful Miss…”
“Melissa. Melissa Brecken.”
“Ah, Miss Brecken. I shall take you up on your kind offer. Do you need a lift home?”
“Oh, yes please and call me Melissa.”
“Alreight, Miss Melissa,” he acquiesced, helping her onto the horse so she sat infront of him. With one hand around her waist and the other on the reins, the strange knight took off.
Melissa was tired from her long walk to the meadow and his arms felt strong and steady so she soon fell asleep.
When she awoke the knight was gently shaking her.
“Oh, dear, did I fall asleep?” she inquired, brushing a strand of hair back from her face.
“I’m afraid so,” he replied graciously, “and I’m assuming this is your village,” indicating the town surrounding them. Melissa looked around at the familiar cobblestoned streets and simple stone houses.
“Yes, this is it,” she agreed.
The knight helped her off his horse and said, “I bid you adieu, Miss Melissa.”
“Farewell good sir, and thank you for the ride,” and she curtsied.
The knight bowed from his horse and rode off in the direction of the inn whoe roof rose above the others. As Melissa headed toward her own house, she realized she had never learned the knight’s name. Briefly, she considered running after him, but knew it would not be correct. She hardly knew him. Instead she strolled into her own mansion-like house. As soon as the door closed, she heard her aging father call out, “Melissa!”
“Yes father?” she asked as she arranged her hair and walked into the parlor where her father sat. He was dressed to match the dilapidated furniture. You could tell they had both been regal at one time but had been in disuse for too long. Melissa sighed deeply and curtsied towards her father.
Her father, in all his glory, had been wealthy and handsome. Now he ate too much, never showered, and would not even move a finger unless it was to get food or go to the bathroom.
“Daughter, call a servant to bring me more food.”
“But father, could you not do this yourself?”
“Do you begrudge me this one small favor? I who have raised you from birth and paid for your education?”
“No father, but…”
“Thank you,” her father ended the conversation.
Melissa left the room quickly, in a rush to get away from her father and went down to the kitchens.
“Sir John would like more food,” Melissa announced to the servants.
Grumbling came from all around.
“I know, he doesn’t seem to stop, does he? But we must make his last days comfortable, please,” she pleaded.
“You’re too good to him Miss Melissa. any normal person would have disowned him long ago,” the head chef spoke up.
Melissa smiled her thanks and retreated from the room.
At the inn the knight was speaking to the inn keeper, Mrs. Stubbins.
“Excuse me ma’am, but do you have an open room?”
“Huh, open room,” Mrs. Stubbins grunted, “I’ve had nothing but open rooms since, well…”
“Since what? Oh, never mind. I suppose it’s none of my business.”
“It seems to be everybody else’s business so it might as well be yours. every person in this town seems to think I killed my husband!”
“When you say ‘think’ I assume you didn’t do it.”
“Ofcourse I didn’t! My husband was a good man… I miss him.”
Silence blanketed the room until Mrs. Stubbings asked, “Why don’t you take that armor off?”
“I, um, feel more comfortable in it.”
“Oh, ofcourse. You feel more comfortable in large pieces of heavy metal?”
“Everybody has different tastes,” the Knight replied icily then asked, “So what about that room?”
“Of course, follow me,” Mrs. Stubbins said, walking up the stairs. The knight followed ehr into a medium-sized room that was filled with nothing but a bed, table, and stove. a candle sat on the table, unlit.
“Well this is it,” Mrs. Stubbins announced, then walked out and closed the door behind her.
The knight stepped over to the one window and pulled apart the thin, light green curtains and looked out on the village. Its terra-cotta tiling seemed to cover everything he could see. The houses were so close together that he couldn’t see the gently curving alleys and streets between them. He sighed and closed the curtains.
I likes it!
This seemed to set something off in the tuxedoed one, who yelled, “we’ll never be able to sell this! People don’t go to vacation resorts in the middle of nowhere! I’ll be ruined! This is almost as bad as that time we drilled straight into that universe about to go supernova!â€
One of the dressed-for-success’s stepped out from the back and said, “This isn’t so bad, dad. We can renovate it. I have a coupon for 15% off on all moons and asteroids, and we still have a theoretically active contract with Spiegel Services, so it’ll be dirt-cheap! We’ll be rolling out solar systems by the dozen!â€
Another one, determined not to be left out, said, “and you know my friend Bert? He’s a big man in BetterStar Galactica, I’m sure he would help us out. In fact,†he added, whipping out a cell phone, “I’ll call him right now!â€
As the second DFS dialed, something moved on the other side of the hole. Lame Suit tensed. None of the others noticed, except for the woman, who also seemed to have sensed the presence. She frowned at Lame Suit, who ignored her. The presence drew closer to the opening, and then leapt out.
It was a man dressed in a Hawaii print shirt, cheap sunglasses, a canvas sun hat, and khaki shorts. Lame Suit groaned. The woman smiled, and said, “Hello, Anthony.â€
Lame Suit gasped. The woman gave him another frown. Anthony took a few heaving breaths, then panted, “I heard you were making a new resort, and I wanted to be the first to try it out. So, is this, like, the entranceway, or what?â€
By this time, everybody had noticed Anthony, and stopped arguing, because it doesn’t look good in front of company.
“Um, no, Anthony, we haven’t made the resort yet,†replied Tuxedo. “We were going to renovate this.â€
Lame Suit raised his finger and pointed at Anthony, unable to find his voice. Tuxedo said, “don’t point, Leon, it’s rude.â€
Leon continued to point, and gasped for air like a fish at the bottom of a boat. “Eeeeeaaaaaooouuuuggggghhhhhhaaaa!†was all he managed to get out. This was strange behavior, for Leon, so everybody decided to stop scolding him and look.
He wasn’t pointing at Anthony, although Leon hated Anthony, so it had been a reasonable guess. He was pointing past him, to the big black hole that they had come through, which had turned into, well, a big Black Hole. The DFS on the cell, who hadn’t been paying attention to any of this, looked at his phone with a confused expression and said, “that’s funny. My cell phone lost reception.â€
This really does remind me of HG2G. Awesome!
Me too. It’s really good, SudoRandom!
Thank you, Everyone!
37–Really well-done! As the others have said, you style is fantastic, somewhere between HG2G and Good Omens. Nice work.
K kiwi, here’s the bit where the girl comes in. The major change is that it’s now in 3rd person. I’d like to know what you think, whether it should be kept this way or back to first person for her. Thanks!
______________________________________________________
IV
Kyrra
KYRRA’S FIRST impression of the School, upon waking in the back seat of her armored car, was of an enormous, inescapable fortress, designed to keep in rather than to keep out. The fence surrounding it was taller than the height of two men; its posts were steel, with unforgiving lasers criss-crossing the spaces in between. They turned a corner, and an airbrushed-metal sign loomed above the gate, reading:
THE JEFFERSON SCHOOL
for JUVENILE DELINQUENTS
A guard met them at the entrance. After verifying their identity, he waved them through with a bored gesture, and they entered the School, proper.
The buildings of the School were as depressing as the outer wall, and if anything more foreboding. They were constructed out of gray concrete, a set of low, squat buildings, impenetrable as bomb shelters and twice as macabre. Their windows were narrow and frosted, so that Kyrra couldn’t see the students inside; she wondered briefly what they were like, trapped in an environment such as this. Another fence surrounded the entire complex, this one reinforced steel bars, set vertically to discourage climbing.
They parked on the pad directly before the front office, and as Alden, Kyrra’s chauffeur, turned off the engine, a man in a suit came down the walk to meet them. He was of average height and build, but pale, with piercing blue eyes and an oily smile. Kyrra smoothed her expression to one of polite boredom, masking her distaste with an expertise born from years of practice.
Alden opened the door, and the man was there to help Kyrra out of the car. His touch was cold and clammy; she pressed her lips together, but remained smiling perfunctorily. Alden stood next to her, a respectful distance away—probably under orders from her father to see to her safe enrollment.
“Welcome, Miss Nyx,†said the man. “We are honored by your attendance.†His voice was surprisingly pleasant, compared to his appearance; Kyrra softened a bit towards him.
“As I am honored by your attention, Mr.—â€
“Herrod. I am the Head Disciplinarian of the School.â€
Head Disciplinarian. The title told Kyrra two things: that this man was in charge of punishing wayward delinquents, and that meeting him was not the highest honor she could receive. Someone else waited to greet her inside.
As if reading her thoughts, Herrod said, “If you’ll follow me, the Headmistress would like to speak with you before your enrollment.†She acquiesced, and allowed him to lead her towards the school, surreptitiously gesturing for Alden to follow her. He fell into step a few feet behind them.
Perhaps now would be good time to explain the curious history of Jefferson School. It was, first and foremost, a school for juvenile delinquents: students under eighteen whose crimes did not warrant execution or extended sentences. Their original crimes—a motley assortment of everything from graffitiing highways to robbery and car theft—were not particularly dangerous in themselves, but it was quickly discovered that when put in a confined place, the first thing the delinquents did was try to find a way out. In the school’s first year, nearly a quarter of the three hundred-odd prisoners escaped.
It was at this point—nearly five years after the RabÃa coup—that the government came in charge of the School. Jefferson became an institution of the state, and with its iron fist, perfect security was demanded. Lasers replaced steel bars that could be filed through; motion sensitive ‘shockboxes’—taser cannons—replaced easily distracted guards. Jefferson became a fortress, impossible to enter or escape without special permission.
Ironically, the added security attracted rather than repulsed students. Employees of the new government had their own private security personnel, but the public schools were getting fed up with armed guards in their classrooms. The state, hungry for money, opened the doors of Jefferson to the children of wealthy RabÃa supporters—Reds, so called for the color of RabÃa’s flag —and soon, there was a small but powerful upper class living at the School.
So the children of the Reds went to school with the underaged criminals of society, safely imprisoned together. Jefferson became the premiere private school in the country. And now Kyrra, too, was incarcerated here, stuck between delinquents and the perhaps more dangerous children of the privileged upper class.
The doors to Jefferson’s front office were glass and inscribed with the school crest: a red shield bearing a crown and crow, with axes and chains crossed behind it. The school motto was written above it: “Commodum ex iniuria sua nemo habrere debet.†No person ought to have an advantage from his own wrong.
Herrod held open the door, and Kyrra entered the front room of the main office. The centerpiece of the room was a large faux-wood desk, backed by a wall bearing a copy of the school crest and motto. A young male secretary sat behind the desk. Kyrra had just taken in his bear-like build when a female voice came from her left.
“Ah, Kyrra, you’ve arrived. Welcome to Jefferson School.â€
She turned. A woman was standing to the side of the room, as if she’d wanted Kyrra to see the crest and office before her. She was middle-aged, but tall and strong-looking; clear gray eyes glinted from behind her wire-rimmed spectacles, and there was no hint of hesitation in her speech. Her air was one of someone who had complete confidence in their power.
She came towards Kyrra and held out a hand. Contrary to Herrod, her grip was firm; Kyrra returned the greeting with one of equal strength. The woman’s mouth turned up in a faint smile, as if she would welcome her, but the gesture didn’t reach her eyes.
“I am Dr. Vladislav, Headmistress of Jefferson,†she said. “In a few minutes you will be shown to your dormitory, but I would like to speak to you privately first.†She gestured to Kyrra’s right. “If you’ll follow me to my office?â€
They walked down a series of hallway to a dark-colored door. A keypad stood in place of a handle; she punched in a series of numbers, and the door opened of its own accord. They entered.
Vladislav sat in her own chair and gestured to the chair across the desk before resting her forearms on the wood. “First let me welcome you properly, Kyrra. When we heard that you were considering enrolling at Jefferson, we were astonished. Honored, of course, but astonished.â€
Kyrra had no obligation to answer her hidden question—why her father had chosen Jefferson above other more conventional private schools— so she merely said, “I believe it was your high security that attracted my father here.â€
“Well, we are the best around—we house some of the more dangerous Delinquents, so our security must be above and beyond the standards. But there are plenty of other children such as yourself here—ones that are loyal.â€
With that word—loyal—Kyrra knew where the Headmistress’s allegiances lay. She was a RabÃa supporter, one of the Reds—which meant that she probably knew Kyrra’s father as well. Kyrra’s caution level inched upwards; she would have to be an infallible actress to seem compliant. Might as well start now.
“I’m happy to hear that, Headmistress,†she said, letting her voice slip towards a higher range. “I must confess I was a little nervous when my father selected Jefferson. Are the Delinquents very dangerous?â€
“On their own—perhaps. But here at the School, they adhere to the rules with the utmost rigidity. Punishment is swift and effective. You met Mr. Herrod—he is in charge of seeing to the Delinquents’ behavior.â€
She shuddered inwardly, thinking what cruel punishments lurked behind that man’s pale blue eyes. Outwardly, of course, she smiled. “That’s reassuring.â€
Vladislav shuffled some papers on her desk. “Yes, well, what I wanted to tell you, Kyrra, is that as the daughter of Aldric Nyx, you may be singled out for special harassment by the delinquents. I don’t wish to frighten you,†she added, as she saw Kyrra’s eyes grow theatrically wide, “only to prepare you. And to say that anyone who you feel threatened by will be punished with the utmost severity. You have only to say the word.â€
Kyrra vowed never to utter a sound. She knew what punishment meant at this school.
The Headmistress’s tone became more businesslike. “You don’t have to worry about all this quite yet, though; right now the Delinquents are in class. I’m going to have someone escort you to your dormitory—†she pressed a button on her desk—“so you can get accustomed to your schedule and the plan of the School.â€
Kyrra thanked her as the secretary who’d been sitting at the front desk entered. “Liam,†said Vladislav, “please escort Miss Nyx to her dormitory. She’s in the Plutarch house, room 215.†The man acquiesced and waited for his charge to stand. After a nod of thanks to the Headmistress, and a few reassuring words to Alden, Kyrra, guided by the secretary, walked into the Jefferson School for Juvenile Delinquents.
Liam was talkative, to say the least, and judging by his frequent admiring glances, it wasn’t all idle conversation. Kyrra didn’t pretend to be ugly; she knew the power her beauty granted her. But that didn’t stop her from ignoring most of the males around her entirely.
They made it to the Plutarch dormitory (without Kyrra uttering a single word), and Liam unlocked the gate with a strip of metal that hung from a cord around his neck. “You won’t need this,†he said, holding the door open for her. “The camera will be coded to your features by tomorrow.â€
He led her to an elevator, and they rose to the eighth floor. Her room was at the end of the hall—a private apartment—Liam opened it with another swipe of the master key.
Kyrra’s room was rich, to say the least. A large queen bed stood in the corner, covered in purple trappings—the color of the Plutarch dormitory, she was later to learn. A table and chair set was across the room from it, next to a large iScreen, and a couch (purple again) took up most of the right-hand wall. Kyrra noticed that her trunks were already at the foot of the bed. She doubted even Mr. Herrod had such sumptuous accommodations.
Liam was still in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Kyrra sighed inwardly. Ought to end this sooner than later.
“Thank you for showing me to my room, Liam,†she said, trying to ignore the way he was eyeing her—as if she was a particularly juicy steak. There was a keypad on the wall, with a button labeled CLOSE on it; not caring much about civility, she punched it, and the door closed on the secretary’s face.
________________________________________________
Yikes–sorry for the length, didn’t realize it was so long :[
Btw, my avatar is a sculpture of Trystan
IT’s good. You’d better keep it like this. Having 2 different writing points of views in a story typically doesn’t work well.
Thanks, that’s really helpful (and a good point, I’ve been thinking about that).
Don’t think I’ve mentioned this yet, but I like your story. Do keep posting it.
Also I’d wondered who it was in your avatar
Thanks
Continued from post 36:
Melissa was forced to return to the old parlor in order to find her book. As soon as she parted the beaded curtain her father gaver her another chore.
“Daughter, did you find a nanny for those two squalling things up there?”
“No, father and the babies are very sweet.”
“No they aren’t and get on it now!”
“Yes father,” Melissa conccured and again departed from the room.
Melissa grumbled down the hall, thinking “Timmy and Lola behave and the servants take perfectly good care of them. Why do we need a nanny?”
In truth she still missed her mother, who had died in giving birth to the twins. Melissa felt resentful towards the fact that somebody would be trying to take that place for the twins.
Although she felt this way, she still had to cooperate with her father. Walking down the side streets of the town, she stopped infront of Mrs. Norton’s house.
Mrs. Norton was a sad lady, in her mid-thirties. She was always very fashionable, but her husband had long ago deserted her for another woman, who had also thrown him out. Now she was lonely, but she was the leading authority on governesses.
Melissa knocked on the door and a maid in a black dress with a white apron and cap answered.
“I wish to speak to Mrs. Nancy Norton,” she stated calmly.
The maid curtsied and said, “I shall announce you.”
Melissa followed the maid down a beautifully carpeted hallway. A heavy wood door was held open for her and she heard her name echo in the next room. She stepped into an outragiously high-ceilinged room and saw Mrs. Norton sitting in an armschair, looking very comfortable.
And yes, “Jaccen Tisk” is a Star Wars reference. Sort of.
I sat on my bed, using my minicomp to look up information on the events that were scheduled for the days we would be at Cape Canaveral. The airshow would feature several historic planes from various nations doing acrobatics. As I was reading about the decomishioned fighter planes in the show, a video-chat window popped up, and the face of my caseworker Sandy appeared.
“I’ve already heard about your trip and I think you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve already contacted some of our operatives in Florida to show you around and answer your questions.” He said, his British accent making “answer” sound like “on sir”.
“Operatives? Who’s going to meet me, Space Ghost?”
“Not exactly, but I think you’ll find them very welcoming. All of our agents in that division have a very high reputation among The Agency. They may even be able to squeeze in a little training for you.”
I groaned. Leave it to Sandy to turn a vacation into more Agency training. Between him and Dr. Dryson, I might NEVER get a free moment. At least the operatives could probably show me stuff I wouldn’t see on a regular tour.
She began to unpack her trunks, to air out her clothes and sooth her humming nerves. Kyrra was the daughter of Aldric Cronus Nyx II, Minister of War; many would be seeking her friendship, and it would be easy for her to be accepted, to become one of the Reds, the RabÃa supporters. But in spite of this reassurance, she was nervous for today’s meetings.
After about fifteen minutes, Kyrra began to hear footsteps outside my room, as the students of the Plutarch dormitory began returning from class. She heard many curious voices outside my door—no doubt the digital card outside now displayed her famous last name. She’d just finished unpacking when the first knock came on her door.
She checked the camera and found herself staring at someone with bleached-blonde tresses. The girl’s face was familiar; Kyrra recognized her as Bianca Kent, the daughter of one of her father’s associates. They had once been friends—if you can call a person who describes her wardrobe for hours while you sit and listen a friend.
However, upon opening the door, it became apparent that Bianca had no doubts whatsoever about their relationship. “Kyrra!†she squealed, throwing her arms around Kyrra’s neck. “I haven’t seen you in absolutely forever!â€
Kyrra decided to return Bianca’s enthusiasm. “I know!†she replied, pulling firmly out of Bianca’s strangling embrace to look her in the eyes. Her makeup was too perfect; it looked as though Miss Kent had been spending some of her father’s fortune on a new face, although Kyrra doubted he knew it. Beneath Bianca’s dumb-blonde looks there lurked a canny and ruthless nature.
With these thoughts in mind, Kyrra smiled brilliantly. “You look amazing,†she said, flattering her shamelessly. Bianca put a hand to her blushing cheek—no doubt it was plastic—and laughed lightly. “As do you, hon,†she said. Her eyes took on a greedy look. “Who’s your doctor?â€
Kyrra was briefly offended—unlike many of the wealthy Reds, her looks were entirely natural—but she smoothed the emotion under another sickening smile. “I’ll give you his number.â€
A bell sounded somewhere, and Bianca lay a hand on her stomach. “Ugh, another meal. How am I supposed to lose weight when we’re fed so much?†She seemed to be addressing the crowd at large; several girls nearby leapt to compliment her figure and reassure her. Bianca waved them away, trying not to look too pleased. “Come on, Kyrra, let’s go down.â€
The dining hall was centrally located on campus, about a block away from the Plutarch dormitory, and Bianca took advantage of the short walk to give Kyrra an unintentional lesson in the Jefferson social hierarchy. By the time they’d reached the cafeteria, there was no doubt in Kyrra’s mind: Bianca Kent was Queen of Jefferson School.
The level of incivility was astonishing. To one girl, Bianca waved and smiled, then proceeded to inform Kyrra of every affair the little minx had been involved in. Another student was icily ignored, entirely because of an affront that had occurred three years ago, at another school. All of the good-looking boys were graced with an impish smile; heaven help those deemed average. It was like living in a game of Sudden Death—one wrong word, and the loser was out of the court forever. Those who Bianca greeted went away with relieved faces; the rest were either dejected or resigned to their fate. Kyrra found herself wondering what would happen when it was her turn to be on trial.
They reached the dining hall shortly, and wound their way through the corridors until a dark, cavernous room came into view. The walls were draped in purple, red, and gold: the colors of the three upper-class dormitories. Bianca led the way to a table in the front of the room, and her coterie quickly arranged themselves in the seats around her. Then the food was brought out, and they began to eat.
Bianca’s friends showed a healthy interest in Kyrra, something which didn’t sit so well with their queen. It didn’t help that Kyrra already knew several of them; many of those present were children of her father’s associates. One, a sandy-haired boy with teasing blue eyes and a smirking smile, seemed particularly keen on Kyrra’s attention; she couldn’t be sure if it was her looks or her father’s high standing that caused him to continuously engage her in conversation, while a disgruntled Bianca looked on.
She’d just finished her dinner (a rubbery imitation of chicken marsala) when Kyrra happened to glimpse the delinquents filing past the open door. They all wore the standard school uniform—navy blue blazers for the boys, grey skirts for the girls—but what piqued Kyrra’s interest was the amount of individuality they displayed, even while dressed identically. She caught flashes of dyed hair, red ties, and dress shirts unbuttoned to mid-chest, things that would be unthinkable amongst the people in this room. Contrary to what she would expect, they were happy, too; even once they’d passed, she could still hear their merry chatter echoing down the hall.
Bianca caught her watching them. “Don’t worry about them,†she said, taking Kyrra’s fixation for fear. “The School keeps them quiet, usually. Jefferson doesn’t need them, really—our tuition finances it now.â€
“Why are they here, then? How did we get put with them?â€
She sniffed, looking disgruntled. “Without them, the state wouldn’t force the school security to be state-of-the-art. And then we wouldn’t be here, either.â€
Kyrra went back to her food without comment. Such a strange situation—if there were no delinquents, we wouldn’t need the security. But because they were here, they were safe, imprisoned together.
After the meal, Kyrra excused herself and walked back to the dormitories alone, leaving Bianca to say what she would behind Kyrra’s back. She wasn’t overly-concerned about making or keeping friends at Jefferson; she knew how simple it would be to usurp Bianca’s place if she chose. Besides, she’d always been a solitary creature, and if people were more interested in her money than in herself—well, she could manage better on her own.
In her dorm, Kyrra undressed quickly and slipped between the violet satin sheets, pulling off enough quilts and comforters to make up another bed. She sighed and looked up at the canopy above her; for all her talk of independence, beneath it all, she was lonely. Kyrra’s mother had contracted a wasting disease when Kyrra was four, about the time of the coup; she was only rarely able to leave her room. Her father, embroiled in business and politics as he was, rarely spoke to her as a father should to his daughter. To him, Kyrra was the future, his replacement.
And as for her so-called childhood friends…Bianca was only the start of the sorts of children she’d grown up with. Most found her interest in movies only faintly understandable, and her love for antique books completely inexplicable. She’d grown up cocooned in the books she so loved, surrounded by the only things that didn’t call her the eccentric of an otherwise respectable trillionaire family…
Kyrra closed her eyes, shutting out the memories. That was enough for one night. She sighed, and turned out the light.
SudoRandom! Post more!
I got it! I got it!!!!!
I’m finally unblocked, and I know my ending!!!!!!!!!
I just got the Percy Jackson and the Last Olympian book!!! YES!!! It’s amazing!!!!!!
This isn’t Books And Reading. It’s Books In Progress. Books In Progress is a thread for MBers to post excerpts of and ask for plot advice on books they are writing. Books and reading is here.
Oops-sorry. Wrong thread! I knew that all along…I was just testing you. *wink wink*
Starting a book here. I just got my school’s Literary Mag because AM and I drew some ambigrams that got in. Got some inspiration. I plan for it to be Lord of the Rings-ish, but slightly more poemish.
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The Fire Burning (Working title)
Prologue: Smoke
Ellasia stood, eyes closed, as the smoke curled around her. It floated around her in a mystic patter, forming sudden images on her skin. She had power over smoke. She could shield herself, creating invisibility. She could control someone temporarily, by forcing her smoke into them. She could also use it to tell possible futures. She could tell what may happen. She could tell what to do to make something happen. As the smoke curled around her, she opened her eyes. A dragon stood on a lonely tomb, guarding the body. She stared for hours, watching things that may be. Suddenly, her own face appeared. An arm grabbed out to her. It was attempting to strangle her. Ellasia pulled herself away, and the smoky connection broke. She was alone in her room again. A charred, burnt pile of papers was left. Ellasia knew that at only age 13 she should not be exercising her powers. But the time felt right.
Chapter One: Flame
Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter Isshane’s feet slapped against the cold, wet stone of the path. He was running from something. A fearful beast, without a form. A hideous creature without a shape. It was coming closer. It was a freezing blast of night air. The night seemed to close in around it. Darkness fell faster and harder as Isshane ran. He saw a river’s ditch by the path. He jumped in. He swam now. He began to get colder and colder. Suddenly, he saw a light near him. Swimming toward it with the last ounce of strength he had, he flocked to the light, like moths to a flame. It was an inn, empty of inhabitants.
“Whatter you doin’ here lad, at this hour of night?” Isshane was startled by the innkeeper holding a bright lantern. He had not an ugly face, but not a pleasant one. It was a kind face, though.
“I’d like a place to stay. Do you have a room? Preferably with a candle in it.”
“Aye, I can get ye tha’. How long’ll ye be stayin’?”
“I… don’t know. Probably a few days.”
“Tha’ll be twen’y Chassevs, my lad.” Isshane handed the money over to the innkeeper, hands shaking from his close encounter with death. The innkeeper lead him to his room, and gave Isshane a candle.
“Ye’ll wan’ te pu’ tha’ ou’ before ye go to bed.”
“I will.”
“Ye fireplace is over here,” the innkeeper said, gesturing to a small fireplace, “and ye bed is over here.” pointing to a bed with wrinkled sheets.
“Thank you.”
“Ah, it’s nothin’. I do this nearly every day.”
“By the way, did you happen to see a couple passing through? Youngish, and worried looking?”
“Ah…, no. I’ve had only singles now. One man did come through, but he was pre’y old, and I don’ think he’s the one ye talkin’ abou’.”
Where could they have gone? Isshane thought as he settled comfortably into bed.
***************************************************************************
I have to brush my teeth now.
It sorts of reminds me of an idea I had once… I think I’ll work on it now.
The talk flowed on and on, losing all meaning and becoming simply a river of sound, the deep voices of Alan and George mingling with Mrs. Chesterton’s purring, the chatter of the smaller children, and Elspeth’s silvery laugh. James realized that his head was drooping, and with an enormous effort of will, jerked himself awake and looked around, but his vision was clouded with sleep and by the firelight, all was a red-gold blur. He rubbed his eyes and tried to regain coherency, but it was to no avail. Elspeth, watching him, laughed again, and he blinked at her, but could manage nothing more.
“The poor lad’s nearly sleeping,” she said to the general company. “Shall I show him his room?”
“Oh–certainly,” said Alan. “It’s been a long day. I suppose I should have thought of it earlier.”
Elspeth smiled, lit a taper from the fire, and held out a hand to James. “Come along, then.” He took her hand and she led him up the narrow staircase. “Mind your step,” she said, “the last one’s a bit short.”
He tripped on it anyway, but she only smiled. “Your room’s through here. It’s where Alan sleeps when he’s home, but we’ll make up a pallet for him downstairs. Do you need the candle?”
He shook his head.
“Good night, then,” she said, “and sleep well.”
He mumbled something that may have been “night” and started to stumble towards the bed, but his foot connected, most surprisingly, with something soft, and he fell on his face instead. Elspeth, standing at the top of the stairs, hurried to his side with the candle.
“Are you all right? Are you sure you don’t need the light?” she asked anxiously, perhaps over-anxiously.
“I’m fine,” said James. The fall had woken him somewhat and he was on the verge of saying something else, when Elspeth, who was kneeling beside him, uttered a cry of horror.
It was not a loud one, but it nonetheless provoked an instant response from the room below. All talking ceased, and two second later, Alan’s head showed at the top of the stairs. “What is it?” he asked urgently. “What’s happened? Is it James?”
Elspeth turned to him, eyes wide and frantic. “The cat!” she cried. “It’s died!”
Alan’s expression became a mirror of Elspeth’s and he muttered an oath under his breath, before jumping backwards. James felt the ground shake as he landed (presumably) on his feet.
“The cat’s dead!” they heard him say, and Elspeth bolted down the stairs, turning once to say, “Come on, it isn’t safe!” before she was gone.
Well, I haven’t even reached the good bit yet, but I’m obliged to take a break here and see if I can locate my mother.
“We’re so STUPID!†yelled Tuxedo. “Why did we leave the tools on the other side? WHY? I mean, we NEVER do that! Now we’re stuck here forever! We can’t even get tools or supplies through to make it livable, much less vacationable!†he rounded on Anthony. “This is all your fault! The hole never would have destabilized if you hadn’t moved through it so fast!â€
“Actually,†interrupted Leon, “I don’t think that that’s true.â€
“What do you mean, ‘it’s not true’?†raged Tuxedo, “of course it’s his fault! Everyone knows you shouldn’t move through a universal doorway before it’s been framed! How can it not be his fault?â€
“Oh, no, no, no, of course it’s his fault.†Leon sighed. “I meant that I think we can still get supplies. There’s a black hole here, right?â€
“Yes, Leon, that’s what we’re worried about.â€
“And if there was only a black hole, then the universe would keep getting sucked up and would get smaller and smaller until it ceased to exist, right?â€
Tuxedo nodded. He was beginning to see what was happening here.
“So, logically, there has to be a white hole here somewhere, right?â€
Tuxedo finally saw light. “So we find the White Hole, call Betterstar Galactica and Spiegel Services, tell them where it is, and they find the respective black hole in another universe and start chucking supplies through it, and we’re good! Right?â€
“Not quite. According to the first law of thermodynamics, there can never be any more or less energy than there was to start. Because everything is potential energy, in order for the black hole to allow anything through, the universe it all lands in must be losing energy at an equal rate.â€
“So, you mean that for us to get the equipment necessary to survive, we have to put an equal amount of matter through the other side?â€
“Exactly.â€
“That’s a perfect plan, Leon, except for one thing.†Tuxedo paused. “WE DON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO PUT THROUGH THE WHITE HOLE!â€
“Calm down, Nicholas, I have a solution to that too,†said Leon, smiling. “I believe one of your sons has a universal phone?* †he didn’t wait for an answer. “All we have to do is send it through the Black Hole, and we should be set for the next few centuries, which should be enough time to set up a self sustaining society.â€
“You mean we’re stuck here forever?†asked Nicholas, who looked as if he were about to cry.
“No, no, no, of course not,†replied Leon, soothingly.
“Oh, okay, Mr. Genius. So what’s your next master plan?â€
“I don’t have one.â€
“You just said we were going to get out of here!â€
“No I didn’t. I said we weren’t stuck here indefinitely. After all, everyone dies, don’t they?â€
In order to save a more time and cause less confusion all around, the characters will be introduced at this point. The order they will be introduced in is order of appearance, along with a description of what they looked like and a description of who they were, and a description of what they will look like and a description of who they will be.**
The one wearing a lame suit has already been introduced as Leon, and was a famous movie producer. In the future, he will still wear a white lame suit and will be the god of entertainment. He hates Anthony, and is Nicholas’s brother.
The one in the Tuxedo is Nicholas, and was a successful theme park creator. He was well known for his unique locations, as he would drill into different universes, buy them, and renovate them if it was necessary. In the future, he will wear the same and will be god of sales. He is brother to Leon, wife to Airyn, and friend of Anthony, partly because Anthony so often visits his theme parks.
The woman in the business suit is Airyn, was a partner in Nicholas’s business, and in the future will still wear the same clothes and will be the goddess of money. She is brother-in-law to Leon, wife to Nicholas, and is also friend to Anthony.
The ones that were slightly dressed for success were various sons and daughters of Nicholas and Airyn, will slightly improve their outfits, and will be minor gods and goddesses of coupons, credit cards, infomercials, etc.
The one in the obscuring hood is Death***, and wasn’t really anybody in particular, just a member of the police that had come along to supervise construction. In the future,
Death will wear robes, although not all of them will be the same kind.
The last one, Anthony, wore a Hawaii print shirt, cheap sunglasses, a canvas sunhat, and khaki shorts. He was a very famous tourist, and in the future, will wear the same outfit and will be the god of tourism.
______________________________________________________
*Universal phones are incredibly expensive, and are used only to contact someone in a universe with no direct connection to yours. They can only contact another universal phone, because they are made out of compressed supernova dust, and have to be carried around with a gravity belt. When you speak into the phone, the information is transferred onto a microscopic piece of supernova, and a Black Hole is created just long enough to send it to a white hole inside of the phone you are communicating with, where it is converted back into sound.
**In order to waste more time and cause more confusion.
***n the universe that she comes from, Death is a perfectly common name, like Charlie or Sarah, and there is a different word for “death†altogether.****
****It’s Haggis.
Pwnsome! Keep writing! It reminds me of H2G2 very strongly…was that the intent?
No. I have to try very hard usually not to copy other writer’s styles, though.
That’s a good thing. Seriously.
Yeah, it really is. The plot is nothing like HG2G, but the style is a style of writing that I love. I copy that style all the time.
I agree with Armada. Copying someone else’s style (intentionally or not) is a great way to improve your range. As you you keep writing, your own voice and personality will assert itself.
Yeah, it’s a really cool skill to have. I wish I had it.
It can be pretty annoying. It’s the reason that I kept this offline for so long. And I have this all written already, I’m just posting it a bit at a time, because it’s eleven pages long.
Tee hee. Me likes it.
This is from the Writers’ Notebook. Rainbow*star wrote the first part and I wrote the second.
–
“It is done,†repeated Tharys, her voice rising. “All of humanity, all their accomplishments, memories of the past and dreams of the future. Gone. Is that what you wanted, Quatlin? Is that what your infinite wisdom has led you to do?†Silvery tears brimmed in Tharys’ deep blue eyes. She was a beauty, with perfectly chiseled features and robes that shimmered every color imaginable. But now her expression was pure despair, enough to make a mortal dissolve into weeping madness. If there had been any mortals left.
Quatlin turned his calm grey gaze on the goddess of the arts. “It had to be done,†he whispered, with a trace of guilt. “If we’d left them to their own devices, they would have cruelly destroyed each other and everything around them. This was the humane thing to do.â€
Tears flowed down Tharys’ ivory cheeks. “But the humans were also capable of great things. They were ingenious at times – you of all Celestials should know that. Just ask Loravo or Serasha. Ask Lyetan. Ask me.â€
Quatlin tightened his grip on his Celestial eye, which had the form of a crystal gazing ball. “The Celestial council voted to destroy them,†he said. “It is for the good of all. We have done it, and there is nothing you can do.â€
Cyra jerked awake, trembling. The image of cities falling filled her mind with terror, but the forest rising up made the world look so much better. What if that was to happen? What if all that humankind had made fell away into dust? She pushed that thought away, and rose to prepare for the new day. If she was a prophet, well… prophets weren’t exactly excepted in this time.
Anyone can add!!
I’m reposting what I have, because I had an idea, and it needs some editing.
***************************************************************************
The Fire Burning (Working title)
Prologue: Smoke
Ellasia stood, eyes closed, as the smoke curled around her. It floated around her in a mystic pattern, forming sudden images on her skin. She had power over smoke. She could shield herself, creating invisibility. She could control someone temporarily, by forcing her smoke into them. She could also use it to tell possible futures. She could tell what may happen. She could tell what to do to make something happen. As the smoke curled around her, she opened her eyes. A dragon stood on a lonely tomb, guarding the body. She stared for hours, watching things that may be. Suddenly,a boy’s face appeared. He had dark hair, and light blue eyes. He was staring at her. He grabbed out at her, making as if to strangle her. Ellasia fell back. She was alone in her room again. A charred, burnt pile of papers was left. Ellasia knew that at only age 13 she should not be exercising her powers. But the time felt right.
Chapter One: Flame
Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter Isshane’s feet slapped against the cold, wet stone of the path. He was running from something. A fearful beast, without a form. A hideous creature without a shape. It was coming closer. It was a freezing blast of night air. The night seemed to close in around it. Darkness fell faster and harder as Isshane ran. He saw a river’s ditch by the path. He jumped in. He swam now. He began to get colder and colder. Suddenly, he saw a light near him. Swimming toward it with the last ounce of strength he had, he flocked to the light, like moths to a flame. It was an inn, empty of inhabitants.
“Whatter you doin’ here lad, at this hour of night?†Isshane was startled by the innkeeper holding a bright lantern. He had not an ugly face, but not a pleasant one. It was a kind face, though.
“I’d like a place to stay. Do you have a room? Preferably with a candle in it.â€
“Aye, I can get ye tha’. How long’ll ye be stayin’?â€
“I… don’t know. Probably a few days.â€
“Tha’ll be twen’y Chassevs, my lad.†Isshane handed the money over to the innkeeper, hands shaking from his close encounter with death. The innkeeper lead him to his room, and gave Isshane a candle.
“Ye’ll wan’ te pu’ tha’ ou’ before ye go to bed.â€
“I will.â€
“Ye fireplace is over here,†the innkeeper said, gesturing to a small fireplace, “and ye bed is over here.†pointing to a bed with wrinkled sheets.
“Thank you.â€
“Ah, it’s nothin’. I do this nearly every day.â€
“By the way, did you happen to see a couple passing through? Youngish, and worried looking?â€
“Ah…, no. I’ve had only singles now. One man did come through, but he was pre’y old, and I don’ think he’s the one ye talkin’ abou’.â€
Where could they have gone? Isshane thought as he settled comfortably into bed.
Isshane awoke in the room that he was renting. The sun was rising, with just a small sliver of it. He stare hard at it. Isshane had always loved fire and the sun. It was like a source of light to him in endless darkness. The sun’s light was filling the sky. He stared harder at it. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash from the sun. He began to drift away.
A girl stood in her room, in a pale white frock. She seemed to have an unearthly glow around her. Her eyes were dark. There was a fire burning at her feet. She had blond hair that seemed to fly up around her. She was tall, and seemed to levitate up behind the fire. The fire’s smoke curled up around her. She closed her eyes. After a long time, she seemed to waver. Isshane grabbed for her, trying to stop her fall. She resisted his grip, trying to run away. She fell over. Everything faded.
Isshane woke up, on the floor, in the same position that the girl had fallen. He walked down to the main part of the inn. He saw, as he hadn’t before that the inn was called Wanderers’ house. He sat down, asking for an egg breakfast. The innkeeper went over to one of the back rooms. He called into it “Sheol! Breakfast!” A girl with light reddish brown hair came down. She went drearily to the stove. She was slim. She cooked the eggs quickly, serving them to Isshane. He then left with a thank you. He left the inn, trying to find a clue of what was chasing him last night.
***************************************************************************
How do you like it now?
Can I add to the Rainbow*star/SilverLeopard story? If so, this next bit is returning to the mortal-less future.
Tharys stood upon the Edge of the World, looking down at the green, beautiful planet before her. It shone with the glories of nature, a planet healed, a planet remade, a planet made whole from the brutal injuries done to it by humankind. It was perfect. At last, perfect.
It was horrible.
Tracks of silver stained her perfect cheeks. She turned, walking away from the glorious natural wonder behind her. She couldn’t bear to look back and see what Quatlin, on the orders of the Council, had created. Had destroyed.
She knew the goodness of mortals, perhaps better than any other Celestial did. Hers had been the painters, the actors, the poets, the authors, the sculptors, the dreamers. It was she who had guided da Vinci’s hand, and whispered in Shakespeare’s ear. It was her who had turned Monet’s attention to the water lilies. She had heard the first stirrings of every great musical composition, and seen plays and films that had made her laugh and weep.
And now?
She stared down at the star-studded skyscape below her that made up the realm of the Celestials. Now, the dreams were gone. Humanity had not been perfect- far from it. She knew as well as anybody that as well as capable of such amazing dreams and goodness, every human held the power as well to create ultimate evil. And that is why she had envied mortals.
Celestials cannot change. It was what she had been told even as a miniature godling. Celestials have their duties. To be the guider of daylight dreams was hers, and she could not change. But mortals- mortals were capable of anything. Had been capable of everything.
Behind her, the planet rejoiced. Tharys wept for what Earth did not know it had lost.
