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. 2009.2.
Patience, Please
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((Continued from last thread.))
“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.
I looked out, shrugged, and scrambled up onto the windowsill, where, after a few deep breathes, I closed my eyes and jumped. I landed a few seconds later, on a convenient bale of hay. Kerre landed with a thud next to me shortly after I hit. We glanced around, and the area being deserted, dashed around to the back of the building, right into the army of droids. The made feeble beeping noises, then booted up into their chase-mode. Kerre and I turned around and ran as fast as we could in the other direction.
Our route had taken us to another part of wall that was clear of droid sentinels. There was a tunnel leading out through the wall directly in front of us, which we gratefully took as a means of escape. When we reached the end of the tunnel, we emerged into another dome. The dome was covering a power plant that seemed way to big to produce the measly amount of power the people got. The droids were catching up to us, so we ducked into a sewer whose cover happened to not be there. It was dark, it was wet, and it stank of rot and excretion, but we hid inside the maze of pipes anyway.
Unfortunately, the droids weren’t as stupid as we had expected them to be, and they’d followed us down the sewers. They were big and had a hard time fitting through the pipes, their last resort being to crawl, which gave Kerre and I a few seconds head start. Kerre and I entered a tunnel where the water reached our waists and flowed faster. The water rose up to our chests, and the sheer force of it pushed us along. Slam! We were thrust into a rusty iron grate, and we hear it creak and groan angrily as we crash into it. I felt around with my feet and I found that the grate had been rusted away near the bottom, possibly enough for us to squeeze through to the other side. I point to the water and make a motion with my hand, telling her we needed to go under it. Kerre understood, and dove down. I waited until I felt Kerre’s foot slide past my ankle; she was through.
I sucked in a deep breath and dove down below the surface of the murky water, turning over so I could slide under the grate on my back. My head fit easily through the gap, and I concentrated on getting the rest of my body through in the least amount of time, because I could see the droid’s underbellies turning the corner of the tunnel we were in.
I pulled myself through with only a few resulting scratches, and fell into the void below. Kerre screamed from somewhere beneath me, and we continued falling in the darkness.
I landed with a thud, with the gallons of dirty water pouring down from above. I would surely have a large bruise on my back from the landing. Kerre was standing near me with a disgusted look on her face. When I looked down, I figured out why. The ground was covered in swarms of rats, and I noticed sharp white bones sticking out from underneath them. The bones were human, and the rats were feasting on them.
“Let’s get out of here, before we end up like them.†Kerre said.
I nodded, and we made our way around the piles of gorging rats, and into another tunnel that branched off the chamber that we were in right now. There was a faint light coming from the sloped end of the tunnel, and we ran up toward it eagerly. We were greatly disappointed when we got there. It wasn’t an exit. We had gotten ourselves lost and ended up inside of the power plant. It was a room filled with pumping machines and artificial lights.
“Damn it. We’re trapped if we stay here,†I said. “Let’s go back to the room with the rats and see if there are any other tunnels.â€
“Wait, I think there’s a door over there, but there’s a padlock on it.â€
Kerre went over to the door, and began picking the huge lock with some of the leftover wire we’d pulled out of the wall back at our room; it was lucky that we’d even brought it. Picking locks was Kerre’s specialty, and it took her almost no time at all. Soon the padlock crashed to the floor. We paused, listening for the droids. If they’d heard that, they would be coming through the tunnel at any second. There was a rustling and a loud, raspy voice yelled in our general direction.
“Oi! What do you think you’re doing here?â€
Kerre and I brought out our knives, hoping the person wasn’t able to fight us off if we were brought to the conclusion of killing him or her. But it was only an older man who had come out from behind one of the pumps. He had on workers garb, and seemed to have been working at a control panel that was hiding behind the machines. Kerre had backed away from the door, and was tugging me away from the old man, back towards the tunnel.
“No, no, you don’t have to go back; the droids are probably in the cave by now. That door leads out and I won’t tell the Dictator, but only if you take me with you.†The old man whispered.
Kerre shook her head and pretended to slit her throat with her finger.
“How do we now we can trust you?†I asked. If he didn’t answer, we’d kill him, go back and fight off the droids, and find another way out.
“I’m an old man, what can I do to two healthy youngsters such as yourselves?â€
“Fine,†Kerre said. “You go first. It’s open.â€
Kerre was smart, and she knew how to fight if things got out of hand with this old man. We knew what we were doing. Living in this city toughened you up; we were ready for anything. The old man hobbled over and through the door, and we followed, knives still drawn. The door closed behind us just as the first of the droids burst out of the tunnel. Their numbers had diminished, and most were severely beaten up, and some were buzzing angrily. Fortunately, they didn’t see us. The door we had gone through opened into an almost vertical wooden shaft, and we were climbing at the older man’s slow, shuffling pace. It seemed like hours, but we eventually we reached the top and the old man pushed open a door, and we all climbed out.
We all flopped onto the ground. Kerre was laughing so hard she’d started to cry, and the old man was lying still and staring up at the sky. The sky for us had always been dark, black, because of the dome. The dome. It was hard to believe that we’d always lived in a dome, with it always being the same temperature, and it always being silent. No animals either, only metal, wood, and people.
I turned around and looked at our home, and I was surprised at what I saw. No black dome, no metal, and no nothing. All I saw was a hill, covered in grass, and standing next to another, smaller hill (the one we’d just exited) that concealed the power plant.
“So no one even knew we existed.†I said, and Kerre turned around.
“Cal, do you think we’re the only humans? You know, besides our parents?†Kerre asked having stopped laughing.
“It’s impossible to know. We could be Kerre.†I said. “Anyway, we’d better get away from here, they might send the droids out.â€
We went over to help the old man up. We both held out a hand, which he grabbed, and pulled himself up to his feet. He looked about and saluted the hill we’d just escaped from.
“Well kids, it’s time for me to go my own way. I hope you brought plenty of food for yourselves, because you’re going to need it.†He said. “With the way the gods are feeling today, I’d guess they have something in mind for you.â€
Before we could ask him what in the world he meant, he ran off. I heard him mumble something about ‘not wanting to be a part of this game’ before he disappeared.
“That guy was a loon. Let’s go into the woods. We can hide in the trees if we need to.†Kerre said.
Of course we knew what trees and sand and all the other stuff we’d never really seen before was. We’d read about all those things before school was outlawed, although that didn’t stop us from reading the books. Kerre and I weren’t the type to obey people over twenty.
Criticisms greatly appreciated.
Hmmm… should I repost the last chapter of the Random Untitled Disney Thing here just so people know what happened before?
Here’s a bit of a story I’ve been writing. It’s the first time I’ve tried this style (a little more formal than how I usually write), so it’s kind of stupid-sounding. It’s got some issues, namely that there’s no plot. Here’s the beginning:
In an unknown land, torchlight flickers in a marble hall. Shadows dance on the walls, casting an eerie shadow upon the thousand glittering glass statues, their living replicas encased in the statues’ hollow depths. A small child dozes in a glass shell, resembling strongly a humanoid chess pawn. The young girl stirs, yawning slowly. As she stretches, her fingertips brush a cold, hard tab of invisible metal. The girl inquisitively fingers the object she feels but does not see. When she grasps it, a zipper becomes apparent. The gold metal teeth part, splitting the glass statue imprisoning the girl in two. The halves fall, on one piece the girl’s glass face sorrowful; on the other, an expression of utmost joy. Time seems to slow for no more than a split second. As nature resumes its course, every statue crashes to the ground, shattering into infinite shards. The torches’ singing flames are silenced, plunging the beautiful, unearthly hall into darkness.
the statues’ inhabitants lie still, their faces frozen forever in fear – except for one.
Does anybody have any advice or suggestions? It really needs some work.
I love the descriptions! Nice language.
Thank you.
This isn’t really my usual style, but I wanted to try writing in a more formal,sort of, way.
I think it’s good, but I’ve already told you that. Especially about later parts.
I was thinking of doing sort of a fantasy, kind of like the movie Avatar, but not so cheesy. It….came in a dream I had, if that doesn’t sound too weird:
Chapter 1
“Thana! You’re going to be late!”
I rolled over in bed. “Just five more minutes….” Then, I remembered. Today was the first day of Fyreh Camp, and I had to be there. “Coming Mom!” Quickly pulling on my outfit I had planned the night before, I grabbed my backpack and was ready to go.
Sorry, a little bit of background. The year is 3011, and Earth is a puddle of radioactivity. Thankfully, in 2060, humans located a planet fit for survival, formerly known as HG-098y. The scientists renamed it Gaia, and ordered an immediate evacuation from Earth. Along with my great-grandmother and -grandfather, everyone piled into the hyperspace shuttles and went for Gaia. One of the species on Gaia is fyreh, a small, fox-eared animal that bonds with one and only one person during their lifetime. When you turn 8, you are automatically put into Fyreh Camp, where you can befriend a fyreh, like I did 7 years ago. Are we all caught up now? Good. Back to my story.
The hover-bus ride was okay, if you count 20 screaming 8-year-olds yanking on my hair as “okay.” My fyreh, Ni’la was sleeping, despite the yelling and bumping of the bus. Yes, hover-buses do bump sometimes. Now, where was I? Oh yeah. The camp. The camp was located just outside the city of Janesh, in one of the few habitats of the fyreh. I was a new counselor for this year. “Everyone! Quiet!” I yelled back. The kids all stared at me. I stood up. “Now, have you all read the Fyreh Book?” There was some murmuring. “Well? Have you!?” One kid raised his hand. “Um…we don’t, um have those books…” I sighed. The head had warned me about this. “Well, it’s pretty basic.” I continued. “Today, you will be assigned a cabin. Now, it’s too late to go look for fyreh today,” There was some whining, “but we can tomorrow! The camp lasts for as long as it takes you to get a fyreh. You could go home tomorrow, or you could go home next week, depending on the fyreh’s wishes! Is everyone clear?” There was a cheer, then the bus jolted, shuddered, and stopped. “We’re here!” I announced. “Make a single-” Too late. The kids were off the bus, running around. Sighing, I woke up Ni’la and went out to face the kids. “If you don’t quiet down, you won’t be able to get a cabin, and you’ll sleep out here with the tyresse!” That got the kids attention, and they lined up nice an orderly. The tyresse was a fierce predator, 8 feet tall at the shoulder, built like a bull with poison on the horns. If it sees you, you may as well lie down, because it will kill you.
I introduced the counselors, including myself, and sorted the campers into cabins. The average number of kids to a cabin is 5, but I got 4 in my cabin. They were Ina, a small girl with a fierce temperament (she was the one yanking on my hair the whole way); Keno, a tall, wispy thread of a boy; Mika, an average girl with soft, soulful eyes; and Nolo, a boy who looked like he didn’t want to be here. “Okay. You’re in cabin 3. Follow me, and grab your stuff.” I noticed Nolo didn’t have anything. “Hey, Ina. Do you know where cabin 3 is?” She nodded fiercely and led the way. I crouched down beside Nolo. “Where’s your stuff?”
“I…don’t have anything. Please don’t make me say why.” The boy’s eyes were glistening and I knew a flood when I saw one. I took him by the hand and we walked to cabin 3, where Ina was tapping her foot. “Someone forgot to give me a key!” she protested.
“Fine, fine, whatever.” I unlocked the door. The cabin hadn’t been used in a year, so it smelled like mothballs and, well, dust. Mika sneezed as I led them in and told them to pick a bed. Mika picked a high bunk “to avoid the dust and stuff.” Ina also got a high bunk, and so did Keno. That left me and Nolo, and of course, I had to use a low bunk. I went underneath Mika, and Nolo went underneath Ina. “Hey, Nolo, I wouldn’t-” Ina tossed a spitball over the edge and it landed on Nolo’s head. Strangely, Nolo just sighed and batted the spitball onto the floor, where it lay, beckoning someone to throw it away. All eyes were on me.
“Ugh,” I thought as I picked it up. “Ugh,” I thought as Ina promptly threw another one. “Ugh,” I though as I wrestled Ina’s paper away from here and disposed of them. “Ugh,” I thought when Nolo woke me up at 3 am. “What is it, Nolo?” I asked sleepily.
“Um, I had a nightmare. Can I um, sleep with you?”
“Sure.” I slid over to the wall and Nolo climbed in next to me and Ni’la. Ni’la gave a little jump when she saw Nolo, but went back to sleep. I closed my eyes too, but not before making sure Nolo’s breathing was slow and steady.
That’s what I have so far. What do you guys think? I write best in first person, by the way.
That’s good! The fyreh remind me of the daemons in the Golden Compass.
So is she a counselor at Fyreh Camp now? Helping the younger kids find their fyreh?
Yeah, I like it too. When I read “fyreh” I instantly thought “fireandhemlock1996.” That shows how obsessed I am.
*smiles happily*
Good to know that I’m not invisible.
I just tried to type “envisible”…. uhhhh….
Btw, what’s MuNoWriMo?
Yeah, that’s the next part.
The book I’m planning for MuNoWriMo came to me in a dream. But the dream was about writing it..
My dream was…..I don’t know how to describe it, sort of the opposite of that, like I’m in the action, rather than writing it.
Okay, last chapter repost:
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€
((Continuing on my partial book. I know, I’m making the chapters really small. :D))
Chapter 2
“Run, run!” the voice taunted. I crouched behind a tree, shaking from fear. The man called again. “I know you’re the-ere! Come out and pla-ay!” Wandering off the trail had been the worst decision of my life. Why did I follow that voice? Panting, I ran behind the next tree, but I knew it was almost over for me. The man was getting closer, and I was running out of fuel. Something rustled in the bushes, and I tensed. A small head popped out, graced by two, rabbit-like ears. Only a fyreh. I let myself relax for a moment and held out my hand. I had been 8 for a week now. The fyreh sniffed my hand. Then, the man crashed through the bushes. “Aha!” he said. “I found you!”
I woke up in a cold sweat. “The dream,” my brain told me. “You had the dream again. It’s okay, it’s over, you’re safe.” I looked over at Nolo, who was sleeping peacefully. Today was the first day of fyreh finding, and I smiled. No one would go home today, or at least, almost no one. I got up and quickly dressed behind the Modesty Curtain, as I called it. Nothing more that an old shower curtain, it hung in a corner, providing a safe place to get dressed. I put on a purple tank top and some jean shorts and came out. Running a brush through my shoulder-length brown hair and putting on some Converse, I was ready to go.
Mika woke up first, complaining of allergies, so I led her outside, making her breath some fresh air. When I went back inside, Ina was behind the modesty curtain, with Keno next in line. Only Nolo was still sleeping, so I gently shook him awake, and told him to brush his hair, “it looks like a fyreh nest!” Once everyone was dressed and as presentable as they were going to get, I led them to breakfast in the long, low dining hall, really just an old airplane hanger with some tables and ovens and stuff. After breakfast, and another cleanup, were classes. They were very basic, stuff like Fyreh Training, Tyresse Spotting, and Tracking. Okay, maybe not so basic. Cool, but not very basic. I was the new Arts and Crafts teacher, because, come on, it’s camp.
Today, we were making kaleidoscopes, with Gaia-animal-shaped sequins. Long story short, about maybe 6 kids out of 20 actually got something done. The rest just spread glue on the tubes and the sequins and sometimes their hair. Nolo was in my first class, and he worked very hard, using the tiniest amounts of glue. He was the only one who got done. In all of my morning classes, he was the only clean person and the only one who actually got to use his kaleidoscope.
After the first 5 morning classes came lunch. Two words: Hurl. City. After lunch and a pit stop was the best part of the day: Fyreh Finding. It required all 5 of the counselors, including myself, to keep the 50-plus kids in line and on the path leading to an immense fyreh den. All of the counselors knew this was where almost all of the kids found their fyrehs. It was also 100% tyresse-free.
We led the kids into a clearing near the den and formed them into a line making a semi-circle shape. Slowly, the fyreh came out, and the kids sat down. The fyreh, like so many years past, formed a line and slowly made their way to each and every child, sniffing them all over, then moving on. It was a wonderful moment in the twilight-like state of the forest. All the kids were silent as the hundred or so fyreh inspected them one by one. Finally, after the last fyreh and the last kid, they turned around to absorb the information. Some of the kids started to get up, thinking it was over, but Drio, an older counselor, told them to sit back down.
Finally, a few of the fyreh emerged and sniffed over one or two kids one more time. A girl, Naci (another counselor) told me her name was Kit, was one of the kids who got a second sniff. A green, thin fyreh with black streaks jumped on her lap, and that was that. Kit had been chosen. Naci told her to pick a name for the fyreh, but Ni’la had other ideas. She walked up to the other fyreh and chattered something, then came back to me.
“That fyreh has a name. It’s Oblyx,” she used our mind link to tell me. Sorry, did I mention that? When a fyreh chooses you, it makes a mind link between your mind and theirs. Each fyreh has a “voice” that it speaks in your head. Ni’la’s reminder me of water flowing over a sharp rock, gentle, but with a hard edge when she got angry.
“Um, Kit,” I said softly. “Ni’la told me that fyreh’s name is Oblyx. I would advise you not to change it, else it could get a bit, um, nasty, and we don’t want that, right?” I glared at Naci while Kit shook her head vigorously. Oblyx climbed onto Kit’s shoulders and she was led away to get her things, along with, surprisingly, Mika and her fyreh, Hunttail. I was down to three kids in my cabin.
So: Teaser for my MuNaNoWriMo.
It has:
The Butterfly effect, change something small, and the universe is different.
Ontological Paradox (Your knowledge/ an item is passed to your previous self)
Teenage angst. (Gotta love it)
Destiny and depression (And denial of the former)
Blue People (Don’t worry. The story stays on Earth)
And much, much more insanity, including *deep breath* The Middle Ages, Space Stations, time travel, plans going horribly wrong, everybody messing up, altered futures, and that’s only just the beginning.
Hi. Let me introduce myself. I’m Tiana and today, I’m going to explore the moon. That’s right, I, Tiana Williams is going to explore the moon. I have had a boring life and finally something worth writing down is about to happen! The only thing is, I don’t remember anything about my past. The only thing I do remember about it is being taken away by some men in black suits. I saw my parents crying and begging them to stop, but they didn’t listen to them. I had salty, wet tears running down my face. I was only 5 at the time. I am now 12…or so they say. I live here in a place called Time Freeze Island. I don’t know where that is or what it is. All I know are the pale white walls around me. They keep me in this room and the only time I’m allowed out is when I need to go to the bathroom or when I need to eat. I’m not the only child here. There are about 6 others but the only other time I’m allowed to see them is when we go into The Hall to eat. We never talk because if we do, we don’t get food for 2 whole days! They give us each a journal and a pen to amuse ourselves with. That and a box of broken toys. I don’t like it here one bit. To me, this is my very own prison. I think I’m here because I did something terrible but I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out anytime soon.
((I’ve never really written a book/story but I wanted to try and here’s what I got. What did you think???))
Hmmm, I like it. Seems like it could turn into something… Mostly Harmless. She should start an MB colony on the moon.
That’s a really good idea! I should include people from MB in it too…can I do that???
Yeah, of course you can! It might be a bit of a fanfic then, but that’s fine.
I like it so far, by the way.
This is the first part of a fiction story I’ve done for Language Arts.
A summer night breeze blows through an open window in a white-washed room in massive mansion. On a wooden floor the color of caramel, a woven rug sits patiently, along with a dark brown desk and chair, both ornately decorated. An armchair in the corner, two bookshelves along the wall, paintings of fields and rivers hung up alongside dream catchers dangling from the high ceiling above a nondescript bed. On the bed, under rumpled white sheets, lies a girl. She is curled up, hands holding the blankets she was clutching as if her life depended on it only minutes ago. The girl has raven black hair scattered over her pillow, a pale face without expression, and white pajamas twisted around her legs and arm. Sleeping peacefully for the first time that night, she begins to smile.
The door creaks open. A stiff man with stocky shoulders and a straight back walks into the room. He sits on the bed, exhausted. The girl still sleeps soundly, not stirring, as the man’s gray hair and pointed beard is rustled by the summer breeze. As he closes the window, the man surveys the room. He walks back to the bed, straightens the covers, and strokes the girl’s hair. He knows that when she wakes in the morning, she will have no memories of the world around her. He sadly leaves the room, knowing he cannot prevent it, but not before whispering her name. “Sophie.â€
Every wish that is granted has a price.
I
Joss walks ahead of Sophie, leading her up the stairs to the top of the massive wall that surrounds Myriad House. He holds his head high, disdainful, even though he is just one servant of many in Sir Lyon’s mansion, all hired to make the life of the girl behind him perfect. He hates her for it. He lives the life of a floor-sweeping, dish-cleaning, worthless nobody, and she, the girl who doesn’t remember favors done for her in past days, let alone the names of the people who did them, lives like a queen in a sparkling castle out of the stories she reads in her magnificent room.
They reach the top of the wall, and Sophie prances along the walkway, light-footed, her blue dress streaming out behind her.
“It’s beautiful up here!†she yells to Joss, who stands stiffly by the stairs, “You’re so lucky!†That stings. What’s so lucky about his life? He turns his head away from Sophie and stares out over the scene before him. Emerald green hills complemented with trees and flowers roll out like a tapestry before him. The sounds of early morning drift up to him, and he can almost hear the flowers turning their heads to greet the morning sun. He watches Sophie as she leans out into the wind. Is she searching for the Meddlers? That question hurts to think it and he almost wants to ask her, but stops himself.
Black braid flying behind her, Sophie begins to walk around the wall, stopping once and beckoning him to follow. He meanders behind her, pretending to listen as she points out birds, squirrels, flowers, and the glistening lake behind the mansion. He leads her up here every day, and he’s starting to get sick of the same questions, especially the one he knows will turn up sooner or later. When she’s finished, Joss leads her back down the stairs, and at the bottom, she stops him, and asks the question he knew she would ask.