Oh, this is turning into an RRR. Must…. resist…. Ah, I’ll join!
*********************************************************************
Cyra sat on her bed, thinking about her recent dream. It had been strange, seeing those two people. Who were they? They had seemed to have an unearthly glow around them. Looking at her clock, it wasn’t time to get up, so Cyra got back into bed.
Quatlin sat at the council table. “It has been done. The world has been rid of humanity. Nature rejoices and revels in it’s greatest splendor.” Cheering erupted around the table. But a few gods looked distraught and paralyzed. They moved toward each other secretly as Quatlin talked on. In whispered voices they spoke.
“What shall we do? Our specialties had everything to do with people. We have nothing to do anymore.”
“We could bring them back…”
“No, that would be obvious. What else could we do?”
“I’ve been keeping a close eye on the octopuses. They seem close to developing technology.”
“You mean… that we could create a new dominant species?”
“They’d never allow it!”
“They wouldn’t have to know!”
“A new humanity under the sea? It could work…”
“The sea gods would have to be warned.”
“Under the sea bed. There aren’t any gods of that.”
” This just sounds so strange.”
“What else can we do?” Quatlin finished his speech. The group of rebel gods went separate ways.
“Absolutely not,” said Schilor, god of the sea. He was a large man that gave off an aura of power, with flowing green robes and a foam-white beard braided with seaweed. Now his turquoise eyes were like chips of Arctic ice. His Celestial eye, a silver dolphin in a magically floating bubble of water, squeaked in agreement.
“Have you seen how badly the humans polluted the ocean even when they didn’t live in it? They saw it as an endless waste disposal, a place where they could dump their trash and it would never bother anyone again. Well, if they actually lived there – ”
“They’d be closer to the magma,” said Quatlin thoughtfully. “They could drill a hole down there, and have a garbage incinerator. They could use the magma for power, too.”
“And what happens when that runs out?” challenged Nalissa, the land goddess. She cradled her Celestial eye – a baby mole – in the crook of her brown-robed arm. “Face it, Quatlin – whatever dominant race we create is just going to use up their resources and kill themselves again.”
As Isshane wandered about the town, he mulled over the events that had happened earlier that morning. Who had that girl been? What was she doing? Where was she? as usual, Isshane had more questions than answers. Ever since his parents had disappeared, he had been chasing after them, searching for clues to where they might have gone. He didn’t mind that he had to leave everyone he knew behind. He had always been separate from the rest of the group, because of his occasional amnesia attacks. Often, he would forget where he was going, what he was doing, or who he was. He’d have to wander until he found someone that made him remember.
I think it’s sort of funny that I wrote Stephanie’s minicomp as being disguised as a Nintendo DS but with teleconferencing with Sandy as an “extra” and now the upgraded ones will have that. Well, they still don’t have any of the other “extras”.
I think I’m going to write a story about a Dangerously Genre Savvy villain who complies exactly with everything on the Evil Overlord list(s) and see what happens…
The one I’m writing, villain is sorta cliched, but the protagonists aren’t.
Any comments on my story? I can repost it in it’s entirety.
If you live a normal life, you will often find yourself in a furious argument with someone in which there is no way to prove either side as right without looking something up. If you enjoy trying to convince someone that they should put down the knife and that it really doesn’t matter, but Tyler was before Taylor, then you will certainly not want to look it up. If, however, like most people, you don’t enjoy arguing with people with knives raised threateningly, then you will likely want to go to one of the two great founts of knowledge. I am referring, of course, to Google and Wikipedia.
“No.†I said to my brother, who was chopping potatoes a little too enthusiastically, “Tyler, then Polk, then Taylor. Let’s look it up on Wikipedia. Put down the knife first.â€
We ran up the stairs two by two, stopping to catch our breath when we reached the top. We raced to the computer in my brother’s room. When my brother beat me, I grabbed a nearby chair to sit in, which happened to be the one that my brother planned to sit in, causing him to take quite a fall. After we sorted ourselves out, my brother opened up Firefox and went to Wikipedia. All we got was an error message. We tried Google. Only an error message was the reply. We simply assumed that we couldn’t access the Internet. Disinterested, we went back downstairs, my brother resumed chopping the potatoes enthusiastically, and I turned on the radio.
A reporter was reporting on an elephant in Zambia that could sing “Revolution 9â€. Suddenly and unexpectedly an announcer broke in, coughed several times, said there was some breaking news, coughed a few more times, then started talking like he had a cough drop in is mouth, which he probably did.
“We interrupt this riveting-very riveting-story that is riveting to tell you that Google and Wikipedia have crashed and they will soon declare bankruptcy. Also, the elephant can now sing “I am the Walrusâ€. Thank you.â€
The reporter continued on about the elephant, which was now learning “Lucy in the Sky with Diamondsâ€. We, along with most of the other people listening at that time to All Things Considered, weren’t listening. We were far too scared to do such a trivial thing as listening to All Things Considered.
Normally such an event would have gained a lot of attention. After all, announcers committing suicide because they only get 10 seconds to report on one of the most momentous occasions of the century doesn’t happen every day. But already, the stock market, Google, and Wikipedia had crashed. Many online companies declared bankruptcy. Al-Qaeda strategically released a pathetic video about how America was evil. There was no shortage of news, but there soon was a shortage of broadcasters as they followed the announcer in All Things Considered in traveling into The Great Dark Starry Void.
Very good!
The O-CEO (Other Chief Executive Officer) of Google stormed out the door. He knew it wasn’t his fault that the website had been destroyed. He was the best at programming, but that didn’t mean it was his fault. He went straight home and locked himself in a closet. This, of course, only cemented the proof that it was his fault.
There was no question what the verdict would be. James SandwichMaker, O-CEO of Google, was definitely guilty. Due to a release of the website to him, he had no jail time. However, he had to pay massive amounts in compensation, leaving him with about five million dollars. If it were not for the release, he would have had to part with every penny. It was unquestionable that the release had specifically engineered the release for this, but had overlooked some small details. Ah, well. At least they got some money from that criminal.
People lost faith in the Internet after the crash. If something could be done away with like that, what was the point? Eventually they came back. There was nothing quite like the Internet, and, well, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Some people pointed out that the Internet was quite limited, but, when it came down to it, people didn’t want to change.
I read Alex and the Ironic Gentleman recently, because there it was, lying on the coffee table, with an intriguing title. So I read it, and it was good in parts, and not-so-good in others, and bordering on the type of cleverness which bugs me. But in any case, it sort of woke me up. ‘Cause see, I’ve been reading almost nothing but grown-up books of very good quality, the majority of them written a long time ago, and most of them not the sort of thing I write at all, and I’d sort of forgotten that not all books are that wonderful, and that you can write well without being a second Dickens. So I think that, now it’s summer and not the most warm sunny summer at that (I’m not complaining, though–I like rain, really I do), I’m going to start writing again!
Brava!
Eep, I love that book!!
The next morning, Kyrra woke early and got dressed quickly. She thought ruefully of all the fine clothes she’d brought—they were useless here, where a uniform was required. Although the grey pleated skirt and v-necked navy sweater did suit her…but then, most clothes did.
She brushed her thick dark hair slowly, taking her time to work out all the kinks and tangles. Her hair was her best feature; it fell softly about her shoulders, complementing her naturally pale skin and deep green eyes. She’d always thought of it as the Irish roots of her mother coming out; she certainly hadn’t inherited any of her father’s looks, just his icy silences and imposing height.
She met Bianca in the hallway, and they went to the dining hall once again, with Bianca chattering about the latest gossip. Kyrra gathered that Bianca’s friends liked her very much—Bianca’s jealous overtones did not go by unnoticed–but that they thought Kyrra quiet. So be it; she would rather be called odd than some of the other names girls were called here.
Breakfast was a passable version of a mushroom-and-olive omelet; after downing it with a swig of synthetic orange juice, Kyrra hurried to her first class: Chemistry.
Walking down the hallways of Jefferson School was a strange experience. Clumps of delinquents and wealthy children floated down the corridors to their destinations, talking and laughing; yet in the five minutes she roamed the hallways, searching for her class, Kyrra did not see a single exchange between the two groups. Not a glance or word was spoken by either side. It was as if they were invisible to each other.
Even inside the Chemistry class, the room was segregated, with Kyrra’s kind on one side, delinquents on the other. The teacher, Mr. Robbins, sat her dead center, front row, so that she was right on the line between the two groups. As the bell rang and class started, Kyrra sighed, sat up straight, and tried very hard to look neither right nor left.
Suddenly, however, she felt a hand tap my shoulder, and turned to see one of Bianca’s friends—the sandy-haired boy—sitting behind her. He grinned lazily at her and proffered a hand for her to shake. “Hi. I guess you don’t remember me, huh?â€
Kyrra frowned slightly as she shook his hand. “No, sorry. Should I?â€
“I’m Chase Richardson—‘water boy’?â€
Ah. Of course. Kyrra reached back in the annals of my memory for the time just after her mother had become confined to her room—when she, lacking the guidance of a parent, was just learning her power over the people she knew. Chase’s nickname referred to an incident where she’d ordered him to fetch her a glass of water. He’d complied by dumping an ice-cold glass over her haughty little head, serving a timely lesson—although that was their last play date together, as Kyrra recalled. She smiled faintly at the memory.
Chase caught the expression, and his own grin widened. “I promise I’m better behaved now.â€
Kyrra couldn’t help but laugh, and the happy sound was at once startling to her ears. It had been a long time since she’d done that. As class began, she turned back towards the front with a strange feeling settling heavily in her chest—something like happiness, something like pain.
Although Kyrra had initially looked forward to Chemistry, her hopes were quickly dashed. Mr. Robbins seemed more interested in keeping the class under control than teaching them anything new; they spent a large portion of the period listening to him as he droned on about double-replacement reactions, something Kyrra had known since she was twelve. She leaned her head on her fist, and sighed.
A sudden flash of movement to her left caught Kyrra’s eye, and without thinking, she turned her head to the delinquent side of the room. A paper airplane floated lazily through the air, carried by the warm draft from the heaters, so slowly that it seemed to hang in the air. She watched, mesmerized, as it drifted gently through the air to hang a gradual right, dive sharply—
—and connect squarely with the back of Mr. Robbins’ head.
There was a muffled cheer from the left side of the room, and Mr. Robbins glared at the general population angrily.
“Who threw that?” he barked, but of course, no one answered. The incensed teacher glowered for a few more minutes, then turned back to the board, the back of his neck pink. The classroom settled back into its customary stupor.
But it was not to last. Kyrra’s ears caught the sound of paper being folded; turning her head slightly, she searched for its source.
Her eyes came to rest on a delinquent on the far side of the room, with his hands below desk level. She guessed him to be about seventeen—her own age—with a shock of black hair and tanned, swarthy skin. In spite of herself, Kyrra’s first reaction to his appearance was favorable—he was very good-looking, in a roguish, outlaw sort of way.
Suddenly, almost so quickly she didn’t see it, the boy’s hand flicked out from under the desk, and another paper airplane went whizzing towards Mr. Robbins. At the same time, the delinquent laid his head on his desk and pretended to be asleep.
It happened so quickly she didn’t have time to avert her gaze; their eyes locked for a millisecond, and she saw that his were a luminous amber color, stunning against his rusty skin. She also noticed with a start that a long scar ran across one eye like a lightning bolt—she wondered where he’d gotten that.
Unfortunately, while the boy was a picture of innocence, Kyrra wasn’t so quick—she didn’t turn her head back to the front of the room fast enough to escape Mr. Robbins’ notice. Fuming, he caught her looking at the delinquent side of the room, and advanced on her desk.
“Miss Nyx, would you be so kind as to tell me who has been so rudely disrupting my class?”
The delinquent opened one ochre eye.
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t happen to see,” she said smoothly. If there was one thing her father had taught her, it was how to deceive faultlessly.
It was not within the beleaguered Mr. Robbins to cross his most honored pupil; whatever his true feelings on the matter were, he turned around and walked back to his station at the front of the room, grumbling.
As he resumed his lecture, Kyrra snuck a glance at the delinquent. He was staring at her unabashedly, with a curious look in those eyes of his. She tossed her hair and turned back around in her seat; unorthodox as she was in her sympathies, she wasn’t ready to be making friends with delinquents just yet.
I’ve got my story on Word, so I’ll repost it when it gets to 3 or more pages.
Can we have a thread for the new RRR, with Tharys, Quatlin, and Cyra?
Yes! A thread for that would be great!
Enceladus, about 51.1- it seems to me that there are two different times going on. In one, Cyra and the other kids (whoever they are) must try to stop the impending disaster, and the other is the future, in which humanity has been destroyed. (Or am I just confused…)
Yeah, that is sorta what I mean. Cyra has to try and stop it.
Hmmm. Maybe we should introduce a character that can only exist in the human-less future, and have en travel back and meet Cyra (and company) and they can become great friends, so saving humanity equals destroying this wonderful new character. DECISIONS!
I was thinking there could be more kids than Cyra, but they could all take part in Cat’s Eye’s idea. Thank you, Enceladus, for clarifying.
Cat’s Eye, your idea is great! How ’bout the new character is one of the gods, and tries to drive the humans toward more resource usage!
I’m going to write a story involving a fleet of ships, all named after RRRs. There will be:
Etheterre
Sea Roc
Terenika
Dreamtime
There are so many more I would like to involve, but they were never named, or their names wouldn’t work very well as ship names.
I may also just make a list of names, and pick and choose, because I don’t want to put too many ships in any one story. Maybe four in one story, and then the rest can be referenced. This would allow me to have a Terra, a Terenika, and an Etheterre, which sound too similar together, but could innocently enough slipped into different stories. It could also avoid the danger of having a second story featuring a Sea Roc, because that would never do.
So, new list:
Etheterre
Terra
Terenika
Sea Roc
Dreamtime
And now I just need names for the Empowered, the SMAS-TT, and the FFT. I probably shouldn’t take the liberty with the original RRR, since I was never actively involved…
Cool!
Oh!
The Power
The Havoc
The Foolish Prince
Post/pre-apocalyptic RRR, con’t:
Aleny woke up.
She reached automatically for the journal that she kept by her bed for writing down dreams, along with a deep green pen. Sometimes she’d interpret her dreams, just as a joke, and sometimes she wanted to remember them because they were interesting. Both options required her writing them down. She bit her lip, trying to remember what she had dreamed last night.
There’s a cloud in the mirror.
She wrote it down. The sentence was thrumming through her head, like a song that was permanently lodged.
There was also an image: a top hat, quite a stunning shade of reddish purple, with a pure black ribbon wrapped around it. It was lying to the left side of an empty stage, in a theater full of empty seats. The curtains were black, like a velvet midnight sky. She scribbled this down as well, scraped her brain for more, and found nothing.
An interesting dream, she mused. Most of her dreams had plots and people and scenery, some from real life, some from books or movies.
Rowark was jarred awake by his younger sister.
“Get up, lazy!” She laughed, “It’s getting late!” Rowark could clearly remember his dream.
“Weird,” he mumbled, “I’ve never gotten anything like that.” He lifted himself up, feeling as if those falled cities had fallen on him. He felt the glowing people haunting him, too, the one with a face of stone, the other with a face of sadness. Utter misery. And it had all seemed so real, like it had happened, or was going to come…
TWO GAJILLION NINE BILLION YEARS LATER
“So how did this episode go?â€
“Great, sir! Everyone loved the fact that they were finally being worshipped! This was a great idea for the show! We’re bringing in money by the hundreds!â€
Leon stood up. He was behind his own desk in his own office. He had designed it himself. It was carpeted in a deep red, and had a huge window in the back, right behind his desk. The desk was polished mahogany, and it was kept very neat. The top face of the desk was very smooth, and on it was a jar containing three sharpened pencils and four pens. There was also a feather quill and several ink jars, but they were mostly for show. There was a small clay figurine of a human in one corner, and there was another of a dog. Also on the desk were several picture frames. One had a picture of a small boy with curly blond hair, only one or two years old, in red footy pajamas and a man in jeans and a “Prty Pwnys†t-shirt, laughing in a pillow fort. Another showed a girl with dark brown hair in a black graduation robe and hat, holding a diploma. There was one more, and in it was a picture of the same man as in the first photo with one arm around the his daughter, the girl from the second photo, and the other arm around a woman, also with brown hair, and in a red shirt and jeans who had to be his wife and who was holding the curly haired boy from the first picture. In the background there was a waterfall.
One of his desk drawers was open, and in it were a few large packets of multicolored clay, a ream of plain paper, and another stack of lined paper. There were several chairs in the room, all of them very comfortable. The walls were covered with pictures of the same people as the ones on his desk, and some of others. There were also some framed sketches. Most of them were of humans and animals, none of them the same ones as in the photos, but there were a few of buildings. Igrum, his assistant, was standing in front of Leon’s desk, giving him a detailed report on the financial gain from the newest episode of Leon’s television show, “Earthâ€.
The show had been an instant success, partly because it’s clay animation was so realistic, but mostly because it was funny, well run, and the fact that the customers were incorporated into the show as the most powerful beings in the universe.*
“And, sir,†Continued Igrum, “Nicholas is here to see you.â€
“Thank you, Igrum, please show him in.â€
Igrum left, and the office was silent. Leon picked up one of the photos from the desk, looked at it, and sighed. There was a knock on the door. Leon replaced the photo and said, “Come in!â€
Death and Airyn were very good friends. Which was why they had agreed to have lunch together that day. Which was why, after waiting for Death two hours after they had agreed to meet, Airyn was getting worried. She decided to go over and check on Death, who had never been late in her life.
Nicholas walked into the office, carrying a briefcase, and wearing his usual suit. He sat down. If Leon hadn’t been his brother, he would have waited to be asked.
“Well?†asked Leon, “What will you try to sell me today? Is it those little chocolate cookies with the mint filling, because those were delicious!â€
Nicholas laughed. Leon always seemed to know how to make him smile. “No, you bought those all last time. Today, I need something from you.â€
Leon leaned forward. Nicholas never liked to asked favors. “What in the world would you need from me, Nick?â€
“Permission.†Nicholas swung his briefcase up onto the desk, and opened it. Leon gasped.
“What in the world…?â€
Airyn was barely panting when she reached Death’s house, but she was worried she might be too late. Hadn’t death Been acting sort of down recently? Why hadn’t she asked about it?
She pounded up the steps and burst through the door, not bothering to knock. She ran straight to Death’s room, but slipped on a piece of paper. Airyn picked it up to look at it. It was a note. She glanced at it just long enough to read it, then dropped and ran even faster. She burst through into the room and yelled, “WAIT!â€
The note had confirmed her suspicions. On it, written in what was definitely Death’s own handwriting, were the words:
Dear Airyn,
I know you’ll be the one to read this,
so let me say that I am so sorry not to
be able to come to lunch. I can’t live in
this world any longer. Goodbye.
Death
_____________________________
*They were anyway, seeing as they were the only people in the universe, but it’s nice to be appreciated.
That is amazing. Completely hilarious.
I was about to say “Better than Douglas Adams,” but I think that would probably be blasphemy.
SudoRandom, you’re a genius. Death commits suicide, people pay to be gods on a television show, and Thin Mints. That’s really, really human. Way to go.
Is that what they’re called? Thin Mints?
Now I know.
Thank you, by the way!
Okay, I need to know what you guys think of my ending for SoD. (the one with the rock that I’ve been posting on and off) I’m only sixty-something pages in, nowhere close to writing the end, but I had a brainwave a few weeks ago… *spoilersahead*
So you know how there are four of them? I’m having them all think that they should be the one who ends up saving the world, and fighting about it. They’re about to go to see a wisewoman about the prophecy. The keywords will be “one of the blood of Earth.” As in, the planet. Everyone assumes it means a human, and all four of them assume it means them. However, there are a couple clues pointing to there being five elements instead of four. Cassie will probably figure this out before anyone else, but not tell the others (or the reader) directly; she won’t be very surprised in the end, though.
Are you ready for this? The one who ends up being all heroic and saving the world and making some huge sacrifice is….
Brynne. The blue cat.
OK, i know she’s not an Earth cat, but she’ll have an Earth great-great-grandparent or something like that. And it will turn out that she was with Beryl when she touched the rock (érna) and has been chosen to be the fifth element, Light. That’s why she has the power of Illusion. Beryl just assumed that the érna has magic-enhancing qualities even for those not included in the prophecy.
Thoughts?
Over the next few days, Kyrra began to get acquainted with life at Jefferson. Days unfolded with depressing regularity: classes in the morning, lunch in the cafeteria complex, more classes, and then up to her room to read or watch movies until dinner. She had no homework; she finished most of it in class, while the teacher was still lecturing on their subject.
Kyrra continued to sit with Bianca and her court. She didn’t find many friends among them, in spite of their obvious interest in her; most of them acted only in accordance with Bianca’s wishes, so Kyrra found few singular minds among them. Chase was one of the ones with real intelligence, but it was marred by his blind conformity to the RabÃa party. He always had a pleasant word for Kyrra, though, so she continued to be marginally less frosty towards him. Bianca noticed, and pretended not to care.
The Queen herself was a curious mix of cold power, bravado, and insecurity. If anyone of her group questioned her, Bianca whipped them into line with a quick and calculatedly cruel remark. She knew everything about everyone—except for Kyrra. Kyrra could tell that the fact frustrated Bianca; often, when she was talking to Chase or when she gave a correct answer in class, she caught a glint in the queen’s eye that seemed to say, just you wait. But while Kyrra still gave her nothing to crush her with, Bianca remained civil. She was very much like Kyrra in that respect; they did what they had to, until fate handed them an opportunity.
Cool idea! I have writers block though, and I just started a new novel yesterday, so there’s not much to it.
amazing book.
i have an idea for a book beginning with poetry, and then the book actually begins.
my first poem:
Death
what is death,
Is it a state of mind
or an unavoidable reality
Is it a person
waiting at every corner
Or is it just a stopping place
Through Mans journey of time.
im so morbid, its so wierd.
Thanks, everyone! You make me blush!
Mwahahahaha. You admitted it!
Umm… what did I admit? That I blush? I only did that because I pitied your pathetic evil abilities, RQ. You have much yet to learn, Grasshopper. (What movie is “Grasshopper” from, anyway? Like, The Matrix? *ducks pies*)
I thought I was your Sith master, not the other way around…
The apprentice senses weaknesses like nobodies business, and springs like the panther, gorging itself on the delicious feast of power. And besides, The term is “Masterette”the Sith have no gender.
I think it’s from The Karate Kid, but I doubt it, seeing as I’ve never actually seen The Karate Kid. I think it’s some sort of martial arts movie.
Close, but not quite. See https://musefanpage.com/blog/?p=1558#comment-263827 .
V
Miss Nyx,
I write to answer your request for news of “the outside worldâ€. While I applaud your thirst for knowledge, I warn you not to concern yourself too deeply in the affairs of the government. As I have often said, “The clever man does not know everything.â€
The most recent news occurs in my own department. I have been ordered to begin a mass reorganization of the military, beginning with the commanders currently in power and moving to the petty officers. Perkons, as one might imagine, is proving very difficult to remove; it has been suggested by more than one emissary that I dispose of him permanently. I will have my secretary select flowers for his widow.
What RabÃa intends by rearranging his forces, I can only guess—although my guesses are usually correct. The current commanders were meant to conquer and conquer only, which they did very nicely. They were loyal to RabÃa the leader. Their replacements, however, will be loyal to RabÃa the man; Perkons and his like have outlived their usefulness. If any military children are among your friends, I suggest you distance yourself from them very quickly.
Outside the Department of War, I can give only a little news. There have been minor protests cropping up here and there among the lower classes, but they have been quelled with ease; I see no future threat there. In the Department of Agriculture, there has been some talk of plowing under a number of the fields on the west coast, to make way for a new arms development plant. Obviously, I am also involved in this, though it is my opinion that the deal will not be sealed for a number of years. In Education, it has been decided that all schools—public and private—will hold monthly mandatory political rallies. I shall expect you to be present at every one, Miss Nyx.
The final piece of information I have for you is this: the father of your classmate, Bianca Kent, has been accused of treason. It would appear that he has had illicit dealings with a female of ill repute, who in turn has been convicted of rebellious activities against the government. He and his household were seized last night. No doubt Miss Kent will be hearing of this some time in the next few weeks; I do not know what implications this will have for her. May I remind you, daughter, that this would be a prime opportunity for you to use your influence to aid or condemn Miss Kent—whichever is closer to your desires. I have no personal interest in the case. Do what you will.
Remain vigilant. Suspicion is everywhere.
Your Father,
A.C. Nyx II
Kyrra read her father’s letter twice, then folded it and locked it in the trunk at the foot of her bed, mulling over his words in her mind. As usual, he had given her much to think about. She began to undress for bed, her brain buzzing.
The military reconstruction was not the strangest thing Kyrra could have imagined RabÃa doing. She could see his reasoning behind it. The wanton waste of life still horrified her, although she was well-acquainted with the methods of her father and RabÃa. It was a mark of the times how many men would die in this simple maneuver, and how few would care. She went over the old commanders in my mind—she knew many of them by sight—and thought that for many of them, even the widows would not mourn.
The other pieces of news were trivial. An arms complex in the west meant that RabÃa was building up his army—nothing Kyrra hadn’t already known—and the protests were, as her father had said, not a threat. Of the three pieces of information, the mandatory political rallies irked her the most—Kyrra had little real love for the new government and its leader, and much less for mindless rallies.
The news of Bianca’s father didn’t surprise her, either; it was something that happened to many men these days. He’d be thrown in prison for a number of days—perhaps as much as a month—and then let loose, to be a lot more careful with which hooker he bought next time. What happened to his daughter was, as Kyrra’s father had said, very much within her power to control. If she stood by and did nothing, it was likely Bianca would be withdrawn from the School for the duration of the semester, if not permanently; the shame of her father’s conviction would be far greater a motive for her withdrawal than its legal implications. But if Kyrra showed support for her—even by simply continuing to speak to her when her so-called friends wouldn’t—other classmates would follow her lead, and Bianca would return to Jefferson after her father’s sentence was over. In fact, if Kyrra interceded with Vladislav, and complained against Bianca’s removal, the Queen might not leave at all.
Kyrra lay in bed and turned out the lights. She couldn’t decide what she wanted. On the one hand, Bianca’s removal—if even a temporary one—would be all the excuse needed for her court of followers to remove their support from her and back someone else—Kyrra, if she played her cards right. But this was a chancy venture at best; Chase or another would be a more likely candidate, and there was no guarantee that Bianca wouldn’t just reclaim her title when she returned. The alternative, intervening on her behalf, would be much more secure; if she stayed because of Kyrra, she’d be far in her debt, something that could be more valuable than the support of her friends.
She sighed and closed her eyes. Something else was niggling at the back of her mind…she thought over her father’s letter. He’d only referred to her as his daughter once; to him she was Miss Nyx. So proper…and so cold. She wondered, for a moment, what it would be like to have a real father, one who cared for her and wrote her letters even when she didn’t write them first. She snorted and rolled onto her side; such a thing was rare in these times, especially in the upper classes where parents were either wallets or pawns of their children.
Kyrra sighed. It was time for rest. The wheels of her whirring mind slowly ground to a halt, and her breathing evened. Time for sleep…
Kyrra was in her father’s study. A pile of execution orders were stacked on one side of the mahogany desk she sat at; a steady line of the past commanders moved by the desk, as each man dropped his own execution papers on the stack. They all wore masks…
…she was standing in her bedroom at home. She walked to the mirror hanging on her wall, but instead of her own reflection, the glass held her father’s cold and cruel face…
…Bianca Kent was standing in the corner of my Chemistry lab, talking to Chase. When Kyrra came closer, she turned towards her, and Kyrra saw that she’d stolen Kyrra’s face and sewn it onto her own. Chase couldn’t tell the difference…
Kyrra awoke, the moonlight highlighting the sweat on her face. She lay on her back in the silvery light and let her breathing slow to normal, willing herself to be calm. Dreams are only phantoms. Then why was her heart pounding so?
The moon rotated in the sky, and she fell into an uneasy sleep.
I lurve this story! And I think… after this… it’s new? Right? *is eager*
Fairly new…and also revamped from before, so you might not recognize it
O good. I killed the thread.
*snickers* I’m back! This is more from that story.
–
Lorin looked around. Sleeping on the streets was hard, but he’d gotten used to it. That dream was especially jarring, though. Falling cities? His worst fear was that something might fall on him, plummet down from the heavens and crush him. And the glowing people? Was that a good sign? What about the man with a face like ice, cold, hard, and yet… it seemed as if it could melt away one day, the day when he faced guilt for what he had done.
The boy lifted himself from the floor of of the alley, wincing as he moved his ankle, the left one that had been injured in a street fight. Even in the future, there was still crime and gangs in the city. He turned to see a girl run down the street, muttering. He caught three phrases, “…..they were glowing……cities, they just…..rising from the dust……” He jumped up, and raced after her, ignoring his smarting ankle, and half ran, half galloped, until he reached her and yanked the back of her coat.
“Did you…get….the dream….too?” he panted.
((Please, I’d like some other people to post on this…)
K, here’s Chapter 1 again, revised again.
I loitered around the square, trying to appear inconspicuous and pretending to be reading a billboard. I was actually peering across the street at a department store and trying to assess how friendly its owner was. Hopefully he’d be willing to look past my somewhat ragged appearance. If not, I’d have another night of sleeping in the street.
A fruit vendor near me was starting to look suspicious. After all, who spends ten minutes reading a billboard advertising a wine shop? Well, I knew that procrastinating wouldn’t help matters, so I took a deep breath and started across the square toward McNalister’s Everyday Items.
Mr. McNalister himself was sitting at the counter scribbling in a notebook. The shop was tiny, with bottles and tools and various items stacked on numerous shelves. A corridor behind the counter led to the back of the store. I walked up to the counter and coughed politely.
“Excuse me, sir.â€
He stared at me like I was a mangy dog. “What do you want, beggar?†he asked haughtily.
I was indignant. All right, I didn’t look great, but my clothes had just been washed thoroughly. “I’m not a beggar.†I exclaimed.
“Really? You look like one. Now be gone, I don’t have time for street trash.†He turned back to his notebook and resumed writing.
Street trash? My temper was starting to rise. I cleared my throat loudly. “Excuse me, but I was wondering if you had any job openings. I-â€
His cold eyes stared at me in mild surprise. “You really think I would hire you?†he exclaimed, his voice ringing with contempt. “I wouldn’t even give you a crust of bread, much less a job. Now get out of my shop, or I’ll call my dog.â€
I sighed silently and turned to leave. Maybe I’d have luck in the next town. I was suddenly struck by an idea.
“By the way, I know your brother.â€
McNalister looked up. “You know Ferdinand?â€
“Actually, I do. I’ve known him for 4 years now. He gave me his word that you would hire me.â€
He laughed scornfully. “Then you must know that he died 6 years ago.â€
Oops. So much for luck.
“I believe that you are a liar, a swindler, and a thief. So, in order to protect myself, I am authorized to set Canix on you.†He stood up and blew a whistle.
Maybe Canix would be a nice, small, friendly dog that would just bark at me. I mean, he’s so cheap he wouldn’t want to buy a big, expensive Doberman, right? I heard clicking footsteps coming down the corridor behind the counter. The footsteps sounded like it was a small dog. I began to relax, until Canix poked his head around the corner.
Canix was a huge, black pit bull. No, let me rephrase that. He was really huge, as in barely-fit-through-a-doorway-huge. I stood very still, trying not to breathe. Maybe he wouldn’t notice me-too late.
McNalister pointed at me and cooed, “Look at the tasty human, Canix! He’s got a big bone in his pocket!â€
Canix turned toward me and growled, his beady eyes lighting up in anticipation. I slowly started backing toward the open shop door. Then things got even worse. I could hear the sound of metal boots marching down the street. Police. They’d be sure to notice an extremely nervous teenager being hunted by a vicious dog, and then they’d capture me and lock me up. That is, until they dug a little into my past. Who knows what they might do then.
Slobber dripped from Canix’s mouth as he slowly advanced toward me. McNalister was smiling maliciously. The police wouldn’t get here fast enough to call off the dog. They were coming from the left, so if I ran to the right, I might be able to outrun them. Canix inched closer. Get mauled by a hungry dog or be put in jail? I bolted out the door and to the right.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw that the ‘police’ were actually a group of horses being led by an old farmer. I sighed in relief and slowed down. There was nothing to worry about. I’d be out of the town by nightfall and McNalister wouldn’t have time to alert the police. I collided with a tall man and fell to the ground. I got up hastily, brushing myself off and apologizing profusely.
“I’m very sorry, sir. I wasn’t looking where I was-†I stopped dead, staring into the grim face of a policeman.
“Anthony Terajal, you’re under arrest.†He said harshly. “You’re lucky we found you, otherwise, you might have gotten into even more trouble than you’re already in. It’s off to jail until we decide what to do with you, my boy.â€
* * *
Situated on the ocean waterfront, the Guayama Police Department of Puerto Rico was a tall, forbidding building that looked like it was built in the 1800s. The rough, grey stone walls were chipped and worn by the salty ocean air and had began to crumble in a few areas. There were no windows that I could see, only a solid iron door which looked much newer than the walls. The few pedestrians on the street hurried by, averting their eyes from the menacing structure.
The policeman marched me toward the door, keeping a watchful eye and a firm grip on me to make sure I didn’t flee. He also had a firm grip on his gun. I didn’t think I would get far even if I did manage to escape; the Guayama Police were trained never to lose a criminal, particularly criminals like me.
He marched me up to the small door and pounded on it twice with the flat of his hand. A minute went by. Suddenly a small slot opened in the door and a pair of cranky eyes with thin eyebrows peered out.
“What took you so long?†the policeman grumbled. “I’ve been out here for half an hour.â€
“Oh, it’s you, Herman. I was attending to the lunatic. He was making a racket about the dust mites in his room. Last week it was the salt in the air. Huh. Dust mites. I tell you…†The doorkeeper unlocked the door, all the while rambling about dust mites.
The door slowly eased open, and Herman led me into a small room with one door opposite the main one. A small, shriveled potted plant was squatting in one corner, and an iron desk with a small gray chair was next to the door. The doorkeeper walked over to the desk and sat down, donning a pair of glasses. I judged by his gray hair, spindly limbs, and popping veins that he was in his mid-sixties. He riffled through a sheaf of papers and sighed crankily, then put them down and turned a stern eye on me.
“What’s your name?â€
“Jack Burbank.†I replied quickly.
Herman glanced at the old man and shook his head slightly.
“Herman here seems to think that you’re lying and that you’re the criminal Anthony Terajal.†The old man looked thoughtful.
“Why?â€
Herman spoke up. “You look like Terajal, so I’ve been trailing you for the past two days. I’ve already sent your fingerprints to the testers and the results should be arriving back soon.â€
There was a rap on the door. Herman opened the slot in the door and looked outside. “Who is it?â€
A nasally voice replied, “Here are the results, sir.†A beige envelope was stuffed through the slot.
Herman took the envelope, shut the slot, and handed the envelope to the old man. He slit it open with an ornate letter opener and skimmed the contents of the paper it contained.
“Well, Jack Burbank, it seems that you are actually Terajal. We have decided to ship you back to Brazil, where you will be judged by the courts there. I hope you will receive a jail sentence at the very least.â€
I was shocked. I couldn’t go back to Brazil. I’d be harassed, threatened, and who knows what else. It would be worse being locked up here. I heard the man’s instructions dazedly.
“Herman, take Sincay and bring Terajal to the ship. Make sure he doesn’t escape, even though it doesn’t look like he’ll try. Sincay! Assignment!â€
I needed to escape, but where would I run? How would I evade capture again? What could I do once I got free?
A robust man with a red face stepped through the door behind the desk and joined Herman. He opened the door and grabbed hold of my other arm.
I composed myself. Don’t think. Escape first, then plan.
Herman and Sincay led me towards the docks where the ship was being prepared to leave. The ocean was on the left, a rope fence separating us from a perilous fall down to the rocks below. I could see the docks in the distance; I didn’t have much time to put my grand escape plan into action.
“I feel sick,†I moaned. “Can we stop and rest?â€
Sincay looked at my face. “You’re not sick, liar. You want us to stop and relax our grip, and then you’ll scamper away like a rat.â€
“Yeah, remember what the boss said, no tricks.†Herman agreed.
I sighed. “It was worth a try.†I sneakily kicked a fist-sized rock under the rope fence.
“It was not worth a try. We’re smart, and you can’t-†A gunshot-like crack rang out. Sincay stopped talking and whipped around toward the ocean. Herman turned also, letting go of my arm and pulling out his gun.
I was off like a scared rabbit. Herman swore, and the two police were in pursuit. I veered off back the way we came, toward the station. I entered the market and upset a clothing stall, ignoring the cries from dismayed customers, and ran into an alley. An alley with a dead end.
“Stop!†Sincay yelled hoarsely as they drew closer.
I panicked. Herman entered the alley just ahead of Sincay. I picked up a rock and lobbed it toward a window. Herman fired his gun; the rock hit the window, shattering the glass; a bullet whizzed by my arm just as I vaulted inside the house.
My arms flailed as I landed, knocking a jar of cooking oil to the tile floor. I promptly slipped and landed on my back, right on the broken glass shards. Wincing, I crawled out of the kitchen and got to my feet. The house was deserted, with dust covering the furniture like a blanket. I turned to the door, and saw something hanging above the doorframe. It was an emblem about the size of my hand, in the shape of a flickering flame. The flame was the blue-green color of the ocean, and engraved on it was the name Makran Katero.
Makran Katero .
The name shocked me. Memories that I had tried to suppress flooded back. The boat. My house. His greed.
“We need reinforcements. And hurry, he’s getting away!â€
Herman’s voice drifted through the window. I shook my head, reminded of the predicament I was in, and burst out the door. I’d have to think about Katero later.
I ran out of the small, empty dwelling and back into the street, looking wildly for the policemen. Where could I go? It hit me. The one place they wouldn’t think of looking. I ran as fast I could toward the docks, holding my aching back and leaving the chaos in the market behind me.
Commentses?
It’s good. I like action.
Thank God I sent SoD to Roni, otherwise I wouldn’t have it anymore… Our computer randomly shorted out two days ago, and we might not be able to recover the files.
But yeah, I’ve got everything except for the most recent revision.
This is so weird, I was just at a random name generator and it spit out Vladimir Tristan. Vladislav. Trystan. An Improbability Drive must be activated…
I’m torn between revising my myth and writing a BAD romance novel.
Revise it? How about continuing it? P*ease? I love what’s written so far, and I hate abandoned stories!
And, as RQ says, NOT the romance novel. Please, not the romance novel. If you do the romance novel, we’re both going to kill you.
8- You could do both…But if it’s going to be a BAD romance novel, maybe you shouldn’t write it.
I have a HORRIBLE case of writer’s block. I CANNOT think of ANYTHING to write about.
‘Tis cured!
81- Oh, please, not that. If you post that, I’ll KILL you. (Hey mom, can I please bring the kitchen knife to the kokonvention? * s at Armada*)
CHEESE! I’m back!
81.1- My myth is too short because I had to finish it on deadline. *pout*
82- But I have to write a BAD Romance Novel! ‘Tis my hidden talent! And it drives Armada and RQ insane. (Don’t worry, it’s set in the 18th century but the history is wrong, like all truly BAD Romance Novels.)
But can’t you continue it outside of whatever project it was written for? I mean, it’s a great story, and a somewhat unsatisfactory short story….
As far as I can tell, Alice is a fan of historical fiction…that might not be the best route to go with her. And yes, Alice, his novel is HORRIBLE. And it does drive me and RQ insane. o_O
Not only that, but it’s–wait, what? 18th century? This is a new one. You really have been working on it, haven’t you? Please tell me you changed the character names. Please. And if you post it with the original names in it I will dismember you. Seriously. I will.
*waits for entertainment*
Humm…. I seem to start stories and never finish them. Oh well. What’s the harm?
====================================================
Prolouge:
The four sat, around a table, with a glowing light in the middle. No one said anything. Then, at the same time they said,
“Alekhema
Alekhema
Alekhema…”
They repeated this phrase, over and over again. Suddenly, they said, on after the other,
Four and a fifth shall not return
Death waits by their side
They will step into the fire, though they will not burn
It will be as if they had died
The light died. The four figures dissappeared.
88) Hmmmmmmmm. That poem doesn’t exactly match up does it? It does rhyme though!
Alright, the rest of my unrevised myth.
The case was full of t-shirts, coffee mugs, and figurines. All of them had something to do with Earth. They had quotes, pictures, or were made to look like someone from the show.
“Oh myâ€, breathed Leon.
“So, what do you say, Brother?†asked Nicholas. “If we went into a partnership, we could make millions off of this!â€
Leon was unsure. “I don’t know,†he said doubtfully. “I don’t want Earth going commercial.â€
“Commercial? It’s a T.V. show, for crying out loud! And people really want this stuff! They would LOVE to have a plush Kitty doll, or a ‘clams make me tickle†t-shirt! People’ll love this stuff!â€
“Alright. Here’s my decision…â€
Death looked up. She saw the door burst open, and she heard Airyn yell. Then she plunged the dagger into her heart, and fell over.
Airyn’s eyes filled with tears. Death was dead. Was it her fault? She knelt down and began to weep. She was crying so loudly that she almost didn’t hear the voice. Almost.
She looked up. Death was awake, which was odd enough, seeing as she had a dagger going straight through her body. She was also talking.
“Shoot! Why didn’t it work? I always have the worst luck! I bet it would have worked for anyone else!â€
Nicholas grinned. “Good. I think that we can sell some to Anthony, and possibly Death. But look, if you really want this to work, I can’t be the one selling it.â€
“Oh, no. Not me. There is no way I can go around selling those things.â€
“Not you either. Listen, I’ve been working on a machine just for this. Now, what we do is, we use my machine, and we grow a human out of the show. Everybody knows him, and they see him walking around selling that stuff, and BAM! They want to buy it all. Totally foolproof, and totally harmless. To everyone, including the human.â€
Nicholas had all the angles covered. “Fine. But only for one week.â€
“YES!â€
“I hate my job. You wouldn’t understand, Airyn. People need you. They need money. But nobody around here ever dies, ever! I’m totally useless!â€
“Why didn’t you tell anybody? We could have given you a job you enjoyed more.â€
“It doesn’t matter. If anybody really cared, they wouldn’t have dumped this pointless job on me in the first place!â€
“When we passed out jobs, we didn’t realize that because we were gods, we were immortal. Otherwise, we would have given you another job!â€
Death wanted to say that if anyone had cared, they would have noticed that nobody was dying nine billion years ago, but she knew that Airyn would only argue. Instead she said, “you’re right, Airyn. I just have been feeling down these past few days, you know?â€
Airyn nodded. “Now come and have lunch with me. You must be starving.â€
“So where is this machine of yours?â€
Leon and Nicholas were in the basement/workshop of Nicholas’s house. They Leon had brought along a tape of one of the episodes and a VCR, and Nicholas was carrying an old T.V. set under his arm.
“In here.†Nicholas pushed open a door with his free hand. Inside the room behind it was a large contraption slightly resembling a hairy film projector. When he got closer, however, Leon realized that what he had thought was a forest of thick hairs was actually a tangle of alligator cables.
“Could you hook these wires up to the VCR?†Nicholas had already attached the alligator cables to the television, and was handing Leon the cord connecting the T.V. to the VCR. Leon took them and plugged them in, then slid the cassette in.
A picture flickered into life on the screen, and the two men watched for a while. After a while, Leon said, “Stop!â€
Nicholas jabbed the remote. “Simon?â€
“Yeah. He’d be perfect for this job. Trust me.â€
“I do trust you.†Nicholas picked up another remote and used it to crop the screen until only Simon was showing. “I made this remote myself. See, now we press this button, and we can edit out bits of the background, and we rotate it with these buttons to make sure the 3d isn’t buggy. It isn’t, so we hit okay, and…â€
The film projector began whirring, and light spilled out into the room, slowly taking the form of a young man in a dark red sweatshirt and a buzzcut.
“Hologram?†Leon asked.
“Nope. Solid. One hundred percent real. Now let’s brief him.â€
* * *
Simon walked up the steps and rang the bell. It was answered by a woman in a black robe. She looked like she had been crying.
“Would you like to buy an Earth product?†he asked. “I have t-shirts, mugs, figurines- what’s wrong?â€
“Nothing.â€
Simon wasn’t convinced. “Is it the gods?â€
“Y- how did you know?â€
“Let’s just say the gods haven’t been treating me very well, either.â€
The woman looked him in the eye for the first time. “Say, aren’t you from that T.V. show, Earth, or something?â€
Simon frowned. “Yes.â€
“You don’t sound very happy about it.â€
“Leon and Nicholas pulled me out of the show just to sell some stupid merchandise.â€
“So you’re a real human, right? Listen, I have a job for you, but only if the gods aren’t your friends.â€
“I’m listening.â€
Airyn woke up with a temperature the next day, which wasn’t surprising. She often got viruses*. She didn’t feel too ill, so she went down to the kitchen. On her way down, she saw Nicholas dashing out the door.
“Where are you going?†she asked.
“Over to Leon’s. I have some business to take care of.â€
“Okay. Listen, I don’t feel very good, so I’m going to stay home for the day.â€
“I hope you feel better. Come to think of it, I’m not feeling well either.â€
The door slammed behind Nick when he dashed out the door, and Airyn clutched her forehead. She was getting a headache.
_________________________________
*It was in her blood.
_________________________________
Leon was sitting at his desk with a hot water bottle on his head when Nicholas knocked.
“Come in,†he groaned.
Nicholas staggered in, and collapsed into a seat. “Sorry,†he exclaimed. “I woke up feeling sick, and it’s been getting worse each minute.â€
“I know how you feel,†Leon replied. “I woke up feeling dizzy, and I’ve had a migraine for the last twenty minutes. Not only that, but Igrum called in sick as well! I don’t think we’ll get much done today, if we’re both too dizzy to walk up a flight of stairs.â€
“Why don’t we go over to my place?†Suggested Nick. “Airyn isn’t feeling well either, so we could have a home day!â€
“Sure!†Leon was glad he wouldn’t have to spend the day alone in his office.
They both stood up dizzily, and teetered down the hall.
“Boy, Airyn will be happy to see us!†said Nicholas. “I don’t think she wanted to be home alone sick.â€
By the time that Nicholas and Leon reached the house, they both felt on the verge of throwing up. Nicholas opened the door, and saw Airyn sitting on the couch. She was pale, and was taking deep, slow breaths. “You two are sick also?†she observed.
“Yep.†Replied Nicholas. “What tipped you off? Was it the fact that Leon knocked four times but failed completely to keep a beat, or did you notice that both of us are swaying like skyscrapers in hurricanes?â€
“It is a little bit weird,†admitted Leon. “This is exactly what happened in the episode of Earth where the humans stop believing in us.â€
“You know,†mused Airyn, “Death was feeling very depressed recently.â€
The three stared at each other.
The three ran out the door.
“Would she really do this?†panted Leon.
“She might. She was feeling very angry towards all of us recently,†Airyn gasped out.
“I’m going to have a stroke.†Moaned Nicholas.
They were running at top speed towards Nicholas’s workshop. When they reached it, they raced inside and pounded down the steps to the basement. They practically fell through the doorway to the room that the old film projector was kept in.
They looked up.
Leon gasped.
Airyn yelped.
Nicholas puked.
The entire room was filled with humans, sucked straight out of Earth. Leon Immediately understood what had happened. When he had designed Simon, he had given him extraordinary powers of persuasion. Simon was now clearly abusing that power to the extreme, with the help of Death, to convince the humans that the gods did not deserve worshipping. This was not enough, however. He had also convinced them to worship the machine that had been used to create them.
“WHAT CAN WE DO?†screamed Airyn, panicking.
“I DON’T KNOW!! WE HAVE TO KEEP THEM FROM WORSHIPPING IT! OTHERWISE WE’LL DIE!â€
“HOW DO WE DO THAT?â€
“I-â€
Nicholas, clearly overcome by the sickness, keeled over, almost in slow motion, and collided with his machine, which hit the floor and exploded.
The room was deadly silent.
“That’s one way,†whispered Leon.
“GET THEM! THEY MURDERED THE CREATOR!†Simon spat out “murdered†and “Creator†as if he hated using them in the same sentence.
The room became a roar, and then a sea, as it gushed forward and overwhelmed first Nicholas, then Leon, then Airyn.
Simon, from up atop a pedestal, roared, “WE MUST HAVE A NEW GOD!â€
The crowd shouted back, “YES!â€
“THESE THINGS ARE NOT WORTHY!†He shook Nicholas like a dishrag, and some more bile popped up.
“NO!â€
“THE GREAT TELEVISION, OR “T.V.â€, IS OUR BIRTHPLACE! IT IS WHAT TRULY MADE US BE!â€
“YES!â€
“IT IS ULTIMATELY WORTHY!â€
“YES!â€
To Leon, the roaring became background noise, like static on a television set. Television. He didn’t want to think about television. He wanted to think about his family. They were an infinite distance away, and yet, none at all. In fact, in some other universe, they were occupying the exact same space as him. This thought gave him comfort, that even though he would never see them again, they would always be right there. In fact, they would not be alive now anyway. They would have died millenniums ago. Would he see them when he died? He thought so. In fact, he thought he could see them right now.
The gods died.
Uh….wow. I do not know what to say. That is an awesome short story, SR, though rather depressing…. You’re a really good writer.
Thank you.
It is depressing, isn’t it? Wow. Do you think I can write a normal, happy story? That would be a fun challenge.
So, anyway. Now people know why humans love television. Oh, and I forgot to tell you before, but the name of the book is “Earth”.
Yeah….it’s really good, though. And thought-provoking. Good stories aren’t necessarily happy stories, though I tend to like happy stories more.
The making-TV-God thing was….scary. And close to home. And I like the name of the story. Did you write it for a contest or something? I will be outraged if you didn’t win anything.
No, I wrote it as a school assignment.
I had to kind of rush the ending, which is one of the things I wanted to revise.
It’s good. Though, yeah, depressing.
Wow, I haven’t been on here in forever.
K so I’m planning on entered a short story contest, where you have to write a fiction piece of 100 words or less (some of you might remember this from last year). Anyways, I have three, and I was wondering if you guys could read them and tell me which one you like best. Thanks!
I
“This way, sir.â€
They take my hands and lead me up the steps, while a man with a scroll reads out my accomplishments to those gathered. My career has been long and illustrious.
A man in a hood comes forward to present me to the cheering crowd. I look out across their madly ecstatic faces, and see the one face that matters most to me.
There are, inexplicably, tears upon it.
The hooded man places a medal about my neck. It feels strangely rough and heavy.
The cheering grows louder.
The tear-strewn face turns away.
The noose tightens.
________________________________________________________
II
“So this is it, huh?â€
“Looks like it.â€
“Funny. After all this time, you’re the one I’m—â€
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You never did really like me.â€
“I—â€
“Just hear me out. You never thought of me like that, you were always chasing after someone else. And to be fair, I never really gave you a second thought, all the time we worked together.â€
“Gee, thanks.â€
“Yeah, well, I just wanted to say that even after all that—it’s an honor. To be at your side, at the end.â€
“Hey—â€
“Yeah?â€
“Thanks.â€
-_______________________________________________________
III
“Ready?â€
“Yeah. Let’s get changed.â€
In my room, I replaced my shirt and shorts with a corset, petticoat, and dress.
He was waiting by the machine. “This era suits you.â€
“You, too.†The doublet did look good on him.
Inside the machine, we each went about our tasks, not speaking much. We’d done this before, but this was the last time.
Finally, we were ready. “Goodbye, 21st Century,†he said, waving out the window. “Hello, sweet past,†he whispered, gathering me into his arms as the machine began to spin.
“Hello, future,†I corrected. And we spun away in time.
___________________________________________________________
Hm. They’re all rather depressing, aren’t they?
91- I think maybe I like the first one best. The second doesn’t explain anything, it’s more like an open scene or something. The third is better, but it seems awkward in the beginning, in a way that you can’t really afford in such a short piece.
91- I love the first one. It makes it seem like it’s some army vet who’s getting a medal, but it turns out that they are a criminal about to be hanged.
I just had a marvelous idea for a story.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Setting: 2009. Set in an alternate history where Asia, not Europe, industrialized, produced steam engines, and became what Europe is today. They colonized America, except starting in the Cal. area, instead of New England. Most of the modern world is now Chinese speaking/ Japanese speaking. Thailand colonized Mexico and South America, and Thai is the second most spoken language. All the modern European countries have Asian replacements:
France: Japan
England: China (except with very good food)
Germany: Korea
Spain: Thailand
Italy: India
Greece: Indonesia (Praised for the health benefits)
Russia: Russia
The Middle East is about the same, except less poverty/ war stricken. Most of the violence is moved westward, into Greece and the Meditteranean.
All dates are moved earlier, as Asia had the cance to industrialize before Europe
(To describe the politics, I’m going to use the modern day place names)
The equivalent of the Napoleonic wars happen in Japan, and the monarchy is over thrown, and it becomes a temporary deomocracy in 1814. It was inspired by the American revolution, which happened in 1734. Asia, in 1854-1902, was broken up into very small countries, some with attempted Korean take overs. The “duke” of one of the countries was assasinated, which led to fighting between the whole world. Russia goes communist, and a little later, England does as well. Korea conquers lots of China, with the help of France, which Korea made a pact with, and India, with a Mussolini style leader. This is in 1924 – 1931. Eventually, Korea has to give back th land, and is broken up into smallish countries, which reunite, but don’t cause much trouble. An equivalent of the UN is formed. Meanwhile, Germany isolates itself afterbeing trashed by troops marching though, and becomes the equivalent of North Korea. The Cold war happens in 1940 – 1950, with Europe on one side, and Asia & America on the other. It behaves much like the one that happened to us, with some of Asia turning Socialist, and Europe slowly reverting back to a Capitalism. Large advances are made throughout all that time. The equivalents of the Vietnam war and the Korean war happen, in Spain and Gremany (respectively). The US looses Spain, from 1956 to 1957, with. In Germany, they have troops there until about 1980, because it has become a totalitarian and dangerous country. In1967, when the US starts fighting in Greece and Italy (Iraq and Iran) with most of Asia. in 1970, the US leaves Italy, and a theocratic (Roman Polytheisim) democracy is set up. The US keeps fighting in Greece until about 1979, when we leave. Terrorism increased when the US was in Greece, with Greek terrorists bombing bouldings in the US. Again, the world is peaceful for a while, but then Germany reveals that it has nukes, which are as acurate as the ones the US has today, but the US nukes are even better, and cause (untestedly) minimal damage outside the target. The Gremany threat hangs until about 1990, when England, tired of all the riff raff, invades Germany and disposes of it’s nukes. Technology is about where it is today. The climate is not in as bad shape as it is today, due to the Asian moral of preserving the enviroment. In 2009, computers have created the future predicted today. Bio-tech, as it’s called, has begun to go into the private sector, with bacterial spreadsheets and simple games. The simplest are as complex as some of the most complex to day, as life can model life better than computers. Disease is still there, but advances in bio-chemistry have allowed for better and new vaccines. & anitbiotics.
Religions (They are aproximately switched)
Buddhism: Christianity, except Christianity is nearly non-existant, as it conflicted with much of Asian religion
Islam: Shinto, but common in the US
Extremist Islam: Roman Polytheism
Indonesian “Native” Religions: Judaism, but larger.
Africa & Australia weren’t colonized. They had contact made, and moslty became allies with Asia, after they learned their lesson from the Americas. This avoided much of the problems with enviroment and government.
Art is mostly an Asian version of abstract, with small, intracate designs that reflect nothing about the world.
Music is moslty Asian, with the pentatonic scale used as the basis. European music is exotic and uncommon.
Movies are almost all holographic/3-D.
Cowboy/Westerns: Samuri/Tae Kwon Do
Samuri/Ninja: Knights
Monty Python: Chinese version
Sci Fi: Sci Fi
Fantasy: Fantasy
The Chinese Monty Python is the basis of most comedy, TV shows have strange humor, with steroetypes put out equally*
Harry Potter Equivalent: Nearly the same, except Hogwarts is in Japan.
“Forgien” languages:
English: Not spoke, studied
French: Like Japanese is now
Spanish: Like Korean is now
Actual names:
Asia: Xhe-Xi
Europe: Hua-ni-sa
Africa: She-ne
Australia: Ye-te-Li
Antarctica: (undiscovered)
America: Ghe-na
*Hear that, Family Guy fans? Gay and straight jokes! Insult everyone!
“The pig goes, HACAA!â€
“No it doesn’t!â€
“The cow goes, SHAZOOO!â€
“No no no!â€
“The elephant goes, BWAP!â€
“Eh, kinda.â€
Great alternate history!
(Why are you “The Returned”)
Because I left.
CHAPTER 2
-in progress
I constantly looked over my shoulder as I ran, and tried to avoid everyone, even innocent passerby. People would probably notice someone running at top speed through the peaceful town. This meant I had to duck behind signposts, crawl under food stalls, and jump fences at the least sight of a townsperson. When I got to the docks, though, I realized that these evasion techniques wouldn’t work anymore.
The docks were swarming – literally – with busy sailors, passengers, and maintenance workers. Oh, and there were a few policemen, too. I quickly ducked behind a large crate at the end of the dock and hoped desperately that no one had seen me. After a minute of nothing out of the ordinary happening, I assumed that I was safe, and peered out from behind the crate.
There were fifteen or so ships at the dock, making my task even harder. I needed to figure out which one was heading back to Brazil, and fast. Soon the ship would leave, the police would go back to the station, and I would be stuck on the docks until the next morning. By then my luck would run out and I’d be caught.
I glanced among the ships flags, and failed to find the green and yellow flag of Brazil. I glanced again, to no avail. A gust of wind swept by, and the flags flapped violently. A bit of green flashed at the end of the dock. I stared in the direction and raised my head up, trying to see the flag. Another breeze ruffled the flags, and now I could make out the Brazilian flag at the end of the dock.
“Scuse me, mista, but ah need this here crate yer crouchin’ next ter.â€
I jumped in shock and spun around, falling on my injured back. Stifling a cry of pain, I gazed into the face of a young dockworker, who was nonchalantly chewing a piece of gum.
“Uh…†My brain stuttered like a broken motor as it tried to figure out what to do.
The dockworker chomped on the gum and stared at me. A strong scent of peppermint wafted toward me. “Cause this here crate needs ter be loaded onto that there ship before that there ship leaves in ten or so minutes.†He said this with a carefree attitude, as if it didn’t need to be loaded onto the ship anytime soon, as far as he was concerned.
I looked at the referred to crate, and suddenly noticed that stamped on in big, bold letters, the words ‘BRAZILIAN CARGO SHIPPING, INC. THIS WAY UP. VERY FRAGILE.’ My brain finally clicked into first gear.
“Sure thing, boss.†I said in a humble tone, and got to my feet, keeping my face averted from the policemen on the dock.
“Thankee kindly, mista.†He turned to pick up the crate, and stopped suddenly. Turning to me, he asked quizzically, “Say, you look fermiliar. Are you the new kid, Jerrik?â€
I gulped, and replied in a servile manner, “Yes sir, I am.â€
“Huh.†He grunted, “Ah thought so.†Turning back to the crate, he valiantly attempted to pick it up. He got it a few inches off the ground, staggered forward a foot, and promptly dropped it on the ground. The sound of something expensive breaking emanated from inside it.
92,93–Thanks guys! Yeah, I think I agree, I like the first one best.
91) I think the first one is the best. *waits for continued story* Come on! We’re, like, at a cliff hanger! *pouts*
95) I like it! But why does he want to go back to Brazil? That I thought he escaped because he didn’t want to go back.
His plan is to go to Brazil on the ship he’s “not” on, where he won’t be looked for because everyone thinks he’s still in Puerto Rico. As soon as he gets to Brazil he’ll leave to somewhere else. BUT. He never makes it to Brazil… *ominous musics*
It’s a short story, it has to be less than 100 words.
Herm. Well, I was going to post more Trystan Evander, but as I re-read the most recent section, I decided it’s not good enough to post yet. Blame my perfectionism.
But anyways, for the time being, this is a continuation of a story I began some time ago, about a girl named Catherine Bridgemont, who is friends with Death (known in my story as Hades). I revamped the beginning, but rather than re-post it (it was mostly just character development, no real plot) I think I’ll just put a little of the next section here and see what you guys think of it. Pleeeeeezzzze comment, if you have the time.
___________________________________________________________
I stepped into the lobby, closing my parasol and taking a contented look about the spacious room. It didn’t take long for them to notice my arrival.
“Katy!â€
“Cathy!â€
“Kitty!â€
I laughed as half a dozen people rushed to take my hand and welcome me. It wasn’t often that I was able to escape my Aunt’s eye to do Hades’ bidding, much less come here to visit him. And I had many more friends here than at home.
After greeting all of them, I made my way to the front desk. A young man with broad shoulders and dirty-blonde hair sat behind it, filing papers. He looked up as I approached, meeting my eyes—his were a startling, unnatural yellow.
“Cathy, my dear,†he exclaimed, standing to hug me over the counter. I blushed only a little when he kissed me soundly on the cheek. “Where in the worlds have you been?â€
“Here, there—under my aunt’s watchful eye, as usual,†I replied, leaning on the counter and grinning in return. “Do you know, she’s nearly seventy now?â€
“You mean she’s not dead yet, the old witch?â€
My expression softened. “No, not yet. Though I am glad of that, when it truly comes down to things. She’s all I’ve got.â€
“Don’t be silly—you’ve got all of us. But I am sorry for calling her a witch, if that’s how you feel about it.â€
I smiled again, this time with real warmth, and said, “Thanks, Lyall. Is Hades free now? I’ve an appointment.â€
“Go right up.â€
I thanked him and made my way across the hall to the elevator. It was on the top floor; I waited patiently for it to come down.
There was a faint rustling behind me, and a smooth voice said in my ear, “Hello, Katy.â€
I nearly jumped out of my skin. Whipping around to see who had startled me so, I’m sure my expression was none too inviting; but when I saw who it was, my face became practically murderous.
“Oh,†I said. “You.â€
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a face so palely handsome it took a moment for most people to adjust. I’d had enough acquaintance with the personality beneath his stunning features to be a bit more discerning.
“Don’t be so difficult, Katy dear,†he smiled, leaning close—too close—against the elevator door next to me. “Is that really how you greet an old friend?â€
“Of course not, Serkan, but as I believe I’ve said before, I don’t believe you fall under that blessed category.â€
He laid a hand on his chest dramatically. “You strike me in the heart, Katy, every time.†I glared, and he grinned happily—there was nothing he liked more than annoying me.
Thankfully, the elevator dinged at that moment, and I made my escape through the wrought-iron gate. But it was not to be; Serkan was in the cramped space in the blink of an eye.
“Going up?†he said, sickeningly cheerful in his triumph. The elevator man closed the grille, and I was trapped.
Perhaps I ought to explain, for a moment, my animosity towards this seemingly charming and courteous man. First of all, he wasn’t a man; he was a vampire named Serkan Tiberius, although he preferred the more dashing name of Jack Crimson when in the human world. As I said before, he was very handsomely formed, with midnight-black hair and glittering violet eyes; but as I and anyone else who’d spent time with him knew, his personality was less than appealing. He was conceited, vain, immature, and completely indifferent to any sense of propriety or decency. I’d had the misfortune of being partnered with him before on an assignment from Hades; it was a miracle that I’d retained my sanity after that harebrained affair. I made it a goal of my existence to avoid any dealings with him ever again.
One awkward elevator ride later, and we were in the cooler, quieter corridors of the top-floor offices. I bid Serkan goodbye, but of course, he wasn’t letting me go that easily.
“I’ll just escort you to Hades’ office,†he said, taking my arm and promenading me down the corridor. I fantasized for a moment about drawing the gun tucked into my bodice, but thought that splattering Serkan’s essence—the thick, tar-like stuff that ran in supernatural creatures like blood—all over the hallway would cause a bit of a scene.
We reached Hades’ office at the end of the hall. Still with a death-grip on my arm, Serkan pulled me to the receptionist’s desk. “We’ve got an appoint—â€
“I’ve got an appointment,†I cut in, finally wrenching my arm free. “Hello, Charun. Nice to see you again.â€
I said this to appease the testy receptionist, Charun, because Serkan’s rude arrival had upset his already precarious temper. Charun was not the most pleasant of people in personality, but his appearance was definitely the more distasteful of the two—he had sallow, oily skin, a large hooked nose, and rather long pointy ears. He also had large quantities of curly black hair growing haphazardly all over his face, and his eyes were like two tunnels, cold and distant. Even I, of kind nature and rather accustomed to the strange faces of the supernatural, had difficulty meeting those chilling eyes.
“Greetings, Catherine,†he said austerely. “Tiberius.†Serkan flopped down into a nearby chair without acknowledging the receptionist’s curt greeting. I rolled my eyes.
“Someone in there right now?†I asked, gesturing towards the door leading to Hades’ office. Charun shook his head. “No, but he’s taking care of some business at present. And I am afraid Mr. Tiberius—†he said the name distastefully—“has an appointment before you, although he is very late.â€
Serkan leered at me from the chair.
“All right,†I said as cordially as I could. I turned and found that the only other chair was directly next to a sniggering vampire.
Scowling, I sat stiffly.
Suddenly, however, man came flying out of Hades’ office. He was wearing a tidy suit and doublet and he looked like any other secretary, except that he had the head of a large ibis. He opened his beak wide—I could see the bright red of his tongue—and squawked:
“Serkan! Where the hell—there you are! He’s been waiting for you for hours! He’s going to be absolutely furious! You’d better get your sorry white a—†he saw me and snapped his beak shut, thankfully cutting off his expletive.
“Miss Bridgemont! I—er—didn’t see you there,†he said sheepishly, ducking his head.
I smiled cordially. “A pleasure, as always, Mr. Thote,†I said, extending my hand. He clasped it in both of his own—his touch was feather-light.
Serkan yawned behind me. “Well, it was absolutely lovely seeing you again, Katy, we really must run into each other more often—†he tried to sidle past Thote, who snapped at him with his long beak. “Perhaps we could meet for tea?†he said hopefully, ducking the ibis-man’s sharp bill and pausing on Hades’ threshold.
“Not a chance, Serkan,†I said, trying not to smile. He made a dramatic face, and disappeared finally into Hades’ office.
_______________________________________________________
Hee hee. This one’s more for fun than anything else, I love writing all that bickering between Katy and Serkan.
Nthanda- It’s quite good (I like this story a lot), except that Catherine really bugs me. (Sorry. I just don’t like that particular breed of heroine. If it’s any consolation, I have one or two of my own, and I don’t like them any better than Catherine.) Also, Serkan and Catherine aren’t going to fall in love or anything, are they? That would be incredibly irritating.
Other than that, it’s great. I like all the supernatural creatures and the Victorian-ness of the story.
98) Tee hee. Your write, it’s fun to read too. I remember this one!
99–yes, she is a bit petulant, isn’t she? But part of the story is how she (and Serkan for that matter) are sculpted by the events that unfold around them (I like thinking about that sort of thing). But yes, unfortunately, they do fall in love, mostly because of being bonded by trauma, opposites attract, etc. etc. As I said, more of a fun novel than a serious attempt
I would like to know, though, exactly what traits make her annoying. I’d like to see if it’s something I should clean up or leave in.
____________________________________________________
More, just because I’m bored
While I wait to enter my patron’s office, I shall recount for you the strange circumstances surrounding my acquaintance with Hades.
I was introduced to him at a very young age—first by my mother, then by my father. After their departure, I was sent away to an orphanage, but Sir Death did not disappoint; the Headmistress died within three months of my arrival, of a strange and incurable disease.
Even I cannot answer fully why Hades came to be my patron; I can only assume that he saw within me a spark that caught his fancy. All I know for certain was that at the three funerals for my mother, father, and the headmistress of the orphanage, a tall, top-hatted gentleman in a finely-cut black riding coat presided, and that after the last of the three, he approached me and made a most fantastic and peculiar offer.
Being a ward of Hades was at best an abstract agreement. He could not grant me immortality, even if I’d wanted it. He could not bring me back to life if I did die or keep me tied to earth as a ghost. He could send others to watch over me, to stave off my time of reckoning, and if I found someone strong enough to do it, he could allow someone else to transform me into an immortal. There was always some law here or there restraining or enabling me to do all manner of odd and backwards things; but when the Eternal Footman takes a liking to you, you can be sure you will be well-served.
In return for the supernatural protection offered me, I was politely requested to take on a few jobs here or there. It was discovered that I had a talent for strategy and thinking on my feet; Hades had me added to his small group of hunters who tracked and killed rogue supernatural creatures. I truly enjoyed my semi-voluntary “workâ€; it gave me a chance to escape my aunt and have a freedom rare to women in these times. Besides, risking my life once in a while seemed like a fitting way to repay my prestigious patron.
The door to Hades’ office opened. “He’ll see you now,†said Thote, bobbing his head respectfully. I stood, and entered.
“Catherine, my dear,†said Hades, standing and bowing over my gloved hand respectfully. I shot a look at Serkan as if to say, Watching? This is how it’s done. He stuck out his tongue at me. So immature.
“You were able to escape your aunt so soon?†he asked, bare teeth twinkling.
“She believes me to be dress shopping, so I’ll have to pick one up on the way home.â€
Hades face—or rather, his glimmering empty eyes—lit up. “Why, you read my mind, Catherine. I’ve something for you, in return for taking care of that Hellhound so neatly.†He rang for Thote, who returned shortly with a large white box.
“You didn’t,†I exclaimed. As Hades well knew, I had a bit of a weakness for pretty dresses; he’d gifted me before with something similar. I opened the box to find a lovely hunter-green specimen, with a striped bodice and black lace edging. It was beautiful.
“If you look beneath the apron, you’ll notice a little addition of my own.â€
I checked and found a cleverly-hidden holster for my gun, Genevive. I dropped the box and threw my arms around Hades; it was at times like these, ironic and painful as it was, that Hades felt like a father to me.
“It’s only a dress, my dear,†he said gruffly in my ear. “And you did do a splendid job with that Hound.â€
Serkan yawned loudly to remind us that he was still there, and I rolled my eyes and sat in the other chair in front of Hades’ desk. He, too, sat, and we finally came to business.
_________________________________________________________
Hm. Rawther cliche in (most) areas, but whatevs. And I’m still not sure why the gun is named “Genevive” (or, indeed, why the gun is named at all…)
101- I don’t know precisely why she’s annoying, maybe because there are so many of her type, maybe because she’s something of a Mary Sue. Beautiful, witty, smart, scornful, Victorian, keeps a gun in her bodice… She probably hates the stereotypes of her time or something like that too. These are all traits that annoy me, but I know other characters who lack some of these traits annoy me too. I can’t define it.
102–thanks
I don’t think she’s that bad. Though, yes, slightly Mary-Sueish.
Remember that story I posted a while back based on the first episode of Carl Sagan’s Cosmos? Okay, so I found a series with almost exactly the same plot apart from not being based on the show called George’s Secret Key to the Universe. It’s a new series, so it hadn’t come out yet when I had the idea for my story. And you know what’s really funny? The story is by Steven Hawking. Yeah, THAT Steven Hawking.
You know, I was really excited about the story I was writing and almost done with, but I’ve missplaced the document and now I can’t finish it. *sob* It will turn up. I refuse to say the “l” word.
I just wrote this. I thought it’d be a good beginning to a story, but I like it the way it is. Comments, please.
**
The steady drip from the cave ceiling was just making the dark splotch on her shirt grow. Not that it mattered; she had so many dark splotches on her shirt it could be confused for fine art, if blood was a medium. “I really hope it doesn’t stain,†she thought to herself. It would really suck if blood did stain, because she already had a severely limited amount of clothing.
Not only were there potential blood stains on her shirt, her back hurt from laying on rock for the past four nights, she didn’t have an electrical socket to plug her hair straightener into, she was pretty sure there was a rat nibbling on her toe, and worst of all, she was human.
“How unfortunate,†she thought, “to be born into a good, respectable, fairly rich family and turn out human.†Her poor mother. Alyssa’s suffering was probably nothing compared to the utter shame and disgust her mother had to bear, knowing she had produced, of all things, a human being.
Of course, the entire dialogue that took place inside of Alyssa’s depressingly human mind was dripping with sarcasm. She really didn’t see the problem with not being a bloodsucking fiend, like the rest of her family. Regrettably, everyone else did. And now here she was, stuck in a cave a couple miles out of town, just having fought off a pack of ravenous who knows what, with blood on her shirt and a rat at her toes.
And oh, that little damp spot really was getting chilly.
I like it! It’s intriguing!
“Ah. That, er, well, see, um,†He stuttered nervously, his nonchalant attitude having evaporated completely. “Er… look ‘ere, now, Jerrik m’lad. I could lose m’job over this, now, and then I’ll be out of a job, see? An’ I really need this here job, so, er, just, er, pretend you didn’t see that happen, and, and, er, didn’t hear it neither, all right?â€
It didn’t take me a second to decide what to do. The worker, who was only a little older than me, didn’t deserve to be cast out on the streets as I was.
“Saw what happen?†I asked. “You just picked up the crate and then put it down gently. There was no merchandise damage whatsoever.â€
A look of relief and thankfulness spread over the worker’s face. “No, m’lad, indeed there was not.†He stared at the crate, thinking. “Say, Jerrik m’lad, do yer mind helpin’ me ter move this crate ter that ship? Don’t want any accidents happenin’, now do we?â€
I shook my head and answered, “No sir, we don’t. I’ll help you move it. Which ship is it going to?â€
“It’s goin’ ter that there cargo ship that’s headin’ ter Brazil. An’ there’s no need ter call me sir. M’name is Kendrick, an’ you can call me that.†Kendrick glanced at his watch and yelped. “The ship leaves in ten minutes! Come on, we’d better get movin’!â€
Ok, so I’m writing a new story. I need someone else’s help to edit it. Here it is. Preferably someone not working on a story right now. I’d like to keep it pretty dark, but more description can be added.
Bostonian Fantasia (Working title)
Sarah walked down the sidewalk of Boston as the rain pattered down, wetting everything, and chilling her to the bone. She had to get groceries for her father. They lived in a two bedroom apartment. It wasn’t an amazing apartment, but it was tolerable. No rats or mice. No loud neighbors. All that was missing was her mother. Her mother had died when Sarah was 6. She remembered the event clearly.
It had been a normal day in their large mansion. Then, my mother left to get some bread in their large kitchen. I heard a scream. My father and I rushed in. The pantry door was open, with bread hanging out partway. Allison, my mother was gone, with a puddle of water left on the ground.
The police came later that day. They couldn’t find any clues, except for my mother’s fingerprints on the bread. She was classified as ‘Missing, most likely dead’. The water had been analyzed, and the only odd quality was a large quantity of organic matter, stuff that had been alive. The DNA structure couldn’t be identified.
Sarah came home with the milk. She set it on the table, and called to her father.
“Dad! I’m home! I got the last milk left.â€
“Hi honey. Are you forgetting something?†Her Dad asked slyly.
“What?â€
“It’s your birthday!†He yelled to her.
“I’m 12, dad. I know it’s my birthday.â€
“Well, now you’re 13!â€
“I don’t need reminding, Dad. I’m in 7th grade.†She walked off to the bathroom. Her hair was messed up. Again. This was the fourth or fifth time that day. Sarah’s hair was usually messy, but this day put it farther than ever. Her hair would comb straight, and looked nice for a few hours, but then it sprang back up in crazy patterns. She didn’t care. She never wore make-up, and didn’t care about her looks. Maybe that was because she was pretty ugly, with long brown hair, a button nose, and bright blue eyes. A combination that never worked well together. She also was wire thin, but very short. All in all, Sarah stayed away from mirrors as much as possible.
The disappearence of the Mom is interesting. However, I don’t like the part with the Dad telling Sarah that it’s her birthday. For one thing, she says that she’s 12, when apparently she knows that she no longer is. Plus, that’s not a normal thing for the Dad to do. To emphasize her birthday like that is abnormal, especially if she’s not too keen about it. Also, you’ve got several sentence fragments. *evil editor scrutinizing look*
Poopers! I wanted entertainment.
I thought of writing a story with Death (yes, the black-robed-skeleton-with-a-scythe guy) as the main character. But is it too cliched?
No! It just depends on how you write it.
And that brought a thought to my head. Why is death always portrayed that way? Does it have to be? Does anyone have a different view about what death would look like? Maybe we should take this to a discussion thread or something like that…
In a short story by Peter S. Beagle, Death is a beautiful young woman.
Another memorable Death was played by a young Robert Redford as a handsome police officer on “The Twilight Zone.” Death is also frequently personified as an angel or bird. I know I’ve seen quite a few other interpretations, just none of them are coming to mind.
I usually think of a “personified” (objectified?) Death as an invisible mist that slowly floats about, and, when killing someone, become the final breath of the deceased.
That’s the sentence that inspired my NaNo.
You could also look up Neil Gaiman’s Death from the Sandman books.
Awesome!
A new mini-myth. Fortunately, this one doesn’t seem to be as messed up:
THE CORNER OF THE NIGHT
The Night sparkled like velvet, and flowed like glass. It was that kind of night. Things happen on that sort of night. This particular night happened to be the first of its kind. In fact, it happened to be pretty much the first of anything. There was nothing else. All there was was the night, which is why the Cocpians first began to doubt the existence of this night at all. If there was only night, what made it sparkle, and what did it flow over? And the Cartenaans, they said, “Easy. It flowed over Ned, and Ned’s flashlight made it sparkle.â€
And the Cocpians asked, very reasonably, “If Ned was there and he had a flashlight, then was the night really the only thing there?â€
To which the Cartenaans replied with a well-placed kick to the head and a few muttered words about “Logic loving Pearitites†and “Non-philosophical Anti-Flashlingsâ€.*
But for now, we must assume the Flashling point of view. The Night was empty, empty as the Battery Socket in the Wondrous Flashlight of the Great Ned, in his quest for the ancient, mysterious Pack of Double As.
The night was empty, until Danny came.
And with Danny came Francesca.
And with Francesca came Ugly Pugly.
And the world has never seen a pug so vile, and yet so amazing, and so incredible, and so terrible, as Ugly Pugly.
Ugly Pugly was a dog in the same way a Human is a Naked Ape. It was an accurate description**, but it didn’t quite shine the light on his full glory. Ugly Pugly was much, much, more than a dog.
And Danny and Francesca walked through the night, in search of something that they did not have, and looking for something that they knew did not exist. And Ugly Pugly took a widdle in the corner.***
And if Danny and Francesca had been paying attention to their Canine of Power, they would have noticed that perhaps what they were looking for was not so impossible after all. But Ugly Pugly had claimed it first. He had marked his territory, in a very doglike way, on the Corner of the Night.
And when the sacred urine of Ugly Pugly touched this Corner of the Night, life exploded from the darkness, and these were the Cartenaans, and they were ants to Ugly Pugly, and he tread on them, and the smushed ones became the Water, and the squashed ones became the earth, and they called it WÃ¥ndebar.
And then Ugly Pugly moseyed over, in a mosey that only Ugly Pugly could perform, to Danny and Francesca. And he jumped up onto Danny, and his claws were long, and the blood did flow from Danny. And so they took the Clippers and they Clipped Ugly Pugly’s Toenails, and the Clippings became boats, miniscule boats, and in those boats were the Cocpians. And the Cocpians, in their itsy-bitsy boats, sailed over to Wåndebar, and they took residence on it, and both races have lived there ever since.
It would be nice to say that the Cocpians and the Cartenaans lived in harmony, but sadly, if you mix urine and toenails**** , all you get is a big mess, and your mom yells at you to clean it up, which we all know is much less fun then making it*****. And even after you clean it up, it leaves a faint smell and a lot of (bad?) memories.
*Macronians and Flashlings are the two dominant religions of WÃ¥ndebar, a world too far gone for help. Macronians are usually Cocpian, and Flashlings are mostly Cartenaans.
**Somewhat.
***Although this description does not quite do him justice. When Ugly Pugly answers the call of nature, he does it on a cellular phone carried not by T-Mobile, nor by Verizon, but by the Great Pig In The Sky herself. And each button on this phone makes a different noise, so not only can Ugly Pugly play the Mario Theme song, Ugly Pugly can play Revolution 9. With only the buttons. And while Ugly Pugly is on this Phone of Might, he can play anything from Snake to-well, I think Snake is enough for anyone, but he could play more. If he wanted to.
****Do not try this at home.
*****I mean, not that I’ve tried.
Heh. I like it! Especially the toenail part. It made me laugh.
The old writing thread hasn’t been touched, so I’ll repost this where it’ll get a response.
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Gimanator
in August 25th, 2009 @ 15:05
This was a dream I had, recently, and I thought it would make a nice short story. Sadly, most of my dreams don’t make it here because of their explicit nature…
I’m on a train. The rest of my boy scout troop is with me, yet all are in winter attire, wrapped in dark clothes; each is wrapped in an extension of the already abundant shadow. Each snowflake rushes past the window-there is never time to see it delicately kiss the ground. I press my bare hand to the freezing window, as I stare outside into the white endless abyss. Everything is frozen in a state of peace. Looking back, I see my peers have settled into sleep. I follow suit by pulling my clothes tighter, and I fold my head down into my chest.
The snowflakes fall, beating in sweet rhythm with my heart and breaths. I have fallen in to the frozen peace. A scraping noise arrests my peace. Words are whispered in my ear, “Get off the train.†The voice is so real and so near I turn to face the wall. Through a small hole in the train’s shell, there is a mouth. I turn to the window, and peer out the side.
On the side of the train car, there hangs a figure, cloaked in the same shadow as my troop members, its mouth pressed to the hole in the wall. They couldn’t be a boy over the age of 12.