“What’s your name?â€
“Josiah,†he mumbles, but then, in a louder voice, adds, “Joss, miss. Call me Joss.â€
Joss goes back to his room when Milana comes to take Sophie to breakfast. He opens up a red booklet the size of his palm. It’s an inch thick, full of thumbnail drawings and descriptions. But the many detailed pictures are not of the birds he enjoys watching, but of people. From servers to stable boys, maids to manservants, information on every member of Myriad House, hand drawn meticulously by Joss himself, along with a description, fills the tiny notebook the boy has been working on for the past few months. Flipping to the back, he stares at the drawing of himself, and the finished description that Effie, the cook, had written out for him. He stares down, daring to read the words, to find out what people think of him.
Name: Josiah Menca. Call him Joss.
Job: Assistant gardener
Personality: Joss is a quiet kid, steely, solemn, kind of sad. I think he might be hiding something that’s hurting him. He made this book for you. Thank him.
-Effie
Joss stared at the paper, a mix of feelings bubbling inside him. He felt the urge to rip the page out, the leaf of paper that held a hint to the worst secret of his life. Why he had appeared on the doorstep of the Myriad House 7 years ago, how he had gotten through the gate without anyone seeing him, why he had lived his entire life without parents except the bears in the forest. Joss feels a stirring inside of him and drops the book to find his hand barely glowing neon green. The truth forces itself up, lingering on the edge of his subconscious, and the part of him that is truly human is mystified. He opens the book to find a line in his description… gone.
OK, I would like to ask for a few ideas, particularly from the science geeks (Kai, Robert, others). I recently had an idea for a novel that takes place on board a (very) large generation ship (a sort of space ark, for those who don’t know). At some point, there’s a conflict between the inhabitants, which quickly fizzles out due to how fragile the environment is, but still damages certain parts of the infrastructure and splits them up into factions in an uneasy peace.
I need ideas for factions.
Hydroculture, or where ever plants are grown would be a great place for a faction. They’d probably have the most power, since they control the food. Raiding parties could attempt, combined of different factions. They’d probably split into the peaceful gardeners and the ruthless people who buy and sell the food
Swat- I fyou want to include MuseBloggers in your story, you should probably ask their permission before randomely sticking them in the story. I probably should have told you that when I commented about it, but I forgot, so I’m telling you now.
Also: By adding MBers, wouldn’t you therefore be turninig it into a Muse Fanfiction? Take it to the Latest Muse Fanfiction Planning thread, and ask around. I’m sure you’ll get plenty of volunteers.
Ahhh… I see. Then I don’t think I’ll do that. I’ll just put some random made-up characters in. I wonder how it’ll turn out…
Some guys just came in to my room telling me that I’m not going to the moon alone. The other 6 kids are coming with me. 3 boys and 3 girls (plus me of course). It’ll be nice to have some company, but I’m scared of them. I’m the youngest here and the smallest. I don’t know their names, all I know is that I’m the smallest. At least, that’s what they told me. We are leaving in 8 hours, i think. I’m going to start “packing” now. Even though all I have are a couple of shirts and pants. No shoes.
Hello again. I had to stop writhing then because we had to learn what we are going to be doing on the moon. Apparently all we are doing is going there to collect some samples for then scientists. It sounds like fun, but the way they said it made me feel uneasy. I believe they’re hiding something from us. Who knows?? Anyways, got to go now. We have to get ready for the take-off!
((On with my story!))
Chapter 3
I led my group back to the cabin. Nolo didn’t have any nightmares, so I slept soundly, and woke up refreshed. After the usual classes and lunch,we headed into the forest again. This time, only one boy got claimed. As he was led back to get his things, I noticed the fyreh looked back. They had never done that before.
That night, I had a dream. I was in the forest, and the fyreh were discussing….something. I caught a glimpse of Ni’la, and wondered what she was doing there. I couldn’t tell what it was, but it seemed to be important, because a very old fyreh was standing on top of the nest. It seemed to be yelling something at the fyreh, and the fyreh were responding with the same call. Then, all the fyreh turned their heads in the same direction. I heard a crashing sound, that could mean only one thing. “Tyresse!” I tried to shout, but my voice didn’t work. Still, all the fyreh scattered as the tyresse crashed through the bushes, tossing its head every which way. I woke up in a cold sweat. The tyresse’s horns were inches from my throat when I woke up! “And,” I thought, “the fyreh nest is 99% tyresse free.” The sky was still dark, but went outside carefully, Ni’la in tow. “Ni’la?” I asked, looking at the stars.
“Yes?”
“Has there ever been a tyresse attack on the nest?”
Ni’la’s face clouded. “You had the dream too?”
“Yes. Why did I have the dream?”
Ni’la was silent. “Come,” she said, and led the way into the woods, to a patch of earth that was bare. “A long time ago, before you were born, a tyresse attacked the nest. We did not know why it did. The fyreh lost so many brave ones to that rampage. But now, the clan leader, Dyrk, thinks he knows why. Our forest is being depleted, and the tyresse was probably starving. It didn’t know where it was going, it just followed the scent of meat.” Ni’la turned to me. “The humans are depleting the forest, Thana. Soon, the nest will not be safe anymore.” I gasped. Were we destroying Gaia in the same way we destroyed Earth!?
((continuing ch. 3))
Me and Ni’la went for a walk, since we weren’t going to sleep anymore that night. “Ni’la?” I asked
“Yes?”
“I named you, didn’t I?”
“That’s correct.”
“Why did you let me name you?”
Ni’la was silent for a bit. “I suppose…I’m not sure. Maybe I didn’t want to disappoint you. Maybe I didn’t like my name.”
“What is your name?” A tyresse roared in the distance.
“My name is…well, it’s….Faikai.”
“It’s nice. Why don’t you like it?”
“That’s the name of the tyresse that attacked out nest.”
I was speechless, and Ni’la/Faikai was starting to stumble. I offered her my arm, and she climbed on. Her eyes were shiny. We returned to the camp.
((Need some ideas on how to move the plot along!))
“It feels so nice to see the sky again!†Alexandra said, bounding out of the pavilion.
“I thought ve vould be down there forever!†Hans shouted, following her. After a warm send-off from Commander Fulton and his crew, the kids were finally on their way home, almost 24 hours late. And the Sea Base divers had been only too eager to return to their work.
“I cannot wait to go home! And to tell Dasuke everything that has happened!†Fatima said.
“Well, he’s waiting for you at Mission: SPACE, and we can go there now, unless you’re hungry or something.†Christa said.
“Oui, I am kind of hungry…†Marie said, looking down at her stomach.
“I also.â€
“Yes, we are hungry.â€
“Then we will get you something from one of the restaurants.†Ilan said, seeing the sign for the Electric Umbrella nearby. It shouldn’t be too hard to phase into the kitchen and find something edible the employees wouldn’t miss…
“I have money!†Hans produced a handful of folded Euro notes from his pocket. He shoved them at Christa, who took them with a bemused look. “To pay for the food, ja?â€
“Uh… thanks, Hans… We’ll leave it on the counter or something. Just stick tight here with our friends until we get back.â€
After receiving several multilingual affirmations, she phased through the restaurant’s back wall, followed by Ilan. The kitchen was dim, but well-organized, as was the Disney way. When you were serving that many people on a daily basis, it wouldn’t do to have cooks crashing into things or misplacing tools.
It didn’t take Christa long to find a small refrigerator with pastries inside. A few chocolate brownies were on the top shelf. Just the thing for kids who had been freed from such a scary situation. There was nothing like chocolate to help erase bad memories. She slipped into the main part of the restaurant, leaving Hans’ Euros on the counter, and grabbed a napkin from a table-top dispenser to wrap the brownies in.
“I just heard something. Do you sense anything?†Ilan suddenly asked.
“I’ll scan if you like, give me a se-†But before Christa could even clear her mind for a telepathic sweep, she heard Marie screaming loudly. “I *thought* this mission seemed too easy.†She muttered, racing across the restaurant and through the wall, still holding the brownies.
Wow, you like ending these posts with cliff hangers. I like it, and I can think of many diabolical things that have gone wrong…
The “chapters” are very long, so I have to break them up somewhere, and a cliffhanger is a good place to do it. Out of curiosity, what are some of those ideas? (They may show up later, you never know.)
Well, one of them involved things that you might not want to know about. (Pseudo’s bad image of chickens.) Actually, you really don’t want to know any of my ideas. I kind of forgot the things I was thinking about anyway.
Bad… image… of… chickens… yeah, I probably don’t want to know.
Yeah. We were eating pizza, and… stuff came up.
I just realized who Von Braun was, Kai. Wikipedia can help you.
19- You didn’t know and you didn’t ask? I would have told you!
20- Yeah, I probably should have asked, but I didn’t think to at the time.
But now you get why he’s head of the KSC Black Fleet and friends with Walt Disney?
Yep, it all makes sense now.
Okay, good.
“So sorry to hear of your loss, Aldric.â€
“Thank you, Dietrich.â€
“You’re all right? Need anything?â€
“No, thank you. We are fine.â€
“How’s she holding up?â€
Both the older men turned to look at the small, dark-haired girl huddled in one corner of the vast black limousine. She was very pale, but her eyes were dry.
Her father, Aldric, turned back to his friend and business partner. “She’ll be all right.â€
“Right. Let me know if we can be of any help.â€
“Again, thank you.â€
Dietrich tipped his hat and left. Aldric Nyx remained standing beside the car, in the cool fall air.
“Kyrra, come here.â€
There was a short silence, and then the car door opened. The small girl stepped out and stood a little ways back from her father. He began to walk, and she followed at a distance.
They ambled slowly through the cemetery, wending their way through the gravestones and mud. It had only just stopped raining, and everything seemed to have been polarized by the damp and the clouds: the bare trunks of the trees looked black against the overcast gray sky, and what few leaves remained on their branches were vivid scarlets and cinnamons. To Kyrra, these were the colors of death: gray sky, black trees, red leaves. When her father paused in front of a grave, she nearly walked into him, preoccupied by the rich smell rising from the damp earth. She was frightened suddenly that the stuff of the bodies rotting beneath her feet was seeping into the air, entering her lungs and spreading through her veins. She nearly gagged.
Her father pointed to the stone in front of them. “Read the name on this grave.â€
Kyrra leaned forwards and wiped away the grime covering the marker. At four years old, she could read at a fifth-grade level.
“Richard Mason,†she read.
“Do you know who he was?â€
Kyrra shook her head.
“Neither do I. Now turn around.â€
Kyrra turned, and looked back the way they’d come. In all directions, as far as the eye could see, graves, obelisks and mausoleums stood along the grounds of the cemetery, stretching crazily up and down the rolling hills like broken teeth. Far, far in the distance, Kyrra could see the soldier’s section, where the white crosses were set in martial line; and off to the west, she could just barely make out a freshly dug grave, with a tiny red blot that were really roses, but from here looked like a clot of blood.
“How many do you think there are?â€
Kyrra didn’t answer.
“Too many to count. And just think: you knew only one of the bodies now resting here. But someone knew each of these people. Perhaps Richard Mason was a brother, a son, a father. Perhaps someone, perhaps many people, loved him. Maybe somewhere, people still remember him and are weeping over him. And now look out across these graves. They are all Richard Masons. They all had a story, and people, and yet all their stories ended here.â€
The gaping silence between Aldric Nyx’s sentences seemed to grow in the cold air, encompassing the enormity of the land stretching out before him and his daughter.
“We cannot escape death, Kyrra. But neither can it escape us. Even when we die, there are still seven and a half billion people on this earth who carry on. Death is not so quick or so clever that it can wipe out every last blot of humanity. There will always be more people, Kyrra. When you believe you are alone, that your grief is beyond what anyone else could care about or understand, remember where you are right now: utterly surrounded by graves, by the dead, and beyond that, by the people upon people who still carry on with their lives in spite of the fact that their end is inevitable. We humans are curious creatures, Kyrra; we know that after only the tiniest, shortest amount of time, a minute speck in the course of the universe’s journey, we will be whisked away to whatever heaven or Valhalla we believe in. And yet, every day, we struggle, we strive, we stretch. Just so we can end up here. What does that tell you?â€
Kyrra was silent again.
“I look at what life I have lived so far, and I do not yet understand what it means. But the woman who we buried today knew. In the end, she knew.â€
He sighed heavily, and moved slowly to crouch beside his daughter, tiny against the enormity of the graveyard.
Kyrra said, “She is dead.â€
“Yes,†replied Aldric.
“My mother is dead.â€
“Yes.â€
“And I will never see her again?â€
Aldric’s cold blue eyes tightened just a fraction, and he let his breath out slowly to control the trembling in his voice, making a plume in the cold air.
“I do not know. You will have to decide that for yourself, sometime in the course of your life.â€
Kyrra nodded, once, as if she’d settled something. Aldric stood and, for the smallest second, grasped her tiny gloved hand in his own much larger one.
And then he started back through the graves, to the waiting limousine.
I will post more of the Disney Thing That Really Needs A Proper Title (DTTRNAPT) later, but right now I have to give my brother the computer.
There are rumors floating about the Remembrance, and they are spreading through the city, that our equilibrium had been built on top of one of the more famous Old Cities. New York, that city from the Old Times, had supposedly disappeared from the face of this Dimension during DWIV. Some Members in the Remembrance have had deteriorating confidence that our position will soon be evicted from the Council. Nobody believes the rumors, though, except for us. We’ve been protesting the demolition of Old Cities for centuries, but there are too many people higher up in the Council.
“Tayit, stop daydreaming, we’re trying to talk to you!†Crellen said, snapping his fingers in my ear.
“Hm? Oh, right sorry. What were you saying?†I answered back, slightly aware that those of the rest of the people that had come to today’s meeting were staring at me.
“We were talking about what our next move would be. What the Capitol told us yesterday has taken a severe chunk out of most of the Members confidence, and we need a new strategy.†Crellen told me, whispering the last part so the rest of the Members wouldn’t be reminded of that… incident.
“Well, as we know, the fate of the remaining Old Cities is being determined later in the day tomorrow, and the outcome of that decision depends on what we do between now and then.†I announced to the group.
“You are welcome to back out if you feel that this will turn into DWV, or if you haven’t the strength after these past events. Now that this has been said, we need a plan of action. Do any of you want to suggest anything?†The group was quiet, but not a quiet that meant they had no ideas. It was a quiet that meant they were thinking.
“This will end up being DWV, I’m sure of it. We need to strike first, and we need to strike hard at the heart of this.†A Member in the back of the group said, and the arousing cheer was tremendous.
“That’s what I was thinking. We’ll strike the Council tonight.†I confirmed.
Another cheer rang out; it was our time.
Can you give me feedback? Maybe yell a bit? Thanks, because I really don’t know where to go after this. Suggestions welcome!
I do like it, but I don’t think I can give any advice for where to go, for which I’m sorry.
Someone has to yell at me for me to continue my story, so please, unleash a fiery tirade of dissapointment in my non-motivation.
Jakob Wonkychair, you get to work on your story, or I’ll set so many pies on you, you won’t be able move, let alone chuck some pies back at me. So go work on your story, or you might just disappear suddenly from your bed one night…
That okay?
An army of gray-skinned Huns had swept into Future World, smashing trash cans and swinging swords and axes. The Norsemen had abandoned their game and drawn their own swords in a duel between barbarians that many history buffs would have watched with great interest.
“What on Earth…?†Ilan muttered, defensively turning invisible.
But Christa was more concerned with the group that had cornered the children outside of the restaurant. Viktor and his crewmates were blasting away any warriors who came too close to the kids, backing away towards one of the Innoventions buildings. If they could get into there, they could at least barricade the doors and buy some time to make proper plan. But the Russians were outnumbered and surrounded, despite their power. They needed back-up.
Marie shivered behind the cosmonauts as the Huns kept closing in. She should never have agreed to come with Hans to Future World. It had been 48 hours since she’d really felt safe. And as a cluster with wicked-looking curved swords advanced on their group, she didn’t think she’d be calming down anytime soon. Paco cowered next to her, his eyes wide. Alexandra looked on the verge of tears. Oh, if only she could be safely back home with her parents, eating a croissant…
The swordsmen raised their blades, slashing wildly at her guardians. Marie wondered if she’d live to ever eat another croissant again.
Suddenly, the nearest warrior fell, struck by a bolt of orange energy. Another fell, and then another, a whirlwind of blasts from out of nowhere striking the Huns down before they could retaliate or even fully process what was happening.
Viktor seized the cue, grabbing up Paco and Alexandra and breaking for the nearest building. With his free hand, he unleashed his own blue blasts at full strength, clearing a path of sorts. Georgi and Vlad followed, running as they guarded their charges.
They were going to make it! They were really home free and they could get inside and then Marie could go back to her pavilion! She clung to Georgi’s arm tightly, or as tightly as one could cling to ectoplasm.
But this plan had not gone unnoticed. The Hun warriors had realized where their targets intended to escape to, and two particularly strong Huns, who seemed almost all muscle, stood in front of the building’s doors, brandishing battle-axes with blades as large as Marie’s head.
The sight of those axes drained all the hope out of her, leaving Marie as scared as she had been before they had started running. She looked up at Georgi’s face, hoping he would have a plan, but he seemed just as surprised as she was. There was no time for him to tell the kids to hold their breaths so he could phase past the guards, he was too close now, and it was all his stupid fault for getting brainwashed-
WHAM! The picnic table flew just inches from their faces, slamming into the guards and knocking them across the plaza. No time to ask who had thrown it, no time for relief, he was already closing the gap and pulling open that wonderful door…
Hans and Marie rushed inside, with Alexandra, Fatima, and Paco following. Vlad shepherded them in as Georgi quickly eye-scanned the room they were in. The Huns had taken him by surprise and he wasn’t eager to repeat the experience, especially in the place where the sentry robots might have been built. Viktor was last inside, shutting the door and locking it before turning to his exhausted crewmates.
“That… was… incredible! Did you make that table fly?†Paco asked, catching his breath.
“Not I, little one, perhaps-†Viktor started. After all of that, the first
thing on the kid’s mind was action?
“No, that was me.†A voice called, from behind. Christa was phasing through the door. “Aluminum’s not really that heavy.â€
“Wow!â€
“Want a brownie?†She held out the napkin, and the kids eagerly ran up to take the treats.
“And it was your friend who was blasting them while invisible like this and this and this…†Fatima demonstrated some comical turns and thrusts between bites. “Absolutely fantasmic!â€
“You’re welcome, but isn’t the term ‘fantaSTIC’?†Ilan asked, joining them.
“No, she means ‘fantasMIC’, like-†Christa started, before hearing the Huns banging at the door. “-tell you later!†The group hurried deeper into the pavilion, past a virtual reality display.
“In history class, we learned much about Huns, but I do not think recall ever being told that they could be found in Florida!†Vlad muttered, brushing the sleeve of his pressure suit.
“Mulan said they vere in her movie. She told us all about how she buried them in an avalanche once.†Hans said. “Vhy vas her army not there to help us?â€
“They’re probably defending the Chinese pavilion and they might not get to this side of the lagoon for a while. Which leaves us in a rather sticky situation, because those doors aren’t going to keep them out forever.â€
“Quickly, this way!†A voice called, from the shadows. They couldn’t make out many features of the figure standing before the open “Employees Only†door, but they could see light reflecting off eyeglasses. “No time for introductions, hurry!†The voice said again. It sounded like a man’s voice, but they couldn’t make out many details in the dim light as they hurried to the door. “This goes to the maintenance tunnels under the park. Now get in!â€
The man closed the door behind them, locked it and then flipped a light switch that illuminated a line of fluorescent bulbs along what seemed like a rather long tunnel.
Now they could see their mysterious helper more clearly. He was rather old, with white hair and horn-rimmed glasses, and he wore a long lab coat over a shirt and tie. “It’ll be a while before those barbarians find that door, and by that time, we’ll be long gone. If you’ll just follow me, I can take you to the other side of the lake.†He moved somewhat stiffly to the front of the group, nothing terribly noticeable, but a little slowness in one joint or another as it bent.
“Thank you very much, sir. But why-†Vlad began.
“I had just taken refuge inside myself. Consider it a professional courtesy, Mr. Volkov. Or do you prefer ‘Comrade’?†the man chucked slightly as he continued to lead the way, turning at a place where the tunnels branched.
“I am fine with ‘Mister’, but our names… how do you know?â€
“It’s my business to know. We’re in the same line of work, after all. Tom Morrow, at your service.â€
“Tom Morrow?†Ilan asked, skeptically. “And what do you mean by saying that we’re in the same line of work?â€
“When the park opened, I worked in the Rocket to the Moon attraction as Flight Director. It was in Tomorrowland and the Imagineers had a bit of a joke… It’s not there anymore, but I still help out at Mission: SPACE. By the way, tell Wernher that we really must catch up some time.â€
“Uh, sure…â€
I loitered around the square, trying to appear inconspicuous and reading a billboard. Don’t ask me what the billboard said; I wasn’t really paying attention to it. 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 glance suspiciously at me. 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-†My voice trailed off as I realized I was standing on a lush carpet with my dusty sneakers.
His cold eyes stared at me in scorn. “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 vandalizer, and possibly a thief. Now, I could just call for help, but since I am authorized to set Canix on you, I’ll do it the amusing way.†He stood up and whistled sharply through his teeth.
Maybe Canix would be a nice, small, friendly dog that would just bark at me. The guy looked so cheap he wouldn’t want to buy a big, expensive guard dog? 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. 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. Then the thought struck me that this whole situation was pretty ridiculous. All I did was try to get a job; he didn’t have to try and kill me. That McNalister was pretty mean.