I crawl back to the mouth, hoping it will hear me. “Why are you holding on?†I question, “That’s incredibly dangerous!â€
The mouth takes a moment to respond. “Get off the train. You have not seen what I seen. You cannot comprehend the disturbing things flashing before my eyes. Get off now, and spare yourself.â€
I stare back in disbelief at this mouth. “Why?†I ask it.
Before it can respond, a tree branch scrapes along the side of the train, and whips the figure to the ground. I gasp, but fall back to my frozen sleeping position.
~~~~
Bah. Not close to finishing. Always not enough time. Finish later.
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Gimanator
in August 25th, 2009 @ 17:31
OK! Now I have time!
~~~
Time passes quickly. The snow falls faster than one can imagine. My brain still processes the events. The troop still remains silent and sleeping.
It is another five minutes before I hear the scraping sound again. I turn and find that the figure is once again there. “You’re back. Why?†I ask.
“You need to get off. You cannot understand the peril I have seen.â€
The figure lowers its head to peer through the hole in the train. Its bloodshot stares through examining each and every troop member, assessing whether or not they are worth alerting.
“You may warn them, if you like.†It tells me.
“Why?†I ask, “What is this supposed peril?†I act unconcerned, but we are almost to the station.
I only see its eye, but I can tell that he is smirking.
In an instant, a fellow troop member runs up and jabs the eye with his finger, knocking the figure off the train. Turning, I see he is an eagle scout who left the troop a few years ago. He moves back to his seat and settles quietly.
Soon we arrive at the station. Nothing has happened, but I need to know more of this mysterious figure. I turn and look down the snow covered tracks. In the distance, I see a small man, pacing through the snowbank. I yell to alert him of my presence, but he turns and runs. I cannot keep up with him, and I lose him in the snow.
~~~
There.
So it’s like, one fifty five a.m. and I just wrote this and I’m really tired. It’s probably bad, but we’ll see in the morning. Comments, please.
Jacob sat alone, which wasn’t at all unusual. The rest of the café’s customer’s sat as far away from him as they could, and if they couldn’t, they cast wary glances in his direction. If he noticed this he certainly didn’t let on. With the last of his orange juice gone and the last word of a particular article on some new designer finished, he placed the magazine back in his bag and strode, with an air of someone indifferent to the rest of the world, out onto the sidewalk.
It was eight, and he should be in the salon by nine, which meant he had about a half an hour to do whatever he wanted. Since what he wanted was almost always the same thing – shopping – he wasted no time walked briskly down the block to see if there was any shop that stuck out particularly.
There was, of course, one. It’s bright flags and rainbow, neon, “OMG WELCOME†sign shouted “OMG WELCOME†like it had never been shouted before. But he had stopped shopping at Rag awhile ago. Not only had he bought pretty much everything he could ever want from Rag, he had noticed the store’s popularity increasing dramatically over the last few months. The new merchandise was sure to be worthless. And even if it wasn’t, everyone would have it. And everyone never included Jacob. He made sure of that.
The café he had just exited had a couple of chairs and a table outside. He wasn’t actually sure if they belonged to the café, but they had been there ever since he had moved from his nonchalant, boring, depressingly slow, craggly, old, penny pinching, big eyebrowed, split ended, ignorant, did he already think of boring, and worst of all, closed minded town for retirees to the city.
Regardless of the chairs’ ownership, he plopped his purse onto the table and took out a mirror. Sitting down, (because you never fix makeup while standing up, you need to be absolutely concentrated) he brushed up an eyelash, wiped a little at his lipstick, patted his hair and pursed his lips. Two seconds later, satisfied that he looked untouchable and as fake as possible, he put the mirror back in the bag and stood again. It was now nine minutes after eight.
Jacob stood there, looking into the street. He’d always been mesmerized by the activity on streets. Even in his nonchalant (etc, etc) town, the cars passing by, the street lights… and he had never even owned a car, much less driven one somewhere. He liked walking. Something lodged itself in his throat. Jacob sat back down into the lonely looking chair.
For the first time in years, he noticed the world.
So remember my Dickensian story? I was thinking that maybe I could combine it with the farm boy story of yesterday just to make both of them more complicated. I’m not sure exactly how the combination would work. I kind of like the idea of the farm boy being the one to win the lost fortune, but that would mean that Catriona wouldn’t come in until halfway through the farm boy’s story and that will never do. It also occurred to me that the Italian supermodel (no longer a supermodel or perhaps even Italian) could be in league with/the sister of the man who did get the fortune, but that’s not enough of a connection, there would need to be more to it.
Maybe I should just give up this whole connection idea. It seems a little bit too contrived; there’s no real inspiration to it.
I’m attempting to revive this thread, as well as get comments for mine. Like it?
Azim was rushing along in a bullet of air, moving faster than anything. He sensed a spot of magic, rushing toward him. It would be here soon… Just one moment… one more moment… Now. He shot out his hand, grabbing the magic, just as it went by. The rush of the wind outside beat against his hand for a moment, before he withdrew it. He put his finger on the magic just after opening his hand, since though the magic usually couldn’t escape from the bullet, his hand had created a weak point, which, if the magic was strong enough, it could escape through, at least until the magic binding the air together re-knitted properly.
But it didn’t try. It sat there in his hand, a small, harmless stone, even when he cautiously took his hand away. For a moment, at least. Then it zoomed up, straight toward the weak point.
“Stay.” He ordered in a firm voice. It reluctantly went back to his hand, and sat there.
“Reveal.” Again, a firm voice. It was more effective than asking.
Small scrap of magic, Sir. The silvery voice that always spoke in such situations said. Left over from a-
Azim interrupted at this point. “Don’t tell me, some inexperienced Mage decided to do more than he could, and didn’t bother to clean up afterward. It always happens. I’m tired of it. Doesn’t the Academy teach them anything?”
The silvery voice did not respond. Azim was sure it couldn’t, since it wasn’t sentient. Just a way for your commands to be followed. But he was almost home, and now was not the time to ponder the inner workings of magic.
The bullet of air dropped him on his front doorstep, and muttering the words to momentarily dispel the air shield around his house, he stepped inside.
The stone flew up to the ceiling to test that exit, and then around the cave, testing the air shield. Azim smiled slightly, and went to work on his latest experiment, confident that the stone couldn’t escape.
He looked up a half hour later, to a clearing of the throat.
“Hello. I-” The somewhat plump old man standing there in front of him began, only to be interrupted.
“What are you doing here?” Azim thundered.
“It was necessary to come. I am-”
“How did you get in?”
“Through the door. All Academy Elite can get through any magical barrier. Didn’t you know this?”
Azim snorted. “I never even wanted to be an Elite. How would I know?”
The plump man nodded. “I see your problem. However, we have official business to get to.” He cleared his throat again. “I am-”
“Yes, yes, we know. You have a name, and several highly important-sounding official titles. Just tell my your business, and get out.”
The plump man looked somewhat annoyed, and complied. “We’re sending you a student for you to finish training in one week.”
“WHAT?”
“Do you really want me to repeat it?”
Azim was breathing hard. “No.” He paused. “I won’t take him.”
“Very well. I’ll go register your official resignation from the Zorn Academy of Mages. There should be someone here in two to five days to revoke your Collecting privileges.”
Azim glared. A moment later, he spat out “Fine. I’ll teach this student. For exactly six years. Six. No more. I’ll keep him for the minimum requirement, and not one minute more. Whether or not he’s ready to leave.”
“Very well.” The man paused. “Due to the– unfortunate circumstances–surrounding your graduation, we are sending a particularly gifted student to you. To insure that no harm will be suffered from your lack of the last six months of instructions.”
Azim appeared to become even angrier, if that were possible. “You’re saying I didn’t learn everything I needed to?” he nearly shouted.
“We are certain that you know everything necessary for instruction of young ones. However, we feel that you would do better with a more advanced student, until you figure out your preferred teaching methods.”
“Fine.” Azim’s lips were pressed tightly together. “Go.”
“Certainly.” He appeared to be hunting for something to say, but found nothing. “Farewell, Azim.” He moved back toward the door, muttering the words that conjured up the air-bullet. Azim fell back into his chair, and put his head in his hands.
“Why?”
It came out muffled by his hands.
Cool! I likes it! But why would they send a gifted student to a supposedly inadequate teacher? Or do they not like this student for some reason and they want to try and make him/her miserable?
Because, theoretically, a less gifted student would learn less from a less experienced teacher. If the student already understands more, then they won’t need so much explanation that the teacher doesn’t know how to give. And, they figure a more gifted student would have a less difficult time figuring out what the teacher doesn’t know to teach. Does that make any sense?
Although it might be interesting if they hated en… I don’t know. Probably not, though. It would change everything, and the student isn’t really the kind of person you’d hate for any particular reason, so far.
Also, I just realized that when I posted it, I forgot to re-code the italics, so there’s supposed to be italics in there. Sorry.
All names are Working Names. Some are better then others
Books in actual Progress of mine: Epic (Large, carefully planned out book)
Books in Concept:
A Humor Book (Idiotically ridiculous) (Encyclopedia Canadia or Almanac of the world, or something)
Five Sapient Species
Books to be Revived at later day (A.K.A. when I feel like it)
Animal Kingdoms
Earthman (Like epic, but less epic)
All the childrens books I’m working on.
Here’s the beginning to my new interactive (choose-your-path, multiple endings, etc.) story – if you reply with an option choice, I’ll reply back and post the part that comes after that choice.
You wake up to find that you are no longer in your bedroom. Instead, you are in an empty room with metal walls, ceiling, floor, and doorways. On each wall is an empty doorway, through which you can not see. Do you:
A) Go through the door to the left
B) Go through the door in front
C) Go through the door to the right
D) Go through the door behind you
E) Say, “What the heck am I doing here, I want answers!”
E. Or B. Majority rules.
E!
E or B.
E.
OK, E seems to be the majority, so that’s what we’ll do:
You yell, “What the heck am I doing here? I want answers!” Nothing happens. Do you:
A) go through the door on the left
B) go through the door in front
C) go through the door on the right
D) go through the door behind you
E) scream it again
A.
A
Heh, this looks like fun. Hopefully ya’ll won’t mind that I didn’t answer for the first question, but I’d like to continue. I say A.
Me too.
I love these things.
B. Or A. (Shouldn’t this go to the polling place? Oh, wait, no. But maybe you could do a big post, with all the questions, and what to do if you choose each answer.)
The problem is, I have quite a few paths planned, so one big post would just be ridiculous and take too long.
B.
I’m guessing that E is just going to do the same thing, but I shall persist! E!
Heheh, E.
A, then:
You go through the door on the left and walk into a semi-primative, semi-modern jail cell. The floors, walls, and ceiling are made of soft dirt, but the bars and everything else are made of metal. You turn back, only to see the door disappear. Do you:
A) Bang on the bars and make a huge commotion
B) Sit quietly and wait for something to happen
C) Start digging through the dirt floor
I’ll try… B
I vote A.
C! (I want treasure)
C! (With E, it didn’t work, so I doubt that will work either.)
C. Definitely C.
C!
C:
You start digging through the dirt floor. After about ten feet, you break through the other end and fall into a jungle clearing. Looking around, you see that the ceiling of dirt is gone, and that there are a few various objects nearby. Do you:
A) Start walking in a random direction
B) Look around for a weapon
C) Sit down and do nothing
B.
C!! Unless it just asks the question again, I guess…
B
SFTDP
Or anything useful.
B
My dream is to be an author, and am in the progress of a very good book. My idea is that a man loses his family to a terrorist nuclear attack that destroys all of America and most of all the other countrys. The book takes place in the near future. He finds that his house is near a terrorist camp when he was out looking for food.The next day he goes out to find other survivers so they can fight and win their country back.
B:
You look around and find a slingshot, along with a few rocks that could be suitable ammo. The rocks are very strange – they are pure white and smooth to the touch. Do you:
A) Start walking in a random direction
B) Sit down and do nothing
A)
A
I choose…A
A! A! Random directions are fun!
What?!?!?!!??!! A, I guess.
Goodnight MB. Going to school tommorow after 7 days sick.
Choose-your-own-path story: I don’t suppose you could find a different thread for your story? Maybe a new thread? You’re rather clogging up this one. I guess there’s not a better one, but could the GAPAs make a new thread? P*ease? (Random thought: Did ‘please’ come from the word ‘plea’, somehow? Anyway…) I understand that you’re having fun, and this is probably the best thread, but…
The GAPA concurs and complies. Please move the choose-your-path story to the new thread.
I think the word “please” did come from “plea”.
I also think a new thread for the choose-your-own-path story would be a good idea. Someone should put it on the suggestion box. For the next choice, A.
Definitely A
Story I’m trying to write. I know there will be sentence fragments, it’s just for some reason the way I like to write. Here goes…
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The red sun was setting, turning the frozen sands blood red. Black figures slowly marched across it. Their paths were converging on one point, all of them walking towards it. No one knew how they knew where to go. No one except the figures knew they were going, and even they didn’t know they would be converging. As they marched, frozen sand kicked up behind them, forming swirling patterns and settling down again. The sun had never set before here, wherever they were. It would be gone by the time they met their goal. None of the figures knew that.
The figures were all tall and black, the blackest black that exists, or could exist. They were wavering forms, that seemed to be shrouded by heat. In fact, they were just as frozen as the rest of their world. They had been walking forever, and never got tired. In fact, they never knew they existed. What are they? Who are they? What is their journey for? No one but I knows. And you soon. Who am I? What will you be? If you want to possibly risk your existence, and your entire history, and have it possibly be the case that it’s like you never existed, then read on. You will receive the answers. If you ever start to begin to see yourself begin to vanish, or shrink, then stop. Just stop. Don’t read anymore. If you do, you will vanish. And you won’t have found the answers to any of those questions.
Very creepy. The end seems almost humorous, and in contrast to the description of the figures, somewhat odd. Actually, the entire thing somehow seems to be about to burst into humor, but it never does. It’s really interesting.
Thanks! I really actually didn’t mean it seeming to burst into humor, but that’s actually sort how I like books. So that most of it is really depressing, and the sad parts seem happy and joyful.
I’m thinking that this will be a science fiction-y type story, but with a very funny situation, and serious tone.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Far beyond this place, farther than a person could even begin to comprehend, there lies a dark vault, going far down below anything else that exists. Around the vault, there is a village. However, it’s not your average village. It is the village that does not exist. It is the village we’ve all visited, but none have been there. It is the village without a name. It is the village that is created from thoughts. Dark thoughts. Thoughts of killing, thoughts of death. Thoughts despicably evil. It is centered around the hole, and pitilessly, it is used to destroy inhabitants of the village when they are found building their village. As in thinking evil thoughts. This is worse than it sounds. Evil cannot come without good. The villagers are not allowed to think. They can only act. They are controlled, to prevent them from thinking. When one wakes up, they are thrown down to the pit. The pit is long enough that it takes eons, or longer to reach the bottom. When the villager reaches the bottom, they are not dead. They crawl around the sides of the pit, trying to climb back up. Eventually, they come out of the pit. They come into our world. As what their village is made of. The controller never shows mercy. The villagers cannot learn. But there are always enough to through the thinker in. Who controls them?
I do.
I’m not sure whether it’s almost humorous or not! I don’t know… It’s not really even almost humorous. But it’s still somehow almost humorous. I’m not even making sense to myself. Maybe it’s so extraordinarily depressing that I’m viewing it as humorous. I can’t figure it out.
Here is the most up to date version of a story I’ve been writing. Enjoy!
Type.
It was a typewriter, old fashioned, and dusty. The gold paint that once made the label so professional in the past now looked as if age had gnawed off the painted corners and edges of the letters. The typewriter was a dark shade of grey, with a bit of rust on the edges. It was very well made, oiled, and cared for. A man walked into the attic and up to the typewriter. He gazed at it.
The young man, fresh faced and clean for his job interview downstairs had been bored sitting in the waiting room and decided to wander through the small but industrious building. That led him to the attic. What went on afterwards is a different matter.
He sat down, took a breath and blew off the dust, along with, unfortunately, a few flakes of paint. He rolled in a sheet of paper. The man hit a key. The hammer flew up and rammed the ink reel with the letter O. Nothing but the faintest outline came up. He took out the reel, and looked around for another. He reached down and picked up a box. After flipping through the manual, he installed the reel and tried again.
He wrote.
———————————————————-
It started off on July 16. 1987 with a cry. The white-coated man took out a knife and severed the only thing that tethered the boy to his mother. He wailed and screamed, not breathing. The knife wielding man slapped him. The man was wearing a cloth to cover his mouth. They wrapped the boy in a towel and handed him to his mother. She was exhausted, but glad the man was gone. Soon, another man was there. He smiled at the boy, and spoke gently. They both cried.
Sitting back, he smiled slightly and continued.
———————————————————-
It started out as a short story, no more than one and a half pages. The story had a simple plot, without any twists, or red herrings. The tale of a young boy who had been ejected from what had been his home for three quarters of a year and sent into a world filled with giants. The boy could not speak or hear words, or walk. He was constantly carried around and stared at in an unnerving manner. However, upon finishing, he thought:
“That’s not too satisfying an ending. It just cuts off.”
He wrote some more. The writing just flowed, and he made a new ending, almost doubling the size of the story. It was a better ending, but the man was not satisfied.
——————————————————-
The boy could now move and speak the basics of the language, but now his masters would drop him off in a holding facility with the rest of the herd every day for hours on end. They were given strict orders on how to play games with their friends, and when to do this. He was awarded a snack at 10:00am every day and a larger meal at 12:00. The giants there always smiled vigorously and spoke with larger than life gesture none of the rest of the herd believed. The boy found himself to be in a position of constant waiting: for snack, lunch, playtime, dismissal, morning, and night. Whatever was not now.
————————————————————–
It had been one hour, and twenty-seven minutes of intense writing and 37 pages of additions to his novel. The story was a separate entity from him. While he was the one who did the typing, the story wrote itself. He wrote for another hour, writing ten more pages. The young man was happy, but mildly irritated at himself, unable to stop. He continued, for two hours and thirteen minutes, completing 83 more pages, and a few lines. At this point he had missed his appointment, and lost his chance for the job interview, but he did not care. Nervously, he tried to go away, to stop, but he couldn’t leave. If he were more observant he would notice that he was balding slightly and had a few wrinkles on his forehead. He almost made it to the door, but he couldn’t quite get there. He had a feeling of emptiness, unable to end the quickly enlarging tome. He was being torn apart inside, needing to leave, but he could do nothing to stop. He wrote for another hour, adding 39 pages to the story. It was eight o’clock, and the building was closing up. Pretty soon security would begin to do their daily rounds.
———————————————————————-
Now the boy was only slightly smaller than the giants, and thought himself wiser, better, and smarter than his “oppressive†rulers. He was interested in some of the rest of the herd, and now did work the holding facility ordered him to do even when he was at home. He often got in trouble with the holding facility head, which had the title of Principal Palanor. He avoided being near the giants and preferred the company of his herd.
——————————————————————–
It was not finished. He continued. The story had another 47 pages to it by then, and was almost done. He kept writing, and didn’t stop. He looked old now, tired, and near death’s door. He was fully bald except for a thin layer of wavy white hair next to his ears and the back of his head. He had wrinkles of a sort generally associated with elephants and year old dirty clothes. He had no idea of his condition except for the arthritis and the aching. He felt exhausted, and lost.
Security reached the attic. They saw the closed door. Locked. A dark mist was emanating from the room. One of them knocked and shouted. “Is anyone in there?†A squeaky cackle was the response. Some of the guards tried to kick down the door. The mist reached the entrance’s assailants. The remaining conscious ones looked for a rope to climb in through the window.
None of this distracted the old man. He kept writing, and writing and writing. His soul was inside of that story. Dissolving into every word. He looked almost ninety now. He had been twenty-two when he entered. The typewriter was feeding on his soul, eating him up inside. The story was 263 pages, and perfect. It was a work of a master. He was 97 when he wrote the last pages, and smiled, near death, and losing his mind. He seemed completely weakened in every part of his body, but his fingers were strong, and supple, the kind that could easily tear a phonebook to shreds, in just a few seconds. The hands were the only moving part of his body for effectively sixty years.
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The Boy, now a man and equal to the giants, needed a purpose and reason for his misery now that he was not allowed into the holding facilities. He went to meet who he hoped to be his future master. The man rode in a box on wheels, like the ones that he amused himself with when he was a child. It carried him to the lair of his future master. It was a comparatively small lair for the man’s business. He got out of the box and walked into the lair he soon would hate once he had to arrive at it every day. He was told to wait. He did not and instead wandered throughout the building. He found himself in the attic. The man saw a typewriter. He stood and marveled at its imperfect allure. He sat down and wrote what came to mind.
It started as a simp-
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He saw a rope with a hook on the end fly in and imbed itself into a bookshelf. He finished the sentence and inserted the final period, took out the final sheet, and stared at it. He died.
The ancient boy fell to the ground, a small pile of grey dust.
A bullet whizzed past the typewriter. Security was shot out of the window.
A wind materialized, and sucked the dust into the typewriter. The story bound itself, and made a cover, and a back. Then the front burst into smoldering flames, for a single second. Branded into the old leather front were four letters.
anon.
Oh, sorry for double posting, but I just remembered another story of mine that I could post. Here you go!
Clockworks
The clock struck twelve. Twice. That’s my call. You see, when a clock acts in an unusual manner that means the owners need me. My job is to fix clocks. Not clocks that hang on walls, or grandfather clocks, or even wrist watches, I fix the big ones. I make them, too. I built Big Ben. I was in charge of twelve other clockworkers for that job. I’m the best there is, and this malfunction had my name on it.
Clock working is a delicate matter. Everything must be up to date, and punctual. A bad clock can confuse someone, and since everyone who passes looks at a big clock, the clock can disorient thousands of people.
I hailed a passing carriage, and rode at top speed towards her. During the ride, I took out my binoculars and tried to find any external problems, such as broken glass, or smoke, and saw a large…well… thing wedged in between the minute hand and the first ‘I’ on the ‘XII’. That explained the problem. The hand wasn’t able to leave the hour, and so it kept ringing. I focused the binoculars and noticed that the thing was grey-brown and square-ish. Who knows, it could be a piece of fallen slate from the roof. That would make it worse. If one piece fell, then more would be liable to fall, so would have to be extra careful. Not only could that slate knock me out, it could knock me off as well, and from that height…
I arrived, dragging my toolkit, as the first clockworker there. I was going to be hired, no doubt about it. I walked to the owner and spoke to him.
“Excuse me, sir,†I said. “You have become aware that your clock is malfunctioning, am I correct?â€
“Y-es,†He winced from a particularly loud clang from the bell. “it… it started about fifteen minutes ago, and will be looked into.†I smiled, took out my card and countered.
“Nico Tempore, master clockworker at your service. A large, grey rectangular block is wedged under the minute hand. The clock cannot move, and thus will not stop ringing.†I let the continuing drone sink in and continued. “I could fix it. However, it is one of the most dangerous glitches. Twenty more minutes, and the metal will bend, the gears will chip, and the springs will stretch. May I help?â€
The old man groaned, and finally agreed to £48, a better than average deal. I could almost taste the tender, rare steak I would buy with that money. I put on my helmet, and sauntered off to go to the scene.
“W – wait,†he stammered “Are you sure I can’t come, too?†The man smiled halfheartedly “Some of the doors are locked, and I could go get help if anything…†I looked him straight in the eyes, and gave him my usual scared client smile.
“Nothing will go wrong, Mr. … …†I had not worked here yet.
“Fleadson, sir.â€
“Thank you. Mr. Fleadson, I’ve done this kind of job more than 400 times, and I’m still here. Nothing can, or will go wrong.†He sighed and gave me the keys, and I departed, a little more hastily, to make up for the wasted time. By the third floor the oscillations were getting off beat. The pitch was wrong. It wouldn’t be long before the gears start to tear the metal to shreds. And that would mean no pay, and a bad rep. I sped up. However, I had all of the equipment in the bag, slowing me down immensely, and sapping my stamina as I dragged it up the stairs. Still, the thought of the £48 and my reputation urged me on, and I got to the top of the stairwell.
It turned out to be worse than I expected. The clock’s gears were badly made, and they’d become brittle over the years. Several of the teeth had shattered and lay on the floor or were jamming up the mess, making matters worse. This kind of job, the ones involving gears is the worst. I know, or rather knew, a man who made only the mistake of growing his hair too long. A few strands catch in the gears, and no matter how skilled someone is, they still would still be being dragged in headfirst before you know it.
I ran to the clock’s power switch, and grabbed the rusty lever. With a huge groan, I pulled, and the machine creaked to a halt. I got to work.
I took out my climbing equipment, put it on, tied it to the largest gear I could find, jumped out the window, and found a foothold: the hour hand.
It felt nice and sturdy, clearly undamaged by the falling slate.
“Well, Here goes nothing,†I muttered, and jumped up towards the minute hand’s tip.
Try as I might, I’ve never gotten used to fiddling around with tools on a big machine while 110 feet off of the ground, especially if at any moment a five pound chunk of wood and rock might come hurtling down towards me. Nevertheless, I grasped the minute hand, which felt like it was full of energy, and about to burst. Then, I aimed at the slate, which was already full of cracks, and smashed it with my hammer.
The dust rained down on me, getting in my eyes, nose, and mouth. I cursed loudly, and spat out the splinters of rock. A small shard was still wedged in between the hand and the wall, impairing the hands movement still.
Now came the most dangerous part. All of the pent up minutes would be released quickly, and the clock would spring forward. I judged that it would swing about 150°, or twenty-five minutes. I got out of the way, hanging onto one of the further panes of glass, and prodded the shard of slate. It exploded from the strain, and the clock flew forward an unexpected 37 minutes, causing me to lose my foothold. I now was hanging only from the rope, 110 feet off the ground. The hammer fell from my hand, impaling an empty cart. Avoiding the minute hand as much as possible, I climbed up, and wriggled through the window, relatively unscathed, but shaken.
The gears had become damaged, as had the minute hand, but the worst was over. With the cause identified, and dealt with, all that was left was a little fine-tuning and some welding. Very easy work. After that, I could probably eke out another £20 from old Fleadson for the minute hand fiasco. You never know.
I don’t know if anyone remembers The Gifter , which is probably buried in another thread somewhere. Anyway, here’s most of what I have so far. I hope you like it!
P.S. I apologize profusely in advance to whomever has to moderate this. *heaps of choklit*
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THE GIFTER
Everything around me was heat, pure and unadulterated, impassioned. My hands, like white water lilies on their pond of cloudy air, fluttered by my side as I ran from the licking flames downstairs. The inferno had consumed the entirety of the wooden banister, and was making its’ way menacingly after me up the mahogany steps. The brown hair on my head pulled back into a ponytail whipped against my neck, and it was hot with sweat and feverish emotion. I turned my head backward, eyes wild and reflected in them the burning calescent jumble of smoke and mirrors that used to be my living room. There was nothing left.
I dashed down the hall, trying to escape the fire. It slid quickly up the stairs behind me like a snake, hissing as it burned the carpet that ignited moments after I had literally broken the door to my room open with a crash. I rushed in, frantically searching for some way to escape the inferno consuming my home and my life. My mind seemed to have been enveloped by shock and fear, and it seemed now that the only thing I could think of was the fact that my aunt would scold me for tearing my brand new jeans.
My legs carried me across the pink carpet smoldering grey with ash. I turned my head, scanning every inch of the room that was beginning to smoke. My eyes met the windows. They were my only option. I crawled over on my hands and knees, staying low to the ground, and came up underneath the windowsill. My hands groped around until they found the latch, and I tried to force the window frame upwards. I had no luck. The window had always stuck, ever since I was little, and had been almost completely welded to the bottom frame for unending years. I stood up, about to break the melting glass, when there was a shuddering from the ground up, like a small earthquake. The ceiling burst into flames.
I screamed, and dove into the shelter of my open closet as a large beam from overhead came crashing down into my room. I grabbed the doorknob, and immediately let go with a cry of anguish. It was scalding hot, and my hand throbbed in angry red pain. I pulled a sweater from above, wrapped it around the knob and used it to swing the closet door shut. Instantly, I regretted my decision. The small amount of air in the enclosed space was thick with billows of smoke, and I began to cough uncontrollably. I put the other sweater sleeve over my mouth and nose in an attempt to keep the smoke away. In the distance, I could have sworn that I heard the faint whine of a fire siren. But my voice was waning, and my one faint try to call out for help resulted in a lungful of burning air and a fit of coughing. I curled up against my unused prom dress and waited for the fire to consume me fully. I did not want to die.
It was just as the fire seeped under the closet and the noises of collapsing wood grew louder upon my ears that the door fell away. My wide blue eyes were suddenly confronted by the sight of my bedroom, eaten up by the hungry orange flames. There was hardly anything left but charred, black beams and sections of floorboard. It was a terrible sight, and I shielded my eyes to the blinding light that was crawling into the closet with me. There was a noise then. I opened my eyes, thinking that I was safe, that it was someone to rescue me. Sure enough, there was a figure standing out there, upon a lone beam of black wood. But this was strange. The man was not dressed in yellow, he did not wear a hat, and he did not have a hose or a ladder and certainly had brought no help with him. The air around us was completely silent. The man was a dark shadow, and I could not see his face. He held both hands to me outstretched, and I tried to reach upward, to feel them, to know that I was not alone. But no sooner had I tried to move than the rack on the top of my closet came falling down onto me. It hit me squarely on my head, and my eyes began to blur as the heat melted into me. The last thing I saw before I sank into dark sleep was the man, arms spread, a flame bursting behind him like a phoenix from the dying ashes of my rosebud carpet.
I felt no more.
When I awoke after what seemed like a lifetime with no end, everything was white. It wasn’t that thin yellowish vanilla white that you get with ice cream, it was whiter than new fallen snow. Everything that met my wide blue eyes was purely bright. I sat up against what felt like a pile of pillows, and looked around.
I sat in a bed that wasn’t mine. The sheets were thin and finely pressed, not like my own microfiber blankets at home. The hospital room was clean, and somehow sterile. The surroundings were bleak, very empty, with no real color except for the white walls and the wood door marked ‘303’. There was a bedside table next to me, and a couple of file cabinets and a stiff-backed chair against the east wall. A single window was across from me, and I could see the bright sunshine flooding onto the tile floor. It smelled like lemon Windex, which burned my nostrils. I tried to lift my arm from underneath the tightly wrapped sheets, then winced in pain. I looked down to see that I was wearing bandages from my left shoulder to my wrist, and it stung terribly. The memory returned to me.
The fire hadn’t been my fault, I knew that. It was an ordinary Tuesday, the heart of spring in Arizona. We lived in a suburban area, not near the main cities, and it was a quiet place for a child like me to grow up. The grass was green, the air was fresh, and everything smelled like the fresh peonies growing outside the window. I was an orphan since near birth, and had lived with my aunt and uncle all my life. They hadn’t been at home, they usually never were. They were normally always at work, making money to pay the taxes, and the mortgage on their two-story home. That day, however, they were in Russia, visiting an extension of the vast law firm where they worked. I hardly ever saw them, and when I did they were never happy to see me.
I had been doing biology, the least favorite of my subjects. I loved playing sports, and although I was only sixteen I was sure that I wanted to be a professional athlete. Athletic people didn’t need to know biology, in my opinion, especially not mitosis. I was flipping the pages of my thick textbook, when suddenly there was a loud crack from somewhere in the living room. I didn’t think anything of it at the time; our house always made strange noises. A moment later, I smelled smoke. There was a crackling, a roaring coming from the living room. I rose to my feet, and walked through the doorway to see everything in flames, and I had panicked. Then… what? A blank, white period of time that I could not remember. I stopped trying.
At that moment, someone pushed the door open and walked in. A nurse dressed in a smart white pencil skirt and vest strode over to my bed, setting on the bedside table a bottle of pain medicine and a vase of flowers.
“Good afternoon,†the nurse said. “You’re very lucky to be alive.â€
“I know,†I whispered quietly. The fact that someone was talking with me made the confirmation that I was there, and not at home with my parents in some happier time of my life. I was here, in a hospital bed, and mom and dad were halfway across the world, and I had nothing, nobody…
The nurse placed two of the blue pills in my hand, and gave me a glass of water. “Take these, and try to get some more rest,†she said, straightening her apron. “That was some fire.†She was very calm, and I didn’t understand it. How could someone else be so at peace, when inside me there was a literal torrent of emotion swirling and making me feel sick? The earth still spun, and lives went on down on the street below. But for me, everything had stopped. My life was dead and gone, barely there but for the existence of faint family ties somewhere far from where I lay. I swallowed the pills, chased by the cool liquid.
The nurse took the glass from my quavering hands, and dropped the bottle into her pocket. She was halfway to the door when I remembered to ask, “Who sent the flowers?â€
“We don’t know,†she replied. “They were just there on the front reception desk in the morning.†She walked out, closing the door behind her. I turned my head to look at the vase. It was full to the brim with blood red roses, all fully in bloom. The petals were soft, delicate, and looked like they had been spun out of pure air. I reached out to touch one with my better hand, when I noticed a small white card tucked gently into the many green stems. I plucked it out. The envelope read simply, “To Gailâ€.
I tucked my thumb under the flap of the envelope, and slit the top open gently. I opened the cream envelope and pulled out a small embroidered card. It was white, and in the corner was a small orange flower. I put my finger over it. Orange had become my least favorite color in less than two hours. Under the flower, in thin black script, were four words that I had never seen together in a sentence.
‘You have been gifted.’
I re-read the sentence for a second time, then a third and a fourth. The words did not make sense. They were not in the correct tense. “You are gifted, you were gifted…†I said to myself. But none of these comparisons seemed to relate to this new phrase. I thought about personal talents. I was a good soccer player, I got into States in swimming. But this made it seem like I had lost my gift. I put the card back on the table. Then, after a few minutes, I picked it back up and read it again.
“What could it mean?†I asked myself. More importantly, “Who sent this, and how do they know my name?†I flipped the card over, and to my surprise, there were words on the back as well.
‘277 Cunningham, Steam River Valley. Tomorrow at five. Use the back door. Come Alone.’
I took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly once. I flicked the card away from me, leaning back onto my downy pillows that were much too soft. There was no getting around this. Whoever had contacted me knew who I was and where I was. Had someone been watching me? On impulse, my eyes darted around the room, out the window where birds on the sturdy tree branches, whistling their lungs out. I was on at least the third floor. Nobody could see in without a ladder, and even then, there would be the risk of being spotted by other visitors and passers-by. My bus had always dropped me off right at the corner, and I walked only two houses before I reached my aunt and uncle’s. I was the only one ever to get off on my street, and I would have noticed if someone was following me.
So how did this person know me?
‘Then again’, thought a voice inside me, ‘Steam River is only two miles from here.’ I had to admit to myself that even though this was far off the creepy scale, some part of me wanted to know what was going on. And I had a feeling that that part of me was going to win. I sighed, and shut my eyes, leaning my neck into the cushions. Every part of me ached, but at least my parts could still ache. I could only imagine what might have happened if I hadn’t been saved in time. I slept for a moment, a little slice of peace. Then, the door was once again flung open. The same nurse was back, accompanied by a stout man in a white coat with ludicrously large glasses.
“Hello there, Miss Lawson,†he said. “My name is Doctor Lionel. I’m very glad to see you’re up and about.â€
“In a manner of speaking,†I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
The small man gave a short, high-pitched laugh that was clearly faking some sort of glee. “Yes, yes, I do see what you mean. Now, if you’ll permit me to see that arm of yours…â€
I relinquished my arm from under the tightly bound sheets, and the doctor took it and began prodding it with his index finger. I heaved a sigh. This excessive happiness was making me irritated. I wished that everyone would stop trying to make me laugh and smile. I was hardly ready to change my facial expression from the sullen mask of dull disinterest.
“Everything seems to be in order,†the doctor said, and backed away from my bed. He then turned to the nurse, and said in a low whisper that I could still hear, “Janice, contact the relatives and tell them that they should come get her tomorrow.†With that, Janice swept from the room with a small smile directed towards me, and the doctor followed her with a little, “Have a fabulous day!â€
“Keep dreaming,†I muttered as the door slammed behind the two of them.
I was tired, too tired to stay awake for any more of this. The light in the window across the room was turning a soft rosy pink, and I knew that the absence of birds chirping meant that the earth was feeling the same way I was. With a sigh, I turned on my side, drawing the covers closer to me, and the comfortable warmth of the cocoon lifted me off to sleep.
I was discharged from the white room the next day by my aunt and uncle the next morning, just as the doctor had promised. Aunt Janet took my broken arm in one of her pudgy hands, and began pulling me towards the hospital doors. Uncle Rudy followed behind us, his toothpick arms crossed and a frown of anger and distaste clouding his froglike face. No hugs, no murmurs of “Hello, Gail!†and “We’re so glad you’re not dead, sweetie!†Only mean stares and rock-hard fingers on my bandaged elbow. We walked through the shiny sliding doors, and I was unceremoniously stuffed into the backseat of the car. When my door was shut and we had begun pulling away from the curb, Aunt Janet began letting me have it.
“You listen, Gail Lawson, and you hear me well,†she hissed, making a pointed use of the last name that I had kept different than theirs. “ We leave you alone in our house for two days, with explicit instructions not to damage any of our property, and you set our house on fire. When your uncle and I have business to do, we expect you to be on your best behavior, but being the delinquent teenager that you are, you feel some insatiable need to disobey us. We are in the middle of important business negotiations, and your uncle gets a call that you are in a hospital and we need to ‘come and get you, because more patients need the room’. So we come all the way back here to find that we have no house, and have to pay some $3,000 medical bill? Let me tell YOU something, missy, if it weren’t for the fact that I promised my sister that I would take care of you, then you can bet your bottom dollar that you would be sitting in a foster home right this very moment. Am I or am I not making myself perfectly crystal clear?â€
At this point, my aunt seemed to be having some internal breakdown, so I told her what she wanted to hear. “Yes, ma’am, you are.†Then, because it appeared I had a minute to speak, I put in, “But, you have to understand! That fire wasn’t my f-“
“Don’t you dare try to tell me that any of this wasn’t your own fault! That is exactly your problem, Gail, is that you never take responsibility for your actions. Now, if you didn’t start that fire, then can you tell me who did? That’s right, you can’t. You have nobody to blame for this but yourself.â€
Uncle Rudy had been silently driving the Volvo throughout this entire verbal bashing session, and at no point had he seemed to feel that he should speak over his wife. I didn’t blame him for a minute. Aunt Janet put the ‘bear’ in ‘overbearing’. She was vicious, controlling, and never stopped to think about what she was saying before it left her fat lips. I suspected in my gut that much of this anger was coming from Uncle Rudy, but Aunt Janet had beaten him to the punch. She was usually the one speaking instead, and in fact, I had rarely heard my uncle say anything in the nine years I had lived with them. However, now he felt the need to say something. Just one sentence, but it packed the punch.
“Of all the stunts you’ve ever pulled, niece, this has been the worst.â€
The rest of the drive was silent, and the air so thick with tension that my aunt could have sliced it with one of her fake nails. I realized quickly that we were not going home. There was most likely nothing left of our ‘home’, anyway. The sights here were no longer familiar, and although we were somewhere relatively near our old neighborhood, it was not going to be the same.
We stopped in front of twin ten-story motel buildings, aptly named “Black Tide Towersâ€. They were made of coal-colored bricks, and connected with a long tunnel on the top floor. Uncle Rudy pulled three suitcases from the trunk of the car. He handed one to Aunt Janet, and a carpetbag to me. We entered the building on the right through a thick metal door, and walked up to the front desk.
“Reservation under ‘Dentworth’,†Uncle Rudy said to the man at the front desk. He nodded, obviously a bit frightened by Aunt Janet’s grizzly face. His thin fingers drew to room keys from a rack behind the counter, and slid them across the countertop towards my uncle.
“Thank you,†growled Aunt Janet.
“Enjoy your stay at Black Tide T-Towers,†the man stuttered, and stepped aside as our entourage stepped into the elevator. On our way up, Uncle Rudy handed me one of the keys.
“You’ve got your own room,†said Aunt Janet quietly, in a deadly ice whisper. “Hopefully you won’t burn this one down.â€
“I grunted. That was below the belt. I was going to make a pointed argument against this last statement, but then realized that my aunt was never going to believe me. She was never going to understand that I was innocent. So I decided not to waste my breath. We got to the third floor in a matter of seconds, and my aunt and uncle turned immediately left into another room, shutting the door loudly behind them. I let out a small scoffing noise, and then walked down the hall further, which was painted a dark grey. It was thoroughly dismal, similar to my mood. I looked down at the room number on my key. To my surprise, it was 303, the same number as my room in the hospital. I shook my head slowly. What a strange coincidence.
I found the room not far down from my aunt and uncle’s, and stuffed the key in the lock. It swung open to reveal a large room, with a bathroom, a double bed and a mini-fridge in the corner. A small black-and-white television sat in the corner, untouched for a while, it seemed. The room was freezing, and I rushed to the thermostat to crank the heat. But the highest it would go was 65 degrees. I flung my bag down on my bed and began rummaging through it. The first thing that met my hands was a sweatshirt. I pulled it on over my thin black tee shirt. There was also a pair of pants, a ten dollar bill, and a book entitled ‘Common Sense’. I immediately stuffed this in the dresser drawer.
For a while afterward, I stayed in my room and watched old re-runs of fuzzy television soaps from the 60’s. It made me a bit nauseous to watch them, but there was limited choice, and I didn’t feel much like leaving. Later that afternoon, there was a loud knock on my door. “Cleaning service,†said an accented female voice. I sat up on my bed, and then something poked my leg through my jeans pocket.
“Ow!†I exclaimed, rubbing my leg. I reached into my pocket to see what had prodded me. I pulled from it the card that I had received with the flowers the day before. ‘You have been gifted’, it told me again. I could almost hear a soft male voice behind the words, a soothing reassurance to my situation.
“Cleaning service,†the woman reminded me, now more urgently. I slipped the card back into my pocket, stood up, and grabbed my key as the cleaning lady pushed past me into the room.
There was really nowhere for me to go. I didn’t think that I would end up down in the lobby asking the concierge where Baker street was, but that’s exactly what I did. For some reason, I felt compelled to go see the remains of my old home, just one more time.
“Down the street, go onto the main highway until you see the Barnes’ Pharmacy on the corner. Turn right, go straight, and then right again at the next intersection,†the man said with a polite smile. “Would you like me to call you a cab?â€
“Yes, please,†I replied. I could hardly remember a word of what he’d said, anyway. The man put two fingers in his mouth and let out a high-pitched double whistle. Almost immediately, a yellow checkered cab screeched up to the curb and shuddered to a stop. I climbed in without any pretense.
“Where to?†the man in the driver’s seat asked. His voice was gruff, like rain rattling down a drainpipe.
“2719 Baker Street, please, and fast,†I replied.
He looked at me suspiciously, turning his thick neck to look at me, and the smoke from his cigarette swirled around the back of the cab. “You got any money, toots?â€
“Yeah,†I replied, dragging the ten-dollar bill from my pocket. Now that he was sure I wasn’t going to stiff him, the cabbie drew away from the curb. We sped around corners, got honked at by other cars, and ripped through the late afternoon traffic. I didn’t mind that we were going quickly, but the other drivers did.
It took all of fifteen minutes to clear the traffic onto Baker Street, and when we pulled to a halt at my old house, the cab driver turned around and looked at me with a look of confusion on his wide features.
“We’re here,†he said gruffly, and then held out a hand for the money.
“I’ll pay you when we get back,†I replied.
“You ain’t got enough to go two ways. Pay up, and get out.â€
This presented a problem, especially when I hadn’t the faintest idea how to get back to the motel. But, since I had no choice, I handed over the only money I had in the world and stepped lightly out of the car. The cab sped away from the curb as fast as the man driving could step on it, and I watched it disappear into traffic before I turned back to stare at the place used to call home.
There was nothing left. At least, next to nothing left. It must have been more terrible than I had imagined, for the damage done was worse than I had thought it would be. The charred black frame of the house was collapsing even as I looked at it. The base still had bricks somewhat intact, but the rest of the house was simply ashes, and soot. Few things were left inside the crumbling frames. A thin strip of yellow tape labeled ‘Do Not Cross surrounded it in a roped-off circle, but I ducked under this, disregarding it without much conscious thought. I walked closer, up the sooty path, past the burned grass, and through what remained of the doorframe.
There were a few things that had barely survived. A few metal chairs, pieces of twisted and bent metal silverware, half of a burst open washing machine, and several scraps of metal blown and scattered to the rising winds. I walked through each room: dining room, living room, front room, hallway…Once I reached what had been the stairs, I looked upwards to where my room had once been. There was nothing there but burned boards, as far as I could tell, except when I looked down. A lean, crossed rack of charred metal lay very nearby my feet. I recognized it as the shelf that used to be in my bedroom closet. Underneath it, however, was something that was not black or burnt. I lifted the rack carefully away from the ground, careful not to wreck the precious object beneath.
A single red rose, like the ones that had been in a vase in my hospital room, lay forlorn and forgotten on the earthy ground. It was so brightly bold that it made everything around it look grey and fuzzy. I dropped to my knees, my entire body trembling, and carefully slid four fingers under the delicate stem of the flower. I turned it over once in my hands, feeling the soft silk of the petals against my skin like calming medicine. Then, I saw that there was a small piece of notepaper wrapped tightly around the stem and stuck to the only thorn. Gently, I took it between my fingertips and unrolled it, folding it back onto my open palm.
“Hello, Gail,†it read. “I said at five. You’re late.â€
I dropped both the note and the rose like they had suddenly burned my hand. I then quickly spun my head around, eyes wild.
“Who are you?†I shrieked to the night. “Stay away from me!â€
There was then a full minute of uninterrupted silence as I stood, like some pale marble statue, among the ruins of my house, with only the sound of my wildly beating heart echoing around the small space, then slowing and coming to rest. It was only after I was positive that I was alone among the trees and the empty street that I could move my legs, one after the other, slowly backward out of the front door and back onto the sidewalk.
It was then that I began to run.
I did not stop running until I was at least a mile away from the general area of Baker Street. A single bell, high above in the steeple of some distant church, rang in a lonely monotonous toll, echoing to my slowing and ragged breathing.
“Six o’clock,†I said to myself, panting. The note had been right. I pulled the card from my jeans pocket, my arm throbbing from the rushing blood all over my body.
“Steam River Valley,†I read. “277 Cunningham, Steam River Valley.†That was where I would finally get some answers. I had to find out who was following me, who had seen my home burn to the ground and, quite possibly, find out whom had caused the fire and the strange experiences that I had had the night before. It was a long shot, an extensive trek. I had no more money to call a cab, and besides that, no car systems ran in Steam River. It was a strictly non-vehicle town, strange for the area. With no means of transportation, I had no choice. I would have to walk.
I looked up at the street signs above me. If I was correct, the valley was only a mile and a half away. I knew north and south. South was past me, I was headed north now. I sighed, gathered my remaining strength, and walked grudgingly northward in the direction of the dying sunset.
It was nearly dark when I stood on the hill overlooking the Steam River Valley. Everything was shrouded in a thin shawl of fog that tainted the midnight countryside a smoky grey. The long ribbon of Steam River lay ahead of me, and I could see now that it was aptly named. Shafts of billowing hot water rose up into the air like weeds. I felt their heat from where I was standing, a considerable distance away.
There was no official entrance to the small rundown mining town. A long, dirt path wound down and around the hill until the tops of sooty roofs came into view. I tread slowly down the deserted street, careful to be quiet. I was a stranger, and the people of the Valley were known to dislike foreign people trespassing on their land as if they were a pack of dogs or rats. They didn’t have paved roads, didn’t use cars, didn’t have electricity…It was as though the entirety of the area had been stuck in some strange piece of the past 1800’s. A long tread lay ahead of me, past the rundown shops and old abandoned brick establishments. I knew that there were people here, but they were not in sight. Maybe they were watching from behind the boarded windows or hiding behind bushes. All I knew was that I was different to them, and the environment of hostility followed me all the way down the highway.
I stopped walking when I came to a fork in the road, the first one in sight. In front of me there was nothing but a small expanse of cottages, smoking from the chimneys, all the way into the dark hills. The sun was gone by now, but I could still make out the words marked out in front of me at the corner on street signs. The two signs read ‘Cunningham’ and ‘Prospect’. A left turn to destiny, I thought, and without pretense I rounded the corner.
I gasped at the sight of what lay down the stretch of road. A tall building, immaculately white and monstrous, stood out against the backdrop of the hills. I was taken aback. I could hardly believe that I hadn’t spotted it when I had first arrived. It wasn’t covered by anything, no buildings or trees lay in front of it. It was clearly out in the open, with nothing to guard it. I gathered myself up and strode quickly down the beaten path, my feet scuffing against the path and kicking up clouds of dirt, making the air hazy. I didn’t care that I was coughing, and the dust was in my eyes. All that I could see was that building ahead of me, shining like a beacon of hope against the midnight sky.
The doors were in front of me in what seemed like hours but must have been seconds. They were tall, and made of thick metal. I pulled on the handles. Nothing happened. The doors were locked. I then noticed a button on the side of the left door. It had an intercom speaker above it. I pressed the button and said, “Hello? Is there anyone there?â€
“Do you have a card?†asked a light, tinkling voice.
“Oh, yeah, hold on a second…†I said, my nervous fingers fumbling with the piece of cardstock in my pocket. I drew it out. “Here.â€
“Please place your card in the slot,†the voice said.
“What slot?†I couldn’t see one near the intercom.
“Please place your card in the slot to your left,†the voice corrected.
“Thanks,†I said, rolling my eyes despite the strange situation, and I looked to my side. The curve of the building held a small metal slot. I took the card in both hands and placed one end into the slot. It was immediately sucked inside with a small sucking sound. Then, I was alone. I stood there for a few minutes, not knowing what to do because the voice was gone. Then, it returned, this time with a tone of what I thought might have been reverence.
“Welcome, Gail Lawson. We have been expecting you.†There was a small click, and the doors swung open with a whoosh. A white light filled my vision completely, and I shielded my eyes with my hand as I waited for something to happen. I stepped forward.
Suddenly, the white light dissipated and was lost to the sight of an enormous chamber. It was built entirely from strong metal and silver material, dim and slightly rustic. The main room was wide and empty of people, but surrounded by doors and more slots like the one outside. Silver elevator lifts with old fashioned, wrought iron gates stood at the far end of the long room. The light from hundreds of bright circular lamps lit the long main hall of the room, and they reflected off the glass of many stories’ worth of barriers that could be rooms. I gasped as something flew over me. It was a rolled up sheet of paper traveling quickly down a clear glass pipe. I watched it as it sped overhead and disappeared into the wall. There were more tubes, all filled with sheets over paper and rushing in a twisted sort of labyrinth above my head by the ceiling.
There were footsteps from behind me. I turned around to see who was coming. A tall woman with long red hair and wearing a black jumpsuit was walking toward me. It was strange clothing, even for this small sect of the village.
“Hello, Gail,†she said, and I recognized her voice as the one that had directed me from outside. “I hope I find you in good health?â€
“Um, yeah,†I said, composing myself. “I’m okay.â€
She smiled lightly, one to match her twinkling voice. “Good,†she said. “I’m glad. Now, if you could please remove your bandages…â€
“Um, I’m sorry,†I said, “but my arm is broken, you see, and I can’t take these off until it’s healed.â€
The lady laughed like a sparrow. “My, you do have much to learn,†she said. “But, you see, your arm is perfectly fine. Let me show you.†She pulled a small scalpel from her pocket and, before I could protest, she slit the white bandages around my arm straight up the middle. They fell to the floor. I examined my arm, a wide-eyed look of surprise on my face. All the flowering purple bruises that I had been told I acquired were completely gone. There were no scratches or burn marks anywhere. I pulled up my sleeve and looked at my other arm. Nothing. My ankle, nothing. My fingers, nothing. Every blemish, every bruise, even my freckles had simply melted away into my pale skin.
“You see?†the woman smiled. “You will have no reason to wear bandages any longer.â€
“How…how…†I stammered. “How did you..?â€
“Why, I did nothing!†the woman exclaimed. “This was all your doing.†She stared at me as if I were stupid. I must have looked like I was, standing there with my mouth gaping like a dead fish.
“It is time for you to see The Director now,†the woman said, and she began walking toward one of the lifts against the far wall. I followed her only because I had to. If she had not been commanding me forward, I might have stood there like a statue forever. This was way too weird to be true. I was still dreaming…or was I?
I was prodded into the lift by the woman. She pressed the button for the twentieth floor, and the button lit with a small ping. I waited for the woman to follow me inside. She did not.
“Aren’t you coming with me?†I asked, and I had to admit to myself that the prospect of being alone in this vast, empty building was making me a little scared.
“I cannot,†she said, regret tinting her voice. “This is something that you must do alone, as have the others before you.â€
“Others? What others?†I asked. She did not answer, but pulled shut the iron gates.
“My name is Chandra. If you require anything at all, please ask for me.†She smiled for a final time, and then the inside doors slid shut. And I found myself completely alone with my thoughts.
The lift was very silent, moving upward like a quiet predator, and the only noise was that annoying ping when I passed each floor. Questions were racing through my mind, and I didn’t know what to do. What was I going to say to this “Director†when I met him? What was going to happen to me? And what did Chandra mean when she mentioned ‘the others’ who had been in this situation before me? Well, I thought, at least I wasn’t the first to wonder these things. My stomach flipped over as I looked at the floor counter. I had reached my destination.
The doors of the lift swung open, and with my hands folded tightly behind my back, I walked forward. The doors clanged shut once again, leaving me utterly alone in the middle of a large room. It was triangular, and built of the same silver material as the rest of the building. However, the pipes in this room were gold, and were not visible other than the holes in the wall where the papers and telegrams flew into and out of the room. At the very end of the room was a large window that made up the wall, supported by steel bar fixtures, and directly in front of this was a large desk accompanied by a straight-backed black chair. The chair turned around, swiveling abruptly as I looked on and making me start slightly.
“I presume you are wondering,†said a deep voice, “why you are here.â€
A man sat in the chair ten feet away from me, and already I could see the deep lines in his white face behind his sunglasses. He was older, certainly, but his hair was still a deep shimmering black and bulging muscles were visible underneath his black jacket. He was, to say the least, intimidating, and I felt like running right back into that elevator, out the tall doors and all the way back to my aunt and uncle at the hotel. But my feet were planted firmly to the ground.
“Come closer,†commanded the man. “Let me look at you.â€
I walked slowly towards him, tentative, not trusting him one bit.
“Ah, yes,†he said. “Gail. You have the mark of the Gift, certainly, but not held the knowledge of it.â€Then, he motioned me to a chair in front of the desk. “Please, sit. You must be tired. I realize it has been a long journey.â€
“Thank you,†I said, and my aching legs collapsed beneath me, forcing me against the hard-backed seat. And suddenly, all at once, the dam of questions I had been withholding burst out of me all at once.
“Who are you? What is this place? Why am I here? Did you send me the flowers? Did you…â€
The man held up a hand, and I fell silent. “Patience, young woman. All will be answered in due course.†He leaned back into the leather chair, and swiftly removed his tinted sunglasses. A pair of steely grey eyes looked me in the face. “My name is Damian Green. I am the head Director of the Gifted Intelligence, and this…â€-he gestured around the room with a sweep of his hand-“is our headquarters.â€
The man stood up from his chair, and began pacing the length of the room with his hands behind his back, still talking. “I must confess that I am rather astounded that you came here on your own free will. Many of the others were hesitant to come on such short notice, and also being without so much vital information. You seem very trusting.â€
I disregarded a lot of the last statement. “What others?†I asked.
Damian stopped pacing the room at once, and turned sharply to face me. “Why, the others who have had The Gift.†He turned to look at me, staring right through me.
My voice was shaking as I spoke. “What…is The Gift?â€
Damian walked slowly back to his desk, pulled the chair in, and folded his hands on the desk. He sighed, rubbing his forehead in a massive, paw-like hand. Then, he sat up straight, staring at me with grey eyes boring into my own. “Please, listen closely, for I will only say this once.â€
“The Gift is something unexplainable to anyone but somebody who has possessed it before. It is inexplicably old, as old as time, and with it comes the trail of a story that the past has left to us to pick up the pieces. When the heavens created the first man, he had all abilities that a normal person does today: the five senses, the ability to walk, to talk, to think… all of these which were necessary to our survival. But along with those, he was also given special gifts: the ability to know without learning, to talk without speaking, to move things without touching them, to go places without lifting a finger-these things that are strange to us now, as normal beings. We hear about them in fairy tales, certainly. But the real instances of them on Earth are foreign ideas.â€
“Man was content living on earth. He had everything he could ever want. He was able to hunt the fiercest creatures, to climb the tallest mountains, and in his life was able to see most of the Earth by traveling there whenever he pleased. Woman was created, and together they had a child. But man was too curious for his own good, and trespassed on land where he was forbidden to go. When he had committed a sin, the Heavens were alight with black clouds, roaring thunder, lightning that split the dawn in two. And from the sky, fire rained down upon Man, and he was instantly destroyed.â€
“Man was dead, but his son still lived. The Gift was not passed genetically to the boy, but it must always have a possessor. The inhuman properties of man were transferred into his son, as life left him. And so the child became the next Gifter, as his father had been before him. This is the way that the Gift has passed through the ages. No Gifter can grow older, they stay the same throughout their life, always in possession of their Gift.â€
Damian paused for a moment, and I spoke up quietly. It was hard to keep the skepticism out of my voice. “Sorry to interrupt, but if this ‘Gifter’ can’t be killed, then how come man’s first son or whoever isn’t still alive?â€
“I was getting to that,†he said, annoyance evident in his voice. “There is no such thing as perfection, Gail, not even to someone with the Gift. We can be destroyed by fire, the substance that killed the first man, and that continues to blaze out each generation of Gifters, one by one. We are all descended from the first man and woman, that much is true, and share their weaknesses. The Gift is passed on to one person every generation of humanity. Only the one next in line to receive the Gift can truly possess it. And so, the next Gifter has at last come to possession. The one with the Gift now, Gail, is you.â€
My heart skipped several beats. This couldn’t possibly be true. I voiced my thoughts aloud immediately. “Why me? What’s so special about me?â€
“We aren’t exactly sure,†said Damian, turning around in his chair. “As I said before, only the current holder of the Gift knows who he or she must give it next, and when they are going to die themselves. The Gifter before you-his name was Samuel-knew that you would be in grave danger yesterday night, and he went to your house to deliver the Gift to you. When the fire had come for him, he passed it to you before his soul was completely consumed.â€
Of course, I thought. It all makes sense now. I recalled the shadow man, arms outstretched, the glowing mass flowing through my veins as the flames erupted behind him and destroyed his entire being. Realizing the truth of his words, I scrambled to my feet, able to move again, and rushed to one of the mirrors on the opposite wall.
“Oh,†I gasped, seeing my reflection staring back at me. It was me, wasn’t it? There was nobody else around to deceive my image. I was tall as I had been before, but now it was elegant, and my skin was smooth and no longer freckled. My hair was to my waist and a rich chocolate, and my eyes, previously dull, now shimmered in my skull like large sapphires piercing the mirror.
“You see,†said Damian, coming up behind me, “that the Gift is not only evident in your ability, but also your appearance. It is almost exactly clear, in your features, the way that the first woman looked when she was created. Over time, people became more and more false, distrustful, greedy, malicious, angry, and these attributes made the body and soul of humanity tragically skewed.â€
“So,†I said quietly, turning back around, “if I have the Gift now, then I have physical powers too?â€
“Let’s see,†he said, and without warning he lunged at me in attack.
Instantly, I responded to this action, using my arms to block every punch. It was almost lazy how I went through the defense movements, reaching up, down, sideways, to keep the sliding fists away from my face. It was as though I could predict, in the instants beforehand, where he was going to hit next and what I should do to stop him. Then, at the right moment, I swept my leg as fast as a snake into his shin. He flew backwards and fell with a thud to the floor.
“Good, good, very good,†he grunted, getting back up. “You are a strong one. Now,†he said, “you are ready to accept your mission.â€
“What mission?†I asked. “So I’ve got this gift. All I have to do is wait until the right person comes along, and then give it to them. It’s cake.â€
“There, child, is where you are wrong,†he said, and we sat. Over the years, even though it is urged to be kept a secret, several normal humans have found out about the Gift. They are referred to as the Fathoms. They know of the Gift’s supernatural power, and want to harness it for themselves, to use the power to take over the galaxy and to wipe out the population of earth. If they do not achieve this, they will kill the Gifted. Each of the Generations has been asked to pass the Gift to a Fathom, and they all have refused. It is our job to protect the Gift, to make sure it does not fall into the wrong hands. It is my duty to tell you these things, Gail, because you are the only one who can protect us.â€
“The only one?†I squeaked. I had never been good with responsibility.
“Of course, many will be there to give you assistance along the way. You are not the only one with supernatural powers, Gail. Human mutations of the original Gift are not common, but they can be found. The reason that the Fathoms do not try as hard to harness the power of the mutations is because they cannot be passed down. Once the mutant is dead, their power is gone for good and cannot be obtained by any means. This organization tracks down the Gifter, and the mutations of his or her generation, and helps them come to terms with their ability. We have already found you, and we have several of the Mutations already working for us. I believe you have already met Chandra, I believe?â€
I nodded slightly.
“Of course you do. She is the mutation of the intelligence factor of the Gift. Another, whose name is Mirabel, is the mutation of mind bending. Our newest discovery is a boy named Devon, who is the mutant of teleportation. Besides this, we have talented men and women in the field of hand to hand combat, weapon, and machinery, who will teach you everything you need to learn, if indeed you still need to learn it.â€
“And you?†I asked. I knew now that this man was not a threat, but that didn’t mean that I had complete faith in him.
“I am the head of these operations,†he said. “I have the knowledge, the strength, everything, because I have been in your situation before. I am the only Gifter ever to have survived, and I know everything about what it is like.â€
A worrying thought struck my mind. “Do they all die?†I asked, before I could think about it. I inwardly cursed myself for being so closed minded, but Damian didn’t seem to mind. He only laughed softly.
“It is unfortunate, to know you fate before you can choose it. I was the only one who survived, and to this day I do not know for sure how I was not killed. All I remember is that I gave the Gift, I passed it on knowing that I would die doing so, and was burned, but the next day I found myself awake and alive. I still do not know how I survived, and if only I could tell you, be rest assured I would.†He sighed, and rubbed his chin again. I was getting annoyed with all these pauses when I was learning about the rest of my life. “Death is not the important issue,†he resumed. “It is keeping the Gift alive that is important.â€
“So you’re saying that I should let myself die so that others can die the same way I did?†I asked incredulously, pushing away my chair. “Why should we have this curse? Why should we have to die for something that will only kill more people?â€
Damian stood up too, and even though I could tell he was angry his tone of voice was still a civil flow. “Because the Gift will never die. It is not human, it is something more, and the fact that it can even stay at bay in a human soul is more than I can understand. Those with true knowledge of it tell us that if the Gift were to have no harbor, the incredible power of it would rip the world in half. It is an amazing feat of nature that such immense ability can stay civil in something so weak as the human body. Nobody knows why we are chosen, it chooses us. The strongest, the smartest, the most able of us are the ones to have the Gift and to put it to use, and with the civil mental ability to give such power away when the time is right. That is why you were chosen, Gail Lawson, and that is why you are here with me at this moment. As of now, you are the most able human being in the entire world.â€
He let these words sink in for a minute, but my heart was beating to wildly to let them come. Something inside me was burning, fierce and bright, and I could not control it. But before I could say another word, Damian stood up, and walked to the lift.
“You must be very tired,†he said, pressing the button for the ground floor. “I will let you rest for the night. Go back to your aunt and uncle, sleep fitfully, and pack your things. In the morning, we will come for you.â€
I nodded, and walked sleepily, dizzily, to the elevator. I got inside and the guard gates shut behind me. The last that I heard from Damian as he slid out of sight was, “Good night, Gail the Gifter, and good luck.â€
“You are going to die, Gail, and you are going to like it.†The man’s deep, sinister voice bored through me as I lay, helpless and wounded, on the rock-solid floor of a dark room. There were voices around me, laughing, jeering, shouting insults at me as I struggled for breath.
“Don’t!†exclaimed a voice from my side that was choked and strangled with emotion.
“Be silent,†hissed the man, knocking my protector aside. His body fell to the floor. I gasped.
“Don’t touch him.†My voice shook with conviction as I tried to order the man what to do. But his black eyes sliced through mine, and a spurt of orange flame braised the skin on my nose. I could feel it, and it hurt. The first pain I had felt in months. Only then did I scream.
“There is no escape, Gift. You will die, and you will like it.â€
“Make me,†I whispered, and the flames carried me away.
I woke up in my bed, cold sweat covering my forehead. I scrambled out of the motel bed, mouth gaping, my body drenched in cold sweat. I rushed to the closet and pulled clothes on over me, then brushed my hair in front of the mirror. My eyes were dilated as they stared back at me.
“Good morning, sleepy,†said a voice from behind me.
“Thought she’d never wake up,†said another.
I whipped around, staring for the source of the voices. Two short twin girls stared quizzically back at me.
“How’s it going?†asked the first one, her red curls bobbing as she looked up at me.
“F-fine,†I stammered. What were these kids doing in my bedroom? “Who are you?†I asked.
“We’ve come to take you back,†said the second one. “My name’s Ransom. She’s Raid.â€
“Hi,†said Raid, waving a small hand with painted pink nails in my flushed face.
“Um…hi,†I said, shaking my head and mopping the buckets of sweat from my forehead.
“Were you having a bad dream?†asked Ransom. “I could tell. You were thrashing around and stuff.â€
“Yeah, I guess,†I said. It didn’t seem like it had been a dream. It had been real to me.
“Well, that’s enough chit-chat,†she said. “We’ve got to get going, we’re late! We were supposed to be there by four!â€
I looked out the window. It was almost completely dark. The sun wasn’t even up yet. “Yeah, how late,†I grumbled, grabbing the duffel from beside my bed. “I almost got five hours of sleep. Now that would be a sin.â€
We walked out the open front door and down to the lobby, and the entire way, both little girls pestered me with questions.
“What’s your name? Where do you go to school? How old are you?â€
“We’re both nine,†said Raid, pointing to herself and her sister. “We’re practically identical.â€
“But that doesn’t mean we’re the same!†protested Ransom.
“Yes it does, stupid,†said Raid, rolling her eyes.
“My name is Gail, and I’m sixteen,†I said, eager to stop the building argument.
“Sixteen, cool! Can you drive?†asked Ransom.
“Not yet,†I said, and as we passed through the lobby I tossed my room key at the front desk, where the concierge was slumbering fitfully. The three of us walked quickly out the front door, where a long black car was parked.
“Who’s driving?†I asked. I had completed my driver’s training courses, but I was fairly sure that there was an adult in the car. Who else could have brought these two girls here?
“I wanna drive!†said Ransom.
“It’s my turn,†said Raid, pushing her sister away from the door. “You got to drive on the way here.â€
“Nope, no way,†I said. “You’re kids. You can’t drive.†By this time I had already been prodded into the backseat.
“Not anymore,†said Raid, and when she turned back to look at me it was all I could do not to scream. The little girl who I had seen just moments before was now a tall young woman, at least twenty or more.
“Whoa-how-huh?†I stammered.
“We’re shapeshifters,†said Ransom, who stuck her tongue out at her now older sister. “But Mom says we can only shift when it’s necessary.â€
“All right,†said Raid, who put the car into drive. “Let’s see what this baby can do!†The car screeched away from the cur at an astonishingly fast pace. I was slammed into the back of the leather clad seat with such force that I could see stars.
“Take it easy!†I cried as the car sped down the black lane into the night.
“Trust me, lady, I know what I’m doing,†sighed the girl, and I could tell that she was rolling those eyes again.
At this time of the morning, there was hardly any traffic, so we were more easily able to navigate the narrow streets. For some reason, Raid seemed to be able to remember where we were going down to the last stop sign.
“Have you visited this place before?†I asked her as the car skidded on the asphalt.
“Of course we have, silly,†she said. “We live there.â€
“So, it’s a house?†I asked.
“No, it’s a big white skyscraper in the middle of nowhere,†said Raid perkily.
I groaned, ever so quietly, not wanting to go back to that giant and intimidating tower. It was all I could do just to convince myself that surely this was a dream and when it was over, I would wake up at home in my bed, and none of this would have happened. But somehow, somewhere deep inside of me, I had the strangest feeling that this was one vision I would never wake up from for as long as I lived.
“You should get some sleep, miss,†said Ransom. “You look like you’ve been to hell and back.â€
“Hey!†I exclaimed. “You’re a kid. Don’t swear.â€
“How do you know if I’m a kid or not?†she asked, and I had to admit that this was a good point. “Take my advice,†she said. “You’re going to want to rest. You’ve got a long day waiting for you.â€
This was good advice, and I took it. The last I saw before I fell into dreamless sleep were the great hills ahead, rising before my bleary eyes.
“Wake her up, Ransom. We’re here.â€
A smooth voice drifted through my ears, like water down a burning throat. Small palms met my shoulder, shaking them every which way. I was jolted back to reality so forcefully that the seat buckle made a dent in my scalp.
“I’m up, already, I’m up!†I groaned, massaging my aching head.
“Sorry,†squeaked the blushing the nine-year-old girl on the seat next to me. Her red curls were now spiked every which-way, and I could tell that she had taken a long overdue nap as well. She opened the car door, and we both scrambled out, I grabbing my bag quickly off the seat before the door slammed shut behind me.
Before us, twinkling in the morning sunrise, lay large hills etched with grass and swift pines all a deep satin green. Inlaid in the natural beauty before us was an enormous flowing waterfall on a bed of red rocks, roaring in my ears and spraying mist onto the car and out small group. Raid stood there, outlined by the forest, still tall and twenty-two.
“Where are we?†I asked. “This isn’t the place.â€
“Yes it is,†sighed Raid impatiently. “This is the cliff entrance. They switch it up every day, the designers, just to confuse people. This is why we’re late. Took us an entire hour just to figure out which one we’re using today. You’re lucky you came when they were using the doors. You might have had to crawl through a sewer.â€
“Glad that we’re here then,†I said. Then, after a few moments of silence with nothing changing, I asked her, “Aren’t you going to…â€
“Oh yeah, I nearly forgot this time!†she cried, and I blinked once. Even in that split second, the lanky young woman had snapped down instantaneously into a little girl with the tiniest pop.
“Wow,†I said, blinking again. “That was fast.â€
“You get used to it,†she said, shrugging. For a moment, I wondered if I would ever be able to shift like that. I hoped I would.
“No time to waste groveling over our abilities, we’ve got things to do, people to see…all that jazz,†said Ransom, pointing to a pink daisy watch on her tiny wrist. “Tick, tock, tick, tock. Let’s get a move on.†We walked to the edge of the waterfall, and I become extremely apprehensive. The mist that blew outwards from the sapphire waterfall breezed me gently across the face, a complete opposite feeling to those that were churning deep in the pit of my stomach. I knew my eyes were clouded over as it was, and I could barely tell what was going on.
Ransom and Raid led me across the red rocks, which were beginning to grow hot as the sun grew fuller in the morning air. They seemed firm enough, but looked like some sort of mutant silly putty. We reached a point next to the rushing water, and then both of the little girls knelt down, swung their legs over the side and began to scale down the cliff. I stood there like a dummy, not moving, not breathing. I was just staring down at the rushing rapids and the thin outcropping of rock that we would have to climb down onto. It was practically eaten up by waves.
“What are you waiting for?†yelled Raid from below. “Are you afraid of water or something?â€
“No,†I gulped. “Just falling off a cliff into water.â€
“Come on, it’s not so bad!†yelled Ransom. “Swing over and climb down. I’ll show you the footholds.â€
“Okay…†I whispered, my voice trembling, and without thinking or looking over my shoulder, I swung a leg over onto a small dent in the rouge hillside and began to climb down. My arms felt surprisingly stronger to me, but that didn’t help anything. At once I yelped. An enormous spray of icy cold mist clashed against me, soaking my sweatshirt. I didn’t concentrate on anything but the next foothold, and then next after that, and then after that.
“Be careful, lady!†yelled Raid. “It’s going to get wet!â€
She was right. Further down the cliff, each hold grew tighter, thinner, smaller under my groping fingers. We were so close to the water now that each one was coated with a wet layer of slippery slime. Suddenly, I reached down with my foot to find that there was nothing underneath me. I tried to grab back onto the cliff, but my hand slipped away, and I fell.
I swept downwards like a bird shot out of the sky, hands scrabbling wildly in the open air and trying to find something, anything he could cling onto, but this was in vain. I looked upwards, and saw that in a moment, Ransom had swirled around and become a boa constrictor. Clinging to Raid’s arm, she swung her scaly tail around my wrist, and I saw the strong muscles in her back flex as she pulled me back to the cliff ledge. We had reached the thin outcropping.
Ransom shook off, smoothly shifting back into her regular self. “You’re heavy,†she complained.
“You didn’t HAVE to catch me, you know,†I said, brushing off my jeans. “You could have just let me fall.â€
“Relax, I’m kidding,†she said, shaking her head. “Don’t you know how to take a joke?â€
“Stop insulting the girl, and let’s go,†said Raid, pushing her sister a bit over so that she could edge her way along the outcropping. Ransom followed, and I went last. I did a tightrope walk along the ledge, trying not to look down at the roaring rapids. It took a full five minutes to get next to the falls, and even when we were there, the journey seemed pointless.
“Why are we here?†I screamed over the rushing water.
“Just watch and learn,†yelled back Raid. She reached forward and pointed to a rock that was embedded in the wall. But this rock wasn’t the same as the others. It was hardly red, but instead a strange shade of creamy brown. To the ordinary eye, it really wouldn’t have stuck out. But Raid spotted it almost immediately.
“Well, what do you expect to do with that?†I asked. Admittedly, the short nap I had gotten hadn’t done much good for my mood.
Ransom stared up at me incredulously. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘Patience is a virtue’?†she asked. Then, without further adue, she pressed a thin finger to the rock. It sunk into the wall.
A cool, clean voice projected itself from the wall. There was no visible source of it, and it came almost from thin air. It asked us, “What is your purpose, please?â€
“It’s the twins. We’ve brought the Gifter. Let us in.â€
Immediately, the waterfall made a strange whirring noise. All noise in the clearing completely stopped. From behind the waterfall came two long, shining wet pieces of metal on rods that appeared in mechanical conformity from the center of the water. They stopped in the middle, slicing cleanly away from the clear liquid that flowed from above. Then, they turned slowly and carefully to face upwards and meet the waters themselves. They rose up until they completely blocked the water, and came together with a loud clang. Everything was silent now, except for the steady dripping of water as the flow misted over the planes. There was now a tunnel under the falls, a long empty space which, when led inward, exposed a cavern.
The twins walked confidently along the ledge, now significantly wider, and turned left into the cavern. I followed quickly behind, not wanting to be left behind in this confusing and deadly labyrinth. But I couldn’t contain a gasp of surprise when I caught my first glimpse of the tunnel.
The tunnel that we stood in was lined with hundreds and hundreds of numbers, all different shapes and sizes, but all the same deep black color spreading across the vast space ahead. They stuck out from the wall in three-dimensional conformity, similar to a huge Sudoku puzzle seen with 3-D glasses. The twins walked purposefully along the tunnel, eyes glancing off the wall until Ransom stopped abruptly. She was shaking a bit, and looked as though she were seeing something. I noticed that one of her index fingers was now a scanner similar to one you would find at a store checkout line.
“Gail, come here,†said Raid. I walked over hesitantly, just in case something strange or painful was waiting in the depths of the glassy shape. A particularly large number 9 stood in front of me, glinting mysteriously from the inside.
“Look inside, and tell me what you see,†said Ransom, whose eyes were closed tight as if she were concentrating. I looked into the depths of the slightly gleaming black number. Inlaid inside were several differently colored numbers, all opaque and gleaming. It was like looking through tinted black window glass in a car full of expensive jewels.
“A code,†I whispered. “It’s a code.â€
“That’s the one,†said Ransom, and then Raid told me, “Read it out loud as fast as you can.â€
I peered deeper into the glass, consumed by it, the numbers rolling off my tongue like bullets. “999718345209,â€I said, loud and quickly into the echoing cavern. Suddenly, the waterfall began rushing once more. The bars had been released from the falls, and as they made their descent, the wall at the end of the tunnel was coming up. Ransom took my arm and Raid pulled us both down the tunnel towards the growing light. As the deafening roar from behind us echoed strangely around the area, sharp white mist and light engulfed us, and the water roaring behind us spurred us into the hole in the tunnel wall.
“Wow,†I breathed. The expanse of room ahead was larger than I had ever imagined, like something from a dream. It was about the length of ten football fields, all an immaculate white, as bright as the light that had drawn us inside. Small waterfalls ran from all of the four walls in different locations, whispering to us as they flowed to a pool in the center of the room. Along the walls were also doors, labeled with different names: ‘Test Lab, ‘West Hangar’, ‘Battle Simulation’, ‘Dorm Wing’, and various others. The ceiling was made of pure glass, giving us a great view of the sky above the mountains. Raid and Ransom dragged me through the room before I had stopped looking, leaving wet and muddy footprints on the spotless floor.
A woman with long red hair stood by the glass pool. She turned around, and I recognized her face. It was Chandra, the woman who had instructed me the previous evening. Both girls ran to her and gave her hugs.
“Mommy!†cried Raid, embracing Chandra’s neck. I gave her an incredulous look.
“These are your children?†I asked, walking over and giving her the eye.
“No kidding,†said Chandra, overwhelmed by the sudden flurry of kids jumping all over her. “They’re a bit of a handful, aren’t they?â€
“Yeah,†I grunted. A handful, to say the least.
“I apologize that I couldn’t pick you up myself,†she said, setting down both girls, “but I’ve been rather busy. Things are getting hectic around here, especially with the planning for your arrival.â€
“You didn’t have to do anything…†I began.
“Well, certainly, we have to prepare a team, a new bunk, training sche
((Oops, got cut off. More!))
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You didn’t have to do anything…†I began.
“Well, certainly, we have to prepare a team, a new bunk, training schedules, all that jazz, and then there was the question of picking you up. Usually, I serve as the escort, but I figured that Raid and Ransom would be mature enough…â€- and she shot a look at both girls, who blushed- “…to handle the delicate situation.†Then, she turned to the kids. “Run along,†she said. “Pluto’s got food ready for all of us, so go wash up.â€
“Bye, lady,†said both girls in unison, and then they ran giggling across the atrium and through the door marked “Main Hall and Cafeâ€.
“It’s very nice of you to do all this,†I said to her, hands in my pockets, “but you really shouldn’t go to all the trouble. After all, I probably won’t be staying long.â€
Chandra turned on the spot and gave me a very strange look. “What on earth do you mean?â€
“Well, I’m just here to be taught, and when I’m through, I’m going to go back home, right? I’ll be able to understand how to control my powers, and then just give the Gift away to somebody else.â€
Chandra slowly shook her head. “No, Gail. Don’t you understand? The minute you walked through these doors, you were taking an enormous, life-changing, and if I do say so a stupid risk. But you’ve already taken that step. The world is too dangerous for you now, especially when you hold this knowledge about yourself and our organization. Right now, you are the most dangerous weapon that mankind has ever seen, even more dangerous than dreams. You can’t be left alone, to be manipulated and confused by what you think you know. Someday, when you are strong enough, you will be ready to fight, to battle the Fathoms, but you can never truly return to the real world. This is your home now.â€
“What about my family, then? My friends and relatives, my ties? What are you going to ask of them, to forget me altogether? How can you ask so much of me already? You’ve only known me for less than a day!†I cried.
“Gail,†she sighed, putting her hand on my shoulder. “I’ve known you for your entire life. You are just like I was when I came to the GI, young and disbelieving. I had yet to see what this place held to offer an outcast like me, and it is here that I find my life’s true purpose: to protect you. It is my job to know you, not only as the Gift, but as a friend and guardian to you. It is easy for me, because not only do I like you, but I am like you. And just as I knew you would come here out of your curiosity, I know that you will stay; not just because you are curious, but because like me, it is what you are meant to do. â€
“You can’t choose my life for me,†I said.
“It already had been chosen,†she replied. “This is your destiny, and it has been since the day you were born. As of now, your destiny is in the grasp of the Gift, and only in death can that grip be released.â€
I felt my stomach flip over again, but this time I didn’t give it another thought. Instead, I said in a miffed voice, “I’m going to take a shower now, if you’ll be so kind.â€
“Take the door into the dorm wing, into the east hall, and to the women’s bathroom,†she said. “Then, come back to the atrium. Someone should be there to direct you to the cafeteria.
I walked as fast as I could away from her and through the door, and I heard Chandra yell after me, “We’ll get started with your training afterward; there is no time to waste!†This only caused me to run, dashing as fast as I could through the door and down the long corridors, barely paying attention to the direction in which I was headed. I ran and ran as far as my legs could carry me, past rooms full of strange objects and doors to places I didn’t dare explore.
It was as I was slowing down, too tired to flee, that I noticed the sign nearest me. It pointed down the hallway marked as the girls’ dormitory. It was a long, dimly lit hall that smelled like a meadow after a thick rainstorm. I wandered along among the many doors searching for mine. Each door in the corridor was marked with a name in a fancy script or different color. I saw familiar ones that belonged to Chandra, the twins, and names that I did not recognize. Finally, I came to the last door in the hall, on the right side. It was a door marked, simply, Gail.