McNalister pointed at me and cooed, “Look at the tasty human, Canix! He’s a nasty intruder! We can’t have any of those, can we?†Too late.
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 recognize me, capture me and lock me up.
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.
“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.
* * *
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 a higher 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.
“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’names 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€
“Sure thing, Kendrick!†I replied smartly. I got on the opposite side of the crate while Kendrick got ready to lift his side.
“Ready?†Kendrick asked. I nodded. “On the count of three. One, two, three!â€
My back throbbed as we slowly lifted the crate, which was extremely heavy. I gritted my teeth as we carried the crate down the docks toward the ship. Kendrick’s face was turning red.
At last we made it to the cargo ship. We placed the crate gently on the ground as a crane swiveled into position to load it on the ship. Other dockworkers scurried around getting the ship ready to leave.
I suddenly remembered the policemen patrolling the dock. How was I supposed to get on the ship?
Kendrick shook my hand and said, “Good job, m’lad. Thanks for yer help! I ne’er could ‘ave moved that all by m’self.â€
“Oy, Kendrick,†A worker farther down the docks yelled, “I need that inventory list now!â€
“Right away, sir!†He yelled as he strode toward him, then said over his shoulder, “See yer later Jerrick!â€
“Er, right! See you later!†I said as I turned back to the ship. I was now right next to the boarding ramp, and the policemen were at the other end of the dock. I waited until the crewmembers were busy securing the cargo, then dashed up the ramp and onto the ship. Ducking behind a pile of rope near the side of the ship, I thought about where I could hide from the crew. The cargo hold would be the best place, of course, but there wasn’t any food there. There wasn’t any other place to hide; this was a cargo ship, not a passenger cruise line.
Then I got a crazy and pretty suicidal idea. But for it to have a chance of working, I needed some rope, two barrels, and lots of straw. The rope I was hiding behind would do fine, the barrels would come from the cargo hold, and the straw would come from the around the cabins. I took my sharpened piece of shell out of my pocket and started sawing a length of the rope.
The crew’s shouts and cries drifted nearer. I sawed faster. I needed to get off deck fast, before the crew noticed me. Only a few strands of rope remained. Footsteps pounded up the gangplank. I hacked at the last thread; the rope parted. I gathered the severed length of rope over my shoulder and hurried toward the cargo hold.
The crew was almost on deck. I swung the hatch open, hastily tried to find the ladder rung. My foot fell on something solid; I swung onto the ladder, slipped, fell. I hung suspended by the rope. It had caught on the hatch. The crew arrived on deck. I pulled frantically at the rope. The rope fell off the hatch; I slammed to the floor. The hatch closed and locked in place. The sound of the stomping and running crew emanated through the floorboards above me.
I sighed, then winced. I had landed on my back again. This would turn into a habit if I weren’t more careful.
I pulled myself up and threw the rope to the floor, then decided it should look like it belonged if one of the crew came down. I crouched and coiled it into a small pile. When I finished, two barrels caught my eye. They were lined up next to each other against a beam, and were boxier and squatter than regular barrels. They would do nicely for my plan.
I moved over to them and doubtfully looked at my shell knife. It didn’t look like it would be able to split open wood. I cast my eyes around the hold and didn’t see anything of use.
There. I probably won’t be able to finish it. I think it’s a good plot, and I have the plot planned out, but I just can’t think of what to write.
You could have him see a old, torn up sail on the ground, that looked to be covering something up. He could get it out of the way and find, I don’t know… twenty or so machine guns. The crew on board could be a bunch of smuggling pirates or time-traveling gun manufacturers, something like that. Or, you could ignore me completely, and I see my threatening worked nicely.
Anthony needs to find a device somewhere on the ship, either in a barrel or somewhere else. He could find a hammer under a tarp, true, to get the barrel open. I threw my old plot away after I realized that the Bermuda Triangle was not anywhere near where I thought it was, embarassingly enough.
Yeah, well at least you probably knew Haiti existed before the earthquake. That was a fail.
What’s really weird is re-reading one of my old Stephanie Stone stories from when I used to paste pictures into the story. At one point, she says “Sak pase?” to Sandy and when he asks what it means, she explains “It’s Creole for ‘What’s up’. They say it in Haiti.” and then, Steph, being the helpful sort, has a map (pasted in) with an arrow and the note “Haiti is here.”
I probably wouldn’t re-write that story today (the general plot was too far-fetched), and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t need to include the map…
I’m thinking of writing an almost post apocalyptic story. It’s sorta post apocalyptic, except it takes place after the world recovers. Radioactivity from warheads, or whatever, will have dissipated.
SFTDP (I hit comment to soon.)
Some places will be completely different, and others went into complete isolationism during the war. So, some have turned into places almost like ancient China. Who’s interested in hearing more/ reading it?
I’d like to read it.
I’d like to read it.
Oooh, do it. Apocalyptic stories are great fun to write.
Yes, write it! Please!
Same here! I’d like to hear more/read it.
I read Good Omens one too many times and this popped out. Then I read a bit too much Neil Gaiman crossed with reading a lot of Terry Pratchett and a very odd version of Death popped out. So I wrote four stories about the whole crew within the space of a month and called it The Butterfly Book. Here’s the first (and darkest) one, “Inferno”. Thoughts? Comments? Accusations of blasphemy? All are welcome.
A thousand worlds, spinning around a thousand stars, each containing a billion people with a billion souls…
And on one of those worlds, a bed.
The story of Jeremiah Singh would be too long and too heartfelt to put into words. Suffice it to say that he grew up in a middle-class family, became a cost accountant soon after leaving college, married a loving woman who worked as a secretary, and never had children. Just another blip on the statistics page.
If he were not seventy-nine and about to die, it might have been said that his humdrum life was about to change.
A senior care center, mushy foods, and the slow onset of dementia. That was Jeremiah Singh these days. He would spend hours in the sitting room, talking to long-dead friends and acquaintances that weren’t there, cheerfully accepting the oatmeal the staff gave him and eating it when they reminded him to do so. A few days ago, however, he had collapsed. His surviving brother Zachary and his niece, Jennifer, sat by his bed nearly night and day, holding his hand. But no Jennifer was home with her sick four-year-old grandson, and Zachary had stepped out to use the restroom, and Jeremiah was alone.
Or not quite. Because into the room walked a woman, her long hair golden and flowing, her skin pale as alabaster. She was dressed in white so pure that she appeared to be glowing, and the click of her shoes on the marble of the floor was the same sound as the tick of the clock in the hall.
She hesitantly sat down in the seat so recently vacated by Zachary and took Jeremiah’s hand, clasping it in her own. “You don’t know me, Mr. Singh,†she said hesitantly to his sleeping face, so peaceful under the dappled sunlight pouring in from the window. “At least—well, you don’t know me. Not really. But I’d just like to tell you—†She paused. Jeremiah’s eyes were flickering, his eyelids blinking open. His mouth was moving. He was trying to say something.
She leaned close, so close that her lips were nearly brushing his cheek, and said, “Yes? What is it?â€
“Are you an angel?†said Jeremiah, in his first and last moment of lucidity in the past two years.
The woman met his eyes. Jeremiah’s, she saw, were dark, the color of a coffee stain on an expensive wooden table. He was nearly blind, so he put the seeming absolute colorlessness of hers down to his bad vision.
“No,†she said. “Not exactly.â€
Even Jeremiah Singh’s eyes were able to see the sunlight glint off her teeth as she smiled.
He didn’t even have time to scream.
“Well, I thought that was a success,†the Angel said very soon afterwards, letting her hair revert into its natural short, straight cut to her shoulders, each strand the color of the darkest dream ever dreamed by the mind of man. A splash of color appeared on each cheek, and huge silver hoops abruptly swung from her ears. She had also suddenly acquired combat boots, a gun belt, and a long black trench coat with a slight bulge in one of the pockets. Only her eyes remained the same: the color of pure water, no color at all. Eyes don’t change. “Didn’t you?â€
The Agent was silent.
“I said, didn’t you?†the Angel said, sounding annoyed. The Agent had been nearly catatonic all day, lost in the realms of his own thoughts. “Another hospital staff bewildered. Another soul for our Master. Another cog in the murder machine. A good day’s work, I thought.†She paused impatiently. “Didn’t you?â€
The Agent walked along with her, his strides matching hers exactly.
“Well, I was only trying to make conversation,†the Angel huffed, flipping her hair pointedly and staring straight ahead. They appeared to be on an ordinary suburban road. Birds tweeted in the trees. Each lawn they passed was green and perfectly clipped. The houses were like those of dolls: beautiful and exactly alike. Somewhere behind them, they could hear the laughter of children. On the sidewalk were engraved in gold the words Good Intentions.
The Agent stopped suddenly, and the Angel continued for a few huge strides before realizing she was leaving her partner behind. She yelped and spun around. “What have you been doing all day?†she demanded. “What is up with you? Are you mad at me for some reason? Has something gone wrong? I mean, just tell me, don’t get all stony like this—â€
“Gloria,†the Agent interrupted her.
The color drained from the Angel’s cheeks. “I told you to never call me by that name.â€
“Why are we doing this?†the Agent pressed on, relentless. “You, draining life and souls. Me, the Master’s right-hand man. Where have we gone? How did we fall so far from where we were? From who we were?â€
“We did not fall,†the Angel hissed. “We chose. You chose. This. This is who you wanted to be. And never let the Master hear what you just said!â€
“Gloria—†the Agent began.
The Angel closed the distance between them in a single second and landed a ringing slap across the Agent’s face. “You will not call me by that name!†she shrieked, and for the second time in five minutes, her appearance changed: her dream-dark hair flashed to the red of a forest fire, she grew so she was almost as tall as the Agent, and for a moment, it seemed as if her perfectly manicured fingernails were claws. Then she gasped in a breath of air, and shrank in on herself to her previous shape.
“I am the Angel,†she said tightly, and turned, and continued on. After a moment, the Agent jogged after her until he had reached her side, and then slowed until his strides once again exactly matched hers.
They walked in silence all the rest of the way down the road paved with good intentions.
The Angel sat by the banks of the Styx later, dangling her feet in the water and waving at the ferry passengers in the faint hope that they would be distracted and tumble in. After a while, a woman with lips red as blood, skin pale as snow, and a gaping hole in her chest settled by her side, picking up a stone and skimming it over the dark surface of the water.
“Rough day?†she said.
“Ngh,†the Angel said moodily.
The woman nodded in sympathy. “What was it? A lucid old bastard? Have trouble getting into the hospital room? Another guardian featherhead, maybe?â€
“No,†the Angel sighed, splashing her feet. “We got the target fine. Well, I did.â€
The woman’s face showed sudden understanding. “The Agent.â€
“Shut up, Snowglass,†said the Angel.
Snowglass Apples looped an arm around her shoulders. “Been there, done that, wrote the fairy tale, sweetie. What was it? Tell me.â€
“Nothing.â€
Snowglass nodded in respect of her friend’s privacy, but couldn’t resist a last question. “How did you two meet, anyway? All I heard from the people who were here when the pair of you arrived was that you landed here just a few minutes after he did. You two know each other in… Up There… or something?â€
For a moment, the Angel’s guarded expression dropped, and her eyes grew dreamy. “It was a long time ago,†she murmured, “and we were both very different then… but yes. We met Up There.†For a moment, her hair seemed golden, her eyes bluer. The ghost of white feathers whispered at her shoulders, and then evaporated.
Snowglass patted the Angel on the back, nearly knocking her into the Styx. “Well, the Master said for me to tell you he’s got another job for the dream team in a week. I don’t think he’ll be all that receptive to hear you two are having troubles. I’d get it all sorted out, if I were you.â€
“Right,†the Angel said moodily. She withdrew her bare feet from the river and shook them off in the direction of a nearby damned soul, who screamed in agony, his flesh burning where the drops touched him. “Can’t disappoint the Master, can we? I’ll go talk to him right now.â€
“Oh, good,†Snowglass said cheerfully. “Oh, and you wouldn’t have happened to have seen my heart, would you? I think I put it down somewhere in the Fourth Circle and I wouldn’t ask ordinarily, you know it usually takes care of itself, but you know what they’re like over there, can’t keep their hands to themselves, and—â€
“It’ll be in the Lost and Found,†the Angel said, not really listening. “It always is. Just go through the One Lost Sock section, and then wander around until you hear the heartbeats. Got to go.â€
“But I’ve searched the Lost and Found up and down—†Snowglass began. But the Angel was already gone.
She knocked loudly on the Agent’s door a little while later, putting her hands on her hips and waiting. In a moment the door was open, and the Agent stood there, his face not registering even a drop of surprise.
“Come in,†he said.
The Angel slipped into his quarters, shutting the door behind her. As usual, the Agent hadn’t bothered to keep them clan. Even the entrance hallway was a mess, with one light bulb flickering madly and the other glowing an odd shade of green, and bags, boxes, and coats scattered over the floor. She picked her way over them with a certain sense of familiarity, wishing there was some stink she could pointedly wrinkle her nose at. There never was. Messy but clean, that was the Agent all over.
She followed him into the kitchen, which he had, like normally, devoted to testing the First Available Surface Theory of Filing, and motioned to a chair that was miraculously not heaped with junk. “Can I get you anything?†he said, his voice level and polite. “I’m afraid I’m out of alcohol, but I’ve got lemonade, apple cider, soda—â€
“Shut up a second, will you?†the Angel burst out.
The agent went still with his hand reaching out from a glass from the cupboard, and then unfroze, putting it back and closing the door. “Excuse me,†he said, still calm. “I apologize if I’ve offended you somehow. No drink, then.†He sat in the chair across from the Angel, propping up his elbows on a pile of forgotten letters. “So, what might be the reason for this unexpected visit? Can I help you with something?â€
The Angel slapped a hand on the table. “Stop being so blessed formal, will you? I need to talk to you!â€
“About what?†the Agent said, wariness showing in his own colorless eyes.
“About us,†the Angel replied, folding her arms. “About our… argument just now. About…†She gave a deep sigh and lowered her voice so that the Agent had to lean in to hear her. “About Jesse and Gloria.â€
The Agent focused suddenly, abruptly, and absolutely on the Angel’s face, and she stiffened. “Jesse and Gloria are dead,†he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. “They have been dead for nearly four thousand years. They chose to die, and have never looked back.†He narrowed his eyes. “Unless you miss it.â€
“I don’t miss it,†the Angel said angrily. “I miss us. I miss Jesse, Jesse from the days just before he—before we—during the rebellion. I miss Gloria, from when she was new and happy and had lost her innocence but not her naïveté. I miss that, and you do too, I know you do. We never expected to be like this, you a hired sword and me a common soul-taker. We never expected to, to, to fall this far—â€
She stopped, but the word had already passed her lips. The Agent stood up, his face absolutely still.
“I suspect there’s another job coming up soon,†he said. “This won’t interfere with your work, will it? You’ll come to your senses soon?†It was not a question so much as an order.
“Of course not,†the Angel said, which wasn’t what she wanted to say and certainly not what she was thinking but was probably, in the circumstances, the only smart thing to say. “I’ll go see a therapist. Maybe toss him into the Styx when I’m done. We’ve got too many of them down here anyway. Snowglass Apples says the job’s in a week.â€
“I’ll see you then, then,†the Agent said, smiling a smile at her that wasn’t really a smile at all.
The Angel left his quarters in a thoughtful frame of mind. Instead of turning east and heading towards the Eighth Circle, Bolgia Eight to search for a therapist, she walked north, out of the Circles and out of the residential section. On and on she walked, through the gray, forbidding streets flickering with flame, through the happy suburban road paved with good intentions, on and on and out of Pandemonium altogether and into the uninhabited wastelands, and still further on, until she reached the edge of the world, where the dry red ground plunged into utter blackness. Gloria had stood by an edge like this, so long ago it seemed like only yesterday, and had been shoved firmly past rushing sky, and birds and trees, and then through the newly made land and sea until she landed on dry, red earth, stretched, went to flex her wings, and found they weren’t there.
The Angel wondered what lay past this edge. Whether, down in the darkness, there was something beyond.
Then she looked up, past the rocky, stalactite-filled sky that covered this world, past the trees and birds that gloried in the universe she had watched being created, and spotted, so faintly she could hardly see it, a glimmer of bluest blue sky.
She stood there a long, long time.
Okay, I have two comments. One:
First line, it says: “each containing a billion people with a billion souls…” and I was just thinking to myself a bit: Does that mean that each person has one soul, and counting all souls there are billions? Or does that mean that each separate person has billions of souls.
Two: I have a feeling I won’t be here much longer, if you know what I mean.
Otherwise, great job. I like the story.
All of this was invented by my friend Luke and I for an alternate universe in a book we were writing. Enjoy.
A character of mine:
Name: Donn DiLoog
Age: 28 Alphan years (37 Earth years)
Height: 20.4 Altic Units (5’11â€)
Weight: 240.5 Pondic Units (185 Lbs)
[his last name was discovered by the note his mother left, in which she called herself ‘Ms. Anneke DiLoog’]
[P.S. the average life expectancy for Alphans is about 1.5x that of humans, so they usually live to be 120 of their years]
Donn was born on the streets of Alpha 3, a rugged, back-alley style moon, to a prostitute who could not have afforded a child. Like many, Donn was dropped off at the nearest orphanage with a note. He grew up mostly being picked on because of an inherited disorder from his father, whose identity has remained a mystery, that gave him some trouble seeing and focusing on images in front of him [Vor’toyaa’s Syndrome, usually affects males from ages 3 to 8, disappears on its own]. He also suffered from frequent illnesses as a child, which ended up strengthening his immune system. It was among these bullies that he learned to stand up for himself and become tough. His only source of comfort was his one friend, Jesse, as well as the nun in charge, Sister Brelairr.
At age six, he joined what may be considered his first of many gangs. At this point, his routine would be to sneak out of the orphanage at night to cause trouble. He was caught by security forces more than once, but did not stop because he loved the thrill of breaking the law and getting into fights, a huge contrast from the suppression he had to face at his orphanage. He was sent to four different Juvenile Detention Centers between ages six and thirteen, which seemed to have some reforming effect on him, but not significantly. At age ten, he committed his first armed robbery, sticking up a worker at a nearby loading dock with a two-shot handgun and stealing a full barrel of Chromium as a part of a dare. He was later caught and sent to his third detention center. He conducted his first assassination when he was twelve, stabbing a law enforcement officer who tried to arrest him and his best friend, Harley Oewiht, for stealing food from a diner. He was haunted by guilt and remorse for weeks without counseling (it was at this point that Sister Brelairr had been dead for two years).
On his fourteenth birthday, he was forcibly sent to Military School on Alpha 1, since it was expected the brightest future he could hope for was serving in the Alphan Military (the main reason for this was that shortly before, he critically injured three other thugs during a brutal fight, apparently taking them down all by himself). It was here that Donn was taught respect and discipline, as well as strengthened himself physically and mentally even further. At 16, he was sent to serve with Unit 83 in its efforts to put an end to fighting and protests between the extremist sects on Alpha 6.
At 19, he deserted his Unit after he killed a fellow soldier, and was detained and to be taken back to Alpha 3 for permanent incarceration. He left the shuttle he was on in an escape pod, setting off a Detpack that severely damaged the shuttle and killed everyone else onboard. After two years of being a vigilante-esque assassin/theif and wandering the Alpha moons, he hijacked a whole freighter full of Chromium (a precious metal), which he then traded for a top-of-the-line space cruiser. Donn did his work on his own, but also worked as a hired hit man/thief.
Donn is afraid of needles. He once wrestled a spiny trelaxu (a bear-like creature; see “Wildlife†below) to death naked without the use of any weapons (he had been ambushed and captured by a younger Norikken and used as a gladiator in an arena on Alpha 3), but refuses to be injected with anything by a needle. This is possibly from a traumatic experience he had as a child.
History:
Millions of years ago, the planet of Alpha was a new planet, with all life on it only a few steps above the base of the evolutionary scale. After some time, a comet crashed into the planet’s surface, reducing it to about 75% of its original mass (still 10 times the size of earth) and causing the core to partially implode. Seven pieces of the planet were scattered into space, but for some unknown reason, stopped and formed their own atmospheres and gravitational pulls around Alpha, which became uninhabitable, as it would stay for the next something-million years. One Eventually, the atmospheres on all of these moons would wear away, and by this time the Alphan Council will hopefully have found ways for the people to survive on Alpha.
Eras:
Pre-Time Era (???? years ago – circa 6000 years ago)- Evidence of an existence of an ancient race exists beneath the surface of Alpha 1, Alpha 3, and Alpha 7. A subterranean network of caves and structures spanned throughout a large portion of Alpha 1, apparently the remnants of an extremely advanced civilization that must no longer exist. Dated to be over 9000 years old, although it is thought that these people were around even before that. This is known as the ‘Pre-Time Era’ because these caves were, until recently, not known to exist, and the Barbaric Era was thought to be the earliest point of advanced life.
Barbaric Era (circa 6000 years ago – 3800 years ago)- Nomadic civilizations, separate from one another, began to emerge on Alphas 2, 4, and 5. Mostly a very primitive time, but advancement was made slowly. The ones on Alphas 2 and 4 mostly disappeared over time for unknown reasons.
Early Era (3800 years ago – 3100 years ago)- Emerged when the self-proclaimed Lord St’Ernefhits laid the first brick for the city which he named after himself, declaring the ‘Start of Civilization.’ This first city was from the dust of the tribes of Alpha 5. The City of St’Ernefhits soon became the Capitol for Alpha 5, and existed for centuries until the Tyrants arose.
Tyrants’ Era (3100 years ago – 10?? years ago)- A revolt from within the St’Ernefhits Committee (a council of elected individuals whose job it was to advise the Lord of the City) gave way to a new era. Initially, three main conspirators had planned to overtake the throne and rule “all of our planet,†however one was assassinated and one of the survivors murdered the other out of suspicious. The lone remainder, the first Tyrant, Mopaal, issued a series of totalitarian decrees which served as an example for future Tyrants for the next 2000 years, which were years of mostly oppression and crushed revolts too numerous to count. This was, however, the era during which space travel was discovered, the methods of which have been lost to time. Most of the Alphan moons were monopolized during this time.
Nomadic Era (???? – 847 years ago)- The Final Tyrant, Barnem, who ruled for exactly ten months, was assassinated by a hit man hired by members of his Advisory Senate, in which dissent was growing. For about 200 years, various smaller ‘empires’ sprang up on most of the moons, and space travel was improved. This was also the time when Alpha 4 lost its atmosphere, causing a great deal of panic.
New Republic Era (847 years ago – 2 years ago)- A board of intelligent and respected individuals congregated on Alpha 1, with the intention of uniting all the moons and the people who lived in them together, and hopefully someday making inhabiting their planet, Alpha, a possibility. This ‘Supreme Board’ evolved into the ‘Alphan Council’ after about 200 years, a form of government which has successfully united all of the moons, in some form or another.
Alpha and its moons:
*= no longer exists
**= possibly made-up
Alpha- Atmosphere contains high gravity and high concentrations of gases that make life there impossible.
Alpha 0**- The Scientist Brykston Drull, who was widely considered to be quite mad, and known mostly for his savage experiments he conducted on people and animals, believed in a “dimensional rift,†in which another moon, ‘Alpha 0,’ existed, orbiting Alpha closer than Alpha 1. He claimed the only way to enter was to self-destruct a cruiser in close proximity to the planet when the moons were aligned in a certain position. He never succeeded, and died in an insane asylum.
Alpha 1- Desert moon, has a very small population. Closest moon to planet Alpha. The original Capitol of the New Republic was here, over 800 years ago.
Alpha 2- Capitol moon, Capitol City Metropolis. Metropolitan, like a big city.
Alpha 3- Ghetto-like, a rough place to live. Atmosphere is cloudy, and the Alphan Council often overlooks its inhabitants’ poor conditions. Government does not realize the moon is inhabitable, according to the government, many criminals who live there do not exist (including Donn).
Alpha 4- Once a swampy planet. Now barren, rocky, no atmosphere. First moon whose atmosphere has totally disintegrated (its atmosphere was stable until Erlean’s rule, nearly 3000 years ago now).
Alpha 5- Never had a natural atmosphere; Artificially altered in the last 50 years with a man-made atmosphere controlled by generators. Now, has deserts, grasslands, beaches, etc., an ideal vacation resort.
Alpha 6- Alpha 5’s “sister moon,†similar to Alpha 5 but with a natural atmosphere. Fewer beaches and more swamps.
Alpha 7- Irregular orbit keeps it tilted away from the sun at all times, the farthest moon from Alpha. Almost uninhabitable, like Siberia. During the darkest years of Tyrants’ Era, most criminals and those who opposed the Tyrants were exiled here. Likely the next of the Alphan moons to loose its natural atmosphere.
Alpha 8*- Much like Alpha 7, but dry rather than cold and icy . It was destroyed by the final Tyrant during his attempt to rid the system of all his enemies.
Alpha 9**- Stories which predate the formation of the Original Capitol in the Early Era speak of an ‘Alpha 9,’ which rotated not only around Alpha, but around all of the moons, as well. An ancient extremist known as ‘Pryns’ apparently seceded, pushing Alpha 9 away from the others to find ’The Omega System,’ a separate solar system he believed to be the earthly form of heaven, using an unknown method of propulsion. This may be nothing more than a myth.
Alpha 9 II**- In records kept during the infamous Tyrant Deonas’ 75-year reign (he was the 29th of 34 Tyrants), he claims to have constructed another moon, naming it ‘Alpha 9 II,’ but it was destroyed by his enemies within his Advisory Senate, forcing him to conduct what is now known as the Genocide of Deonas, in which he had some number upwards to 4,000 people killed. However, more accurate historical records say he was simply mentally ill, looking for an excuse to slaughter thousands, and ‘Alpha 9 II’ was most likely made up.
Units of measurement:
1 ft = 3.4 A/u = Altic units (height)
1 lb = 1.3 P/u = Pondic units (weight)
*/u = metric increments as milli-, centi-, deci-, deka-, hecto-, kilo-, etc.
Wildlife:
Trelaxu
Trelaxidae
Description: Brown to black and furry endothermic reptomammal; short snout, sharp teeth; small, black, beady eyes; small ears; large black nose; large, muscular limbs, clawed paws, round feet with tiny (almost vestigial) claws, walks using two or four legs; lives in burrow
Common trelaxu
Trelaxus vulgharis
Average height: 23.8 A/u
Average weight: 423.8 P/u
Habitat: temperate forest, grassland
Diet: omnivorous
Distinguishing attributes: Solitary;
Greater trelaxu
Trelaxus magnus
Average height: 30.6 A/u
Average weight: 588.9 P/u
Habitat: temperate forest, rainforest
Diet: chiefly carnivorous, though will eat berries or other plant matter if necessary; sometimes cannibalistic
Distinguishing attributes: Solitary; large size
Lesser trelaxu
Trelaxus aliqantis
Average height: 10.2 A/u
Average weight: 163.8 P/u
Habitat: savannah; desert
Diet: worms, other burrowing animals
Distinguishing attributes: Lives in colonies; enormous underground burrows connect to make “citiesâ€; small size
Spiny trelaxu
Trelaxus cuspisilex
Average height: 22.8 A/u
Average weight: 405.6 P/u
Habitat: lush rainforest
Diet: chiefly herbivorous
Distinguishing attributes: Solitary; spines, located on limbs, back, and tail; used as a defense from predators like Greater trelaxu
We’re working on some other animals, but we really spent the most time on these so far.
(I’ll also post this on the Books in Progress thread.)
SFTDP
Keiffer, in response to 169.1.1.1.1 on the previous thread:
You pronounce it “Don dee-Loog”. And yes, this is the same book.
Cool, thanks. Glad you’re posting more of/about your book, by the way.
More Stuff:
(Gronkk Norikken saw that the Omega Control Facility was potentially under attack and most of his “mind-slaves†had been freed. During this rising Civil War in the Alpha System, he and his team of scientists started building prototypes of humanoid robots that had extremely advanced mental capabilities. These were eventually dubbed “Praxus.†(the same word applied for the singular and plural) They managed to create three before evacuating Omega Control Facility before it was destroyed.
Fleeing to his home world of Alpha 5, Gronkk activated the three machines one by one. Because they were of such complex mental state, the Praxus began to develop intelligences and almost consciousness of their own, but still were devoid of emotions. One of them suffered a breakdown, but the other two, under complete command from Gronkk, went with him to Alpha 4 to assist in the construction of another facility, this one called the ‘Omega-2 Control Facility.’ However, the construction of this facility was not funded or approved by the Council, and Gronkk was officially recognized as a traitor. In addition to the previously-used mind control tactics, Gronkk also had his two Praxus, which he named Praxus Aleph and Praxus Beth, begin creating slightly less powerful recreations of themselves as a backup army. Both were specifically programmed to have exactly the same strength and mental capacities as one another, however Praxus Beth turned on Gronkk and killed him. Beth was then forcibly deactivated by Aleph, who assumed command of the station and its priorities, renaming himself “Praxus Prime.â€
After the Civil War raged, our protagonists made it into the Omega-2 Control Facility with a very advanced weapon created specifically for that mission. Donn, Gerrold, and several other soldiers infiltrated the Backup Power Generators and shut them down, which they did while suffering considerable casualties. Meanwhile Alik, Terrys, and their team went for the Main Computer Room to initiate the Self-Destruct Sequence. A devastating fight was waged in the computer room, and eventually Alik and Terrys were left to face off against Praxus Prime. Terrys sacrificed himself “for the good of the mission and the people,†disabling most of Praxus Prime’s motor functions. With all the Praxus destroyed or disabled, Alik had only to initiate the Self-Destruct Sequence of the station, indirectly ending the Civil War…)
Former Councilman Norikken stomped out of the elevator and angrily walked across the hall, approaching the ten-foot-high automatic double doors that was the entrance to the Main Computer Room. He ignored the two Praxus standing guard outside, sliding his access card through the slot beside the door.
“State identity,†said a monotonic computer voice.
“Gronkk Norikken, authorization one, two, two, nine, one, one, five, six, A, 9-7-9-3-1-3-3.â€
“Access granted,†the voice said, as the doors opened with a pneumatic hiss. The last time he had been here Norikken had smiled in satisfaction at the sheer immensity of his Praxus army, and the huge complex within this station they and his late scientists had constructed that could house a good-sized Dreadnought and have room to spare. Computers were beeping and clicking, machines were whirring, and Praxus were walking around mechanically. In the center of it all was a long staircase that led to a higher floor, where the Computer Core and the Regeneration Alcoves for the two Head Praxus were located. But today Norikken was in a fury, and he was taking it straight to one of his head Praxus.
“Praxus Beth!†he shouted. An upside to a mechanical backup army was that he could yell at them all he wanted without being talked back to or hurting any feelings, a way of blowing off steam.
Seconds later, Praxus Beth stepped down the stairs, onto the main level. It stopped in front of its creator. “State objective.â€
“Beth, did you dispatch a squadron of Praxus Bots to Alpha 2 without my authorization?†he demanded angrily, glaring up at Praxus Beth. The intellectually and physically superior robot stood one and a half times Norikken’s height, yet took orders from him, reinforcing Norikken’s reputation of being a ‘little giant.’
Praxus Beth said nothing. The green battery in the back of its head blinked and clicked, and its similarly-colored eyes stared blankly.
“Did you?†Norikken repeated, raising his voice.
“Affirmative.â€
“Why?â€
Praxus Beth did not respond.
“Answer me!†Norikken shouted, grabbing Praxus Beth’s armor-plated forearm as if it could emphasize his command. He would know, having supervised the design of his first Praxus, that the Praxus felt no emotion or pain, and could effortlessly lift a ground vehicle and toss it a good twenty yards. This being the case, he alone could not so much as attempt to intimidate a Praxus in any way.
“I cannot answer.â€
“Why not?!â€
“Classified.â€
“Classified?! If anything is to be ‘classified’ then it is to be ‘classified’ by my confirmation! Beth, you are to send orders to recall that squadron immediately!â€
“Impossible. The squadron has exceeded the recall order range.â€
Norikken snarled, looking around the room at the computer consoles. “All right, come this way.†He walked around a post and headed to a smaller computer, shooing away the Praxus that was there by telling it to ‘Get lost.’ Praxus Beth followed, taking its place beside its creator and looking at the computer monitor. Norikken typed in his override command and his backup override command. “I had this installed in case there was ever a malfunction with my Praxus Bots. It’s an emergency long-range termination signal, and it will immediately deactivate any Praxus selected, anywhere in the system. It requires the authorization codes of myself and one of my head Praxus.â€
He turned. “Go ahead, enter-†His sentence was forever forestalled once the robot’s gun arm loaded and fired a single plasma burst straight into his torso, a burst which bored out of the councilman’s back and struck the far wall, and completely incinerated most of his vital organs, including his heart, and knocked him six feet backwards, where he landed face-up on the metallic floor, an expression of ultimate surprise and pain on his half-melted face as he lay in his final resting place, never to give another order or breathe another breath.
Alik Balton trudged through the poorly-maintained, darkened, empty street in what once was the Town Square of Alpha 3, before it was overrun by the multitude of gangs who resided on this god-forsaken moon. Alpha 3 was truly a ghetto in every sense of the term; shootings, bombings, and lootings were everyday occurrences.
Ordinarily, Alik would have not gone to Alpha 3 ever again, but a covert mission sponsored by the Alphan Council was what obligated him to touch down somewhere miles away from his destination and walk the rest of the way. His friends and co-workers, Gerrold Wericei and Donn DiLoog, had to stay on Alpha 2, the Capitol of the Alphan System, and monitor him from there. Alik took out his FONE, a portable communications device capable of receiving signals from over half a planetary solar system away, and speed dialed “2.†Gerrold was immediately on the other end.
“Hey, Alik, thought you’d never call!†he declared in an oddly cheerful manner.
“Gerry, forgive me if I sound a little forgetful, but what am I supposed to be doing?â€
“Keep walking where you’re going. You should come to a pastry store. Donn tells me they’re working on a weapon in the basement that Norikken will be coming to retrieve once it’s complete in two days.â€
Gronkk Norikken was a former Alphan Councilman, who was expelled once his deeds of creating a mind-controlling weapon had been revealed, confirming that a so-called ‘revolutionary movement’ was, in fact, controlled by him. Even though his central station on Alpha 1 had been destroyed, rumors had surfaced that Norikken had potential access to supplies which could re-start the event which the Council had already worked so hard to suppress.
“I have to get into the basement? Of a pastry store?â€
“Affirmative,†Gerrold said with sort of a robotic tone, then giggled as though it had been a joke, “Norikken thought it would be inconspicuous, the last place people would look, you know? But order something first. Don’t let anyone notice you. Then just walk into the kitchen, should be fine. You’ll know where to go from there.â€
“Just walk in?â€
“Yep.â€
Alik tried to rationalize this plan, but he decided to just trust the Council’s orders and stop questioning. “’Kay, I’m going in.â€
“Gotcha. And remember, a thousand and one eyes could help in time.â€
Alik terminated the link and pocketed his FONE. The ex-ambulance driver continued to trudge up the street, past slums that were more still and silent than he had expected them to be. Based on the stories he’d heard, he had expected gangs to be walking around harassing people, or to at least overhear or see the occasional drive-by shooting or knife fight. At least some blood might be on the streets. On the contrary, it seemed as if this part of the moon were mostly abandoned. His destination became quite obvious as he continued to walk- lights were on, people were entering and exiting, as opposed to the rest of this street. It had a big, colorful sign that read, ‘G & N’s PASTRIES.’ Alik was puzzled as to why an allegedly rough place like this would have a pastry shop attached to a sit-down restaurant as opposed to a bar. According to Donn, there were plenty of bars on Alpha 3, filled with only the rowdiest and meanest customers as could be expected. The glass windows in the front of the shop were cracked but not broken, and the glass door was also cracked.
As he approached the door, attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible, he noticed a well-dressed, important-looking man kneeling with his back against the front of the shop, bent down and carefully putting together a jigsaw puzzle. This made him stop and stare for a second, but not wanting to draw attention to himself or distract this man, he continued.
The shop was bustling inside. It was so mismatched, a colorful pastry shop filled with fried delights and cakes of all kinds, serving crowds of tough guys and punks and even hobos. Alik tried not to look at anyone and approached the counter. Next to it was a glass display case, with a wide variety of donuts, all of which looked delicious. He found it strange that the display case was not cracked in the least.
“Hey, what’ll ya have?†said a lady behind the counter, who was awfully nice for someone from Alpha 3.
Alik considered what he should get. Donn had told him horror stories of the conditions in which most of the food on Alpha 3 was prepared, whether it be poisoned or contaminated on purpose or by accident, or unavoidably, in suspicious kitchens that only a special division of the condemned were allowed to slave in. Considering this, he did not trust most of the colorful frosting on the array of things he saw behind the glass.
“Get me that one,†he said, pointing to a plain mound of fried dough.
The lady frowned a little, took the plain one and set it on a paper plate, placing it on the counter. “That’ll be 20 Credits, honey, you can pay me tomorrow.â€
Alik took his donut and walked away, only suddenly finding it unusual that he was being told to pay later. Maybe that was the way things worked here. He sat at a small table against the wall adjacent to the glass front of the store. He took a bite of his donut, shaking his head at how plain it was. No sugar or flavor of any kind. As he sat, he looked around at the wide variety of characters in this busy store.
There were two midgets behind him, so short they were standing on their chairs to reach the table, eating a chunky black pie and playing cards. There was a man with a tattered coat, dark glasses, and a long beard that trailed into a bowl of soup he was slowly eating. This man seemed to be looking over at Alik every now and then. Most people had green envelopes with them, on their tables or in their pockets. No one ever opened their envelope, and those who did not have an envelope seemed to be the calmer and more normal-looking ones.
Alik looked at the wall his table was pushed up against and immediately saw a poster nailed there, in almost perfect condition. Most of it was a multitude of red and green dots against a black background, somewhat like stars in the night sky. There were words in red at the bottom, which read,
‘A THOUSAND AND ONE EYES WOULD BE MUCH MORE USEFUL.’
At this moment, one of the customers came over and sat across from Alik. Alik was surprised, and rightfully so. Anyone would have been startled to see this man suddenly near them- he had hardened facial features, a brown leather coat, long graying hair that trailed at his shoulders, and hands that looked like they could snap a pylon in half. His sunken-in eyes were different colors- his right eye was cobalt blue, the other dark green. “Mind if I join you?†he said in a deep voice.
“Uh, not at all,†Alik said, trying to hide his nervousness.
“My name’s Baltok, but you can call me Bal. I see you’re taken with my pappy’s propaganda,†he pointed to the poster on the wall. “I can take you to see him, you want that, right?â€
“No, that’s okay.â€
Baltok grunted, then took a pastry with green frosting out of his coat pocket. He ate half of it in one bite, and placed the other half on a very small plate in front of him. Alik noticed that Balton’s coat pocket also had a green envelope in it, leading him to inquire, “Hey, what’s with these envelopes that everyone has?â€
Baltok spoke while chewing, “It’s the new law. Alphan Council says everyone’s gotta get one of these.â€
“Since when did this ghetto listen to the Council?â€
“No one’s been given a choice anymore,†Baltok said reluctantly.
Another man approached their table, walking with a limp. He was bald, missing most of his teeth, and wore a red eye patch over his right eye. His other eye was green. In a bandaged hand that was missing two fingers, he carried a half-eaten pastry, which he placed on Baltok’s plate, pushing the two together as though they were one uneaten donut. Alik watched with some confusion.
“This is my brother,†Baltok said, “his name is Alton. He’s going into retirement soon.†He pointed to the poster. “You seem like a good guy, why don’t you take his place? After all, we’ll both be, ah, ‘out of service’ soon.â€
Alik shook his head. “I can’t, I’ve got to return to Alpha 2. You sure you can’t find someone else?â€
The brothers looked at one another. Baltok withdrew the envelope from his pocket and put it on the table, to Alik’s left. He drummed it with his massive fingers. “Our pappy ain’t gonna like that very much.â€
Alik stood up. “Excuse me for a moment,†he walked away, trying to shake off the awkwardness of that moment. As he went across the shop, he noticed that some of the people were staring at him. The two midgets were watching him, and he could see one of them had eye tattoos of some words, which he couldn’t make out. The man with the long beard looked up at him, his mouth slightly open and his eyebrows raised, as if he were watching his best friend about to leap off a ravine.
Alik went into the corner of the shop, next to the door, and opened up his FONE. He speed dialed Gerrold, who answered on the first ring.
“Hey, Alik, what’s new?â€
“Gerrold, has the Alphan Council issued any green papers to the people of Alpha 3?â€
There was a pause. “What?â€
“Almost everyone in here has got a green envelope. I talked with one guy, he said it’s from the Alphan Council, that everyone’s being forced to carry them around.â€
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you at all. But, I’ve found out something interesting.â€
“What?â€
Gerrold took a breath, as though he were about to read from something. “Approximately twenty-six years and five months ago, you, Alik Giritan Balton, were born at the Alpha 5 Upper Class Hospital. In your early child-â€
“Gerrold, what are you talking about? I was born in a closet on Alpha 6-â€
“Shut up, if you please. In your early childhood, you enjoyed playing computer games such as 1,001 Green Eyes and Ne Kkiller Ron 4. Your favorite food was your mother’s-â€
“Why are you telling me these things?â€
“I’ve been given this information, and you deserve to know it. Let me finish! Good lord, you’re impatient. Your favorite food was your mother’s homemade stuffed shrimp leaves. You were often picked on in school because of your inadequate physical strength, and your favorite subject was lunch time.†The transmission went dead. A second later, it picked up again, this time much clearer, as if the person speaking were right next to him.
“Alik? Alik, are you there?â€
“Who is this?â€
“This is Baltok, you remember me, right? I just wanted to call and let you know that you left your donut at your table. You wouldn’t want my brother to gum it down, would you?†he chuckled afterwards. “Oh, well, I’ll just eat it if you don’t want it, ‘kay? Good. A thousand and one eyes would be much more useful, eh?†The transmission ended.
Alik nervously flipped his FONE shut. Without being able to report to Gerrold, much less convey a coherent thought to Gerrold, completing his mission had reached an impasse. At just that moment, the bearded man approached him, one hand in his coat pocket. Alik noticed that this man had no envelope. The man took Alik’s FONE, crushed it in his other hand while mumbling, as if he were trying to tell Alik something, but he spoke no coherent words. Then he gave Alik a smooth stone, pressing it into the palm of Alik’s hand. He started to say something again, but Alton approached, pushing the man aside. Alton took the stone between his index finger and thumb, crushing it into sand which fell to the floor. “Forget about it.â€
“You…†Alik was getting even more confused, “You sound just like your brother.â€
Alton smiled, showing his three rotten teeth. “We are as one.â€
Alik awoke in a bed. He was staring at a white ceiling, and his first thought was how comfortable the bed was. The golden curtains across the room were partially opened, with the sunshine peeking between them, reflecting the beauty of Alpha 6. Then the facts of his waking life returned to him as he fully re-entered reality- He was on no mission, and hadn’t been for months since Gronkk had been stopped. He was staying over at his friend Gerrold’s house. What an odd dream it had been, one of the strangest he had ever had.