Treading softly on the floorboards, cautiously, as though some unknown beast lay waiting for me inside, I opened the door and walked into the room, leaving my solitary bag by the door. The room was spacious, wide, and yet it felt not the least bit welcoming. The floor was covered in a thin blue carpet, the walls were painted the same shade, and there was a single circular window on the far wall that opened slightly through the cave wall to let in a thin trickle of sunlight. There was a desk, a dresser, and a large queen sized bed in the middle of the room. I could tell that they had tried to make everything homey for me, but somehow, this place could never feel like home.
…Home, where I used to live. Home, where I had parents, and a life of my own, and where strange powers and magical gifts only existed in fairy tales…
I fell to the ground in a terrible heap and burst into tears. Tears, for everything in my life that had gone wrong or wasn’t fair, for everything old and new that I had lost. I cried for my parents, for both homes that I had lost, for family that despised me and for this curse lain upon my heart by some outward force that I could not understand. There I lay, face buried in the blue fibers and weeping until my heart had nothing left to wring out of my tear ducts, when suddenly there was a voice from the doorway.
“Don’t cry…â€
There was a moment of silence, in which my spine stiffened and I straightened up, my back to the doorway. I did not recognize the voice. It was as soft as a feather but tinged with dark and unhappy attitude. Without looking around, I said shakily, “Who are you, and why are you spying on me?â€
“I was only checking in,†the voice replied, a little miffed. “I’m not one of the grown-ups, I swear.â€
“You promise?†I asked, and I turned my head slightly, then shifted my body to get a better look at the source of the voice.
Sure enough, a girl stood in the doorway that was not much older than me, judging by her appearance. There was so much going on with her that it was a strain on my eyes to take her all in at first. She was of small stature and stood leaning against the doorframe with one foot, arms crossed over her chest. Her face was round and she had pale skin like mine, with a small nose, rouged lips and wide silver eyes coated in less than tasteful eyeliner. The girl’s long black hair was cut down to her waist, with a thick fringe of bangs across her forehead, and it was inlaid with pink and blonde highlights. Her torso was sheathed in a silky midnight dress with puffy sleeves, accented by a pair of thick red and black striped leggings. On her feet she wore a pair of battered black Converse sneakers with skulls bejeweled in rhinestones on the toes. Her fingers were clustered with rainbow-colored rings. I was particularly attracted to one which appeared to be made of solid gold, and had a spinning compass inside a large, clear orb.
“Who are you?†I asked warily for a second time, wiping my blurry eyes on my sleeve. Although she wasn’t an adult, she seemed a bit frightening and untrustworthy.
“My name is Emmyâ€, she said simply. “Hi.â€
“Oh, hi,†I said nervously. “I’m…â€
“I know who you are,†she cut me off impatiently, waving a hand at me as though to shut me up. “We’ve been waiting for you for weeks now, haven’t we, Humphrey?â€
A small, white mouse with beady black eyes popped from under Emmy’s sheath of hair and sat on her shoulder. I shrieked and fell over, knocking my head against the side of the bed frame. “What is that thing?†I cried.
“It’s a mouse, stupid,†said Emmy, stroking it with her left hand.
“Well, yes, but what is it doing in your hair?†I was still aghast, shocked by the furry creature. I had never liked rodents at all, especially mice.
“HE is my pet,†Emmy corrected sternly, picking up the mouse and cradling him in her hands. “Humphrey, say hello to the Gifter.†The mouse squeaked obligingly, flipping over in Emmy’s hand as if to greet me. I wasn’t amused.
“My name is Gail,†I said impatiently. “You told me you knew that.â€
“Get used to it,†she replied. “That’s what we called you before you got here, and that’s what I’m going to call you now.â€
“Look,†I said angrily, getting up. “I didn’t even know what a Gift-or whatever it is- WAS before yesterday. So thanks a lot for the title, but I’d rather stay plain Gail, okay?â€
“Your loss.†Emmy walked a few steps forward into the room, completely indifferent to my angry attitude. I mimicked her and took a few steps backward. There was something about her that seemed distant, even frightening. I couldn’t stop looking at her eyes. They didn’t seem to be focusing on any one thing, but simply stared into space like two opals stuck perfectly to her face. She said, absently as she surveyed the blank wall, “There are some people who would kill to have what you have, you know.â€
“Then let them,†I shot, trying and failing to be melodramatic.
“You’re smart enough to know it doesn’t work that way.†She took the mouse in her hands and tucked him back behind the curtain of her hair. There was a loud squeak as Humphrey tunneled back into the cave of her puffy sleeve. “Anyway,†she sighed, getting up from against the doorframe and looking me in the face directly for the first time. “I came to see if you were all right, and you look all right to me, so…†She stopped, thought for a moment, and then asked abruptly, “Do you like sushi?â€
“I…yeah, I guess,†I replied, slightly taken aback by the odd question.
“Well, it’s Tuesday, and Pluto makes sushi on Tuesday. Are you hungry?â€
“Am I…well, a bit, but I don’t want to intrude.â€
Emmy shook her head. “No, stupid, you are invited. After all, you’re going to be living with us for a while, so why not invite you into the family? Come on, we’ll be late.†She motioned towards the open doorway into the hall. “Let’s go.†Emmy stood to attention, and then, swift as a flash, she was gone.
I stood slowly to my feet and followed her outside, readjusting to the light change from the floor to the dimly lit hall. Down the corridor was Emmy, walking quickly, her dress billowing behind her. “Wait,†I called.
She turned around with an exasperated expression. “Come on. You can go faster than that.â€
Emmy began to run down the hall, slowly at first, and then faster until she was gone around the corner. I had no choice. All right, I thought, concentrating on my goal. Here I go…
It was as though I had never moved. The strangest part of running as fast as I had done was that it felt like nothing at all to me. I didn’t have to breathe, or flex. I barely even had to blink. In less than a second, I was right next to Emmy, strolling as though I had been right beside her all along. I stopped short, and looked at her beside me. Her pale eyes were wide, and she was grinning with excitement. She ran her fingers through her hair, shook her head in disbelief and uttered a single, amazed sound. “Whoa.â€
Whoa.
“How did you do that?â€
“I’m…not quite sure,†I admitted truthfully, slumping against the wall. It wasn’t how I had done it that stunned me, but rather the speed and agility with which I found I could run, almost without conscious thought. “But, however it happened, I think I could do it again.â€
“Try,†Emmy urged excitedly. “You know where the cafeteria is, right? Run there. I want to see if you can.â€
“Oh, is this a challenge?†I raised my eyebrows, half-smirking.
“Might be,†she replied, grinning in a devilish manner. “Just do it, and there might be a bit of extra sushi in it for you. Kapiche?â€
“Yeah, I get it,†I laughed. “See you on the other side.†And I took off.
This time, it was much easier not to think about what I was doing and where I was headed. I saw the world around me as though I was standing still and everything else was flowing by, like a river at the speed of light. It was an enchanting vision of color as I sped through the atrium of the tall headquarters, the lights turning into trails of golden dust as they flickered in my path, and people were blots of ink on a blank page. All at once, within seconds, I was facing a set of metal double doors in a dimly lit corridor, labeled in the same manner as my room, with the same script on gold plating. I had made it without even knowing what I was doing.
I stood in stunned silence for a few moments, and raised my hand to the door, feeling it with my palm and checking ever so carefully to make sure it was really there. It might have been five more minutes of silent thought until Emmy appeared in the hall, panting and clutching her sides, with a tear in her dress hem.
“Okay…maybe that wasn’t…such a good…idea…†she said, taking drawn out breaths every few words. “You ought to…enter a…marathon or something.â€
“I don’t think that would really be my forte,†I said quietly, picking at my sleeve.
“Still…good for your first day,†she added, and after a few minutes of letting Emmy cool down, I was given an offer I could hardly refuse. “How about dinner?â€
“Seeing as we are at the cafeteria, that sounds good to me,†I nodded, my stomach growling a hasty cry of approval.
“Oh, you have no idea,†Emmy shook her head, and she pushed open the wide double doors, leading me behind her with a stunned gaze on my face.
This was a dining hall like none I had ever seen before. It was completely unlike the rest of the building as far as I could tell, for the bright white and silver surroundings that I had just been running through a moment ago now gave way to a dimly lit cavern of rough red rock. It was clearly carved right into the hills, and the smell that engulfed us was earthy and natural. There was a long rock bridge from where we stood leading across a small moat of sapphire blue water onto a long, flat island carved upwards from the ground, along the middle of which ran a thin black stone table. The bubbling stream around the island came from a round pool of water at the far end of the table, and a large waterfall was rushing down the back wall into the pool, tumbling over outcroppings from the rock it had been drawn out of. It was a truly magnificent sight, and I stared with awe at everything around me for a full five minutes until Emmy shook me by the arm, waking me up from my momentary reverie. “Come on, we haven’t got all day. I’m hungry!†she whined.
“All right,†I said softly, walking with her but not drawing my eyes away from the room. Now that I looked again, closer this time, I could see drawings carved into the walls around us. Names, faces, numbers and symbols that I didn’t recognize all gave the cohesive appearance of a mural, perhaps one that had been there for thousands of years. I stepped softly over the high rock bridge, staring down momentarily into the water. It was so clear I could see to the bottom, and it was only momentarily disturbed when a school of pale-white fish swam quietly under the rock. I stared at the place where they had vanished, wishing for a second that I could slip away with them. But then I had reached the rock isle and the thought was gone.
As we drew closer to the end of the table, I saw a small gathering of people, talking in low voices and moving plates and forks about. I suddenly became very nervous. I was never good at making new friends, but the feeling slowly dissolved when I saw three familiar faces looking back at me.
“Gail,†said Chandra happily, getting up to shake hands with me, but before she could say anything, Raid and Ransom had tackled me around the waist.
“HI!†they squealed in unison. As they stepped back, I noticed a few changes in their appearance. Bother were slightly shorter, had straight purple hair down to their ankles, and matching sets of black eyes.
“They’re very independent regarding their appearance,†said Chandra, following my eyes.
I smiled and nodded my head. “I can see that.â€
“Do you like it?†asked Raid, turning in a quick circle for me to observe her flowing mane.
“It’s lovely,†I replied. “Purple has always been my favorite color.â€
“Mine too,†said a man standing next to Chandra. He was very tall, and had dark skin but a sparkling white smile. His hair was short to his scalp and raven dark, matching his suit. he looked down at me with a sparkling gaze, and put his arm around Chandra’s shoulders which were thin beneath his large hands. “My name is Pluto,†he said, extending his thick arm like a tree branch. I shook it; his hand enveloped mine in a warm embrace. “I am Chandra’s husband.â€
“The best there is,†replied Chandra, leaning into him and kissing him lightly on the cheek. The twins stuck out their tongues and made a disgusted face. I giggled under my breath. It was only after a moment that I noticed the remaining members of the group at the table, staring at me from behind Pluto and his family.
“I believe introductions are in order,†said Chandra, following my gaze to the group of people, of which Emmy had already joined.
“Gail, come over here and meet everyone,†Emmy chirped, motioning for me to sit down next to her in one of the tall black stone chairs. I did so quietly, still looking around at the faces who stared with earnest interest back at me.
A teenage girl who looked about thirteen and who was sitting near the middle of the table was the first to introduce herself. She had thick brown hair that was very split at the ends and tied in a hasty braid, square glasses that made her eyes look all the rounder, and was reading a thick black book with very small print. “Hi,†she said quietly. “My name is Abagail.†She stayed quiet for a few seconds, as though she was expected to continue, but she shrugged and looked back down at her book.
“Abagail is a bit shy,†added Emmy, rolling her eyes. “She manipulates senses.â€
“Thank you for the introduction,†Abagail said, frowning slightly and shooting a look at Emmy.
“And this is Jayden, the only derivant of element shifting we’ve seen for a while,†Emmy continued, as though she had noticed nothing. She pointed towards a thin man with unnaturally pale skin and who looked as though he could be twenty, but had a thick crop of grey hair cut smoothly across the top of his head. He had sparkling green eyes and a very earnest smile, and stuck out a long fingered hand in my general direction, though it was awfully shaky.
“It’s a p-pleasure,†he stammered. “I’ve b-been looking forward t-to this for a l-long time.â€
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
((55 pages. Wow!))
Awesome!
I’m writing a Modern Tourist’s Guide to Fantasyworld based on Diana Wynne Jones’s Tough Guide to Fantasyland. (Anyone ever read it? BRILLIANT.) The idea is that you’re a tourist in the world that all fantasy books exist in, and this is like a travel guide. I’ll post a few entries here. Words in capital letters mark titles of other entries, probably not posted. If you’ve read lots of fantasy and fanfiction, it’ll make sense…
BAD SHAKESPEARE is what most Tours end up existing in towards the final two installments. For example, as the HERO stares into the LOVE INTEREST’s eyes, you may hear a faint echo of “He gazedest deep intoeth her azure orbs…†Try not to vomit. If you do, you will receive some very odd looks.
DRAGONS are telepathic, highly intelligent, infinitely magical, and always good. They are all ridden by people who never appreciate them (see RIDERS). No Dragon has ever been heard to run away. Similarly, all Dragons do the bidding of their Riders, whether they want to or not. They are all GOOD. The only Dragons known to do EVIL things have Evil Riders (see OBEDIENCE). Since Dragons are amazingly powerful and fiercely wild, it is a wonder that more Riders are not lying dead on the ground somewhere, having annoyed their Dragon once too often fifty feet up.
FOILING is what you do to EVIL PLOTS. You don’t stop them. You don’t defeat them. You Foil them. Many an EMPEROR has been heard to shout, “Curses! Foiled again!â€, despite having never been Foiled before.
PEGASI (singular, PEGASUS) can be summarized by the following verse:
Birdy, birdy, in the sky,
dropped a cowpat in my eye.
Boy, I’m glad that cows don’t fly.
In Fantasyworld, this problem remains unaddressed.
PROPHECY is used for two purposes:
1. To make sure that no Tourist is ever, ever surprised.
2. To make sure that the right person becomes a HERO. The phrase “he/she has a prophecy about him/her†evidently means that he/she is DESTINED for Great Things. Once you have a Prophecy about you, there is no getting out of it. You are DOOMED.
See also FATE.
RIDERS ride DRAGONS. None of them try to ride more interesting things, like, say, iguanas. Nope. Dragons it is. If you have a Rider on your tour, you are in for an interesting time. While being stupid, arrogant, stupid, getting you into dangerous situations constantly, being stupid, and doing odd (and stupid) things with MAGIC, they are usually the subject of some PROPHECY or other. And are smokin’ hot besides.
TRUTH is what everyone tells, even the EVIL guys. Especially the Evil guys. In fact, the Evil guys will go to great lengths to tell you their PLOT just so you can FOIL it. When this happens, they will act very surprised, curse you, and die because you have killed them.
PWN. Epic PWN.
And. My. Story. Is. Dead. *sighs*
I am writing a story called “The Heartless Ice”. It is about a world where control over magic is everything, and heartlessness is a virtue.
“It was a sad time. Everyone wore the purple robes of death. Heartless Fire had just passed, leaving all — good and evil — to suffer unbalance. Everyone had loved him, though he could not return thier love. All mourned the loss bitterly.
You see, we are all mages. We command magic in our every action. But magic is impartial, you cannot control it with the heart. In fact, the less of a heart you have, the more skill with magic. Whenever an exceptionally Heartless person comes along, he or she becomes our leader.
Heartless. How I wish I was one!”
It’s really good, as far as the basic concept goes.
I would suggest not capitalizing ‘heartless’, and modifying the last sentence. I guess you’ve never played Kingdom Hearts, but the enemies in that are called Heartless. I don’t have a problem with minor plagiarism of them, as I’m busy fighting against doing too much of that in my Nano-to-be, and it doesn’t look like you’re doing that, but I’m just pointing out what it will look like to those reading. They can probably get used to it though, so if you don’t want to change it, you probably don’t have to. Sorry if I just destroyed your perception of your story, I just felt you should know.
You know, I never realised that. I chose the name Heartless because they are incapable of feeling emotion. Thanks for pointing that out, and if you have any suggestions, I’d be glad to hear them.
You’re welcome. I’d say you could get along with it, as long as you didn’t capitalize it, but maybe not.
Haven’t named it yet, but this I’m starting the sequel to Earth. This is the introduction:
*********************************
People undergo changes. It always happens. Everything we do changes us. But sometimes, the little changes add up to big changes, and we slowly change to be something different. This is what usually happens, and it happens to everyone. Like learning to talk. You learn one letter at a time, and these add up to words. Soon you have one word being memorized at a time, Now you can read a book. Whoop-dee-doo. You read Spot Goes to the Farm. Not much, is it? But half a year ago, that book would have been a big mess of random black and white squiggles, and the only interesting thing about it is the picture of the dog driving a tractor. But reading will change your life in a huge way, ways you can’t even comprehend at your young age.* That’s how most changes happen. But, a few don’t. A few changes, a very few, don’t happen until every cause has happened, like a cake sitting in the oven, with every single degree of temperature piling up, having no effect until suddenly the cake goes from raw to cooked. Like a puzzle being completely unsolved until you put the last piece in. You can’t see where the train is going until everyone is on and it’s gone through all the stations so it can finally get the ride over with. These are less common, so let me give you another example; Imagine there were some ordinary who were trapped in an empty universe. Say to keep themselves occupied, they created something to entertain themselves. Say that they were still bored, so they brought part of it to life. Say that then they decided that they created it, so they were superior. These don’t have a lot of significance, but suddenly, out of nowhere, say this all added up to the people becoming gods and then dying? I know, it’s crazy, but it could happen**. This is the kind of change that always happens to protagonists. It just seems to gather like dust, and is probably equally annoying.
*Don't even argue. How old were you when you could read Spot? Admit it, after reading it, you decided to be a farmer so you could drive around a big old tractor all day in overalls and a straw hat. You didn't care about reading at all.
*Okay, so it probably couldn't. but let's pretend that it could, okay?
Like it? I have a plan…
Wow. You ramble in writing better than I do. That is Terry Prachet- ish, but only in the content. The feel is not Terry Prachet. The feel is… I dunno… SudoRandom-ish?
Here’s an idea that I’ll write on MuseBlog. I’m not going to tell you the entire plot right now, because I’ll unveil it each in small installments. It’s going to be my NaNo.
Ooh, my own feel! Thanks, Enc!
I have more that I need to post soon…
And I think that the ending will end up probably being depressing again, sorry. If I make a third, that will probably be it, and I’ll try to make it good.
I like depressing endings of stories.
Hmm… I’m not sure if there is a thread for just regular short stories, but here’s one I wrote for my class:
*******************************************
Once there was a little girl named Alice. Alice was 4 or 5 years old, approximately, and every day she would go to the playground across the street, and play in the sandbox there. She always had lots of fun, and she loved playing in the sand there while her mother sat on the bench and talked to her boring grown-up friends about things like the news and how well their little girls were doing at reading or potty-training or what-not. It all seemed very boring to Alice, who was much more interested in things like the cat that lived on the other side of the fence that restrained little kids from leaving the park, or the stuff she found growing in the old water at the bottom of the slide that didn’t taste very good. Alice always wondered why adults focused so much on silly stuff like the weather and the taxes or whatever it was that made Mondays no fun, instead of things that mattered, like burying each other’s shoes, or dissecting the poo that the cat from the other side of the fence left behind. Maybe they were always so grumpy when they saw her doing that because they were jealous.
Either way, when Alice got home that afternoon, she went to her mommy’s computer, and typed, very, very, slowly, a promise to herself that she would never be a boring grown-up. And that evening, when Alice’s Mommy went to her computer, and found that a very important email she had been in the middle of typing had mysteriously been deleted, she was very upset, although Alice wasn’t quite sure why. She decided it was because Mommy had missed out on the sand eating again.
The next day, Alice got out her tricycle and rode it around the house while her mommy typed furiously at the computer, trying to make up for the work she had lost the night before. As Alice rode around the dining room table, she began to think about the promise she had written the day before. She wondered how easy it would be to keep. Maybe when you became a grown-up, you automatically became boring, like maybe it was built in. But why would that happen? Why would grown-ups get boring as soon as they became grown-ups? Maybe it was because of something she would learn when she finally got to go to school. Maybe it was jommetry, or fizzelks. Maybe it was a new word she hadn’t even heard yet. Maybe it wasn’t even a thing. Maybe it hadn’t been invented yet. But it had to have been invented, thought Alice with her 4 year old mind, otherwise it wouldn’t happen. Maybe that was why it happened. Maybe one day, someone invented it, and then ever since then all grown-ups got boring. That was probably why kids like Alice weren’t boring. Because it hadn’t been invented yet.
Suddenly, a horrible thought struck Alice. Had she just invented the thing that made all kids boring? She couldn’t have, right? Inventions had to take longer to make than that, because otherwise, anytime somebody thought of something, it would suddenly be there! And that couldn’t happen, right? That wouldn’t be clean! And besides, Alice didn’t think she’d gotten any boring-er! She would have to notice, how couldn’t you? She did a quick run-over. Her hands were sticky, her nose was runny, her feet were dirty, and she had sand in her pants. That seemed pretty interesting to her. Maybe she was safe. But just to be sure, Alice went into the kitchen, sat down at the table with some markers and paper, and wrote the names of every kid that she knew, so she could check them all. Charlie Haat, Erick Turner, Sonia Reese, Tammy Parker, Mikey Halpert…
Alice got bored, and decided to go make Ken commit hit-and-run with the Barbie Buggy. Later that day, her mother found the list, and got very proud of Alice for practicing her writing so well. She hung it up on the fridge, and no-one ever looked at it again, because that is how these things work.
Tu pwnes. Are you continuing it?
Eh? I think that was a compliment, because I think I caught the word “pwn” in there. Thanks!
I hadn’t really thought about continuing it, it was more a short story I wrote for class. If I continue one of the stories I posted, it’ll be the one before this.
Bushbug-(below me) I like it!
Yes, that’s the present-tense, second-person familiar of the Spanish verb pwner. A discussion of French and Spanish conjugations of “to pwn” erupted during a game of Paker last year.
I thought it was French.
French is “tu pwns.” No “e.”
There’s something especially gratifying in being particular about grammatical constructions that don’t even exist in the outside world.
Finally *wheeze* found the most recent writing thread…. Anyway, here’s a prologue for a book I’m writing. It’s set in Norway, a long time ago.
Prologue:
The crow, Jigharr, had a prize in his talons. As he flew through the air towards his hollow, stones arced apwards towards him, narrowly missing his body. He hovered, and looked down, seeking the source of the disturbance. Upon looking down, he became disoriented, and blinked to clear his head. Yet he could not dispel the horrible images that filled his mind. He saw, printed as after images, children that were half-starved. Throwing stones at him. They wanted the diamond, they wanted money, whatever the word meant. He glanced down again, and saw a blond, fair-skinned boy attempting to stop them as they started throwing clumps of mud at him. The child, younger than all of the others, was roughly shoved aside. He got back up, covered in mud, and threw a stone. With more swift shots, he finally stopped the mob of children. Jigharr relaxidd, thinking his waking nightmare over. By mistake, the gemstone in his talons slipped and fell. The small boy caught it, staring into its depths. The boy, known as Saliroy, didn’t know what to do with the diamond. But he felt power in it, and knew that he could not sell it.
I haven’t been on here in forever. *sigh* And I couldn’t possibly imagin reading all of this. *head desk*
Nthanda, where are you?
Here’s the rather short prologue to a story I recently started. I hope it’s molded to everyone’ liking!
_____________________________
Prologue
When I woke up this morning, everything was black. I couldn’t see anything at all.
“Mom? Did the power go out?†I called. Her voice didn’t call back to me. Something was definitely wrong. Mom always answered; it was one of her qualities. I stood up and an eerie glow erupted from ahead of me. Walking forward with my hands out in front of me, I tried hard to reach the glow. The closer I got to it, the farther away it got from me. My feet seemed to move by themselves, and I began to run to the left, away from the glow. Soon it had disappeared, and I was running in complete blackness.
I should have hit the wall by now, I thought. It’s true; I should have walked right into the wall by now. That was weird, very weird indeed. On the next running step I took, my foot found no purchasing, and I toppled into the void. An idiosyncrasy of mine compelled me to windmill my arms like crazy, but I was already falling. This falling gave me no real sensation of falling, most likely because of the lack of any light. A strange humming sound was emitting from the space all around me, and a slight electric shock ran through my body.
______________________________
Feedback?
145- I’d like to hear the rest of the story, because that is very exciting!
I’ve been having an idea about a fantasy adventure that will probably be at least slightly sci-fi, and I want it to defy cliche storylines, so tell me what you think…
It starts with a prologue like 20 years earlier, where a war is started between the two major societies on a given planet. There is a council meeting, and a guy from one group gets enraged at a statement made by a guy from the other group, so he kills him. This spawns a war between the two societies, wherein the main character’s parents to-be meet in the army and fall in love/get married.
20 YEARS LATER
The main character is from 12 – 14 years old, and living a quiet home life with her family. The war had died down a few years before *main character* was born. She has some friends at school, and she is content with what she has. After some time, attacks from the enemy start again and many are slain. The girl’s parents are called into the army again, and she has to live with other children/adolescents in underground shelters. These are large, cavernous underground cities that protect the regular society from bombardment, etc. The main character and a group of her friends eventually are allowed to fight with their parents. A few, say two or three, die heroically. Finally, the enemy forces are defeated after a stunning shift in the battle. The former enemy suddenly drop their weapons, hands raised in the air. They say they have been having their minds controlled by an unknown source, but its power has been weakened. The angry council member in the prologue was the first to be mind-controlled, but it has ceased. Now, everyone is friends, and they all live happily ever after… until the power returns, and since the “enemies” have distributed through society, they go on a rampage, killing everyone they can and pillaging supplies. Now, the only people who can save their culture from being destroyed by a crazed mind-controlling madman are the main character and her four remaining friends. Can they do it? They can only try.
146- Thanks! (I like your story, seems like the rest will be interesting. I’d like to hear more too.) I’ll post more of mine as soon as I *coughcoughwritetherestcoughcough* of it.
Well, what I put down is a basic outline of the entire story, and what I really want to know is, do you think the storyline is original enough, and not like every other book in the world? Because I want to get some advice/help from my friend, but I never see him except once in a while, sooo, yeah.
Okay then.
-I don’t know of any books that resemble your outline.
-In my opinion, that’s really unique. And compare to the stuff I write… it’s about two zillion times more original.
-Definitely NOT like every other book in the world.
(I’d still like to hear it, once you get the story down!)
Wow. Thanks.
I’ll get working on the story, but I could use a good, futuristic-sounding name. I’ll take suggestions, if anyone is willing to give any. Base suggestions on the plot I’ve previously posted. I’ll probably take the best-sounding ones (in my opinion) and then sort of morph them together to create a really cool title.
I’m willing to give any kind of suggestion to anyone who needs them.
SFTDP
Here’s the first part of my story.
Prologue : Meetings
The council was having a heated discussion about the condition of their mineral supply. Councilman Merrom Vork thought that the key was communication, and he said so.
“We can’t maintain a steady influx of raw materials if we can’t establish a good connection with the rest of the system!â€
“Maybe not,†responded Industrial Representative Ojanna Mannsen, “but we have to think about more pressing issues, such as the state of our own resources here on Alpha 2. I heard from Dr. Grent that the quantities of our mineral resources, namely Metatite and Chromesium, have been deteriorating significantly.â€
“Deteriorating significantly?†scoffed Councilman Vork. “The whole reason for the deficiency is that other, wealthier worlds have been demanding all of the raw materials that we can provide, using up all of our resources, and leaving us none the richer. Now, if we had the proper communication, we might be able to prevent further-“
“Enough, Mr. Vork. We can’t have you cutting into every debate on the planet. You are now on probation.â€
“Probation? PROBATION!? I am the most honored member of the Planetary Industrial Council here on Alpha 2, and you’re putting ME on PROBATION!?â€
Dr. Grent cut in, saying, “I can assure you, sir, we have perfectly legitimate reasons to-“
His sentence was forever forestalled when Merrom Vork’s blaster bolt hit the Dr. Grent square in the chest, killing him instantly. Vork hurled the lifeless form of the Doctor into the disposal chute, then fled the conference room to his private starjet located in the rear hangar of the building.
When the former councilman had reached his aircraft, he then contacted his employer.
“So… how did it go?â€
“Well, er, um, heh heh…â€
“Out with it!â€
“Well, there’s good news and then there’s bad news.â€
“An overused cliché, but understandable. Carry on.â€
“I did as you said, sir, but I couldn’t seem to plant the idea in their heads that ‘communication was the key.’â€
“I assume you killed the Doctor, then?â€
“Of course.â€
“Good. I have sent a message to your personal inbox. It contains the call number of… a friend of mine that you are to contact immediately; tell him to arrive at the Metropolis spaceport on Alpha 2 tomorrow at 0400 Standard Hours.â€
“B-but sir, that number is for a residence in the most criminally active district in all of Metropolis.â€
“Yes, well, you are a criminal now, aren’t you? Or would you like to spend the rest of your life as bait for vicious beasts in the arena?â€
“Oh no, sir. I’ll call right away, sir.â€
“Good. Call me right back when you are done. If you do it properly, I’ll have a little surprise waiting for you.â€
“Yes, sir. I’ll call right away.â€
He did so, and then informed his employer, who promptly detonated the three charges located in Vork’s starjet.
I’ve constructed the rest so that there are two (or maybe three) “Parts”,
in the first of which the main characters are the parents of the main character in the next part (or parts). They are fighting in a war…blah blah blah I already told you.
The second part is about the girl and her friends joining the battle against the bad peoples.
The third part (if I choose to separate it) will be the main character’s quest to seek out and destroy the evil dude who is behind it all.
If both the second and third parts are reasonably long, they will be separate. If one is huge and one is small, or if they are about equal but not large enough total to be separate, then they will be combined.
That’s about it for now, I’ll come up with more soon.
Are you sure you’re not Bram Stoker in disguise or something? That’s really good.
If you want a nice futuristic name, try combining two (or more) non-futuristic words together like ‘screwdriver’ and ‘remote control.’ That would be something like ‘scrotecon.’ Then make up what the word is/means and put it into the story somehow.
—- Non-related to your story: What suggestions could you think of for a pack of blue snakes that could shape-shift into humans? There are only three and they are being held captive in a zoo. One, I think, will eventually break out and pillage the city hijack something or other, break into a medieval weapons museum, and burn down the county jail. I really need suggestions on this if you could help.
Are they all like that one?
The snaky/people thingies? I think I’m going to have the one that breaks out be doing it because en is forced to in some way by the pack leader-dude.
Do they want revenge on people for locking them up or are they just greedy/crazed?
I think you should call them Jisskor. Or something similar.
In other words, something reptilian sounding with a nice long ‘s’ sound in there.
Who’s Bram Stoker?
For a title, how about ‘Strings’? As in ‘___ was pulling the strings of it the entire time’.
Hmm… maybe. I am going to have a quote from the mind-control dude that is like “No, you are my weapon.”
I could call it “Mental Warfare”.
This is a very strange story that is not meant to be taken seriously in any way, except perhaps as clinical proof of how messed-up my mind is. Think of it as a Star Wars/The Dream is Alive crossover…
The Stormtrooper stood watch within the grey hallways of the Imperial detention center, yawning beneath his white helmet. The prisoners were asleep, and anyone trying to break in or out would have been caught by the outside defences.
A bald man, wearing a curious light-blue jumpsuit, seemed to appear out of nowhere in front of the sleepy guard, who immediately focused his blaster rifle on the intruder.
“State your name and business.” He demanded. The intruder showed no visible fear of the gun. He briefly seemed to be concentrating, as if trying to remember something, before adopting a calm look that was somehow frightening.
“You don’t need to know my business.” The bald man said, speaking in an odd tone of voice.
“I don’t… need to know… your business.” The guard repeated, sounding dazed.
“You’re feeling very sleepy. You should go back to your quarters and lie down.” The bald man said, waving his right hand.
“Yes… I do feel… sleepy…. I should go… lie down.” The trooper repeated as he walked away, white armored boots dragging from exhaustion.
Satisfied, the bald man tapped lightly on the wall to signal that the coast was clear. Five more humans, dressed in similar blue jumpsuits, emerged from behind a bend in the corridor.
“Nice job, Story.” A dark-haired man who seemed to be the leader said, making sure the group was all there. “How much farther to the cell block, Sally?” He asked, speaking to a woman with straight black hair who held a datapad.
“We should be comming up on it now, sir. The guy we want’s in cell 5D.”
Led by the dark-haired man, the humans snuck down the hallway. Reaching the right door, the bald man produced the key card he had pocketed from the sleepy Stormtrooper and used it to open the door.
Inside, bruised and battered, a hairy Bothan, with pointed doglike ears, sat upright on his bunk, analysing the appearance of his visitors. Human, certainly, but the symbols on their jumpsuits were unfamiliar to him.
“The Rebellion sent us. We’re here to rescue you.” A man with graying hair said, stepping forward to offer assistance.
“Thank you.” The Bothan took his hand and stood up, taking the opportunity to examine the man’s uniform more closely. In particular, those curvy red letters on his shoulder patch.
“NASA… what planet is that? Your accent sounds almost Corellian…”
“We’re from Earth. I’m Mike, that’s Story-” he pointed to the bald man, “Dick-” the leader, “Sally-” the woman with the datapad, “Charlie-” a tall black man who stood by the door, “-and Judy.” He pointed to a woman with very curly black hair.
“We have to go. We have to get to the ship before the guards find this cell empty.” Judy cut in, heading towards the door. Back on his feet, the Bothan was only too quick to agree, and the group hurried back into the hallway, following the datapad.
An alarm sounded just as they reached the level of the docking bay. Proceeding a stealth even the trained Bothan spy admired, the group were nearly at their target when the bald man, Story, suddenly stopped and concentrated.
“Eight Stormtroopers, comming this way. No hiding spots between there and here.” He reported.
“Tell Crip to start the engines. We’ll just have to fight our way through.” Dick ordered, pulling a blaster from a pocket on the leg of his jumpsuit. The straight-haired woman, Sally, produced a comlink and said something unintelligable into it.
“That’s the fugitive! Fire!” A voice shouted, as the Stormtroopers began to fill the hallway. Blaster shots scorched the surrounding air as the mysterious humans returned fire. Story removed a long tubular object from a pocket, which ignited with a swishing hiss, producing a blue plasma blade.
A lightsaber. The spy had never seen one before, though he’d heard that Darth Vader had one, and the Rebel hero Skywalker. The blade blocked the blasts with ease, swinging rapidly in the line of fire, allowing the others to advance behind. The hallway cleared, the humans broke into a run, Mike pulling the Bothan along as Judy and Charlie fired behind them.
The craft the humans pulled the spy towards was unlike anything he had ever seen. It resembled nothing so much as an ancient aerial vehicle from the days before repulsorlift technology, white with delta wings and antiquated rocket engines at the back.
“What is this vehicle?” He asked, as Mike pushed him up a ladder and into the living space.
“A space shuttle. Strap yourself in.” Mike said, strapping himself in. Still under heavy fire, the others rushed through the hatch and closed it.
“Jeez, is the whole ARMY after you?” A man asked from the cockpit, in a Texan accent.
“Something like that. Get us airborne, Crip!” Dick’s voice shouted. “Judy, field jammer now!”
“Can do!”
“Right on!” The woman pushed a complicated series of buttons shutting down the force field that seperated the bay from the outside world.
The rear engines ignited, sending the shuttle flying out into the planet’s atmosphere. The spy could feel them pulling up, headed for space.
“How’s that ring coming?” Crip asked, talking to his companions on the flight deck.
“Our allies indicate the hyperspace ring is online, Commander.” Sally reported.
Three TIE fighters appeared, pursuing the shuttle as they barrelled out of the atmosphere. The spacecraft did several sharp turns, doding the blasts.
“Yee-haw!” Crip shouted, as the hyperspace ring appeared in sight, orbiting the planet.
“Floor it, they’re closing in!”
The engines burned at full intensity, throwing the shuttle through the portal with seconds to spare. The TIE fighters fired at empty vacuum, but the portal was already closed. The mysterious humans had vanished into hyperspace, on the way back to their far-away homeworld.
“Pause.” The white-haired man ordered, motioning to the man operating the Laserdisk. The film stopped, and the lights came on.
“As demonstrated in this video from last month, with the upgrades to the shuttle provided by our allies in the Rebel Alliance, our astronauts were successful in their mission to rescue the Bothan spy. The spy has since revealed to the the existance of a second Death Star near Endor, as I’m sure you were informed, Mr. President.”
“Continue, Administrator Beggs.”
“I have spoken with my Soviet and European counterparts, and they have already pledged six Burans and two Hermes shuttles to the battle. I have personally offered to compliment this with five of our shuttles. This would be the largest deployment of the Earth Fleet to date, but Leia Organa has assured me that our aid is neccessary if the Alliance is to be victorious. Therefore, Mr. President, I am formally requesting the money and manpower necessary-”
“And you shall have it, Mr. Administrator. We are in this star war, and if the Empire wishes to control Earth, we must intervene in the name of strategic defense. Build your rockets.”
Wow, I made some horrible spelling mistakes there…
Oh, and I kind of “cheated” by giving the USSR Buran and the European Space Agency Hermes in what’s supposed to be 1984, but with Rebel technology, we can assume both projects are leaping from the drawing boards to the launchpads quite rapidly.
Plus, why let the US have all the fun?
151.1.2- Who’s Bram Stoker? *hyperventilation* Bram Stoker wrote Dracula. (I suggest you read it) He’s a famous vampire story writer-dude.
153- I knew that name sounded familiar, but I just couldn’t place it. He wrote Dracula. Right. I should read that. Thanks. And sorry for almost indirectly causing your death.
Aaaahh. Couldn’t place it. I absolutely hate it when that happens. Anyway, I’m hypothetically out of the hospital.
155-
I’m thinking of writing a sequel to my NaNo, or a sort of story woven around a winter myth- actually, both. The myth/saga/book would probably be shorted though, only about 30k words, so technically not a book. Hmm…
I think you should write a sequel to your NaNo, if you like your actual NaNo enough it should be fun to write… and I think 30,000 words would technically be a book. Dictionary definition of book:
1- A written or printed work consisting of pages glued or sewn together along one side and bound in covers.
2- A literary composition that is published or intended to be published as such a work.
3- A main division of a classic literary work, and epic, or the Bible.
And so on and so forth. So go ahead and make a 30k word book!
SFTDP- So you know my story-thingy in post 145? Well, I quit that. What do you guys think of a story about a cult of Old Egyptian God worshiper-people? I think I’m going to have a bunch of tourists fall into the “mesmerizing intruigingness” of the cult and get eaten/overpowered somehow by the other cult members who think the tourists have caused “the wrath of Set” or something. Comments? Suggestions? God names besides Set/Ra?
I’m writing a story, but I can already tell it will need major editing. Chapter Two, “The Wizard’s Tale,” is utterly disorganized and nonsensical. Also, I don’t know what made the Chief Wizard offer to make Tanya a wizard, but it might be better, because in the stand agianst the villian (whose name I can never remember) she’ll actually be able to do something. And I’m feeling like wizards are becoming too predominate in the story. I don’t want it to seem like it was writen by some weird Harry Potter fan who doens’t know the first thing about writing a book.
This is becoming a rant. *tries to calm down* If I post the story, you’ll see what I mean, but I don’t want to torture hapless Gapas and MBers.:neutral:
Honestly? Just write. It will need editing. Every story does. A story chiefly about wizards is not automatically a Harry Potter spoof/written by a JKR-wannabe. There are lots of books mostly about magic users of some sort or another. All but one of mine, for example. If you’re having a good time writing, keep writing.
Just because you know that the story isn’t perfect, doesn’t mean reading it will be torture. And just because you don’t know something about your story doesn’t imply any kind of failure. Eventually, you’ll figure it out, or you won’t. Chances are it isn’t that big a deal.
I think I should continue the “Stephanie Stone Goes to Cape Canaveral” story that I started here in June, once I find some time.
By the way, in case POSOC reads this, I was re-reading this thread, and I wanted to tell you I really liked your ‘odd fractured fairy tale’. I dreamed about it last night. And it’s inspiring me to go work on a story with a vaguely similar setting. It was really good.
Of course, everybody else’s was good too.
Okay, I found the time:
I bounced in my seat as the bus from the airport passed a large sign reading “Kennedy Space Center- Spaceport USAâ€. Never mind that I’d have to work for Dryson, never mind the Agency training Sandy had promised- I was tingling with excitement now that we were at the space center!
Dryson had made a lot of calls and arranged visits to the launchpads and the hangars for the planes that would be in the airshow. But that wasn’t until the afternoon, and at the moment, it was still morning. A small group of people were waiting for the bus as it pulled into the parking lot of the Visitor’s Center.
I strained my eyes looking for the agent Sandy had said would be there to meet me as I followed a camera guy off the bus. I reviewed his instructions. The agent would claim that I needed to take pills to keep from developing travel sickness, and I would follow them away to meet the others. But everyone seemed real and solid, without the faint hazy edge that sometimes comes with the use of an image inducer. Maybe he hadn’t sent a ghost…
While I was scrutinizing our welcoming committee, I caught a glimpse of motion at the corner of my right eye. I turned to see a dark-haired man approaching Dryson, about average height. He wore an employee badge over his T-shirt like the rest of our friends, but I could have sworn there had been nobody standing there a minute before.