Alik looked around. He always liked how tidy Gerrold was, with the dark red wall-to-wall carpet in the bedroom, which was attached to the rest of the ground floor. The walls were spotless, and the bed next to his was fully made.
“’Morning,†said Gerrold, who was near the other bed holding a half-eaten pastry on a plate. It looked very similar to one Alik had just seen in his dream, the one Baltoy had been eating. “Sleep well?â€
“Yeah,†Alik rubbed his eyes, “where’d you get that?â€
“Donn brought them in not too long ago. We saved some for you, but I ate the chocolate filled. I know it’s your favorite.â€
“That’s okay,†Alik got out of the bed, looking somewhat distracted. “I had a dream about… pastries on Alpha 3.â€
Gerrold laughed as if he had just heard the punch line for a joke. “Wait ‘till Donn hears that one. In fact, you don’t have to wait, he’s stopped over.â€
The two walked down the hall and into the parlor. Gerrold’s parlor was, like the bedroom, very well kept, with a huge flat screen TV in the center of the wall, various plants along the corners, smooth glass tables, and couches that seemed completely immune to any form of stain. One wall was made entirely of a beautiful glass window, through which a broader spectrum of a typical Alpha 6 morning could be seen. Donn was slouched in a chair in front of one of the tables watching the morning announcements, with a half-empty box of pastries on his lap.
“So as I was sayin’,†announced Donn to Gerrold as the two entered and sat down, “Harley had the ball and he was runnin’ past these two other guys, but he knew he wasn’t gonna make it to the end zone. I was yelling, ‘I’m open! I’m open!’ So then he passed it to be and I ran as fast as I could, and I ran headlong into this other dirt bag, Leoy, knocked him flat on his back. I crossed the end zone line and everybody was yelling and calling out, and at first I thought I had made a fantastic finish, which I did, but it turns out I knocked Leoy’s two front teeth out. Both of ‘em! So there was a lot of commotion, a lot of people were pattin’ me on the back and sayin’ I did great, but then Baltok kicked me in the stomach and shoved me onto the ground and called me a-â€
LATER
(This is another dream)
Alik was standing in an alley. A dark alley with trash, some of it in rusty cans, and boxes not being slept in by hobos. He noticed that there were two other people in the alley with him, both kneeling in the shadows, neither of whom seemed to see him. One was a dressed-up, important-looking fellow kneeling on the ground putting together a jigsaw puzzle.
Wait, thought Alik, I’ve seen this man before.
“Excuse me,†he said, walking over to the man, who was hovering a piece delicately over his puzzle, which was half-completed.
The man looked up. Alik could see he was wearing a fine suit, but he noticed a hole that seemed to have been bored through his chest. Bits of the fabric around the hole were singed, and it smelt of burnt fabric and flesh. “If it’s not important, please leave. I am busy with my puzzle, as you can plainly see.â€
“I’ve seen you before, outside the pastry shop. You were working on this same puzzle there. What is the puzzle supposed to look like once it’s done?â€
The man shrugged, and placed the piece where he thought it may fit, then took it back out. “It’s difficult to explain.†Something started beeping. The man took out a small, unidentifiable device from his breast pocket and pressed a button on it. “I’ll be right back. If you mess up so much as one piece of my puzzle, you’ll wish you hadn’t.†He stood up and straightened his coat. Alik was shocked to notice that he could see straight through the hole in the man’s chest- right through to the brick wall behind him.
The other person in the alley came over and tapped Alik on his shoulder. “I have something to show you.â€
Alik turned in surprise, the other man in the alley talking to him. This man’s entire figure, especially his face, looked half-melted; his hair was frizzy and gray, his shaky hands had different numbers of fingers on them, he had a hunch in his back, and he spoke like his tongue was too big for his mouth. “I have to see what that man is doing first,†Alik said quickly. He walked out of the alley to follow the other man, surprised to find that he was on Alpha 3 again. Oh, how he had wished never to be here.
Alik fast walked down a strangely well-maintained sidewalk, next to slums that were silent and looked abandoned. Soon he saw the only other person in the vicinity, the man with the hole in his chest, up ahead, carrying something rectangular in his hand. Alik jogged to catch up, but stayed several feet behind. After following him down one more block, he saw the man turn a corner, where he immediately stopped. Alik could see the item he was holding was a brick, which he used to fill a hole in the back of some building. He took a two folded green envelopes out of one of his pockets, sandwiching the brick with them, and slid them in delicately, then ran his finger across the cement finish beneath. He turned to see Alik, and gave a slight nod, his eyes saying ‘Good evening’ as he walked back the way he had come.
“Stay away from him,†said the disabled man, who was suddenly next to Alik again, “he’s been at this puzzle thing for a whole year now. When I asked if I could help he ignored me. He’s got others who’ll help him.â€
Alik did his best not to be rude. “May I ask who you are?â€
“Golbay,†he pronounced, “I have something to show you.†He motioned with one of his pointer fingers for Alik to follow. He showed him to a back door on the same wall that the brick had been laid into, but couldn’t seem to open it. Alik helped him turn the curved metal handle, opening the door. The two of them stepped into a warm room, full of empty trays and green lights. As soon as the door closed behind them, the room took on a warm and refreshing scent- one of pastries.
“Where are we?†Alik asked after a moment’s observation.
“The kitchen,†Golbay said, winking a squinted eye, and started to walk forward.
“Say,†Alik said, grabbing Golbay’s arm, but immediately releasing it, so as not to cause him pain, “what happened to you anyway?â€
“You mean my appearance? I was born this way. Nothin’ doc could do about it.†He continued to hobble onward.
Alik looked around, amazed at the eerie nature of this kitchen- Ovens and pots were steaming over rusty stoves, smoke completely concealed some areas, and he could sometimes see silhouettes of people working at ovens or carrying thin trays through the smoke. Suddenly things came back to him- Alik remembered his mission was to get into the kitchen of G & N’s Pastry Shop. And so he had. Now he just had to get to the weapon in the basement that Norikken was going to retreive.
“You want a donut while we’re back here?†Golbay asked, stopping and reaching onto one of the trays, taking two donuts with red frosting.
“Are you sure we can trust that, uh, frosting?â€
Golbay looked at the frosting closely. “I’m not sure. Actually, I think we can. I can see some eyes in there. Those are good for you.†He thrust one of the donuts into Alik’s hand, who took a step back in surprise. Eyes? He didn’t see any, but the very thought made him lose his appetite. He set the donut on a nearby tray.
MUCH LATER
Alik took a few minutes to re-wire some cables in Praxus Prime’s head, ignoring all of the pain he was feeling physically and emotionally. If he could re-program the super advanced machine to recognize him as Gronkk Norikken, it would be obligated to obey his every command. All he would have to do from there is ask for the Self-Destruct Sequence Override, then evacuate and watch fireworks appear from where the Omega-2 Control Facility had once orbited Alpha 4.
Praxus Prime’s green eyes lit up again. It turned its head with whirs and clicks. “State objective,†it said. It was almost comical, a metal head sitting atop a heap of twisted and short-circuited metal limbs and wires, seemingly unaware that anything was wrong.
“Yes,†Alik said, surprised by how easily he could have fooled the most advanced piece of machinery yet created. “There has been a change in plans. I need you to give me the Self-Destruct Sequence for the Omega-2 Control Facility.â€
Without questioning, Praxus Prime began reciting the commands.
Donn was beginning to lose hope. He tirelessly ran through halls with Gerrold limping along with him, setting his FONE to its highest connection point search range to try and locate Alik’s position. The only way he wouldn’t be able to detect his partner were if he was completely vaporized or taken off the station. Or if the signal was being jammed.
“Donn, you remember what Alik told us,†Gerrold leaned against a wall, trying to catch his breath, “if we don’t hear the Self-Destruct command on speaker by now, don’t go looking for him and just activate the Detpacks.â€
“No!†The Remover turned around, grabbed Gerrold by the arm and pulled him along, “We’re not leaving without him, and that’s final. Besides, the Detpacks are a secondary measure and they would only disable this station. If so much as one robot is left alive, all of this is going to start all over again.â€
“But-â€
“We don’t have time to argue-†Donn looked down at his FONE, seeing a very faint signal emanating to his right. “Wait, I’ve got something. This way!†He kicked open another door, with Gerrold staggering behind him.
“…select ‘Override Command’ and enter ‘GNorikken_Auth:1229-1156A-9793133.’â€
Alik had typed out complex strings of characters and override commands that seemed to be working so far. This final one was the protocol that only Praxus Prime knew, and that Norikken had known- it was the late Norikken’s “Number.â€
“And that’s it? Just press ‘enter’ and the whole place goes up in five minutes.â€
“Affirmative.â€
Alik pressed enter.
Half a second later, Praxus Prime focused all of its remaining strength to raise its arm, pressed its index finger to the side of Alik’s forehead and click. Something forced itself into Alik’s head, indicated by a sharp pain that lasted for two seconds. Alik immediately put his hand where some form of projectile had been inserted. It no longer hurt, but Alik began to imagine an infinite number of possibilities of what the purpose of that may have been.
“You have four minutes and fifty-four seconds. I suggest you begin the evacuation… ‘Norikken.’†Praxus Prime said, almost sarcastically.
Alik immediately realized what must have happened. It would seem that Praxus Prime pretended to have been re-programmed, being aware of someone attempting to mess with its head. Unable to stand or use its weapon hand, it must have done something to inflict the most damage that it could, perhaps by entering a Cyanide Injection Nanoprobe to bring Alik down with it. Alik knew he should get up and run like the devil, but he could not. His legs felt like jello, his heart rate was getting slower, his head felt heavy. Overwhelmed by sudden dizziness, Alik fell to his knees in front of the main computer, just before he blacked out.
He awoke in a bed, but it was not his bed. He saw half-shut golden curtains, with the night sky visible between them. Blood was all over the walls and the window. Blood? Alik blinked, and the blood disappeared.
“He’s awake.â€
“Alik, can you hear me?â€
Alik slowly turned his head over, to see Gerrold kneeling at his bedside. Was it Gerrold? The short, curly black hair and thin facial features definitely belonged to his friend, but who was this person? Alex had so many questions to ask, but all that came out of his dry lips was, “What happened?â€
“All the Praxus have been destroyed, Alik,†said Donn, who was standing at the other side of the bed. “You initiated the Self-Destruct Sequence, and when we showed up the Control Room was a mess. We couldn’t find Terrys, but we saw you unconscious in front of the computer. We had barely enough time to get you back to the cruiser before Omega-2 was destroyed.†He watched Alik’s confused, sleepy stare, knowing he must be trying to put the pieces together. “You don’t remember this, do you?â€
Alik was clearly thinking. He was thinking very hard. “I… think I remember… I remember some of it.†He sat up, his head hanging at sort of a sideways angle as he stared half-blankly. “I remember… Praxus Prime… almost killed me, but… Terrys disabled his…â€
“You know what, you’ve been through a lot recently, why don’t you get some rest?†Gerrold suggested.
Alik paused, and withdrew his hands from under the heavy bed sheet. A gash wove across his right forearm. He remembered now, he had gotten that gash from a knife fight at a bar on Alpha 3. Wait a minute, that’s not right. That’s how Donn got the scar on his left forearm. Then how did his own wound get there? Alik decided to stop questioning, stop trying to think about that. That’s a good idea indeed, he thought to himself. Stop questioning.
“I need to wash my hands.â€
“Okay,†Gerrold said, standing up and sitting on the parallel bed in the room. Alik slowly got up and walked towards the bathroom. He held his hands as though they were caked with mud or some such unpleasant filth. As he stepped into the bathroom, he shut the door and locked it.
Donn stepped up to the door, watching it suspiciously. “Hey, Gerry, I think we’d better stand by in case, well, something goes wrong. Judging from the look on our friend’s face, he’s not got all his wits about him.â€
Alik kept seeing blood. It was different every time, on the carpet, on the door, on his hands. Were they his eye tattoos, was he seeing the images imprinted onto his own eyes? No, he’d had his tattoos removed years ago. Wait, he’d never had any to begin with.
Forget it, he told himself, it is irrelevant.
‘Irrelevant?’ He couldn’t believe he was using that word. Where was it from? Had someone he known used it before?
He felt a headache coming. Returning, or coming for the first time? Were chronic headaches something he often suffered from?
He turned on the hot water and ran his hands under it. That was good water. Good, clean water. It made his skin feel warm. He tilted his head upward, looking at the mirror.
Now that’s a big mirror, he thought. I wonder what’s inside?
Alik took his wet hands and grabbed at the surface of the mirror with them, looking for a way to get it open, his fingers slipping against the flat reflective surface. Then he stopped, looked at the reflection he saw. This was not right. His eyes, what was the matter with his eyes? He was missing some eyes. That was it, the cause of all his confusion, some of his eyes were missing. A thousand and one eyes would be much more useful, he thought.
“NO!†he shouted at his reflection. “What am I thinking? What’s wrong with me!†the headache began to get worse. He placed his hands on the marble top counter of the sink and threw himself forward, bashing his head against the mirror, causing it to crack.
“Alik!†He heard Donn’s voice very clearly. “What’s going on in there?â€
Alik hung his head over the counter as his headache intensified. I could see everything that’s going on, he thought. A thousand and one eyes would be much more useful.
“Alik, open this door!â€
Alik knelt over against the sink, pressing his fingers on his forehead. He was bleeding, and it hurt very much, but the very thought of the blood running down his own face made him feel good. It gave him the idea of a new beginning, as if the old was being washed away from him, including flesh and deeper. He would no longer be the same, he promised himself. I will always know everything that’s going on. Everyone will help me, everyone will be my eyes.
“What was that?†Gerrold exclaimed once he heard a loud ‘crack.’
“Alik! What’s going on in there?†Donn yelled. No answer.
“We’ve got to get him out of there, he could be hurt.â€
“Alik, open this door!†Donn drew a scissors blade from his pocket and jammed it into the lock on the door. “Gerry, get your emergency medkit out, we could be looking at a serious injury!†Gerrold scurried to get his medkit while Donn worked on picking the lock.
Once Donn heard a click from the locking mechanism, he kicked the wooden door with all of his might, breaking it open. He ran inside and knelt down, putting his arm on Alik’s shoulder. “Alik!†He worriedly looked to try to see his friend’s face. When Alik turned his head, his eyes were squeezed shut and the front of his face was dripping with blood. But he was grinning, almost maniacally.
“I suggest you begin the evacuation, ‘Norikken,’†Alik chuckled, two of his fingers pressed against his wound. He spoke the words as if he found them positively amusing.
“What?â€
“I suggest you begin the evacuation, ‘Norikken,’†he repeated, slowly opening his eyes. Donn’s heart sank. Alik’s pupils were changing–changing to a soulless, pupil-less greenish gaze. His eyes were becoming green and soulless.
Just like Praxus Prime.
“A thousand and one eyes,†giggled Alik, as his voice began to change in tone, as though he were speaking through a long metal tube, “would be much more useful.â€
“Alik, what’s wrong with you?â€
“What’s wrong with you, Donn?†Alik stared into Donn’s eyes as more blood began pouring from his own forehead, gushing as though being squeezed out. His forearm was covered in blood as well, also seeming to be evicted from his arm through his wound. The skin in his face and arms took on a grayer shade, his hair began to wither. “You are flawed, you are an imperfect human. But, you can help me initiate the prime directive. We will begin anew, and you will be my weapon, and my first set of eyes. Mister DiLoog, you are my weapon.â€
“No, it can’t be. Alik, this can’t be happening to you!â€
“Who is ‘Alik?’†His voice rang metallically and his eyes shone completely green, as they were to stay for the next twenty-eight years.
So, Keiffer and F+H and anybody else who wanted to work with me but was too
lazytimid to post, here’s where we’ll discuss it.If you want a really good idea of the tone, just listen to the song “Strawberry Fields Forever”. Calm, dreamy. Especially the line “Nothing to get hung about”. And I don’t mean “hung” in the sense of hanging, and execution, more like, nothing to get mad about, nothing to get passionate in a negative way about.
Okay, that sounds good to me. I assume we’re talking about sailors on older ships? Climbing through the rigging, sitting in the eagle’s nest, watching the clouds roll along, swaying in the breeze and such? Not sailors on those fancy-schmancy yacht… things, right?
I also think you said having it be like the sailor’s journal/diary entries? Would we have some kind of date/time up at the top, and write this entry by entry? Like:
March 1st, @ 17:52 (Assuming they use ‘military’ time.) – Eagle’s Nest,
*here’s the entry*
Oh, and the sailors can’t be all men. That’s unfair if they were.
Yeah, older ships certainly. I think their “adventures” (encounters?) should be fantastical, like what sailors thought they would find in the west Indies. Like a dream, just floating about, on the sea of mist…
Sounds awesome.
This is gonna be fun. *cackles and rubs hands together gleefully*
Sounds good. I think I’m going to start writing various entry examples, and post them when I finish, and then you can tell me what you think, alright?
When you say fantastical, would that count when people used to make maps before they knew the Americas existed, and they thought they would get attacked by mystical sea monsters? I mean, we wouldn’t have to make them traditional “frightening monoliths,” maybe they could be friendly sea-nymphs. Or they could run into a small Island, and meet a bunch of blind monks?
I was thinking more like not mystical sea monsters, but more like things not found in normal mythology. Perhaps a dreamy, not evil H.P. Lovercraft type thing.
I’ll keep everyone’s entries in a file on my computer. Note, they should not be in alphabetical order, like someone picked up a jumble of papers off of the beach, and was reading through them.
Ok..
I’m going to lurk on this first, to get a feel for it.
Meanwhile, I’ll be working on my depressing stories/poems. I have…. one poem, and two little ramble/story/vignettes so far, I think. None if them relate to the others.
(Also- NationStates=lots of scary coincidences with numbers.)
If you don’t mind me saying so, why not take some of the traditional “monsters” and reveal their true nature as gentle, misunderstood creatures. I think that would be cool.
May I humbly request to be able to throw in ideas and if you like them, you’ll keep them? I mean, to sort of join you in writing? If you don’t want me to, then that’s alright. Just wondering.
Enc- Okay, I was just asking, but I think bluefire’s idea could work too. Revealing the “monsters” true natures as gentle, misunderstood creatures, having the sailors interact with them…
H.P Lovecraft- Do you mean “Lovecraft’s major inspiration and invention was cosmic horror, the idea that life is incomprehensible to human minds and that the universe is fundamentally alien. Those who genuinely reason, like his protagonists, gamble with sanity?”
bluefire- I don’t have a problem with you throwing in ideas, and sort of joining in writing.
Sure, you can even write some.
I think the with traditional “monsters”, we shouldn’t be like “Oh, you misunderstood this monster” and more like “This is what inspired the Kraken”
Cool, all settled. I probably won’t write any until after Saturday, though, because my group has to finish our History Day project for the competitions in *counts* four days!
For the inspiration for the Kraken, how about something like a portuguese man-of-war? Iy’s like a jellyfish, but it is made up of many,many tiny organisms. The Kraken could be like that too, except much more sophisticated.
((Since my other BiP fizzled out due to plot problems, I’m going to start another one. Sort of How to Train Your Dragon meets the Amazons meets When the Hermit Thrush Sings.))
SFTDP ((Here’s part of it. I have much more, but I want to leave some suspense.))
((Title))
We had always fought the winnowa. My mother, who was head of the tribe, said we had since the Wars, and that they had started it. “Grandma, can you tell me the story again?†I asked one afternoon while we were making spears. “Well, alright Cressida, but then we have to work.†Grandma said, chuckling.
“Long ago, when I wasn’t even born, this place was called United-something-or-other. Everyone had a whole bunch of doodads and things to help them. They were called, umm…â€
“Robet’s?â€
“Yes, robets. The robets did nearly everything for us back then. Dress us, serve us, feed us, etcetera. But one thing they couldn’t do was protect us. They melted like sap when confronted with the winnowa’s fiery breath. And the old people died out, to be replaced by ones like us, women who were stronger than men. We drove out the winnowa to the furthest corners, but they are coming back.†Grandma’s expression turned sour. “Let’s get back to work, honey.†I turned back to my spear. It was the first one I’d made, and it didn’t look so hot. Troubled, I set it down and went inside, complaining of the heat.
Mother always said the winnowa were fierce, human-eating beasts, and that they had struck first, but something didn’t fit. Once, when I’d been in my secret place, a hole in an old tree, one had come close to the hole. For a moment, it lifted its leathery wing, and I caught a glimpse of pink, toothless mouths before the Winnowa had folded its wing back to its body and moved on. I tried to tell mother that night at dinner, but she wouldn’t listen, dismissing it as more of my foolish talk.
I thought about this as I sat on my bed that day. Finally, I pulled out some paper I’d found in the rubble of a blackened “city,†I think they were, and drew. I drew burning buildings with the winnowa flapping above, impervious to the metal balls people used to use. Then, I drew the winnowa I’d seen a few sun-spins ago, with its wing lifted. I stuck the two drawings to the back of my bed with some tree sap, and wondered which one was real. Suddenly, a knock on the door. “It’s me, mother,†came a strong voice. I sighed, made sure the drawings were hidden, and called, “Come in!†Mother strode in, towering over me. “It’s time, Cressida,†she said, and swept out of the room. Today was the day I would learn how to fight.
I changed into a not-so-heavy linen tunic and tied my copper-red hair back with a rubber band. We hadn’t forgotten everything, after all. Grandma handed me the spear I’d been working on, but when I looked down, it was much better than I thought. I smiled at Grandma, and she winked at me. “Go get ‘em,†she whispered, then squeezed my arm and went back outside. I followed her out, then switched to mother as she led me to the arena. It was modest, built on a wide strip of black stone, a “road.†There were high walls and a crumbling roof, so the winnowa didn’t just fly away. “Okay, here’s your group,†mother said, then left me with the worst people possible. It was five, including me, and made up of Roswitha, Ajax (a boy!!!!!!!!), Cadi, and Kanara. Roswitha sneered at me as I came close. “Eew, who invited the weirdo?†Kanara giggled, but Ajax just glared at her.
“Okay,†boomed a voice. I looked up, and mother was standing on a slab of rock jutting out over the arena. “Today you will learn how to fight for your life. We will start out small.†A door open underneath her, and out came a Spotted winnowa. It was no bigger than my face, but it had a vicious temperament and even more vicious claws. Cadi rushed in and got thrown to the side by its scaly head. The others were more wary and we circled around it. “You have to attack from the side,†I murmured, and the group nodded. But the winnowa knew its weakness and kept its head to us. “We’ll have to distract it,†I said, and laid out the plan. Ajax and Kanara would run to opposite sides, while Roswitha and went from the front. The plan worked, and soon the winnowa lay dead. A tear slid down my cheek, and we moved on. By noon, we were hot, sweaty, tired, and hungry. Mother said that was good for today, and the group broke up. I went home with a heavy heart.
I did the same thing for the next couple of sun-spins; fight, train, cry, go home, gradually building up to bigger and bigger prey. Finally, after 14 sun-spins, mother decided we could go out and kill one in the wild. Our group was spilt up and I was sent to the Glade Forest. Someone could easily die here and not be noticed. I kept to what looked like a trail for most of the time, but it narrowed until it disappeared. “Okay,†I grumbled, and went left. I heard flapping, and above me, a Great Horned winnowa flew, low to the ground. I ran, circling my weighted ball-net over my head, until I let fly. There was a thump, followed by a cry and a poof as the creature hit the ground. I jumped and said to no one, “Yes! I did it!†But instead of lightness, my heart felt heavy as I walked to where the winnowa lay. It looked dead, but I pulled out my knife to be sure. The winnowa lifted its head and opened its eyes for a moment, before slumping back to he ground. Surprised, I approached the body. It looked so sad and small, held down by the net. The brown scales were cracked in some places, and its wings flapped feebly. I raised my knife and closed my eyes.
SFTDP ((Is anyone going to comment? Sorry if I seem impatient.))
I was just finishing reading it. I’ll comment on it below:
I like it, seems interesting. I haven’t got to your next part of it, but I’ll probably post about that one when I get around to reading it. (I was grounded last night for something I didn’t do and my mom wouldn’t tell me what it was, so I couldn’t really read anything.)
Are you going to post any more of the story you were working on in post 5, 7, 14, and 15? I liked that one too. Just sayin’.
No..like I said, it fizzled out due to plot problems.
Cool, okay.
Story II from the Butterfly Book. Meet Death! (Out of curiousity, when was the last time someone made Death an anthropomorphic character that we weren’t actually supposed to like?)
It began with a bet. A gamble. A wager. One that was won.
And it ended with a gamble, a wager, a bet. One that was lost. At which point Ambo Dirth tried to run away from One Eye Silk’s dice table. At which point One Eye Silk’s friends, who had been lounging around the table looking as innocent as two two-hundred-fifty-pound, heavily muscled, six-foot, tattooed men can look, picked him up, carried him off to a nearby alley, snapped his neck, and threw him off the side of the carnival so that he splashed in the water below.
No one paid much attention. The Floating Carnival saw this sort of thing all the time.
In fact, the only one who did notice was a girl of about sixteen or seventeen. She was short, and had hair the color of hard candies that the manufacturers claim are both blue and raspberry-flavored. At the same time. To the discerning candy eater, this may make one wonder about the freshness of the raspberry in question.
The aforementioned hair flopped in spiky locks over the girl’s face, and she brushed one of these back absently, revealing an ear that had roughly six piercings. She wasn’t dressed for the Floating Carnival’s wet, spraying weather and frequent sea storms, but in a loose black T-shirt emblazoned with the words ROCK CHICK, camo pants, and bright red Doc Martens. She squatted down by the edge of the Floating Carnival to watch the dead body floating in the water. After a while she said, “It’s all right, you can come out now.â€
Visible only to her, a see-through version of Ambo Dirth sat up from his body and looked around frantically. “Who said that?†he demanded.
“Foreigner?†said the girl, raising her eyebrows. “Accent says you’re from the Ether. One of Orpheus’s cronies?†She waved away his startled shout. “Well, all I can say is it wasn’t bloody smart to come to the Floating Carnival first day in the Endless Ocean. Not that there’s much else to go, unless you try the Floatmarket, which ain’t much better. Too many distractions for a tourist. Should’ve had a guide, shouldn’t you?â€
“Who are you?†Ambo Dirth’s spirit asked angrily.
“I’m Death,†said the blue-haired girl, hopping off the edge of the Floating Carnival and sticking out a hand. With an unpleasant shock, Ambo’s spirit realized she was standing on the level of the waves, but they passed through her feet as if she was insubstantial. “Pleased to meet you, aren’t I?â€
“Look, this shouldn’t be happening,†Ambo’s spirit said, beginning to panic. “I wasn’t even supposed to be here. Orpheus just sent me to go to the Floatmarket and trade a star for some new music, oh Night, he’s going to kill me…â€
Death delicately let those last words hang in the air.
“Oh,†said Ambo’s spirit eventually. “So what happens now?â€
“Well, have you got any post-vital organizational cards?†asked Death cheerfully.
“Any what now?â€
Death rolled her eyes and swore in Ancient Babylonian. “Figures, don’t it? They always leave the work up to me,†she muttered. “Look. Were you ever, when you were alive, approached by a group of people who asked you what your plans were for a healthy post-vital active lifestyle?†Seeing his blank face, she added, “Might’ve been called Aethernet, Deux Arbores, Inferrnality Productions…â€
Ambo’s spirit’s face lit up. “That last one. Infernality. They gave me a little card…â€
“Ah, excellent, man,†Death said giving him the insincere smile of one who has done this a million times before. “You’re going to Hell.â€
The spirit’s face changed, very slowly. Ambo had not been a fast thinker. “I’m what?â€
Death dug around in a tiny coin purse produced from her pocket, which was embroidered with flaming anarchy signs. “Going to Hell, aren’t you? Just half a minute.†She finally produced, with a look of delight, a six-foot-tall scythe from the purse. “Right.â€
The scythe swung. “Rock on,†Death told the spirit of Ambo Dirth, cheerfully, as he disappeared.
“Are you always that unsympathetic?†said a voice from the floating dice stall. A girl who looked a few years younger than Death’s apparent age was sitting on the edge of the Floating Carnival, dangling bare feet in the Endless Ocean.
“When someone’s as boring as him, I am,†Death replied, turning to face the girl. “Compulsive gambler. One of Orpheus’s cronies. A tourist. Yawn.â€
The girl raised an eyebrow. “You’re not in the most interesting of jobs, then.â€
“Not really, no.†Death stepped delicately across the waves, stowing the scythe back in the coin purse, and sat next to the girl, tucking a strand of blue hair behind her ear. “In fact, not at all. No one ever tells them they need a post-vital organizational card, so I’m left to all the explaining, and Heaven and Valhalla and Elysium never do any proper recruiting, which leaves me telling hundreds of spirits they’re going to Hell. Oh, and the bloodier deaths are mildly yecch.†She sighed. “Then there are the ones who don’t want to be dead. I wish I’d never taken that bloody oath. I can’t tell you how many chess games I’ve played over souls. Actually, I can. Four million, six hundred and three thousand, seven hundred and sixty-four. And none of them are any bloody good at chess.â€
The girl frowned. “If you hate it so much, why do you do it? The pay can’t be that good. Why not just get a job like a minor goddess of some local volcano?â€
“Bloody storm gods always rain on your lava,†Death said moodily. “Want a cigarette?â€
“Human lungs here, you know,†the girl said reproachfully. “You can’t offer me something that would hasten my own death. That’s against the Rules.â€
Death gave her a sharp look. “How does a human girl who doesn’t look to be out of school yet know a thing about the Rules?†Her eyes narrowed. “You are human, yeah? Hate to have human lungs but not human other parts.â€
“No, don’t worry, I’m human,†the girl said, grinning at Death. “A human mom. A human dad. Raised human, born human. My name’s Tozu, Tozu Zinshu. I’m from the Garden of Eden.â€
“Eden?†said Death, raising her eyebrows. “Doesn’t the Lord forbid humans from going there?â€
Tozu looked awkward. “Yeah. It was… sort of weirded out. See, my mom’s, well, back in the way-back-when some angel decided to marry her. Turned her immortal. But then she fell in love with Dad, so ‘cause the angel still liked her he let them hang in Eden. And me too. But the Lord wasn’t too big on that, so he sort of turned Mom and Dad into ashy piles and kicked me out.â€
Death made a face. “Sucks for you, doesn’t it?â€
Tozu inclined her head. “It’s not too bad. I sell fortunes at the Floatmarket now—â€
“Excuse my ears?†Death interrupted her, looking incredulous. “You sell fortunes? The term’s tell fortunes, isn’t it?â€
Tozu looked pleased with herself. “Some people will buy anything. And anyway, telling what the future will be is such a Floating Carnival thing to do. I mean, what if the customer doesn’t like the fortune? They don’t want to pay you, then. But if you tell them you’ll change their future, custom-made, for very reasonable prices…†She grinned.
“That’s right,†Death said, looking thoughtful. “There’s a bit of a rivalry between the Floatmarket and the Floating Carnival, isn’t there?â€
“Not much of one,†Tozu said, her smile turning into a frown. “I mean, it’s not like they can put up much competition. No decent person goes and spends good coins on frivolous gaming and shows when they can sail for half a day and get to the Floatmarket. Trade, that’s what it’s all about. The same coin that’ll buy you a ticket to a sword-fighting show here will get you sword-fighting lessons at the Floatmarket. Useful things. That’s value.â€
Death ran black-painted fingernails through her raspberry-blue hair, and smiled.
“There’s something about you, kid,†she said. “Don’t know what, do I? But you’re different from other humans. I’ve been sitting her for a full, what, five or ten minutes, and I’m not even bored.â€
“During which,†Tozu said, looking pleased with herself, “no one has died.â€
Death’s mouth opened, then closed. She frowned. “What?â€
A slow grin was creeping across Tozu’s face—or what had been Tozu’s face. The open, honest looks of the human, teenage girl were growing sharper, more cynical, like Death’s herself. Her eyes, which had been brown, were growing paler so that they were nearly god. Her hair rose above her head in a crackling cloud. “I didn’t think you’d fall for it, sis. You’re getting slow.â€
“Oh, shitbuckets and bloody hail,†Death muttered. “Really? You’re trying this again? Haven’t you got better things to do, like watch babies being born or something?â€
The person who had been Tozu made a face. “Ew, childbirth. Blood. Ewwiness. I’ll pass, thanks.†She smiled sweetly at Death. “Admit it, sister dearest, you were totally fooled.â€
“That’s not the point, you bloody hyper idiot,†Death said angrily. “You’re messing with the fabric of reality again. Just because people aren’t dying doesn’t mean other people aren’t trying to kill them. There are probably five different people suffering unimaginable pain that they wouldn’t otherwise have to bear—†She sighed angrily. Her sister wasn’t listening to a word. Instead, she was giggling.
“You didn’t even ask how I could see you,†she said smugly. “And you got distracted sooo easily when you asked how I knew about the Rules. I would never have done that.â€
“I’m not getting into this,†Death said shortly. “You’re a bloody peabrain, Life, and I’ve got better things to do than listen to you babble.†She got to her feet and began to shimmer out of sight. “And your hair is frizzy,†was her last comment before she disappeared.
“It’s supposed to be frizzy,†Life shouted after her. “It’s lightning.â€
She stood up, dusted off her skinny jeans, and sighed. Some people had absolutely no sense of humor.
Hey Enc, I just wrote this today, and I was wondering if this is kind of what you meant when you said “Like a dream, just floating about, on the sea of mist…” So read this, and tell me if that’s sort of what you meant. it’s supposed to be like a journal/diary entry right?
March Seventh, 12:20 -Crow’s Nest
The ship just left port, and we are now slicing through the calm, blue water. The clouds were rolling along, and the breeze whipped the edges of the sails.
The view from the Crow’s Nest was startlingly magnificent. I could see everything, and it felt as if I was flying. It reminded me of the days when I was a boy, flying kites in the meadow with my father.
The joyful music coming from the top deck floated up to me, swirling through my head. The mist coming off the water moved with it, as if dancing to the tune. I swayed, tapped my feet, pushing the time along.
Soon, I could be down there, joining in with the rest of the crew. Soon my shift would end. I’ll relay again on my night watch.
Feedback? (Mostly from Enc/Fireh/bluefire(Others welcome))
Perfect. That’s just the feeling I want. I’ll copy all of them into a file on my computer, in the order that they’re written. We can all decide on the order later.
Ok, I’ll start my own journal entry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
June 20th, 3:02 AM -Island
We just docked at a new island. I’m on first watch, so everything around me is silent. It’s beautiful. The stars are shining like they used to on the farm I grew up on. I’d sit outside at night, and try to count the stars with my mother. We never got tired of it.
The moon is full tonight, casting its silvery glow on the people around me. They’re sleeping so soundly. The grass beneath them isn’t the color of most grass, it’s more white. The moonlight makes it look magnificent, like the grass itself is glowing. There are small flowers around us that open only at night. I think they’re called moonbells. If they’re not, they should be.
I pick one, and I notice that, like the grass, moonbells seem to glow in the moonlight. It’ll make a perfect present for Harriet once I get home.
I glance at my watch, and notice, with some relief, and some remorse that it’s time for the next man’s watch.
Wow those are grood. I mean good. And great. Great and good.
————————————————————————————-
September 28th, 13:56, Misty Island
We have encountered a strange beast of some sort, though it can hardly be called a beast. It seems to be sentient, and it is very curious about our camp. Funny thing… it seems to disappear when one looks at it too hard. It is a roughly spherical ball of white fur; beyond that, I cannot tell. The island is very mountainous, and full of rainforest. It is full of the sounds of bird calls, and waterfalls in the distance. It is very peaceful here. I suspect that there is an enchantment upon this island. A spell, but a good one.
((I’ve finally gotten around to writing something. Yay me.))
November 22nd, 22:42, Crow’s Nest
I am on watch, and there is no land to be seen on the horizon whichever way I look. It is so beautiful, the glimmering purple-blue ocean with the bright nighttime stars reflecting upon the rolling waves. I see a dolphin leaping from the water. No- no, that cannot be a dolphin. It is peculiarly shaped, and makes no splashes in the water. I watch it for a while, wondering what it is, before it retreats back into the deeps. It is the next man’s watch now, and I take one last look over the beautiful ocean before my replacement comes. There will always be other nights, magical nights out at sea, watching the cloudy horizons for new lands.
((I’m thinking galactic space squid-esque creature here. Any comments?))
((Here’s the next part of my story.))
The winnowa blinked and looked at me. I suspect it had never seen someone free it before. I sawed at the ropes, getting off the weighted balls. Soon, it was free and its dark brown, long-horned head shook. I laughed a bit and turned to go. The winnowa grunted and flared its nostrils, nudging me with its head. “No, I have to go.†I said, and the winnowa looked sad. It flapped its wings and took off. I trudged back to my tribe, where mother and a scolding waited.
“What!? How could you have failed too kill one!? I thought you were trained!†I shrank under mothers gaze, her eyes like tree leaves. “I–I don’t know…†I said, unable to meet those green eyes with my own, sky blue ones. “This is an outrage! I will be thrown from head of the tribe to poop-patrol! Mother stomped around me, ranting about how stupid I was. She would run out of steam soon, this much I knew. “Fine, fine. You will go out again and kill one tomorrow.†She shot me one last glare, then stomped out of the house. I went to sleep that night with a heavy heart and an empty stomach.
The next morning, I set out again, with a borrowed net. Soon, I came to the same clearing where I’d found the Great Horned winnowa. I slumped beside a rock and cried. I cried for all the dead winnowa, I cried for the injustice, but most of all, I cried for my winnowa, the one I’d freed. It–she was probably mounted on a wall somewhere now, a mere trophy. A soft grunt made me look up. The winnowa was standing in front of me, a fruit in her mouth. I stood up slowly and held out my hand, turning away. The winnowa walked up and plopped the fruit in m hand. I looked down. It was green, with a nearly spherical shape. Grandma had called these “apples,†I think. I took a bite, letting the juice drip down my chin. The winnowa smiled and I did too. I held out the apple, and she swallowed it, seeds and all.
She nudged my hand and I scratched her head a bit. “Do you have a family?†I said softly. The winnowa–I would have to name her something–looked up at me with mournful eyes. I saw the net, the glint of the knife, a dying cry. “Oh,†I said, and sat down again. “Do you have a name, at least?†I asked. The winnowa shook her head. “Well, how about we give you a name?†The winnowa looked at me with eyes as dark as the roads, scales brown like tree bark. “How about Naoki? Do you like that?†Naoki smiled, showing off rows of sharp teeth. “Naoki it is, then.†I giggled. Then I frowned, for I’d just remembered why I’d come here. “Naoki, I’m going to be in big trouble if I don’t bring back a dead winnowa.†Naoki shifted, eying me. I laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ve got an idea. But I need your help. Can you play dead?â€
((I’m just going to start reposting my story to see if people are interested.))
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.
((Awesome! Where’s the first part?))
((Well, everything that I had a few months ago is posted on the previous thread, posts 136 and 137 if you want to read that. I’ve made more revisions and written much more since then, though!))
Yay for revivals!
I have finally figured out that I have to add thoughts to my writing if it is first person. *obvious*
The shell would have to do. I wedged it under the barrel lid and yanked downwards, falling back as it crumbled in my hands. Bits of shell fell to the floor as I looked at it in dismay. Well then, what should I do now? I can’t get the barrel open, so I have nothing to do… the crew will find me… I’ll be caught… Katero will punish me. Hostile thoughts swept through my head at the remembrance of Makran Katero…
One story I’m reading tonight at a coffehouse. It’s called Snow.
Unseen eyes watch as white flakes fall on a brown-gray wasteland. Bodies lie hidden, waiting in the shadows of a dead city. The air is chilly, not only with the icy cold that makes your fingers burn and your nose red, but with silence, a reminder of the string that ties those who fight to survive in this harsh environment, those who have waited for this storm. Silence hangs like a fog, so heavy you could scoop it into a bowl and eat it with a spoon. The city seems to hold its breath, though it no longer holds the lively bustle of people, or sparkles with electric lights.
Suddenly, a little girl toddles out into the light. She stares upward with innocent eyes, reaches with chubby hands toward the delicate crystals of ice. She catches one between her palms, only to open them up and find the flake melted. From wool hat to battered flowery rain boots, the child becomes dotted with icy bits. Turning back toward her companions, she voices one word.
“Snow?â€
It triggers an explosion. People leap out of their hiding places, jump out of shadowing alleys, joining the child in the middle of the street. They dance among the flakes that meanders slowly to the ground, cheering. Children join their elders in circles, hand in hand, laughing and crying. The only thing that reminds these people of their situation is the buckets that are dutifully placed everywhere: at the edge of the once-grand avenue, hung from shattered windows, and left on hole-ridden roofs.
They need the snow for water. It snows often in this chilly climate, and always snows hard, so usually, there is no shortage. It hasn’t snowed for over a week though, and dirty water has been scavenged from gutters and storm drains for the past few days to feed the many mouths in this abandoned wreck. So the people of the dead city celebrate, catching the tiny ice crystals on their tongues, scraping the ground of already accumulating snow to quench their thirst and wet their parched throats.
The little girl still stands, statue-like, staring up at the falling flakes. This memory will make up some of her first, a happy time, crushed under tons of hardship. Somewhat like a tiny flake of snow, a little bit in a world larger than this girl will ever know. But for now, the toddler enjoys herself, soaking up the glee of the people around her.
Does this girl know more about life than we do? Perhaps. What she will experience will teach her how to value those things we take for granted, like happiness, and snow.
This is really good.
((Here’s the next part of my story. Please, please, please commenton it! SL, I really like it!))
I grunted, pulling my sack along. Mother came out and saw me. She hurried to the sack and looked inside. “Well, well, well! A Great Horned winnowa! Very good, Cressida.†She took the sack from me, and walked back to the house. Usually, the winnowa would make a good stew or pie. But not this one. “Mother? Can we make the stew tomorrow? It was hard killing that one, and I’ve lost my appetite.â€
“Sure, Cressida.†my mom hummed. She was too happy for me to see my sneaky smile.
After everyone was asleep, I snuck out to the kitchen. “So, so sorry, Naoki,†I whispered, untying the bag. Naoki grunted, stretching her wings. I carried her outside and she nudged me with her head before flying off. I grimaced at the thought of the morning.
When my mom discovered the winnowa was missing, she went nutso, waving her arms and stomping around. She came in my room after she had calmed down enough to speak without shaking the house. “Cressida, I want you to go catch another one. Today.†I had feared this. I drew myself up to my full height, about up to my mother‘s chest and looked her in the eye. “No, mother.â€
“What!?â€
“No. I don’t want to fight them! Maybe they aren’t as bad as we think. How do you know that they’re so horrid?†Mother narrowed her eyes and left the room. I knew what she was returning with, and slipped out my window. They say running away never solved anything, but “they†never met my mom with a plant whip. I still had scars. Naoki came and ran along side me, galloping like the horses I’d heard so much about. Finally, I stopped to catch my breath and Naoki nudged me with her wing. I looked a her back, the ever so slight dip, then looked back at her. “Are you sure?†I said, and she smiled. I climbed on and Naoki ran faster and faster, until she took off.