“Dr. Dryson, I was contacted about your assistant’s medical needs, and I’ve got her pills inside of the building, if you can spare her for a moment.†He said.
“Of course.†Dryson looked briefly around for me, before realizing that I was standing right next to him “She’s right over there. Don’t be too long.†He gave me a pat on the back.
“I’m Stephanie.†I said, smiling at the man. He briefly looked surprised, before returning to his previous calm expression.
“Well, if you’ll just follow me, it’s right this way…†He turned and walked towards the Visitor’s Center. I caught a glimpse of a device clipped to his belt, looking something like an electronic pedometer.
So he WAS wearing an image inducer. But, even though I walked closely behind the guide into a side room, I couldn’t see the hazy edge. I increased my pace, just on the verge of intruding on the man’s personal space, and looked closely. His outline seemed to flash cloudy for a second, but when you expect to see something, it’s very easy to convince yourself you’ve seen it.
The man shut the door, and turned to me with a smile, his hand outstretched to shake.
“While I must admit I expected someone older, I’m very pleased to meet you, Stephanie. Pardon…†He pressed a button on the device clipped to his belt, and I heard a faint electronic “beep†as his appearance changed.
He was now transparent, wearing a green pilot’s jumpsuit with military boots. His hair was darker, and worn in a crew-cut, and his eyes seemed smaller somehow.
“Tom McNamara. Delta 7 and Gemini 4.â€
An actual astronaut? I shook his hand.
“Well, I’m glad to meet you, too. I’m really excited to be here. What was with your image inducer before? It almost looked like you weren’t using one.â€
He patted the device “It’s a new model. A guy in our Russian sector, Petrov, he made some improvements. Works like a charm. Hey, are you hungry from your flight?â€
I was, now that he mentioned it. “Yeah, I’m hungry.â€
“I thought you might be…†He turned to a mini-refrigerator in the room, phased his arm through the door, and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in plastic. “You like chicken?†He asked, offering it.
“Sure. Thanks!†I unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. It was good. Very good. Tom looked like he was in suspense for some reason. I took another bite. Suddenly, I tasted something very spicy. I generally like spicy food, but this was intense, my mouth was on fire! My tongue was burning!
“Aaaaaahhhhhh! Hot! Hot! Water! Need water!†I pulled the fridge door open, found the freezer part, and pulled out three ice cubes. I stuffed them all into my mouth at once. Feeling some relief, and breathing heavily, I turned to look at Tom, who was doubled over laughing.
“You should have seen your face! You should have seen it! Ha, ha, ha! Half a bottle of chili sauce… ha hAAAHHH!â€
Chili sauce?
“You put chili sauce in that sandwich?†I asked, not believing what had just happened.
Tom stood up and took a deep breath:
“Let that be your first lesson- as an agent, you must always be on your toes. In a real situation, you might get something far worse than pranked.â€
“So… you pranked me… to train me?â€
“Well that, and it was really funny to see the look on your face… oh man, it was priceless.†He started chuckling.
THIS guy was an astronaut?
“I heard screaming. What are you up to?†I heard a female voice, and looked around for the source. A transparent arm phased through the wall, and the rest of the body followed half a second later. The woman wore a light blue flightsuit with patches here and there, and black curly hair that looked very 80s.
“Oh, hi! Are you the trainee from the Agency?†She asked, her eyes lighting up. They were sort of purple. She signed a little bit “Whew, when did that wall get thicker?â€
“Hey, I’m Stephanie. Uh, he just gave me a sandwich with chili sauce in it and it was really spicy and I kind of burned my tongue and-â€
“Tom! You did that to the poor kid?†She glared at him, before turning to me. “Almost forgot to introduce myself! Ariana Robertson, STS-41-D.†She said, very perkily. The sudden mood whiplash made me a bit uneasy.
“It was only a joke, Ari, she’s not hurt. And now she knows to keep on her toes. Hey, that rhymes…†Tom explained.
“So, you guys are assigned here at the space center? What exactly do you do?†I asked.
“Here, there, everywhere we’re needed. We’re the western hemisphere branch of Black Fleet, the Agency’s space division.†Tom said.
“We help, just like other agents. Our job is to protect against extanormal dangers and generally keep things running smoothly here.â€
Here’s part of my fanfic. It’s a script. (I would put in on the Partial Scripts thread, but that’s currently on the TV show…)
Part 1: The Disc
(Setting: Space. The Enterprise NCC-1701-F flies through. Zoom in on the bridge. Data is captain, and Wesley Crusher is first officer. A visibly older Deanna Troi is counselor. Three new crewmen: Vora, Helm control, Vulcan. Geoff, science station, human. K’lchang, security, Klingon)
GEOFF: Sir, the region of space we are now entering seems to have very little space debris and dust floating around; compared to the region we were in. The division is quite sharp, actually.
DATA: Continue as usual. Any other differences?
GEOFF: No sir.
(Enterprise flypass. Back on the bridge, Deanna gasps and falls to the floor. Data assists her up.)
DEANNA: Thank you. There seems to be unusually high telepathic activity here.
DATA: What do you mean?
DEANNA: It feels like, I don’t know, the essence of this place is from telepathic activity. It’s as if everything around us contains telepathic activity in some way.
GEOFF: Sir, something is approaching us, very slowly, off the port bow. It seems to be… a few thousand kilometers wide. These sensors must be malfunctioning.
DATA: Put it on screen.
(The Great A’Tuin appears on the screen, with Discworld on top.)
GEOFF: It appears to be an entire world. Lifeforms seems to be humanoid.
VORA: I may be able to change course to get a view of the top of the planet.
DATA: Do so.
(The Enterprise hovers above the Disc. Discworld is displayed on the screen.)
DATA: Is there any warp technology present on this… planet?
GEOFF: No signs of anti-matter, or other ways known to propel matter at warp speeds. However, (fiddles with console) there are signs of warp on the planet. I can locate it, and we could contact there.
DATA: Find the warp.
GEOFF: (Fiddles with console) It seems to be a few entities, moving across the world a few times a second. I could track one and attempt communication, sir.
DATA: Do it. K’lchang, open frequencies.
GEOFF: I got a lock.
DATA: This is Captain Data, representing the U.S.S. Enterprise and the Federation. Can you receive us?
(Death’s voice is broadcast.)
DEATH: YES, I CAN HEAR YOU. I CAN’T SEE YOU. WHERE ON THE DISC ARE YOU? DO I NEED TO COLLECT YOU?
DATA: Collect?
DEATH: YES, AS IN COLLECT YOUR SOULS. DO YOU THINK YOUR TIME IS UP?
DATA: No, our time is not up. May we have visuals?
DEATH: (GRUMBLES) WHY DIDN’T YOU SHOW YOURSELVES IN THE FIRST PLACE?
(Death’s face appears on the screen. Both Death and Wesley look surprised.)
DEATH: OH, SO YOU ARE PEOPLE, NOT A MINOR GOD. WHERE ARE YOU?
DATA: We are flying above you planet. Do you represent your species?
DEATH: I HAVE NO SPECIES.
DATA: Well, what are you?
DEATH: I AM DEATH. THE ANTHROPOMORPHIC PERSONIFICATION.
DATA: Mute. Wesley, do you have any ideas what this is about?
WESLEY: It seems that this “Death†either is or believes he is a supernatural being.
GEOFF: Sorry to interrupt, but I am getting no lifeform readings from him.
DATA: Resume communications. Mr. Death, do you know anybody who we could take aboard to explain it better to us?
DEATH: WHY YES, THERE IS MY GRANDDAUGHTER SUSAN. SHALL I FETCH HER FOR YOU?
DATA: Yes, please do that.
GEOFF: Death has jumped over to another area. He with a lifeform now.
DEATH: (APPEARS ON THE SCREEN WITH SUSAN) HERE IS MY GRANDDAUGHTER. TAKE HER ABOARD YOUR SHIP-THINGY.
DATA: Will do.
SUSAN: None of you have asked my opinion on this. It’s Hogswatchnight, Grandfather. Do I really need to go now- (She is cut off as she dematerializes in the beam. Wesley and K’lchang hurry over to transporter room 4.)
(Setting: Transporter room 3. A very surprised looking Susan materializes on the transporter platform)
SUSAN: What a strange experience. Where am I?
WESLEY: Welcome aboard the USS Enterprise. Are you ready in start first-contact proceedings, or would you like a rest?
SUSAN: I guess I’d like to start the proceedings. I’d like to be done as fast as possible. (After a pause) Where on the Disc are we?
WESLEY: We aren’t on the disc, if you’re referring to that world below us, ma’am. We’re above it.
SUSAN: What?! Let me see.
(Setting: bridge. Wesley and Susan step on to the bridge.)
SUSAN: (gasps) Is that a painting… No, it moves. We are above the Disc!
(Data comes up to meet Susan)
DATA: Hello, follow me to the conference room, please. You too, K’lchang)
(A flustered Susan, Wesley, and K’lchang follow Data.)
DATA: If you’d tell us a little about yourself, Susan, and then we can find out about the world you live on.
I made up a new idea for a story, completely on accident, and have begun writing it, though I’ve only got 1031 words.
It was August now, the last blistering week of August, and Laina would soon return to school. It had been a prison for her the last three years, September to May. Its droning, normal teachers and hordes of taunting children didn’t exactly make Laina eager for the beginning of term in just a few short days. Here at Mary’s house, it was better, with so few people around, but she could never feel entirely at ease with others.
“It’s been nice living here,†Laina commented, gazing out the window at the brilliant full moon peeking from behind the grove of stately evergreens.
“Yes; I shall be sad to see you go,†Mary replied after a pause. She did not see the moon as Laina did, a shining sky-pearl, but as a humdrum, nightly sight, a light source no more interesting than a flashlight. “I suppose it’s not me you’ll miss,†she added with a sigh. “I am lost with you, as though you’re three grades ahead of me, and there’s simply no hope of me ever catching up.â€
“Well, I feel alienated,†Laina admitted. “Often I seem to myself half crazy, particularly after I’ve tried and failed yet again to talk out my feelings to someone.â€
Mary had no reply, and sat there a while longer. Then she shivered. “My, it’s cold; we’ll catch our death in a moment near this window.†She stood and relocated to the patchwork-covered bed immaculately made, but Laina did not follow. She had no need.
“What is it like for you, being…?†Mary didn’t finish her sentence. Laina knew what she meant.
“It seems a gift, often, yet always a curse; I know not which it truly is.â€
“Oh,†said Mary awkwardly, not knowing what Laina meant: she could never quite be sure. “What shall you hope to be when you grow up?†she added, hoping to divert their conversation to happier subjects. Laina considered, then said: “Oh, I don’t really know, but it will be something of music, or poetry, or art; it seems a shame to waste my…†She broke off, and glanced down at the silvery crown necklace she had been absentmindedly playing with with silver-tipped fingers. “Oh, why don’t I just say it!†Laina burst out. “I am a Royaleia.â€
Any normal person in Aljarie had little imagination: only enough to picture something somewhat realistic being described, and none of the rare poetry of soul, the virtue and elegance of manner that Laina and a few others possessed. She and her likes were the Royaleia, who were the few who could learn magic, if it hadn’t been frowned upon, and, probably, in some obscure collection of government ordinances, limited legally. “Devilry and witchcraft, that’s what magic is,†the normal citizens thought, and generally kept Royaleia down. Laina was surprised she didn’t have to wear sunglasses in public to conceal the thin ring of silver that surrounded her pupils, or paint her nails to conceal that the whites of her nails were silver too. But what stung most was the dreaded “compulsory Royaleia boarding policy,†one of the many policies listed in great detail in the Royaleia Parents’ Guide. It was what had condemned Laina to boarding school forever, although she would have been sent away anyhow. Her parents were dreadfully ashamed of Laina’s Royaliesm, and more often than not she spent the summer away from home, living with Normal friends of her parents’, when there were any willing to take her in.
The Arnsons had been kind to Laina, but rather wary and distant. Only Mary, who was around Laina’s age, would talk to her more sufficiently than “Laina dear, could you put away the dishes?†or “Would you please pass the pickles, Laina?†The most she got was a polite questioning of where she went to school, though Laina rather suspected this was to ascertain Mary wasn’t going to the same place. She wasn’t. Laina went to Arnold Jones Children’s Academy; Mary was to begin at South Aljarie Young Ladies’ School of Propriety. “It will be—not too bad, I suppose,†Mary had often said. “It will be nice if I can become more graceful, like you.â€
Presently, though, Mary glanced nervously around, to make sure no one had heard the word spoken. “Now, don’t trouble yourself with thoughts of it,†she then said crisply. “You’re born and done, and it can’t be helped you’re the way you are.â€
“Why, Mary,†Laina returned a trifle sorrowfully, “You make it sound almost bad,â€
“Well, isn’t it?†asked Mary, a little surprised.
“Not the thing itself. Only the effect it has on all else of my life.â€
“So you like it, the heightened senses… the intricate thoughts…the passionate emotions…†Mary trailed away.
“Of course I do,†Laina smiled. “Haven’t you realized that?â€
“Well,†Mary said slowly, “It seemed…at times… but aren’t you ashamed…?â€
“Of course not,†Laina replied severely. “It isn’t shameful, nor will it ever be shameful, no matter what the government says. I thought you understood.â€
Mary thought. “Well, I guess I don’t really see why everyone makes it out to be shameful, but as they do, that’s what really matters.â€
Laina sighed. “No, Mary: What people think is not what really matters. Often what they think is not the truth, nearly always, in fact. What would you say if everyone was to think the water was earth, and were falling and drowning in lakes and rivers? Would you go for a Sunday stroll across the pond to impress others?â€
“No,†declared Mary, flushing. “I think you might be more forgiving to a poor old Normal, who can’t ever feel as you do. Good night.†And with that she walked out to her own room.
Laina remained unhappily. “Why must we quarrel on the last day I’m here?†she thought. They hadn’t always agreed the past three months, but the evening’s disagreement tainted her farewell with unwonted sadness. Mary saw the silver of Laina, her silver-rimmed eyes and silver-tipped nails, her mandatory identifying crown necklace, as a mark of shame.
“It isn’t,†Laina thought defiantly, and tried to keep up this thought as she began packing away her few belongings.
Here’s a short story I wrote during tech class. Potentially disturbing for people with lots of empathy. If anybody has any confusions, they may ask me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hello. I haven’t met you before. Would you like me to tell you my story?
I have had 3 great loves. Flowers and red paint are ones that I still have. Sarah is one that isn’t there anymore.
I learned to plant flowers when I was 14. I found a box of matches, and rubbed one against the side of the box. A flower sprung up from the match head. From that moment on, I was enthralled.
Once I learned to plant flowers, I started planting them everywhere. I planted them on pieces of paper, in my fireplace, on dead leaves. I was fifteen then.
When I was sixteen, I planted lots of flowers in my living room. The quickly spread around my house. The flowers then left me. They took my home with me.
For a while, I hated flowers. I discovered red paint then. I was cooking for my family, and hit my finger with a knife. Red paint spilled on my fingers. I excitedly went to show my parents. But for some reason, they tried to get rid of it. I still sometimes wonder why nobody but Sarah and I like red paint. I didn’t know that then, though.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Here’s where it gets most disturbing, according to my friends.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I tried showing other people how nice red paint was. I poked them with my knife, all over their body. Some screamed. Some grabbed their cellphones. Others just fell down.
That’s how I met Sarah. I showed her red paint. She smiled at me. We talked about flowers and how lovely red paint was.
Sarah and I decided to do a community service project. We planted flowers all over town. When we did, people who didn’t like flowers yelled at us. But, we didn’t care.
One Christmas, when I was 21, I decided to give Sarah a present. I planted flowers all around her and her bed. Then I gave her red paint. I put it on all over her chest.
Her eyes snapped open. She looked at me, with what I thought was a look of love. But then she cried. I wonder why?
Sarah stopped talking to me. I pleaded with her, trying to get her to talk to me. I planted flowers on her. The flowers stole her, just like they had my house. I hated flowers again.
After that, I haven’t seen many flowers or red paint. I asked for them, from the mean men in blue suits. I also asked for them, from the nice men in white suits.
They shut me in a room. I kept trying to get flowers and red paint. Nothing works.
They tried sending me people. The people talked to me, like you. None of them liked flowers or red paint.
Do you?
Wow, I really like that! Scary, though.
*shudders*
Good, but just plain gory. And this Sarah person is just as utterly insane as the main character? *mor shudders*
No! No! He eez not izane before Zarah diez! Zarah’s death makes heem go inzane!
/crazyauthorinsideme
Disturbing, yeah… but good. But if the main character isn’t insane before Sarah’s death, then why does en think it’s paint and flowers?
They don’t, they change their memories.
Wow. Disturbing.
Umm…
Um, yes. Kind of creepy/disturbing, but I like it!
Yay! That was AM’s reaction, except without the kind of.
I told it to my friend at lunch. She said it would give her nightmares!!! But, it’s very well written.
I just read that for the second time. I laughed. It actually doesn’t seem so disturbing to me anymore.
165- Very disturbing.
I’ve gone back to my NaNo. It really only needs a few more scenes… Not too many more, actually. I think just one major one. Then I start work on the second book. It’s a trilogy. Or will be.
I haven’t been writing so much, since my arm is in a cast, so…
But I’ve gotten better at typing in a cast. I can type again.
I really want to expand on the “Rebel Alliance comes to Earth” timeline from post 152, showing First Contact, the Battle of Endor, and certainly how life progresses in the following years.
Here is the first section of the first chapter of my book.
Chapter 1 : Matters of Business
Donn DiLoog had a reputation as the most skilled assassin in all of Metropolis. In fact, he had earned the nickname “The Remover†from his fellow hit men. So when he received a call from the Mineral Resources Department of the Planetary Industrial Council, he was a little surprised, to say the least. He was even more surprised when the “Industrial Council Member†gave him a date, time, and place to meet up with an inter-system crime lord. So here he was, at exactly 0400 standard hours, standing in Hangar 178, waiting for this character to show up.
When he did show up, Donn was taken aback. He expected this guy to be rough and tough, and to at least carry a weapon. But here was this man wearing a suit, with not even a small blaster.
Gronkk Noriiken (for that was his name), was equally bewildered. This man did not look like an assassin. He looked like a normal citizen. The only thing unusual about him was the eye patch placed a bit lopsidedly over his left eye.
“Gronkk Noriiken, nice to meet you.â€
“Donn DiLoog, the pleasure’s mine.â€
“Let’s get down to business. The CEO of a certain mining company has offered me +50,000 credits if I can invent an explosive that will have three times the power of a standard mining explosive. He said he will give me the money if I let him patent this invention. Now, my scientists have already invented such an explosive. This executive wants to see a demonstration, which we will both attend, you playing the role of my bodyguard. Once the demonstration is over, if he is pleased with the invention, then he will want the patent deed. He will exchange it for the money. Once I have the money, you will shoot him. I assume you are a fair marksman?â€
“’Course, sir. I wouldn’t go through with this if’n I wasn’t. I still might not. I need to know my fair share of the loot. I’m not doing this free of charge, you know.â€
“Actually, sir, I believe you are.â€
“Are you threatening me?â€
“Not exactly.â€
Noriiken drew a curious device from his breast pocket. It consisted of a circular bit of polished black metal, with a padded handle extending out. Across from it was a small antenna. A large red button was positioned in the center of the circle. DiLoog scrutinized the absurd-looking contraption.
“Is it some kind of weapon?.â€
“No, Mister DiLoog, you are my weapon,†said Noriiken, and he pushed the button.
I made the change so that the cloaked man could remain anonymous.
Oops I forgot to post the revised chapter.
Here it is:
Chapter 1 : Matters of Business
Donn DiLoog had a reputation as the most skilled assassin in all of Metropolis. In fact, he had earned the nickname “The Remover†from his fellow hit men. So when he received a call from the Mineral Resources Department of the Planetary Industrial Council, he was a little surprised, to say the least. He was even more surprised when the “Industrial Council Member†gave him a date, time, and place to meet up with an inter-system crime lord. So here he was, at exactly 0400 standard hours, standing in Hangar 178, waiting for this character to show up.
When he did show up, Donn was taken aback. He expected this guy to be rough and tough, and to look threatening. But here was this man wearing a business suit and a black hooded cloak, who appeared quite civil and well-mannered. He did not seem to wield any kind of weapon, but DiLoog was still on his guard.
The cloaked man was equally bewildered. “The Remover†certainly did not look like an assassin. He looked like an average citizen. He was well-muscled, and had short, sandy-blonde hair. His clothing was of the norm, with only the occasional lump to suggest hidden weaponry. The thing that stood out most about him was the eye patch placed a bit lopsidedly over his left eye.
“Name’s Donn DiLoog, what’s yours?â€
“My name is not important.â€
“Oh, you mean like ‘classified’ and whatnot?â€
“I will choose to ignore that comment. Now let’s get down to business. The CEO of a certain mining company has offered me +50,000 credits if I can invent an explosive that will have three times the power of a standard mining explosive. He said he will give me the money if I let him patent this invention. Now, my scientists have already invented such an explosive. This executive wants to see a demonstration, which we will both attend, you playing the role of my bodyguard. Once the demonstration is over, if he is pleased with the invention, then he will want the patent deed. He will exchange it for the money. Once I have the money, you will shoot him. I assume you are a fair marksman?â€
“’Course, sir. I wouldn’t go through with this if’n I wasn’t. I still might not. I need to know my fair share of the loot. I’m not doing this free of charge, you know.â€
“Actually, sir, I believe you are.â€
“Are you threatening me?â€
“Not exactly.â€
The man drew a curious device from under his cloak. It consisted of a circular bit of polished black metal, with a padded handle extending out. Across from the handle was a small antenna. A large red button was positioned in the center of the circle. Donn scrutinized the absurd-looking contraption.
“Is it some kind of weapon?â€
“No, Mr. DiLoog, you are my weapon,†he answered, and he pushed the button.
Just so you know, I’m revising this chapter quite a bit. I thyink I have a bit set in stone now though. With ebverything else I write, what I post here probably won’t be what the final draft will end up being. Just an FYI.
Even if it won’t end up the final draft, that revised chapter is pretty awesome. Have you written any more after that? I’d like to know what happened when the guy with the unknown name pressed the button. *spews hope* How would you want your readers to pronounce “DiLoog?” Just asking, because I can think of many ways that could be pronounced, but otherwise, that’s somethin’ I’d like to hear more of.
I know I currently have one story running here and another I wanted to add to, but since I’m currently working on the Cape Canaveral/Walt Disney World story, and because people showed interest when I mentioned it on the Random Thread, I’m asking if people think I should post it here.
Yes!!!
Okay, then… (Warning, weird and geeky stuff.)
It was just after closing time, and the sonic boom echoed in the deserted streets of the Magic Kingdom. Deserted of people, that was. Here and there, a flash of motion could be seen, a faint laugh heard, an electric tingle felt in the air. These were the only signs of the singing, dancing, and playing filling the streets and buildings. All but invisible to ordinary eyes, characters went about their business.
Some looked up, prompted by the noise. A small airplane was flying in from the west, sleek and dart-shaped, very unlike the bulbous jumbo jets that carried in visitors. This was a military jet trainer. But most of the onlookers did not know very much of airplanes, only a few Tomorrowland denizens could have identified it as a T-38 Talon.
And even they were clueless as to what the plane’s purpose could be, or who might be inside.
The plane circled the park, graceful even at high speed, although it was at least subsonic by now, no further booms shook the night air. The jet engine’s roar drew more spectators out into the streets, echoing off medieval towers … roller coasters… spaceships… log cabins… causing birds from the Jungle Cruise to fly away in surprise…
Details became apparent as it buzzed Cinderella Castle, cutting dangerously close to the tallest tower before pulling away. Clearly, this mysterious pilot was very skilled. Onlookers could make out white-and-blue livery, but the strangest thing visible as the plane passed through the castle’s floodlights was that it was transparent, as if only half there.
And then, the landing gear popped out.
On Main Street, USA, bystanders dressed in the clothing of the early 1900s rushed out of the way as the ghost plane came in to land, both frightened and fascinated. The plane’s three wheels touched down calmly onto the asphalt, coming to a complete stop about halfway down the street. If the onlookers hadn’t been in shock, they might have marveled again at the pilot’s skill. Even for Disney World, a plane landing in the middle of the street was an odd occurrence.
“The tailfin says ‘NASA’.†One man noted, sticking his head out of the barbershop.
“Shouldn’t it be in Tomorrowland, then?†Another asked.
The canopy opened, up and backwards, revealing a pilot as transparent as the plane, wearing a helmet and oxygen mask. There were two seats in the plane, but the other one seemed to be empty. He gave a small wave to the crowd before removing the mask to reveal a round, smiling face, and climbed out of the plane, sliding to the ground. The man was wearing a blue pilot’s jumpsuit and thick gloves, very professional-looking. He removed his helmet and left it on the seat, revealing black hair worn in a crew-cut that made him look even more like a fighter pilot. And the man had indeed been one. But that had been many years before.
Turn-of-the-century children, who had never seen any kind of airplane this close-up before rushed in to touch the otherworldly-looking T-38 as the pilot walked towards the castle, the buckles on his parachute harness jangling. He chuckled as he heard the predictable shrieks of surprise as their hands passed through the ghost plane’s ectoplasmic wings and body as if they were empty air. That was why he hadn’t bothered to shut the canopy. Anybody in the park who knew how to fly a plane wouldn’t be able to enter. And while Gracey and his gang could have touched it, they weren’t technologically inclined.
A small purple dragon flew up to the ghostly pilot, a wide grin on his face.
“Hey, Gus! Long time, no see! Pretty impressive flying back there!â€
“Thank you, Figment. Good to see you, too. And so far from EPCOT, too.†The pilot said, patting the hyperactive dragon on the head.
A tall Chinese man wearing blue imperial robes glared from the front of the castle as the duo approached. He was very skinny, and he wore an expression of intense displeasure on his long face. Chi Fu took his job as Park Administrative Assistant very seriously, even though he was a relatively new arrival. Perhaps too seriously.
“Colonel Grissom. Only you would be so flamboyant. Your little stunt disturbed the entire park.â€
“Hey, just because I’m here on business doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun, right?†The pilot asked, scratching his neck. Bureaucrats were all the same, no matter what their time period of origin.
“What kind of business would that be, Colonel?†Chi Fu asked, leaning in closer.
“While I was doing my stunt, I happened to notice that the light in the castle apartment’s on. That’s why I’m here. I have to talk to the Old Man himself.†He gestured upwards, where there was indeed a light on in a tower. “He is in, isn’t he?â€
“You need to talk to Walt?â€
“I don’t. Wernher does. I’m just the messenger. There’s something serious brewing, and we could all be in danger.â€
((Whoops, I thought I had put spaces between the paragraphs when I clicked “submit”, but the software took them out. Could somebody p*ease help?))
Cliffhanger! Is there more? That’s very interesting. (For lack of a better word.)
Gracias, GAPAs!
172.1- Yes, there’s more. I can post the next section later today.
Almost the entire park could be seen through the colored glass of the window, signs of the motion below visible even from 100 feet up. The two transparent men inside the castle apartment stood before the window, sharing coffee.
The taller man stood closer to the glass, looking slightly older than his friend, as his slicked-back hair was white. (He was actually about ten years younger, he merely appeared as he had looked at a later stage of his life.) His polished shoes shone slightly in the feeble light that came through the window, and the suit covering most of his see-through body spoke very clearly of the early 1960s. The man’s eyes glowed slightly red, like distant rocket fire, and they darted here and there, never seeming to settle on any of the attractions below. That energy was perhaps a natural outgrowth of Wernher von Braun’s abilities. Someone who could summon seven million pounds of force in a heartbeat was not often relaxed, especially not given the current situation.
His friend was calmer, displaying the ease that comes with being in one’s own home. After all, his smiling, mustached face was found a thousand times over in various parts of the most unusual kingdom around them, the World that bore his name. In terms of personal power, the sort one could readily generate, he was much weaker than his companion, slightly above average for ghosts. But that was by choice- he had given up the majority of his power to create the crowds of characters in the park below. Animation, literally translated, meant the act of endowing with a soul, giving life to. And this was the power of Walt Disney.
“It is a nice view, isn’t it?†Disney asked, seeing his friend’s focus on the window.
“I always vas fond of Tomorrowland. Perhaps a small bias because of the Moonliner… but this is not the time for that.†Von Braun took another sip of coffee from the ceramic mug he held. It wasn’t that he needed the caffeine, it was just that he was used to the taste.
“How are things going lately at Cape Ken- Canaveral, sorry, old habit. Things at Cape Canaveral? You had that test recently, the new moon rocket, I remember?â€
“Yes, the Ares. Things are… complicated. Ve have some truly exciting plans, but Congress has not been all that obliging… You have that new movie, the one set in New Orleans?â€
“The Princess and the Frog. The critics seem to like it well enough. Tiana and Naveen are a joy to be around. They’re in Frontierland tonight, or else I’d arrange a visit.â€
The “well enough†earned a sympathetic nod. Neither of these new projects had commanded the levels of praise they remembered from their living days. Cinderella… Mercury… Dumbo… Explorer 1… Peter Pan… Apollo…
But neither of the men was a stranger to hardship, either. They took what they could get and then turned it into something astonishing.
Sensing a lull in the conversation, Chi Fu stepped in, pointing his stylus in von Braun’s direction.
“Tell your messenger boy that he needs to be a bit more RESTRAINED. You might allow that sort of behavior at the Cape, but we are much stricter here in the World. We cannot tolerate any further interruptions, Doctor.â€
“Gus Grissom is one of my most DEDICATED agents, and he has more than EARNED his right to a little fun, Councilor.â€
“No one was harmed, Chi Fu. Why don’t you check on how things are going over in Liberty Square?†Disney asked, waving his hand. The office’s door opened, and Chi Fu took the hint, grumbling about hotshot undead pilots and annoying scientists who defended them. The door shut behind him.
“Now then, what’s this ‘danger’ Gus mentioned?â€
“Vell, about a veek ago, I received a rather disturbing message from Sergei Korolev-â€
“-Your Russian counterpart?â€
“Yes. It vas very brief. He said that he vas under attack and that his agents had all been captured. Since then, I have not heard from him, nor from anyone at Star City. As if they all had vanished.â€
“Or been captured by whatever was attacking them.†Disney looked away, processing this news. Anything that could threaten ghosts, or worse, hold them captive against their will, must be very powerful indeed. But what was more alarming was that he sensed his friend had more to say.
“Now, I vould not have called upon you, except that Korolev’s message included ‘The green voman’s helping them. She’s throwing fire.’ And I know that one of your villain characters fits that description-â€
“Shego I’m aware of. It’s the ‘they’ she was ‘helping’ that I’m concerned about. Especially given that report from Future World…â€
“Something happened at EPCOT Cent-†von Braun realized he’d made the same mistake his friend had earlier, using the old name. “At Epcot?â€
“Last night, a group of kids from World Showcase decided to cross over and take in some rides. A real international group. Just before your friend Gus arrived, I was speaking with a family from the Japan pavilion. Their son Dasuke was the only one in the group who made it back. He said his friends were kidnapped from Sea Base Alpha by robots and ‘cosmonauts with black eyes’. If there’s a connection to whatever happened in Star City…â€
“I cannot imagine any reason our allies vould betray us, let alone attack children, but I vill send two agents to Epcot at once. Someone vorldly and someone good with children… And another team vill get to the bottom of this all in Star City…â€
“You’ll need help. If you want to find people who are missing, a detective is always best. Basil and Dawson should be free… And the best people to face Shego will be those who’ve done it before…â€
I find the guy who says all the words that start with ‘w’ as starting with ‘v’ very, very interesting. Could he by any chance be related to Nosferatu? *is hopeful* Probably not. You should post more if there is more.
175- That is my personal pitiful attempt at transcribing a German accent phonetically. I don’t know if von Braun is related to Nosferatu, but I’m going to go with “no”.
There is some more, but the next bit is long and I’m not sure if I’m going to break it up.
176- He sounds German, to me at least. I kind of knew that he wasn’t, but at least you know who Nosferatu is. Unlike some people I know. *coughcoughmyentirefamilycoughcough*
177- Not know who Nosferatu is? Only the very first adaptation of the Dracula story to film EVER. Shame on them for not knowing.
Transcribing accents in a long conversation where one character has to do a lot of explaining is very tedious. So I decided to only do the v/w substitution and not mess with any other sounds.
178- I know, it’s awful isn’t it? Especially if you’re a person who’s completely obsessed with Nosferatu.
The v/w substitution suits the character very well, I think.
179- Thank you.
You’re welcome. I’m glad to critique. It’s something I’m relatively good at.
This is a peice of a story I worte. Please give me feedback.
It was late spring. Almost summer. The hazy sunlight filtered through the thick forest of the elves and playfully tickled a young elf awake. Omis stood and looked around, there was smoke coming from the chimney of his parent’s house on the other side of the clearing. During the spring and summer Omis rarely slept inside. He preferred the soft moss under an large oak to be better suited for his needs. After a moment he remembered what he was thinking about when he had closed his eyes to drift into his retreat deep within himself where he flew from one thought to the next. Where reality wasn’t distinguished fantasy. His sense of purpose reawakened, Omis reached into a hollow in the oak and withdrew his bow and quiver. Then running to the small workshop inside a colossal hemlock, Omis let his eyes rest on the finished bow on the wall. It was made of dark wood, with long recurved arms. It shined from the polish Omis had rubbed into it, murmuring words of power imbedded with energy. The bow would never break or the string slip, this bow would Omis’s. He had worked on it for countless days through the winter.
Taking his old yew bow, graceful by the standards of men but poor in those of the elves, Omis lifting his old bow and whispered, “Sthim enta thoe.â€, I release you. Then grabbing his new bow Omis ran as fleet as the morning dew to the archery range.
Stringing the bow, he took his place at the line of elves shooting at targets far away. Drawing an arrow Omis placed it on the string, his breathing relaxed and grinning at the draw-weight of the bow, he released. It was, Omis thought, poetry in motion. Without a sound the arrow sped away and sailed meters in a second and finally hit the distant target with a thump. Still grinning, the young elf poured shaft after shaft into the targets.
An hour later Omis dropped from a tree branch, bow on his back, onto the ground below. The older elf in front of him turned around at the feather light sound. “You’ve finished the confounded bow now have you?â€
“Yes Tharan, and it shoots beautifully too! Silent and swift!â€
“Sureâ€, his bother grunted, “Now go, I’ve got to practice.â€
Turning his back Tharan summoned a ball of air and tried to twist it into a line of glyphs. Omis jumped into the same tree, ten feet above him, and sat in the shadow of the trunk and watched his bother. Silent as an wraith, a second elf appeared beside him. They were very much alike. Both were almost six feet tall with hair like starlight. Clad in green and russet tunics with bows on their backs the two elves blended into the tree. “Hello Islandi.â€, Omis said without turning.
Islandi regarded her other bother with bright eyes, “He’s having trouble isn’t he?â€
Omis giggled and tapped his fist. A row of air glyphs appeared. They read, Do you like my bow?.
Islandi tapped the side of her head, the glyphs for yes I do floated out of her opposite ear. Both giggling the siblings jumped to the next tree and then to the ground. Together they ran to a clearing away from their older bother. Stopping finally. Islandi knelt and unearthed from her waist pouch a metal flask of cider, after they both took a sip Omis nocked a arrow to his bow, “Watchâ€, he told his sister. In a blur of motion Omis shot the arrow high into the air. The dart sheared off an early apple blossom. Then the arrow came back down. Moving a few inches Omis caught the shaft in his quiver. The sharp broadhead came to rest in the reinforced bottom of the quiver. Then reaching his upraised palm the boy caught the flower and gave it to Islandi.
I think that story is very good, but if you post more, I suggest that you put spaces between the paragraphs, or at least indent them a little bit. It makes it a bit easier for other ‘bloggers to read what you’ve posted. You don’t have to though.
(182.1) Double-returns between paragraphs work better than indenting for online posts. I’ll add some to TreeCafe’s story:
It was late spring. Almost summer. The hazy sunlight filtered through the thick forest of the elves and playfully tickled a young elf awake. Omis stood and looked around, there was smoke coming from the chimney of his parent’s house on the other side of the clearing. During the spring and summer Omis rarely slept inside. He preferred the soft moss under an large oak to be better suited for his needs. After a moment he remembered what he was thinking about when he had closed his eyes to drift into his retreat deep within himself where he flew from one thought to the next. Where reality wasn’t distinguished fantasy. His sense of purpose reawakened, Omis reached into a hollow in the oak and withdrew his bow and quiver. Then running to the small workshop inside a colossal hemlock, Omis let his eyes rest on the finished bow on the wall. It was made of dark wood, with long recurved arms. It shined from the polish Omis had rubbed into it, murmuring words of power imbedded with energy. The bow would never break or the string slip, this bow would Omis’s. He had worked on it for countless days through the winter.
Taking his old yew bow, graceful by the standards of men but poor in those of the elves, Omis lifting his old bow and whispered, “Sthim enta thoe.â€, I release you. Then grabbing his new bow Omis ran as fleet as the morning dew to the archery range.
Stringing the bow, he took his place at the line of elves shooting at targets far away. Drawing an arrow Omis placed it on the string, his breathing relaxed and grinning at the draw-weight of the bow, he released. It was, Omis thought, poetry in motion. Without a sound the arrow sped away and sailed meters in a second and finally hit the distant target with a thump. Still grinning, the young elf poured shaft after shaft into the targets.
An hour later Omis dropped from a tree branch, bow on his back, onto the ground below. The older elf in front of him turned around at the feather light sound. “You’ve finished the confounded bow now have you?â€
“Yes Tharan, and it shoots beautifully too! Silent and swift!â€
“Sureâ€, his bother grunted, “Now go, I’ve got to practice.â€
Turning his back Tharan summoned a ball of air and tried to twist it into a line of glyphs. Omis jumped into the same tree, ten feet above him, and sat in the shadow of the trunk and watched his bother. Silent as an wraith, a second elf appeared beside him. They were very much alike. Both were almost six feet tall with hair like starlight. Clad in green and russet tunics with bows on their backs the two elves blended into the tree. “Hello Islandi.â€, Omis said without turning.
Islandi regarded her other bother with bright eyes, “He’s having trouble isn’t he?â€
Omis giggled and tapped his fist. A row of air glyphs appeared. They read, Do you like my bow?.
Islandi tapped the side of her head, the glyphs for yes I do floated out of her opposite ear. Both giggling the siblings jumped to the next tree and then to the ground. Together they ran to a clearing away from their older bother. Stopping finally. Islandi knelt and unearthed from her waist pouch a metal flask of cider, after they both took a sip Omis nocked a arrow to his bow, “Watchâ€, he told his sister. In a blur of motion Omis shot the arrow high into the air. The dart sheared off an early apple blossom. Then the arrow came back down. Moving a few inches Omis caught the shaft in his quiver. The sharp broadhead came to rest in the reinforced bottom of the quiver. Then reaching his upraised palm the boy caught the flower and gave it to Islandi.
183- Yeah, that’s what I meant. Being half-asleep doesn’t help the way I post in the least.
The geodesic sphere of Spaceship Earth towered overheat, silver and spotlit, as characters came and went. Unlike the Magic Kingdom, the crowds here were mostly human, although they came from a variety of time periods and cultures. The ancient Egyptian pharaoh who appeared inside of Spaceship Earth walked towards Universe of Energy, trailed by a scribe making notes on papyrus. Two Norsemen from the Norway pavilion bundled in furs sat at a table, playing an ancestor of chess.
In comparison, the transparent figures walking past Innoventions seemed almost normal. True, they wore blue flightsuits adorned with mission patches, the woman’s suit a lighter shade than the man’s, and both carried white altitude helmets. But this part of the World was dedicated to science, after all, and the two dark-haired astronauts seemed to blend right in.
“We’re supposed to meet the Japanese kid and his family at Mission: SPACE. I guess they wanted us to feel at home.†The woman remarked, laughing. She had taken her own children to Epcot back when the park was new. Back when her puffy hair was fashionable, she thought.
“It seems so. If we weren’t on a mission, I’d want to take a ride. It probably doesn’t compare to the real thing, but…â€
“We wouldn’t need motion sickness bags, that’s for sure.†The woman laughed again. But beneath both of their smiles was deep worry. Children were in danger, possibly because of some of their best friends. On the one hand, the sooner they could get their information and head to The Seas, the better, but on the other, they both were afraid of what they might find once they got there.
The comment about feeling at home wasn’t too far off. They had both visited the pre-show plaza before, where plaques bearing space quotations hung on the “Wall of Honorâ€- she for the dedication of Barbara’s plaque, he for Kalpana’s. The Japanese family waited within the plaza, before the large globe that resembled Jupiter.