“Woohoo!†I yelled, almost losing my balance. We flew for–I don’t even know how long, passing tribe after tribe, doing loops, twists, and turns, but finally, Naoki had to land. I smiled and patted her head. “Thanks.†I said, and walked back toward my village, rubbing my bottom. Winnowa were not made for riding.
When I got back to the village, I asked Canisa, the blacksmith, if I could use her shop for a bit. “I want to make something special, for a friend,†I said, looking at her with my big, round eyes. “Oh, alright,†Canisa said. “I’ve got to go out to get some more metal, I won’t be back for awhile. You can use whatever is in here. Heck, use all of it, I don’t care.†Canisa left, and I set to work making a harness for Naoki. It was very hard, I wasn’t that skilled at making things and I didn’t know how big to make it, exactly. But finally, it was finished. The hard part would be getting it onto her.
I like it! A lot!
Thank you!
After long hours of feverish editing, here’s a little bit of my renewed NaNo.
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.
I looked out, shrugged, and scrambled up onto the windowsill, where, after a few deep breathes, I closed my eyes and jumped. I landed a few seconds later, on a convenient bale of hay. Kerre landed with a thud next to me shortly after I hit. We glanced around, and the area being deserted, we dashed around to the back of the building, right into the army of droids. The made feeble beeping noises, then booted up into their chase-mode. Kerre and I turned around and ran as fast as we could in the other direction.
Our route had taken us to another part of wall that was clear of droid sentinels. There was a tunnel leading out through the wall directly in front of us, which we gratefully took as a means of escape. When we reached the end of the tunnel, we emerged into another dome. The dome was covering a power plant that seemed way to big to produce the measly amount of power the people got. The droids were catching up to us, so we ducked into a sewer whose cover happened to not be there. It was dark, it was wet, and it stank of rot and excretion, but we hid inside the maze of pipes anyway.
Unfortunately, the droids weren’t as stupid as we had expected them to be, and they’d followed us down the sewers. They were big, and had a hard time fitting through the pipes. Their last resort being to crawl, gave Kerre and I a few seconds head start. We entered a tunnel where the water reached our waists and flowed faster. The water rose up to our chests, and the sheer force of it pushed us along the grimy twists and turns of the pipe. Slam!
We were thrust into a rusty iron grate, and we hear it creak and groan angrily as we crash into it. I felt around with my feet, and I found that the grate had been rusted away near the bottom, because the water was filthier and thicker near the bottom, where all the dirt and… other things had settled. It might possibly be enough for us to squeeze through to the other side. I point to the water and make a motion with my hand because the rushing water was so loud, telling her we needed to go under it. Kerre understood, and dove down. I waited until I felt Kerre’s foot slide past my ankle; she was through.
Feedback?
Nice! Post more! (Or set it up as a google.doc and send the address to the GAPAs.)
I’ll post as I edit, okay? I haven’t gotten much farther than that. Here’s the next part.
I sucked in a deep breath and dove down below the surface of the murky water, turning over so I could slide under the grate on my back. My head fit easily through the gap, and I concentrated on getting the rest of my body through in the least amount of time, because I could see the droid’s underbellies turning the corner of the tunnel we were in.
I pulled myself through with only a few resulting scratches, and fell into the void below. Kerre screamed from somewhere beneath me, and we continued falling in the darkness.
I landed with a thud, with the gallons of dirty water pouring down from above. I would surely have a large bruise on my back from the landing. Kerre was standing near me with a disgusted look on her face. When I looked down, I figured out why. The ground was covered in swarms of rats, and I noticed sharp white bones sticking out from underneath them. The bones were human, and the rats were feasting on them.
“Let’s get out of here, before we end up like them.†Kerre said.
I nodded, and we made our way around the piles of gorging rats, and into another tunnel that branched off the chamber that we were in right now. There was a faint light coming from the sloped end of the tunnel, and we ran up toward it eagerly. We were greatly disappointed when we got there. It wasn’t an exit. We had gotten ourselves lost and ended up inside of the power plant. It was a room filled with pumping machines and artificial lights.
“Darn it. We’re trapped if we stay here,†I said. “Let’s go back to the room with the rats and see if there are any other tunnels.â€
“Wait, I think there’s a door over there, but there’s a padlock on it.â€
Kerre went over to the door, and began picking the huge lock with some of the leftover wire we’d pulled out of the wall back at our room; it was lucky that we’d even brought it. Picking locks was Kerre’s specialty, and it took her almost no time at all. Soon the padlock crashed to the floor. We paused, listening for the droids. If they’d heard that, they would be coming through the tunnel at any second. There was a rustling and a loud, raspy voice yelled in our general direction.
“Oi! What do you think you’re doing here?â€
Kerre and I brought out our knives, hoping the person wasn’t able to fight us off if we were brought to the conclusion of killing him or her. But it was only an older man who had come out from behind one of the pumps. He had on workers garb, and seemed to have been working at a control panel that was hiding behind the machines. Kerre had backed away from the door, and was tugging me away from the old man, back towards the tunnel.
“No, no, you don’t have to go back; the droids are probably in the cave by now. That door leads out and I won’t tell the Dictator, but only if you take me with you.†The old man whispered.
Kerre shook her head and pretended to slit her throat with her finger.
(I have to say, there were a lot more swears in the original, but I had to edit them out because the parental units wanted to read it.)
((So, i finished my story (even though I haven’t posted all of it yet) and now I don’t know what to write about. I have never watched Buffy or Dr. Who, or anything science-fiction-y. I like fantasy a lot. Please give me ideas!))
My school has a literary magazine, and I’m thinking of writing something. This is spur of the moment, so could you please please please comment heavily? AM should recognize the idea and title.
Heavy Textbook/ Unsuspecting zombie
Zombie hunting isn’t very hard, I thought. I mean, you do sometimes get the occasional one that needs to be lit on fire, or sliced into tiny bits, but usually you just need some sturdy object, like a baseball bat. I was on my way to zombie defense class. It was a mandatory class at our school now, due to the outbreaks all across the country. You could call it a zombie apocalypse, but the zombies were pathetic enough that it couldn’t really count as apocalyptic. There were just so darn many of them.
At the end of the hallway, I could hear mumbling. Oh dear. I thought Alexa’s gotten herself into trouble again. I rolled my eyes and hurried forward. I saw Alexa being cornered by two zombies.
“Sh!” I whispered to her, as she was about to sigh with relief. I pulled out my math textbook. I took an eighth grade course, so the textbook was pretty heavy. I slammed it down on one of the zombies, ducking to avoid the splattering of zombie guts that always followed a zombie’s death. The other zombie turned to look at me.
“GnargnashgnarlarlgnlaBRAINSglaar-” He mumbled. I cut him off.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it before.” The zombie stared at me, puzzled. I whacked his head off with my handy dandy math textbook. It was almost comical, how the head flew off still looking surprised. Alexa hugged me, drenched in green slime. Her blond hair was dripping.
“Thanks! I thought I’d get zombified back there.” She hugged me.
“You should get yourself a baseball bat or something.” I shrugged. “I mean, I can’t save you every time.” We both walked off to class.
“Mr. Harris, Mrs. Alexa. You’re late.” Ms. Hartigan told us, primly.
“Sorry ma’am. Alexa was cornered-” I whimpered. There were about 15 people in our class, as usual. We took our seats, at opposite sides of the room.
“We were just about to discuss how the zombie apocalypse started.” Ms. Hartigan continued. “Back, a little before your were born, in 2011, a new product came into common use. It was called mist-spray. One would spray it in the mouth, and it would provide a feeling of freshness. Then, the next year, it was shown that mist-spray had a detrimental effect on a person’s health…” She droned on. I didn’t pay much attention, I had read most of it before in old novels. The mist-spray had been discontinued, but without it, people turned into zombies. Everyone around now hadn’t used mist-spray, or was born after it was discontinued. In my case, it was the latter.
Leaving school with my friends Martha, Alexa and Rick, we ran into a horde of zombies wandering the street. My town had been pretty hard hit, more than half the town became zombies. Rick picked up his baseball bat (He had practice next) while Martha and I got our math textbooks ready as the zombies wandered toward us. Alexa, as usual, hid in the back.
Mumbling, they blindly wandered toward us. Martha’s and my textbooks took out quite a few. In my opinion, zombie defense was the best use for math textbooks. The ground was splattered with slime from zombies that had exploded. Rick’s baseball bat ended up splattered in zombie guts, so he couldn’t use it for practice. Alexa hugged me (again) after it was over. I didn’t have anymore encounters until I got home.
There was a zombie wandering in my yard, which was not unusual. However, this one seemed especially quick. It ran after me, and I scampered up a tree. It was the first thing I thought of, and it was the closest. To my surprise, the zombie tried to follow me up. It didn’t get very far though. When it pulled itself off the ground, the arms ripped off. Though this zombie was especially fast, it did not appear to be exceptionally intelligent. It’s arms couldn’t support the body. Laughing, I jumped down and ran inside.
I love it! From what I’ve seen of the commercials, it kind of sounds like Zombieland! It’s really good!
Oh, shoot. SFTDP, may the Italics Gnome be dispatched to the word “Zombie land”? Much thanks and choklit (I got more).
Also, I said I needed ideas in post 46, but I got one.
That’s cool, Enc! Although, i had a really weird dream about zombies last night. I twas kind of like that, but I hadn’t read your story until now.
((Zombies!! Run!))
Hooray for nonchalant violence and gore!
*reads* *reads again*
Brilliant. Zombies… killed…. with… math textbooks…. *laughs*
I like it, in other words.
I really like it! You should publish it, definitely.
It’s only three paragraphs so far, but here it is anyway.
———————–
All I ever heard was that constant ticking as the grains of sand fell out one by one. All I ever saw was the constant movement of the people and things outside. All that I ever felt was the ever so slow shifting of the sand, and the glass holding it in. I never tasted because I never ate, and I only smelled the air. The only things I knew for certain were that the sand was counting down to something, and that I was trapped here. I don’t know how long until it would happen, but time was almost up, and I had a feeling of darkness in the pit of my stomach.
Days, weeks, and months passed. The last grains of sand dropped through on the last day of the Festival of Time. A gong sounded, and the glass began to crack. Once, twice, three times more the gong was hit, and three sections of the glass peeled outward. The festival-goers seemed not to notice, and I stirred. Reaching hold of the edges of the glass, I dragged myself forward and dropped onto the ground. Blood flowed from my hands, a result of the jagged glass, and flames grew from where it touched ground.
It spread, they spread, quickly, alive. Soon growing tall and wide enough, engulfing the festival. People, creatures, and all. Until the very ground danced among the corpses, their faces mangled, bodies morphed into spinning wisps of smoke. At the same time the flames began to die, and new beings sprouted up from the ashen remains, and the downed buildings and vegetation. The new creatures bowed low ahead of me, cloaked in fire, resonating the lush sounds of darkness. My head whipped back and I laughed, and I watched as the forms I’d created laughed, until the sounds blended together, creating an eerie tone that spread over the world.
I now knew what the sand was counting down to.
———————–
I don’t really know where to go from there, so suggestions/comments/criticism is very welcome.
OOOH, I like it.
I like it too! This could be a story told from a villain’s perspective, with the villain being some sort of necromancer.
Yeah, I was thinking of that. Enc, just imagine that everywhere it says ‘fire’ or ‘blood’ that it says ‘flowers’ and ‘red paint.’ That’s what it says in my notebook, but not everybody here might not have caught on to the relationship between the words. You corrupted my writing style, good for you!
Haha. This makes it a more funny then serious…
“flowers grew from where it touched ground.”
“At the same time the flowers began to die”
“The new creatures bowed low ahead of me, cloaked in flowers”
Hee.
Like I said, I think maybe you could tell this event several times, each from a new person’s perspective, and then change it to something totally different? I don’t know….
By the way, is that hourglass by any chance based on the one in my other story? The one in post 3?
The hourglass was based on… nothing actually. I started writing that after I watched that movie on and island with bad acting and dinosaurs called The Land That Time Forgot. I actually forgot that part of that story existed, and we even had that totally stupid conversation/argument over that! Anyway, I kind of quit on that story until my NaNo decides to get caking edited already!!!
((Here’s the next part of my story.))
The next day, I got up early and went into the Glade Forest with the harness and a bag full of apples I’d found. Naoki was waiting for me already. She probably smelled the apples from a mile away. “Hey, Naoki. I brought you some apples.†I said, laying down the bag. Naoki tromped forward, sticking her nose into the bag. Meanwhile, I snuck over to her back. I would have one shot at this, and I had to do it quickly. I slung the harness over her back and quickly tied it. Naoki roared and turned around. “I’m sorry, Naoki! But riding on your bare back is very painful!†Naoki narrowed her eyes at me. “You did get apples, didn’t you? Weren’t they good?†I pleaded, not wanting to lose my only friend. Naoki sighed, and knelt, tucking her legs beneath her and munching on an apple. “Thank you,†I said, kneeling beside her and wrapping my arms around her neck.
“Okay, let’s see how I did.†I said, climbing on. Even before we took off, I knew that this would be a much more comfortable ride than before. “Okay, let’s go!†I said, and Naoki took off. This time, we stayed up much longer and went lower, probably more than we were supposed to. Once, a lone hunter saw us and threw her bow at us, but I dodged and we went on. I don’t think the hunter saw me, but we turned around anyways. After landing, I took the harness off and stroked her head. But I had to go or my mother would worry. Well, not so much worry as get angry. I set off towards my village.
As I passed a big rock, a hand reached out and grabbed me. “Shh!†a voice said. “You’ll scare it!†It was Ajax from the group. “Get off me!†I said, a little too loud.
“Ohh, now you’ve done it,†Naoki trotted over and saw Ajax. She bared her teeth and crouched. Ajax backed up, aiming his bow and shaking. It was almost pitiful. Almost. “No, Naoki!†I said. He’s…not an enemy.†I said. Naoki looked up at me, then back to Ajax. She growled. “Umm, Ajax, Naoki. Naoki, Ajax.†I said awkwardly. Naoki nuzzled me with her head. “Wait…†said Ajax, stunned, “You tamed it?â€
“Her! And no, she was already tame. Everything you learned? How winnowa are vicious? And you shouldn’t get close to one? Scrap that. Start over here.†Ajax stood, frozen with fear or indecision, I couldn’t tell. “Here, let me–†I started to say. Ajax turned white. “Oh, no you don’t. Don’t let that thing near me! You’re so busted!†He turned and ran. Naoki looked puzzled. “Don’t worry, Naoki,†I laughed. “No one will believe a boy.†I said. But still…
((Sorry, my post was a bit scant. I’ll post some more.))
Sure enough, Ajax came back, looking dejected. “No one believed you?†I guessed. He looked at me with fury in his eyes, and walked over. Naoki shifted a bit, but stayed where she was. He held out his hand and Naoki sniffed him and nudged him a bit. He smiled and I laughed. “Well, if Naoki likes you, that’s good enough for me. Come on!†I climbed on and hauled him up. “I don’t think we should–Yaaaaaaaahhhh!!!!!!!†Whatever he was going to say was drowned out by Naoki’s flying. After he’d calmed down, he looked around. “Wow,†he breathed. I smiled. “You’re not bad, for a boy.â€
After landing, Ajax stumbled a bit, before plopping down in the grass. I went over with him, and Naoki laid by our heads. We were quiet for awhile, looking at the clouds. “Do you think I deserve one?†Ajax said suddenly. I looked over at him. He looked genuinely interested. “Everyone deserves a friend, Ajax.†I replied.
Naoki bellowed something and soon several winnowa appeared in the sky, silhouettes at first, but getting more defined by the moment. Several darted away, but one stayed. Ajax held out his hand. At first, the winnowa shied away, but soon it warmed up. The winnowa bumped its head into Ajax’s belly. He laughed, and scratched its head. “I think it’s a boy,†he said, and the winnowa nodded. Ajax thought the name Gorka was nice, so Gorka became a member of our gang of misfits. I knew eventually my mother would find out about it, so I laid out the plan. We would show them winnowa were nothing to be afraid of.
Me and Naoki went to the arena. A group was training, fighting against a poor Spotted winnowa. “Stop!†I said. The overseer–thank goodness it wasn’t my mom–looked up, surprised. “We don’t have to fight them!â€
“Of course we–†I went into the arena with no armor or weapons. The poor winnowa was laying on its side. It had suffered a heavy blow. I came towards it and it growled. “It’s okay,†I said. “I won’t hurt you.†I gently bandaged its wounds and picked it up. “See? They’re not vicious! We don‘t have to fight them!†The overseer was stunned, and the group was speechless. You could’ve head a pin drop, it was so quiet. Naoki flew in and sat behind me, along with Ajax and Gorka. “We don’t have to fight them!†I said again, and the group cheered! They cheered! The plan was in motion.
The next step was making my mom believe me. Me and Naoki crept around to our house and peered inside. It was very dark. “Okay,†said my mom. She had gathered all the women of the tribe. “Either we attack first, or they do. And attacking first won us the War.†I gasped. So we had attacked first! I kept listening. “We know their main nest is here,†she pointed to a spot on the map, “and that’s where nearly all of them raise their young. We attack there, and we destroy the winnowa. They won’t be suspecting it at all.†The group let out a cheer and I took my head out of the doorway. It was all over. They were leaving tomorrow. Naoki nudged me and looked over to the horizon. It was all over–unless we warned the winnowa.
Ack. *dies* Suspense…. to…. much.
I like the story, and it reminds me of something that I can’t put my finger on at the moment, but it reminds me of… never mind.
Anyway, the point of this was: Post more!
((49.1.1-Would that something be How To Train Your Dragon: The Movie? That’s really what I based it off. Anyways, here you go.))
Me and Ajax gathered all the children of the tribe who would believe us, telling them everything. Naoki and Gorka made their point too, bowing their heads for a scratch. All of the kids went to the forest and all of them came back a few hours later with new companions. “Steal everything you can, but don’t get caught. It’s a long journey.†The kids obeyed, slipping into food storages and kitchens, coming back with mountains of food. Me and Ajax had made saddlebags, and while Naoki protested a bit, I explained it to her and she allowed me to slip it on her. Soon, we were ready. “No goodbyes,†I said, and we left, leaving the clueless adults behind.
Our group flew for days, stopping when we could, navigating by our winnowa’s sense of direction. Several sun-spins passed, and we were still ahead of the adults by a long time. They had to cross rivers and fallen trees while we just flew over them. All the while, I nursed the Spotted winnowa, Zara, back to health. It was hard, but Naoki helped me find plants with healing properties. Zara was very small, even for Spotted winnowa standards, and she rode on my head. Finally, after 5 sun-spins, we made it to the nest, about 2 sun-spins ahead of the adults.
When mother said the nest was large, she wasn’t kidding. It reached all the way in every direction as far as I could see, a huge gaping hole full of baby winnowa noises. “Naoki, can you translate for me? We have to warn them!†Naoki nodded, and we camped for the night. I fell asleep scratching Zara’s scales.
That night, I had a dream. ((Sorry, guys!))The sky was red, and a burning smell filled the air. Somehow, I knew the winnowa were losing badly. A body was tossed to the wind, limply crashing to the earth. I zoomed in on it. It was Naoki, dead, a spear through her head. I cradled her head in my arms and cried. My mother stood on the hill, but her eyes were red, like the winter flowers. She laughed, cracking her whip and I ran towards her. I knew if I got to her, I could stop everything. But my legs moved in slow motion. My mother threw a spear and everything went black. I was falling, falling,…
I jerked awake. The stars were still out, and Naoki slept by me. I looked at our group. It was good, but it wasn’t enough. We only numbered about 15. The winnowa wouldn’t believe us, and we’d already lost a light. But we would have to do. I got up and made some breakfast for everyone. Today was the light everything would be decided. Today, we would fight or flee.
We stood at the mouth of the cave, silent. “Tell them to wake up.†I whispered to Naoki, and she bellowed a deep, low sound. Instantly, the air was filled with cries and other bellows. “Can you tell them to listen?†I asked, and Naoki bellowed something else. It grew quiet again, and I told Naoki what to say, pausing every once and a while to let her translate.
Finally, it was over. Everything was said, and there was absolute silence. Nothing happened, and I feared they didn’t believe us. Just as we were about to turn around, a Lesser winnowa came out. It paused for a moment, before lowering its head in what seemed to be a bow. It was followed by another, and another, until they all knelt before us, a shimmering rainbow of scales and wings. I returned the bow, and told Naoki to tell them what to do. Just as she had finished, however, a horn sounded. My mother stood at the top of the cliff, looking down at us. The battle had begun.
Does anybody else think doing a story with an MB parody would be a good idea? I don’t want to do another fan-fic, because that turned out horrible. The point: is trying to invent a MuseBlog parody a good thing or a bad thing, or something that’s completely impossible?
I think that might be good! Also, what do you think of where I left my story off? Suspense enough for ya?
Yeah, I think I’m going to attempt the parody, and I like your story very much. In my opinion, I actually like it better than How To Train Your Dragon, but that’s just me. (Suspense!!!!)
((*evilay ringay* Ihay amhay onlyhay alkingtay inhay Igpay Atinlay odaytay. *anotherhay evilhay ringay*))
Enceladus, do you think we could co-write that ST/NASA collaboration idea? With me doing the shuttle parts and you the Enterprise parts?
Yes! I’d love to, seeing as I have no other (living) writing projects at the moment.
Okay, here’s my bit. The names of the real STS-133 crew are used here, but in a fictional way and no disrespect is intended. The mysterious object is supposed to be Earth Spacedock. (Thank you, Memory Alpha)
September 23, 2010, Low Earth Orbit
The cell split, oozing away into two separate halves inside of the Petri dish. The new cells took their place among the hundreds of other young cells in the dish, small wobbling blobs of tan-colored cytoplasm.