“We are glad to see you could come to help us.†The father said, softly. His son still seemed afraid, and his eyes darted here and there, as if he thought whatever had attacked his friends might reappear at any moment.
“Konichiwa.†The woman said, bowing. She looked the boy in the eye and smiled. “We’re not going to hurt you, Dasuke. We’re friends.â€
“Walt sent Christa and Ilan to help you, dear.†The mother explained.
“But you have to tell us *exactly* what happened so that we can save your friends.†Christa said. “Can you do that for us, huh?†She smiled.
“I can try to. Hans from Germany wanted to come to Future World. He came looking for me and we met up with Marie, Paco, Fatima and Alexandra.†Dasuke said, returning the smile.
“And which pavilions do they come from?†Ilan asked.
“Marie’s from France, Paco’s from Mexico, Fatima’s from Morocco, and Alexandra’s from Italy. We went on Test Track, and then we went to The Seas. We got into the Sea Base and we were looking for Nemo so we could greet him, when these robots came out. We thought they were just cleaning the floors or something, so we moved on to the next room to get out of their way. But then this scary spaceman floated out of the floor in front of us!â€
“Can you describe him for us?â€
“He was see-though, like you, and he was wearing this orange spacesuit with a white helmet, and his eyes were all black. I know because his visor was up. They were like shark eyes, no colored bit or anything. Just black pits! He tried to grab us, but we ran away. There was another man who looked kind of the same who blocked our exit, and then the robots came in and started grabbing everybody. One of them came after me, but I dodged and it hit the wall. I ran for the other exit and back home!â€
“And you knew these spacemen were Russian? How?â€
“They had the old flag on their sleeves. And the first one had an accent when he said we had to cooperate. He said we were going to be hostages.†The boy’s voice quivered. He seemed afraid to say anything else.
“I bet you know all about flags because you live in World Showcase.†Christa said, hoping that a compliment would help his confidence.
“Yes, we learn all of them.â€
“Do you know what the one on Ilan’s sleeve is?â€
“Hmmm…Israel!â€
“That’s right. You’re a very smart boy.†Ilan said, patting his patch. “You said the spacemen wanted you as hostages. Did he say anything else? Anything about why they were taking you hostage?â€
“They said they needed ‘to make sure your leaders cooperate’. That’s all. I didn’t hear anything else.â€
“Thank you. You’ve told us everything you could.†They turned to leave.
“Will you save my friends?†The boy asked, catching up.
“We’ll try.†Ilan said. He didn’t want to make a promise and then fail. “We’ll do everything we can to get your friends back here safely.â€
“Good luck.†The Japanese family said, waving as the pair walked out of the plaza.
There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary about the outside of The Seas as they approached. A garden decorated with statues of fish and a colorful mural of swimming reef inhabitants decorated the entrance. Even so, Christa was wary.
“You don’t really think our friends are doing this, do you? Viktor and Yuri and Mikhail?â€
“It doesn’t sound like their usual behavior, true. And none of them have black eyes. Can you sense them?â€
“Not at this distance. Too many brain waves bouncing around down there, from the animals in the aquarium. We’ll have to go inside to get answers.†She donned her helmet and pulled down the visor, hiding her face. Ilan followed suit. It would be more intimidating for them to be faceless, anonymous, with no signs of emotion. No signs of fear.
Christa entered first, passing though the closed doors. The inside of the pavilion was dark, and the two ghosts glowed inside the queue. Wall signs indicated the way to the Sea Base via Clamobiles, but they opted for walking along the track, in the interest of stealth.
The steel-and-acrylic of the pavilion did indeed create the illusion of being inside of an underwater habitat, the oceanic counterpart of a space station. Outside a large window, they could look out onto a coral reef. But there didn’t seem to be any fish swimming around.
“Are they all asleep?†Ilan whispered.
“They’re hiding. The fear vibes from the reef are tremendous.â€
A large sea turtle could be seen behind a rock, looking cautiously out at his surroundings with large cartoonish eyes.
“I don’t know all the Finding Nemo characters that they redid the ride with, but I think that’s one.â€
“Perfect. Now let’s see if we can get some information from him…†Christa took a deep breath and focused on the turtle.
She transmitted, telepathically.
The turtle looked around again, and swam up to the glass once he was sure the coast was clear.
“Woah, lady, how’d you do that? You were, like, talkin’ in my head.†He asked, eyes wide in surprise.
“It’s complicated. Walt sent us to find the kids who got kidnapped from here last night. Do you know anything about that?†Ilan asked. He really shouldn’t be surprised by things like this anymore. But still, talking to a turtle who sounded like a surfer dude…
“Yeah, dude, I saw the whole thing.†His flippers shivered slightly. “I was chillin’ while my son Squirt was watching the little dudes when these aggro ghost dudes came up through the floor and dragged them away. And I totally wanted to tell them how uncool they are for messing with those poor little dudes, but I, like, can’t go through the glass, y’know?â€
“Did they do anything to you or the other sea creatures?†Christa asked, concerned.
“No, and it’s real cool they didn’t, but they’ve been moving though the tanks a lot, and everybody’s totally freaked out.â€
“You can help us get rid of them, Crush. Did you see where the ghosts took the kids?â€
“You’re going to stop them? Gnarly, dudette! They’re keeping them in the VIP conference room, behind the totally big window.â€
“And the divers?â€
“I don’t know. I haven’t, like, seen them since the ghost dudes came. I guess maybe they got them, too.â€
“Thanks, Crush.â€
“Anytime, space dudes.†He swam off to tell Squirt the good news.
The conversation over, the ghostly pair turned invisible and made their way through the Sea Base. Dolphins swam around in a large tank, while deep-diving equipment and model submarines sat on display. Normally, the scientists who lived and worked in the underwater habitat would already be preparing the equipment for their diving ventures. But tonight it was eerily quiet, the only sounds the hums of the machinery maintaining the tanks, and the whirring of the guard robots.
They had seen the first of the robots not long after leaving Crush. These mechanical guards were about the height of an average adult, but they were chrome and streamlined, with clawlike hands. The robots had “legs†and “feetâ€, but they didn’t take steps, they advanced on tank treads in the bottoms of their “feetâ€. Clearly, their humanoid shape suggested they had been Imagineered to be seen and enjoyed by guests, but their glowing red eyes created doubts about how enjoyable and friendly they really could have been…
Each robot moved slowly, pausing every few feet to scan the area for any signs of life with those scary red eyes. But whatever scanners the robots seemed to have, they were not equipped to find invisible ghosts, and the two astronauts continued their journey without obstacles.
The door to the VIP room was marked with what had been the attraction’s logo before the Finding Nemo makeover, the outlines of two cresting waves in a circle.
“The kids are inside. I can sense them. ‘Poor things are terrified.†Christa whispered, phasing through the door, still invisible.
The Conference Room was dark, although light came in through the floor-to-ceiling window, out which a few sea turtles could be seen, come to see the “like, totally epic battle†Crush had promised would occur.
The five international children were tied to chairs about midway though the room, next to a polished wooden table. Christa crossed in front of them and became visible, removing her helmet, so as not to scare them.
“Suhhhhhhh. Don’t scream. We’re here to rescue you.†She explained, as Ilan appeared next to her. The poor things looked absolutely terrified.
“I know you! You’re that lady from the end of the show at American Adventure! Did Dasuke bring you?†a blond girl asked, in an Italian accent.
“The Japanese boy? He told us everything. Are you guys okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?â€
“No.â€
“Nein.â€
“Non.â€
“We are well.â€
“Glad to hear that.†Ilan pulled a Swiss army knife from a pocket on his jumpsuit and began cutting the Italian girl’s restraints.
“Once you guys are free, we can phase you up to the surface in a flash, but you have to be brave and hold your breath the whole time. Can you do that?â€
“Of course.â€
“Yup.â€
“Uh huh.â€
Alexandra was free at this point, and they had moved on to Paco and Fatima. Marie suddenly screamed as a ball of crackling blue energy zoomed through the air, scorching the wall next to her head.
The rescuers turned around to see three men standing just inside the room. Just as Dasuke had said, they were transparent and dressed in orange pressure suits, with the old hammer-and-sickle flag of the USSR on their shoulders. The two in the back wore off-white helmets, but the man who seemed to be the leader had removed his, revealing black hair and a familiar pale face. But Dasuke had been correct about something else, too. The man’s eyes were solid black, with no pupils or whites.
“So, von Braun’s agents have infiltrated our operation. On your feet, cowards!†He ordered, hands glowing with the same blue energy that had burned the wall.
((Yes, I *did* use pointed brackets for the telepathy as a shout-out to Animorphs.))
That’s cool. So it’s the setting’s like a sci-fi theme park, right? I should get around to posting a story sometime… *trails off*
Epcot is pretty much a sci-fi theme park, at least the Future World section where this scene takes place. The other half, World Showcase, is like a World’s Fair, where every country has a pavillion where you can learn about their culture and eat their food and hear music. That’s where the international kids come from.
(If you’ve never been to Disney World and you’re still understanding this, I’m impressed.)
Thanks for the explanation, and I haven’t ever been to Disney World. I understand it enough to get the story.
“Viktor, it’s us! Don’t you recognize us? You taught me hand-to-hand!†Christa protested, stepping closer.
“You are our enemy, woman, and you will be destroyed!†He threw another ball of energy in her direction. She dodged, and it harmlessly singed the edge of the wooden table. The children who had been freed ducked beneath the table for shelter, while those still tied up whimpered in fear as the other two cosmonauts joined the fight, heading in Ilan’s direction.
“If that’s how you want it to be…†His own eyes turned orange as he released multiple blasts in quick succession, knocking the opponent closest to him to his knees.
“We know you! Why are you doing this?†Christa asked, throwing up telekinetic shields to block more blasts from Viktor.
“Because the Chief Designer has ordered it!†He moved in closer, preparing for a stronger attack.
“Korolev? Korolev told you to attack children?†She didn’t want to hurt him. She really didn’t. But she gathered her own power and prepared to snap it forwards…
“That traitor has already been dealt with, as you both shall soon be!†Viktor lunged at her, energy blazing from his hands. The woman would be easily dispatched. Her purple-tinged eyes were wide with fear and she was already shaking. Cowardly swine-
WHAM!
A telekinetic wave slammed into the advancing cosmonaut, throwing him all the way to the glass window-wall. If he had been intangible, he probably would have kept going through, out into the tank where Crush and his friends were watching. And if he had solidified just then, he would have had to deal with the turtles… and the sharks. As it was, he fell to the carpet, stunned.
“Impressive.†Ilan said, sparing a moment from his own battle to acknowledge her actions. The Israeli was fighting well himself, firing off orange blasts and punching and kicking when he was closer, but it was still two against one. “Care to lend me a hand?â€
“Anytime.†Christa focused her attention on the opponent sneaking up on her partner from behind. She was too drained for another wave at the moment, but she could buy Ilan some time with a telepathic attack…
She shut her eyes and aimed for the man’s head, a simple “zap†to scramble his thoughts. It would hurt him, that was certain, but if these men were really who they seemed to be, it would hurt her more.
“Aggggghhh! My mind! My mind!†He screamed as the psychic zap took effect, tearing his helmet off and grabbing his throbbing head. It was Vlad, and as the man screamed again, opening and shutting his eyes, they suddenly resumed the color Christa was familiar with.
“My mind… my mind… Ilan? Christa? I’m… sorry…†Vlad shuddered, wiggling his fingers as if to test that they existed, or at least that he could move them. “Help… the others…â€
The Russians were under some kind of mind control. And the psychic attack had broken it. Ilan immobilized his other opponent, to help repeat the process.
“Shadows… all… shadows… I’m free…†The man muttered, his eyes no longer black.
“Yeah!†The children cheered, as Ilan returned to freeing them. Viktor was beginning to stir at the far end of the room, and Christa moved quickly, knowing he would be easier to free in his stunned state.
“I will destroy you, witch! I will- Aaaaaaaahhhh! Light… free…â€
“What has happened?†Fatima asked, rubbing her wrists and looking cautiously at her former captors in various states of shock and confusion.
“I am sorry, little girl. Our actions were not our own.†Vlad said, standing up carefully. “We were captured by the blue man’s machines at Baikonur, and then… He put shadows in our heads and made us obey him… To help their horrible plots…†Vlad shuddered, wiggling his fingers again.
“Who was controlling you?†Ilan asked, freeing the last of the children, although he already had some idea.
“Glushko. He is Chief now…â€
i want more of this
190- Really? It’s not too… strange?
189- Wow, this story is getting bad. Not bad like it’s not a god story, but bad like violent. But don’t worry. violence is good.
190- liviu, are you a neophyte? If so, go to the Welcome neophytes thread so you can get, er… welcomed. Or, read the HG2MB.
Violence rules!
I know! Violence is always the answer! Erm… except when it isn’t.
The funny thing is, I personally think I don’t write fight scenes very well, and my stories actually lack for violence compared to most of the Marvel fan fiction I read.
My mom says I’m good at writing, but I hate doing it. But writing on the RPGs has made me not hate it as much. So I’m currently entertaining some ideas for stories;
-In 2186, the “perfect family” has become the result of genetic engineering. Karae, who wanted to be different, turned that down, and bore, or so people say, an “imperfect” child. This imperfect child, Jania, was forced to go to school with “perfect” children and grew up knowing she was not right. Finally, after getting kicked out of 6 schools, Karae sends Jania to a boarding school with “special care.” But something is spreading through the “perfects.” Students at the school are acting strangely, disappearing for days, even weeks. Jania and her friends, Sacco, a particularly pudgy misfit with a knack for demolishing things, Kindra, a brainy, glasses wearing nerd who’s better than she seems, and Yimmmi, “that girl in the back,” who never talks, never moves, but has a secret that may win or lose the battle, seem to be the only ones noticing. Jania and her friends must stop whatever is moving through the “perfects” before it spreads outside the school.
-In 2100, humans have completely eradicated every species that doesn’t already serve a purpose to mankind. Ordinary animals are forced into the forest to prevent total ecosystem collapse. There the gather, clamoring for revolt, but nothing can be done unless the ecosystem is brought back into balance.
“C’mon, you’ve never had a Bueno Nacho naco with super-mega-extreme hot sauce? Buddy, you have no idea what you’re missing…†Ron Stoppable said, closing his eyes and reaching in to bite into the half nacho, half taco goodness of his favorite fast food.
“Then you won’t mind if I have a taste, will you?†A ghostly arm reached in, snatching it from the blond boy’s hand. Gus Grissom had volunteered for the mission to Baikonur, and he figured that entitled him to a little fun on the flight over.
“Not cool! Nobody takes my nacos! Astronaut or… uh, not!†Ron snatched it back, eyeing the pilot carefully. “You don’t even need to eat, you’re dead.â€
“Sure, I don’t need to, kid, but I like to, and you piqued my curiosity…â€
Oblivious to Ron’s complaints, his pet naked mole rat, Rufus, was carrying on an energetic conversation with two mice dressed in Victorian clothing in the next row of seats.
“Do go on! Duff Killigan dangled you and your friends over the shark tank and then what?†A shorter, fatter mouse with yellowish fur asked, in an English accent, leaning forward in excitement. Dr. Dawson had a great interest in adventure tales, even if he wasn’t so keen on having them himself. The other mouse was quieter, taller, and thinner than Dawson, and he sat on the edge of a seatbelt clasp, listening with quiet intensity. Of course, Great Mouse Detective that he was, Basil was already pretty sure of how the story would end.
And thus, he felt it was justified to focus on the task at hand and scurry away to join the briefing that was occurring near the front of the plane.
A large screen showed Wade, the African-American boy genius and information broker who even Basil admired for his ability to rapidly obtain useful information via hacking. Beneath the screen, four humans, giants compared to Basil, were listening to what Wade was saying. The tiny Sherlock reached the side of his ally, Toby the basset hound, and a single bark of surprise prompted all assembled parties to look down and see that Basil had arrived.
“I’ve not missed anything, have I now?†Basil asked, looking up at Wade on the screen.
“Not a lot, Wade was just getting started. He hadn’t even really begun to explain the ‘sitch to us.†A redheaded teenage girl said, looking down with large green eyes at the mouse detective. Even without the black stealth suit she wore, there was no mistaking the girl for anyone other than world-famous secret agent Kim Possible, Wade’s best customer.
“That’s right. What exactly did you find out about who or what we’re up against?†A taller woman asked, standing to the left of Kim. She, and the man who stood beside her, wore sky blue flightsuits of the same design as the one their crewmate Christa was wearing at Epcot. She, too, wore her black hair in the puffy fashion of the 1980s, but hers was shorter, and she seemed slightly restless, eager to get into action.
“That’s just it, Judy. I couldn’t find anything for sure, only vague guesses based on the information we do have.†Wade answered. “Now, I apologize, because I can guarantee that everyone here will have seen at least one of these dossiers before. I’m sure Kim and Ron will recognize these two…â€
The screen displayed a split image of two rather unsavory-looking individuals. The right photograph showed an ugly man with greasy black hair, inexplicably blue skin, and a jagged scar along his left cheek. The photo on the left side of the screen was a woman with long dark hair, large green eyes, and a slightly greenish tinge to her skin.
“Drakken and Shego.†Kim muttered.
“This man is Drew Theodore P. Lipsky, alias Doctor Drakken.†Wade said, moving his cursor in a circle around the face on the right. “Drakken is a brilliant inventor who sadly devotes himself and his inventions towards major thefts and attempts at world conquest.â€
“How did his skin get, um… blue?†A man standing off in the corner asked. He had slightly spiky blond hair and a darker blue flightsuit, similar to Ilan’s.
“Good question, Willie. Unfortunately, Global Justice has classified the specifics.â€
“How dangerous would you say this Dr. Drakken is?†The man asked.
“While Drakken possesses no superpowers, he has created several formidable weapons and gadgets in the past. However, when working alone, he often makes foolish mistakes and is a poor fighter. This woman, on the other hand, is extremely dangerous.†He circled the photo on the left with his cursor now. “Shego is a superhuman mercenary who frequently works with Drakken. She has extensive martial arts abilities as well as the power to generate flamelike green energy from her hands and release it in destructive blasts.â€
“The ‘green woman’ Korolev mentioned in his distress call…†Judy whispered.
“I can see Drakken attacking a space center, but who’s the ‘they’ he said was she was helping?†Kim asked Wade.
“That’s the part I think our new friends are most familiar with.
According to Dick, Korolev’s Russian sector has a persistent enemy, right?â€
The brown-haired man who stood next to Judy nodded.
“Now, ghosts don’t show up on film, so this is a photo from when he was still alive, but it Korolev was attacked, it’s a good bet this guy was involved…†Drakken and Shego’s pictures vanished, replaced with a single black-and-white of a cruel-looking man with white hair that had darker streaks here and there. His eyes seemed somehow sharp, even though they were partly shadowed in the photo. “Valentin Glushko. Born 1908, died 1989. He was a top rocket designer in Soviet Russia during the space race. Since the USSR didn’t have a centralized space agency, scientists had to submit their designs for spacecraft to the government and there was a lot of competition between individuals. Glushko and Korolev had a fierce rivalry.â€
“Rivalry? Like Kim and Bonnie Rockwaller on the cheer squad type rivalry?†Ron asked, coming into the briefing room with Rufus in his pocket.
“Not like that at all. Glushko had Korolev arrested by the secret police on charges of treason. He was tortured, separated from his family, and sent to a prison camp in Siberia. All because Glushko said so.â€
“Ugh, now that is just sick and wrong!†Ron said, disgusted.
“Korolev later got a re-trial and was released from the prison camp. He went on to become Chief Designer of the whole Russian space program. In 1966, he died of a tumor and became leader of the Baikonur division of our friends’ organization, the Black Fleet.â€
“So this guy’s jealous that he didn’t get the top spot even after all that drama major he caused, and you think he teamed up with Drakken to get revenge? Well, he sounds nice…†Kim muttered, sarcastically.
“Wait, so we have to fight Drakken and Shego and a nasty ghost guy?†Ron asked “And he can probably summon zombies or something, right?â€
“No zombies. But Glushko does possess the ability to manipulate shadows and fire. The important thing to remember is that he is extremely sensitive to electricity. But since lightning is Dick’s specialty, that shouldn’t be a problem.â€
“But no zombies?†Ron asked.
“No zombies, Ron.†Wade repeated.
“’Cause it’s not that I’m, y’know, scared or anything. Just because I have to jump out of a plane over Russia and fight Shego and Drakken and this guy who controls shadows doesn’t mean I’m worried.†Ron said, his body language saying the exact opposite of his words.
“You just keep telling yourself that, kid.†Gus said, materializing behind Ron, causing the boy to scream and jump a foot in the air.
“As soon as you get on the ground, you’ll split up into three groups to cover more ground. The first group will be Basil, Dawson, Toby, and Rufus.â€
“Right-o!†Dawson announced, having joined Basil atop Toby’s back.
“The second group will be Ron, Gus, and Dick. Kim, Judy, and Willie will be the third group.â€
“And this peculiar device you gave us?†Dawson asked, waving an electronic device that had some resemblance to an older-model Game Boy in his paw.
“I’ll be able to stay in contact with your group via that Mini-Kimmunicator. Kim, of course, has her regular model Kimmunicator, and I’ll be able to talk to you guys through your helmet microphones. Remember to keep me informed if you see any sign of Korolev or his agents, and stay hidden.â€
“Getting info from a guy thousands of miles away via headset. ‘Just like old times.†Gus muttered.
“Glad to hear that, because you’ll be approaching the drop zone right… about… now. Good luck!†Wade waved good-bye and turned his monitor off, leaving the eclectic group to make their way to the back of the plane.
Parachutes were put on, helmets donned, and communications tested. Kim strapped Toby into his own mini-chute while Ron carefully put Rufus and the mouse detective duo into his pockets.
Ron made his way to the door, taking a deep breath to build up confidence for the jump. “I hate parachuting I hate parachuting I hate parachuting I hate-â€
“Better get it over with, then!†A transparent arm that could only have belonged to one person pushed Ron out of the door, screaming as he pulled his parachute open.
Judy glared at Gus through her visor.
“Do anything like that again and I’ll tell him your *real* name, funny guy.â€
“Jeez, he *had* a parachute.†He shrugged and jumped out of the plane, followed by Kim and Toby.
“I gotta tell you, K.P., I don’t like that guy.†Ron confided as Kim glided to his level.
The ghosts required no parachutes, floating down on their own at a reasonable speed. Ectoplasm and gravity had a somewhat fluid, casual relationship.
Comments?
It’s good, though I was a bit confused at first. Okay, so a lot confused. But after I understood everything, it was really good.
196- Sorry. Basil and Dawson are kind of obscure for Disney characters, but I like them a lot, so I put them in.
197- You put Basil and Dawson in your story! *hugs* Those are my favorites! There’s an episode at the end of the Dumbo movie. I will mark your story down on the “must read twenty times” list.
Aw, thanks! Any other Disney characters you’d like to see show up?
You’re welcome. I’ll have to think about that for a while, but I will definitely get back to you on that.
Leaving the international children inside the Conference Room with Viktor as a guard, the four reunited ghosts slipped out to dispose of the robots inside of the pavilion. There was one near the dolphin exhibit, but as they approached, a spear shot out of the shadows, penetrating the robot’s chest in a shower of sparks and causing it to fall to the ground, “lifelessâ€.
Vlad’s hands glowed with energy, prepared to defend his friends.
“Who’s there? Show yourselves.†He ordered.
Two divers, dressed in jumpsuits oddly similar to their own, but marked with the logo of Sea Base Alpha, stepped out. The closer one was a tall man with brown hair, with a red-headed woman behind him. Both held spear guns, which they immediately pointed at Viktor.
“Don’t shoot. They are with us now.†Ilan said, holding up his hands.
“Christa? Ilan? Oh, thank heavens!†The man’s eyes lit up as he lowered his gun and stepped forward to shake hands
“It’s good to see you, too, Commander Fulton. We were worried when we came in here before and didn’t see any of your divers.†Christa said, shaking the man’s hand. Fulton was the leader of the underwater habitat, heard over the intercom in the pavilion’s original Sea Cabs ride.
Since the Finding Nemo makeover, he had continued his work out of the public eye, along with the rest of the Sea Base personnel, but aquanauts and astronauts had a tendency to be close, and he had always been an ally of the Black Fleet.
“Commander, I would like to apologize for anything me or my crewmates might have done to you in the past few days. Our minds were not our own.†Viktor said.
“Those blasted robots surprised us last night while we were performing maintenance on one of our remote-controlled cameras. They kept us in our quarters on the upper level until we were able to reach the equipment room and free ourselves just now.†Fulton explained. “We managed to fight our way down here, and with your help, I’m sure we’ll be able to liberate the whole Sea Base.â€
The clean-up operation went smoothly, with Fulton’s prediction proving correct. Or nearly correct… in a far corner of the equipment room, a robot extended a radio antenna from its head and spoke in a toneless voice.
“Sentry-126 reporting to Control. All other Sentry-units have been defeated by Sea Base personnel or Black Fleet agents. Termination of this unit likely. Hostile entity detected in range, ending trans-â€
A woman of Asian heritage in a Sea Base uniform cut the robot off with a spear through its head. But even as systems sparked and fused within Sentry-126, a man only a few miles away was formulating a response to its final transmission.
The failure of the Sentries and their hostage mission was a wrinkle in his plans, to be sure, but he had not come this far without developing contingencies. It would quickly be remedied… he switched to another communications frequency and gave an order.
“Glushko’s agents and the Sentries have failed. Proceed with plan EP-Beta. Proceed to Sea Base Alpha and eliminate ALL resistance.â€
You probably know this already, because I’ve said it like twenty times, but your story is awesome.
Standing at the highest edge of the ravine, looking down, one could see the forest tribe, slinking about, catching meat for their evening meal. You could see the rolling hills, the beautiful trees with their pretty flowers, and the clear blue waters of the River. But if you were to take the risk of looking up at me, you would see nothing, only the expanse of darkness, and maybe a sliver of the moon.
The eye alone could see nothing in my vast emptiness. If you came across a thing that could magnify blackness a hundred, thousand times, you might be able to see a faint glow coming from the stars.
The beings on this planet, unfortunate enough to live in the blackness, have tried countless times to unravel my mysteries.
So have I, myself, always to no avail. One creature, though, was still trying its hardest. A man of the forest tribe, who had always been one of the more adventurous ones, always the one to look harder, run faster, kill quicker, giving his victims mercy.
I watched the man, watching me, taking away the time. Some would consider him evil, and some would consider him one of the nicer men of the tribe. I considered him nothing but curious. I know he had heard the Elders of the tribe’s tales of the time when there were once millions of points of lights in me.
The time before everything went dark. I had a feeling there will be a time when this man will find out why I have been silenced, why I can no longer turn the star’s light on this poor planet.
This time will not come easily, for I believe there are beings higher in power than I, beings that do not want this man to succeed.
“Oh man, I just know something creepy’s gonna jump out at us… I know it…†Ron muttered to himself, sneaking down a corridor inside of the space center. As long as he kept to the shadows, his stealth suit made him rather hard to see, but he still envied the natural invisibility of his two teammates.
“If you don’t want to get jumped, here’s a bright idea: don’t talk.†Gus whispered back, half put-down, half serious suggestion for the sake of the mission.
Ron thought he saw something move at the end of the hallway, something small scurrying around the bend. Perfect. Supervillains and ghosts and rats.
This building was old, and not much used anymore, so rats were easy to imagine. Certainly, there were spiders, because cobwebs grew here and there. Offices from the early days of the center were here and the heavy bunker-like nature of the outer building made Internet access impossible, so new offices had been built elsewhere in the center. But it had been fine for the purposes of the Russian Black Fleet, who had made their headquarters here until a week ago. Korolev had enjoyed the luxury of using his old office. Who might be sitting in it now was anyone’s guess.
Ron saw a door that didn’t seem particularly dusty, which was suspicious. It must have been used recently by somebody alive. Somebody like Drakken… He tiptoed up, turned the knob, and pulled.
SQUEEEK!
The door’s rusty hinges shrieked, echoing down the hallway. Before Ron knew what was happening, Gus had grabbed his arm very tightly and was glaring at him.
“What part of ‘stealth’ don’t you ge-â€
He was cut off by the sound of footsteps rushing up. Lights flashed on, burning bright, even though the electricity of the old building probably didn’t work anymore. Someone had put in new wiring. And it was operating-room bright.
“Oh snap.â€
As Ron’s eyes adjusted to the light, he saw soldiers in purple uniforms holding dark gray guns that were pointed at them. Drakken’s henchmen dressed like that, Ron knew.
“We have them surrounded, sir.†One solider said, using a walkie-talkie.
Dick seemed to brace himself, reaching upwards. “Not for long, you don’t.â€
Jagged fingers of electricity snaked over the new lights, connecting with the industrial bulbs and overloading them until the bulbs exploded, sending sparks and glass flying to the ground. And then, a moment of confused darkness.
“Hold your breath.†Gus ordered.
“Wha-â€
“Do it!â€
Ron had only just taken a breath when Gus grabbed him around the waist and phased them both, moving through the door that had caused all the trouble, across the dusty storeroom that lay beyond, and out the back wall, into another dark office.
Becoming solid as Gus released his grip, Ron gasped for air. It is impossible to breathe while phased, because the molecules of one’s body are too far apart for the lungs to work correctly. The air will just go right through one, like everything else.
“You could have gotten yourself killed back there. Do you give Kim this much trouble on your missions with her?â€
“Uh, yeah… sometimes… mostly… always.â€
“It’s a wonder you’ve lived to be that old.â€
“Now, what do we have here…†A swivel chair turned, shining pale light on their faces, and the three men realized two things.
First, that Dick and Gus were not the only ghosts in the room.
And second, that they had “escaped†into the worst possible part of the building.
Ron’s knees began to shake as he recognized the man from Wade’s dossier. It was Glushko all right, the same hair, the same thin face, only pale and ectoplasmic. But even though he was glowing, his eyes were still in shadow, like in the photograph. The shadow seemed less like a momentary trick of the light than a permanent feature of the man’s face as he smiled with a look of sinister curiosity, like a torturer receiving a new victim.
Glushko stood up from his chair, casually stretching out his right hand as he walked towards them.
Ron tried to run as fast as he could, but something was holding him down. He looked down at his legs, and saw only darkness. But not the sort of darkness that went away once one’s eyes became adjusted. Instead, tendrils of some kind of physical shadow, as scientifically impossible as that was, were grabbing his legs, holding him down.
He can control shadows, Wade said. And here we are in the dark with him…Ron thought, his fear growing with every passing second. Gus and Dick were also struggling against Glushko’s tendrils, unable to turn intangible again. He almost wished they had stayed with the gun-toting henchmen. Drakken, at least, he had faced before and beaten, if only by sheer dumb luck.
“Well, well, well… better than I could have hoped…†The villain muttered, pacing around the trapped trio. He was wearing some kind of military jacket that Ron didn’t recognize.
“Dude, this is really freaky! Let us out!†Ron shouted, voice quivering. But he was ignored. Glushko was focusing on Gus.
“Virgil I. Grissom himself. Such a treat.â€
“*Dude*, your name is *Virgil*?†Ron suddenly forgot his fear, laughing out loud.
“It’s *Gus*.†He gave Ron a VERY angry look.
“Right then, *Gus* Grissom of the Mercury 7. One of the originals… Oh, I knew *all* of your names very well… *your* famous *cowardice* most of all…â€
Gus gritted his teeth.
“I’m no coward.â€
“You snuck in here invisibly to attack us, like a thief. Although coming with only two companions must have required a degree of courage… Never mind, you shall be disposed of by your opposite, as is altogether fitting. Yuri, come in here.â€
Cliffhanger! Keiffer wishes Keiffer could read more. Keiffer wants to know if Kai is going to publish this?
Publish? Um, between the licenced characters and the real people who have families… I can’t really afford that much legal work.
True, true.
There’s an idea somewhere in my head.
It’s got sleeping cats twitching in their dreams and dark red glass bottles with the sun in them and the sounds of a city in a night forest and empty trousers and a burning book.
There’s an idea somewhere in my head, and I can’t get it out.
The main characters are all amnesiacs of some kind who were once a tightly knit group and are redefining their interrelationships in new and strange ways…
There’s animate statues in there somewhere, too, and ghosts with Louisiana drawls.
Gah, I want to write this, but if I force it it’ll die. It’s like that quote: “Draw the creature up from the sea, and it will disintegrate or change form grotesquely.”
Maybe experiment with some aimless freewriting about it before going to sleep.
I think I’ll try that. Music always helps me think.
Sounds interesting. If you ever do get it out, I’d like to hear more.
At first, Gus didn’t recognize his friend floating through the wall behind Glushko. It was ironic that the attire most of the world associated with Yuri Gagarin made him unrecognizable to his friends, simply because he chose not to appear that way all very much.
Yuri really was somewhat shy and uncomfortable with all the “Earth’s first astronaut†and “Hero of the Baikonur Black Fleet†praise he got. Nobody would seem to have more of a right to go around in a vintage spacesuit, but he preferred to use image inducers to imitate the current Orlan suits or the jumpsuits the station crew wore, right down to the new Russian tricolor on his sleeve.
He was fine letting others think at first glance that he was just some random cosmonaut trainee who had died yesterday in an accident. And it did make a certain symbolic sense for the world’s first space traveler to look like he could very well be the world’s next.
And yet there he stood, in his original orange pressure suit and white helmet, with the letters “CCCP†stamped on it in red. Yuri looked every inch the famous figure of textbooks and news articles that he was so averse to being seen as. Still, his visor was up and Gus knew it was still the same man underneath. Except for those solid black eyes…
“You’re telling *him* to kick my butt? Yuri, help us take this clown, please.†Gus said, asking for help. He didn’t know what was going on, but once he got free, he knew he was going to make Glushko very sorry for holding him down and putting him through all this foolishness. *Very* sorry. But Yuri showed no response.
“Appeals for help will do you no good, *Virgil*. *I* am Chief Designer now, he obeys *me* (as he should), and *I* feel like a little competition.†He gestured, forcing the tendrils to lift Gus and throw him to the ground in front of Yuri. “A historical experiment, if you will. You two will fight and we shall see who emerges victorious.â€
“Oh, I’m going to fight someone alright…†Gus’s eyes glowed as he stood up and prepared to blast Glushko, who was stepping back to observe.
“No, no, no.†A large tendril suddenly grabbed his waist, squeezing like a boa constrictor. “This is Mercury vs. Vostok. Wear your spacesuit. Yuri was obliging enough to.â€
“Do you know how @#%& hard it is to move in that thing?†Gus protested. “I don’t want to play your %#^* twisted games!â€
“Perhaps you want to be cut in half, then.†The tendril tightened.
“Alright, alright…†Gus focused and let his appearance waver and flicker until he was wearing his Mercury spacesuit, really just a modified jet pilot’s pressure suit with a silver coating that served no purpose other than looking cool and a white crash helmet.
“Completely insane, but very dramatic. Are you going to dig up some Buran guy and make him fight me next?†Dick asked, causing Glushko to turn his chilling stare in his direction.
“No, no, we can’t forget about you, Mr.-†He stepped in again, examining Dick’s flightsuit. “Oh, yes, I remember. 1986, wasn’t it? The commander himself. Wernher-†He said the name with great disgust “-has sent his all-stars, I see. Your time will come, Commander. I am not in the habit of running more than one experiment at once.â€
“And, uh, Mr. Scary Dude, um, I don’t want to interrupt while you’re being scary and all, but what are you going to do to us if they’re fighting?†Ron asked.
“That depends, dear boy, on if your friend wins or loses. Yuri, you may begin.â€
“Yes, Chief.†He repeated, tonelessly and stepped forward.
Yuri wouldn’t really hurt him, Gus knew that. But there was no sign in those black eyes that he was just playing along. There was no sign of any sort of emotion, in fact. There was just a flash of silver, and then a blast at his head that Gus barely dodged.
This duel was serious. Yuri was treating him as an enemy. But to face his real enemy, he’d have to move quickly.
“Is that your best shot?â€
He threw what looked like three balls of multicolored plasma in Yuri’s direction. They exploded half an inch in front of his visor in bright flashes, and Gus seized on the momentary blindness to duck behind him and, while his friend was still stumbling, blast him to the ground as hard as he could.
That left a half-second to glance at Dick, who nodded and seemed to steady himself. If only he’d gotten the right message. Gus built up energy for another “fireworkâ€, making sure Glushko saw his eyes rapidly changing colors, and faced Yuri, prepared to hit him while he was down. He had to make this convincing.
“’Gonna have to do better than that, commie. I’m the best there is.â€
Had his champion really been beaten so easily? Glushko knew Yuri’s mind had displayed resistance to his powers, but could it really be strong enough to slow his reaction time? At the last second, Gus turned.
And launched his “firework†right into the rocketeer’s face!
Just as he had predicted, the explosion knocked Glushko off his feet and did he did what startled people naturally do. He dropped what he was holding. Which, in this case, happened to be Dick and Ron.
As soon as he was freed, Dick drove the tendrils away with an electric charge so they couldn’t be grabbed again.
“Ron, get light!â€
“Uh, yes! Right!†The blond boy ran at last, stumbling a little.
Glushko cursed himself as he recovered from the attack. Of course the famous prankster would have had a trick up his sleeve…
“The game has changed, Yuri. Help me kill them all.â€
Kai, I like where this story is going.
This might end up as a double post, so SFTPossibleDP.
Oh, and this is my edited-a-total-lot-unfinished-NaNo-from-this-year-thing. Or at least the beginning of it.
Chapter One-
The laws of our city tell us that we have to be naked in public or we’ll be executed, all the laws must be followed, only the executioners, law enforcers, and The Dictator are allowed to speak outside their houses, and if we say anything, we’ll be tortured. Outside the city, there is nothing, emptiness. Lyrith is the safest place you could ever hope to be, and you will be protected. You must follow every law, and if you follow every law, you’ll be beaten. So we have to follow every law and we can’t follow any of the laws, it doesn’t make any sense at all but we have to do it. That results in everyone being beaten because they’re doing everything the laws tell them to, which means they’re either following the laws, or they aren’t. It’s confusing, but those are the laws.
My cousin Kerre and I were in our small room waiting for Lights. We’d been planning for the last couple of weeks that we were going to run away from the city, no matter what the laws say. For some reason, even though the laws said there wasn’t, we both knew there was something beyond the city limits, and we were determined to find out what that something was, and why the Dictator was hiding it from his citizens. We had just finished lashing together a bunch of wires we’d pulled out of the wall with springs from the bed, and tied it to the doorstop, with the other end hanging out of the window. We grabbed our bags. Kerre climbed down first, and I inched my way down after her.
Once we were on the ground, we walked around to the front of our building. We lived on the poorer side of town, where the houses were dumpier, and the people had less money. The security lights on our building had broken a long, long time ago, so we didn’t have to worry about getting caught by those. But there were many other ways the Dictator had of catching people he thought weren’t following the rules.
After making sure all the Beaters for this district were well out of range, we pulled out one of the smoke bombs we’d fashioned specifically for this occasion, and tossed it down the alleyway beside us. It made a series of contented beeping noises after the feet had found sustainable purchase on the ground, and the smoke started pouring out. It was thick, and green, spreading fast, and it was a sure-fire way to make all the Beaters in the vicinity come here, and stay out of our escape route.
Kerre and I dodged and weaved through the tightly packed houses, where people were streaming out to get a closer look at what was causing all the commotion. It didn’t take us long to reach the city limits, and we were hardly sweating.
When we reached the city limits, we encountered a long line of robot droids who were apparently guarding the outskirts of the town. I looked behind them, trying to see what was out there, and I only saw a wall, which extended out in every direction, encasing the entire city in a black, metal… dome. Kerre gasped, and the droids near us turned and faced us, their angry red eyes glaring. We had little time to stand and gape at the dome, because they charged, alerting the others to a potential danger, or in this case, us. All of the droids were streaming at us, so we turned and ran back through the city, taking random turns and not knowing where we were in the slightest.
I tripped when we ran around a corner, and knocked both of us off course, and right into a group of Beaters, who grabbed us, preventing us from running away. When the army of charging droids rounded the corner, the Head Beater put up his hand, and they stopped immediately.
“You kids are in huge trouble.†He said to us, wrenching our backpacks away from us.
He signaled, and the group of Beaters turned in formation, dragging us into the building behind where we were. They brought us into a little room, and told us they were going to get the Dictator, and not to try to escape. Then they left, and locked the door behind them. We could hear them trudging heavily down the hallway, although I’m sure they left someone guarding the door.
“We’re only on the second floor, Cal.†Kerre whispered, having opened the window and looked out. “We could make the jump, maybe.†I nodded, and made my way over to the window.
Sorry, that was longer than I thought it would be. If you bothered reading that, feel free to give criticism/comments.
Interesting…
Strange….
Pretty Awesome.
I’m going to be doing MuNoWriMo. MuseBlog Novel writing month. I might post from it. It won’t be very disturbing. The strangest thing about it will be a person teaching and younger version of himself how to time travel.