Nicole Stott lifted her eyes from the microscope and picked up a portable tape recorder.
“20 minutes after drug application, normal cell division has resumed, reaching pre-infection rate. The virus seems to have been definitely weakened.†She dictated, her straight dark hair floating loosely despite the ponytail that confined it. Bacterial cultures grew more rapidly in microgravity than on Earth, making space one of the best places available to test new medicines.
“Closing up experiment now, next observation will be in forty minutes.†Stott added, stowing the microscope and Petri dishes in the proper compartment.
The mid-deck of the space shuttle was rather small, but had served comfortably as the crew’s laboratory, kitchen and bedroom since undocking from the space station the day before.
Elsewhere on the mid-deck, the other scientists worked on their own experiments. Stott spotted her crewmate Ben Drew searching in the galley cabinet, before triumphantly pulling out a sealed bag of chocolate-chip cookies. The tall African-American man pushed off the near wall and floated though the hole to the shuttle’s flight deck, emerging near the pilot’s chair.
“Hey, Steve, Eric, three cookies left, want some?â€
The shuttle’s commander, Steven Lindsey, looked up from the technical checklist he had been reading.
“Sure, toss ‘em over here. How about you, Eric?â€
The shuttle’s pilot, Eric Boe, was staring intently out the flight deck’s overhead window. Africa was below, the green ribbon of the Nile winding its way through the dusky Sahara.
“Eric?†Lindsey asked, louder.
“Huh? What?†Boe turned to see them for the first time.
“Cookies. You want one?â€
“Of course.â€
“What were you thinking about?†Drew asked, tossing the cookies to the other men. The treats were purposefully gooey, as crumbs could get into machinery and cause problems.
“I’m just trying to get a good look in. Who knows when I’ll see it again? Who knows when any of us will? We’re the last shuttle out and we land tomorrow. And then what? I don’t know.â€
“Nobody knows, Eric.†Lindsey said, unpeeling the wrapper around his cookie. He took most things calmly, although he had to admit the cancellation of the planned post-shuttle exploration plans some months before had rattled him when first announced.
“Exactly. Nobody knows. This is great, we’re doing good stuff here, but what’s next? Where do we go from here? Cause the way it looks now, it might be 3001 before we get the stuff they had in the movie 2001!â€
“I think that’s a little premature. Just in a hundred years a lot can happen. 100 years ago, the Wright Brothers were still trying to find clients for their planes. And look at us now. We’re… up here.†Lindsey gestured around the flight deck.
“Yeah, you’ve got a p-â€
The whole shuttle suddenly shuddered violently, causing Drew’s sentence to go unfinished.
“What was that?†Somebody yelled from the mid-deck.
“No ide-â€
There was another shock cutting Boe off, and now everything was shaking back and forth, unceasingly, like a plane flying through turbulence.
They turned back to the window all at once. Strange swirling colors filled it, with what looked like crackling electric sparks.
“What’s going on?†Michael Barratt, the crew’s medical expert, asked, sticking his head through the hole between the decks.
“I don’t know. It looks almost like… lightning.â€
“Lightning? In space? But that’s impossible!†Stott shouted up.
“And so is air turbulence, but that’s sure as heck what this feels like!â€
Boe answered, as the shaking became more and more intense.
Lindsey managed to grab a communications headset from his commander’s chair.
“Houston, this is Discovery, there’s something really strange going on, almost like a storm. We can’t see the Earth. Everything’s vibrating.â€
There was only static in Lindsey’s ear.
“Houston? This is Discovery, please respond.â€
The vibrations became wilder, as if a giant was shaking the spacecraft like a ragdoll. Lindsey braced himself on the chair as he kept trying to make contact, but there was still only static.
And then, it was over.
There was a bright flash of light from outside of all of the windows.
The astronauts floated freely again, the shuttle seemingly still.
Boe looked at the window again. The colors had vanished. He could once more see the Earth curving away, serenely blue and white, as if the ordeal of the past few minutes had never occurred.
“What was that? What the heck was that?†Barratt demanded. Except that he didn’t actually say “heckâ€, but the similar word that refers to an unpleasant afterlife.
“I don’t know. I can see the Earth again.â€
“Still no response on the radio. Houston, this is Discovery, please come in, the storm or whatever it was seems to be over…â€
Barratt floated up into the flight deck, taking a place by the back windows to reassure himself that they could, indeed, see the Earth once more. And he could make out the planet, above the shuttle’s empty cargo bay, large enough to hold a school bus. A dark object glided into his vision, silhouetted against the bright blue limb of the Earth.
It was apparent that the object was also in orbit, and it was large, a strange cylindrical shape with bulges here and there.
“Guys, I see something.â€
The others crowded around the window as the paths of the shuttle and the strange satellite brought them closer together. It was huge, much larger than any satellite they had ever seen before, larger by orders of magnitude than the station they had undocked from the previous day.
“What IS that thing? Where’d it come from?â€
“Your guess is as good as mine.â€
Lindsey tried the radio again. He desperately hoped someone would hear the transmission. But he could have had no idea of just who WOULD…
((Wow. That’s really good. It’s great! I’ll have the Enterprise go into the spacedock))
Flying over the Earth, on a routine refueling mission, the Enterprise-D barely noticed the blip on it’s screens that was the STS-133. The ship slid into place in the Earth Spacedock. Lieutenant Commander Data turned to Captain Picard.
“Sir, we are receiving an unexpected hail. Shall I respond?”
“Yes, Data.” Data pressed a few buttons on the com panel. A staticky and scared sounding voice spoke
“Hello? This is uh… Steven W. Lindsey from the STS-133 mission. Who are you?” Captain Picard stood up.
“This is the USS Enterprise D. Please state your ship’s name and position.” He said. “Could we possibly have visuals?
“Our shuttle’s name is Discovery. We uh… don’t have the capability for visuals. We’re in low Earth Orbit.”
“Sir, our scanners have located a small shuttle craft. It appears to be of the type used by NASA in the early 21st century. I detect six humanoid life signs.” Data said. Worf interrupted.
“Nassa? What is Nassa?” He growled.
“NASA stands for National Aeronautics and Space Administration. Used by the United States Government in the late 20th century and early 21th century, it paved the way for further space travel. The STS-133 mission was a mission that finally convinced governments to place more money into space travel than into military efforts.” Data expounded.
“If STS-133 was launched in the early 21st century, then what the heck is the mission doing here, in the 24th century?” Picard asked. Suddenly, Lindsey spoke from the speaker again.
“Are you still there? We could… uh.. hear everything you said. Is it really the 24th century?” Lindsey sounded worried.
“Yes, it is Stardate 45926.35. What year does it appear to be for you?” Picard asked, curious.
“It is… was… the 19th of September 2010…” The communication ended.
((Sorry mine’s so short! I have to go to school.))
((Tip: Carrying your story on a stickdrive and working on it whenever you get a computer is really useful.))
((Great, but the only time I can get to a computer is when I’m at home.))
Do you want to add more to yours or shall I go?
Enc?
Sorry, I didn’t see it. I go to bed at 9:00 Eastern. I think you should go.
The adults charged, and we did also. Winnowa streamed out of the cave, shrieking like banshees, and we mounted and set off also. The kids, our group, had no weapons but our winnowas. Yet we did pretty well, for awhile. I looked around. Everywhere, winnowa were falling, crashing down, spilling their riders if they had them. It looked just like my dream. A cry brought be back from my daydream. Naoki lost height fast, and crashed, rolling a couple of steps away from me, unmoving. Several bow-women aimed at her and my mother took my arm.
“You’re safe now, the beast is dead.†my mother whispered, like a serpent, but I didn’t hear her. I only heard the blood pumping through my ears. My mother’s grip was like steel, and I strained against it, trying to get to Naoki’s broken body. Suddenly, a screaming noise came from above me. Several winnowa dived towards my mother. Most of them were shot down, but it gave me the confusion I needed to escape towards Naoki. Her body was limp, her eyes unseeing. I felt for breath and there was none. My body went limp, and I slumped over her body. My eyes welled up, and tears fell onto her body. I cried like I had cried the light she had come back to me. Everywhere, kids and winnowa were falling to the ground, spiraling on broken wings and broken hearts. I cried for them too. The world, it seemed, was silent. Everywhere, kids were landing, and adults had dropped their bows and swords.
Something moved beneath me. I sniffed and lifted my head, hope sprouting in my chest. But Naoki was still as lifeless as before. I let my head go down again and slumped against her chest. She moved again, breath after breath. Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned her head. “Thank you,†she said in my head. “Thank you so much.†I collapsed onto her back, and the last thing I saw was my mother raising her bow-and-arrow and aiming at me.
What a nice mother! (If this is going where I think it’s going.)
“I cried like I had cried the light she had come back to me.” Was that supposed to be night or light? Just wondering ‘cuz “the light she came back to me” sounds kinda funky.
((Yes, that was supposed to be night. Sorry.))
Okay, cool. ‘Tis not really a problem, considering how bad I type!
Anyway, I really like this story. I think you’re a really good writer too.
I need to work on my story come to think of it.
Okay, so the shuttle guys (especially Boe) are going to be pretty skeptical that it’s really the future, they’ll probably get beamed onto the Enterprise and get a tour, maybe somebody onboard (I don’t know the personalities of the TNG crew that well) will think it’s all some sort of trap by an enemy and not trust them… Sound good?
Worf. Worf would think they’re a trick.
SFTDP
He’s also Klingon, so he doesn’t know human history very well.
So, this is just an exercise I do occasionally. I listen to an album. I’m listening to Chameleon Circuit.
I stood at the heart of everything. Reality swirled about me. If I moved my hand, the universe shifted. Suddenly, I was falling. Everything went dark. There was no universe left. Just nothing. The never ending dark. It wasn’t as if the universe suddenly disappeared. It had never existed. My consciousness processed this for less than a second after the universe had disappeared. Then-
This is my story. How I got to the heart of everything. How I realized myself. How I reached beyond, and brought everything down.
This is also how I rebuilt the universe. When it vanished, I had just enough time to-
But enough of that. It started in an art museum. In fact, your local art museum. I had been going on a field trip. You were in my grade, but you didn’t notice me. And you never would.
“Did that statue just move?” One of my friends asked me. I stared at it.
“What do you mean?” I asked him.
“Look, it’s in a different position.” He said to me.
“Joseph, you’re crazy.” I told him. I turned away. Thinking, I turned back. “And you know what?-” I was about to finish that sentence, then I looked at the statue. It had moved. It was standing before, and now one leg was raised a little bit. I stared at him. “I think you’re right.”
(Coming back soon!)
Would they also be able to bring the shuttle orbiter itself onto the Enterprise, maybe into a docking bay?
Oooh, yes. I think they would.
Here is a short story I wrote yesterday, based on a song I wrote. If I ever get around to it, I will write a book and this will be the last scene.
—
The fire-creatures came at her, growling and snarling, their fiery eyes glaring fiercely. She ran, as fast as she could, through the storm, the pouring rain, the lightning coming down to join the creatures, the thunder booming- encouragement, but to which side? She could feel their heat on the back of her heels. Run, run, run. She chanted inside her head, running, running, running.
Finally she stopped and turned. The creatures stopped too, fiery grins appearing on their see-through faces. She stared out behind them, to the black landscape that they had burned as they chased her. Blackness, burnt ashes, everywhere. Scorched bodies littered the earth. Burnt ground turning to mud in the storm. She saw all this. “I have hurt those who I meant to protect by running.†she spoke clearly, to the crowd at her back and the monsters before her. “I have run enough. It is me you want.†the creatures stirred, waves of heat coming from their masses. “YES†a scorching voice came from within the ranks. “I see now what I must do.†she climbed up onto the barrier between the creatures and the people behind her. “Take me, then, and leave my people alone.†she raised her arms. “Take me then, and promise me you will leave this land.†she stood alone, defiant, on a barren hill. “Take me, then, and I will die gladly, for I know I will be saving my people.†her voice rose, defiant, above the muttering of both sides. “Take me, then, ye wildfire hunters. Take me, then, that my people can be free!†she laughed into the face of death. “Take me, that my land will no longer be barren and burnt for your fun!†she dropped her arms as the creatures rushed at her, flaming. They reached her- she was devoured by their flames- a flash of light, pure white light, and the fire and the girl were gone, leaving only a wisp of faint smoke drifting away in the breeze, the living breeze that flowed across the land again as the people cried for their princess, the beautiful brave girl who sacrificed herself to save them. The Burning was over at last.
—
Feel free to criticize, please.
here is part of a book i might write.
As i walked to wildsday middle school, my best friend finished her ‘ magic control’ homework. she tried to shapeshift without having losing contr
” oh, Soph, you know you allergic to dogs, so why turn into them?”
“Simple. so i don’t have to worry about mom not sending meat.”
Sophia kinda liked meat.
“So.. report cards this week. What do you think you got?” I ask.
” B+. or maybe just a B.”
lucky. since i was a ‘budding enchantress’ which is teacher talk for ‘ Sapphira is a dud’ my report cards are usally D+ with my nice teachers. Being without magic is hard.
—————————————————————————-
to be contineud.
what did you think?
((If you capitalized and proofread, I would enjoy it a bit more. It sounds pretty good–you are Puffpuff, right?–it’s just the not-capitalizing thing is bothering me a bit.))
60- CONTINUED!!
SAPPHIRA
As i walked to Wildsday middle school, my best friend finished her ‘ magic control’ homework. she tried to shape shift without having losing concentration
†oh, Soph, you know your allergic to dogs, so why turn into them?â€
“Simple. so i don’t have to worry about mom not sending meat.â€
Sophia kinda liked meat.
“So.. report cards this week. What do you think you got?†I ask.
†B+. or maybe just a B.â€
”Lucky.” since i was a ‘budding enchantress’ which is teacher talk for ‘ Sapphira is a dud’ my report cards are usually D+ with my nice teachers. Being without magic is hard.
Then I saw a paper airplane fly into my hands.
” Can you read this? If so, Come to the Rainbow Cove at 3:00.” The airplane read.”What’s with the junk magic?” Sophia said.I put it in my pocket. Too bad she couldn’t read it.
Time moved slower than frozen molasses in january. When it was finally 3:00 i raced to rainbow cove. There was a girl, About my age, standing by the rainbow.
IRIS
I jumped off the rainbow and sat on the rainbow colored floors. A Yellow Glowing man suddenly appearred. ” Hello girls. I trust you read the note.” He said. “My name is Celvin. If you kept your note, it will now tell you all you need to know.” Man, I hope this isn’t one of mom’s ‘Feel better!’ schemes. I flipped over the note. It said:
You have now met your element partner. now you must find your element.
TO BE CONTINUED.
“Who is it? What are they saying?†Barratt asked, trying to puzzle out the questions his commander’s last few sentences must have been responses to.
Lindsey moved the headset’s microphone away from his mouth so he could speak without being heard on the other end.
“Our transmission was received by a spacecraft called the Enterprise-D. I was talking to their captain.â€
“Where are they from? And what’s that thing out the window? I’ve never seen anything like it and I’ve CERTAINLY never heard of any Enterprise-D.†Boe asked, skeptically.
“That’s just it. There’s no way we could have heard of it.â€
“Huh? Make some sense, Steve.†Drew said.
“According to the man I was speaking with… it’s the 24th century.†Lindsey said, slowly. It sounded crazy to say it. But that giant space station certainly wasn’t anything he’d ever seen before.
“Are you still there, Discovery?†Picard’s voice asked, though the earpiece. Lindsey moved his microphone back.
“Um, yes, we’re still here. I was just informing my crew of our situation. Is there any way we could come aboard your ship and get a more detailed explanation of what happened? Some way we could dock with you, perhaps?†He asked.
“Dock? Do you really think we’re going to be adaptable with any airlock system they’re using if it really is the future?†Stott asked.
“We could beam you and your crew aboard and bring your shuttlecraft into one of our bays with a tractor beam.†Picard responded.
“Beam? What’s that?†Lindsey didn’t quite like the sound of that word, as the only verb form of it he’d ever learned meant being hit rather hard on the head.
“We would disassemble you all atom by atom and you would be reassembled onboard our ship.†Picard explained. If they didn’t know what beaming was, maybe these people really WERE from the past. “I assure you, the process would not be dangerous.â€
“So… you’d teleport us?†Lindsey asked.
“Teleport? Steve, teleportation is impossible!†Boe shouted. “I don’t like any of this.â€
“Like air turbulence and lightning in space? Seriously, what’s happened in the past 15 minutes that HAS been possible?†Stott asked.
Lindsey mouthed the words ‘neither do I’. “And how soon exactly would you be able to do this? We’ve only got enough consumables for a few more days up here.â€
“We could begin in a matter of minutes if you and your crew would sit still and allow our sensors to get a lock on your positions.â€
“Okay, then, uh, we’ll just sit here and… not do anything.â€
“Very well then, Commander Lindsey, I shall speak to you again once you’ve boarded.†Picard ended the communication. “Prepare to beam the humans from the shuttlecraft aboard.†He ordered.
“Captain, are you sure you want to bring them onboard? They can’t be who they claim they are. They’d all be long dead.†Worf protested.
“The Space Shuttle Discovery IS currently in Earth’s Smithsonian Museum complex, in Washington DC, as of last week, when records were last updated, Captain.†Data reported.
“Just as he said, Captain. How do we know they’re not some sort of enemy?â€
“Duly noted, Mr. Worf. Beam the humans aboard, and we’ll meet them with a security team.â€
“Aye, Captain.â€
Finally getting around to rough-drafting my Immensely Complicated Dark Ages Universe, starting… now.
***
“So,” she said, her tone heavy with irony, shaking her hair out of her eyes. “The new king has everything, does he?”
“Almost,” he said, not looking up. He was doing paperwork, quill moving quickly over sheet after sheet, dipping the nib in the ink bottle and continuing to write with almost inhuman speed. She was perched on the edge of his desk, hands folded demurely in her lap, skirts spread around her.
At his response, she raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Almost? Most all your enemies have fled the country. Those who haven’t are either dead or imprisoned. You have most of Castel, the High Priest’s approval, the throne, and–” her voice took on a half-shade of bitterness–“a royal consort. What more could the new king possibly want?”
He dipped the quill, returning it to the paper without spilling a drop. “You.”
“You have me.”
The quill dove into the ink again. “As a symbol. And a ‘royal consort’, as you put it. I don’t believe I have your loyalty.”
She paused, staring at him. “And you expect to get it? From me?”
“Well, I am the king,” he said mildly. “Loyalty from the subjects was part of the package deal.”
“Well, I am the queen,” she said, her tone matching his exactly. “You’d think you’d know me better than that.”
She hopped off his desk and swept out of the room in a swirl of skirts. The king looked behind him at the doorway, sighed, and dipped the quill in the ink once again.
This time he spilled it.
Enc, have you read my bit yet? You don’t have to do yours yet, I just wanted some feedback.
Yes, I really like it.
I’m starting a new story, which I probably won’t be posting for reasons of privacy, about a group of my friends all being mythical creatures of some sort, and a bus all going the same place. Only they don’t know each other, and they’re concealing their magical natures. It’s really getting interesting. I’m not that far in it yet, but it’s shaping up fairly well.
My sister (she posted once as Falmiriel) is illustrating it, and possibly writing songs for it as well.
63.1- Okay, thanks. That’s all I needed. I think the “That’s impossible!” might become a running gag with the shuttle guys.
This new story is working itself out to be very complicated. Most of my friends talk in entirely different styles than I, or at least than I write. And if I get them totally wrong and they’re offended by what I’ve written…
It’s a bigger challenge than I thought at first.
Here is a short story that I wrote the other day. I wanted to draw my friend something for her birthday, but I’m not very good at drawing. So I decided to paint a picture with words. That’s the first part. Then a story kind of unfolded itself and it got sadistic with a sad ending, just like all the stories I write.
—-
Blood of Roses
A young girl stands amidst a field of flowers- beauty surrounded by beauty, roses and violets and bluebells framing golden curls, sky blue eyes sparkling with laughter, innocent laughter, as she walks among the flowers, identifying them carefully. ‘Roses, red and pink and white and yellow. Violets, bluebells- more roses, all red…” she kneels down to inspect the roses, for past some invisible line only the roses grew, red roses. She touches one tentatively and recoils in horror. ‘Oh, it’s our little Rose, come at last. We’ve been waiting. Ah, you’ve discovered our secret. That’s right, all the roses, they’re made of blood. And soon, darling Rosie, you will join them.’ the girl named Rose looks around her for the source of the voice that echoed around her. ‘Who are you? How do you know my name? Where am I?’ she asks the empty field. ‘Oh, you know us. You’ve seen us in your dreams- calling to you. And finally, you’re here. Another Rose for our…….. bouqet.’ the voice- or rather, voices, for it was many voices speaking as one- begin to laugh, a cackling, triumphant laugh. ‘Who are you?” Rose asks again. ‘We are your nightmares.’Â
The voices laugh, louder, louder, louder-
The blood-roses bubble. Rose screams, the agonized scream of one who has looked Death in the eye.Â
A flash of scarlet light-
All is still. The field of red roses- blood roses- another Rose added, just waiting- waiting for the next Rose to come, lured by dreams and a beautiful field full of violets, bluebells, and roses. Blood-red Roses.Â
—
Opinions, anyone?
So much blood! It’s great!
Yay! Blood! Description! *lurves*
Sounds almost like assimilation like the borg.
Wow, blood, yay! It’s great!
(Actually, right after the line, “The voices laugh, louder, louder, louder-” I started thinking of The Android.)
But, I love it.
I’m bringing it to Holly’s birthday sleepover this weekend. I am going to read it out loud, with a very creepy voice, very very very late at night.
I might do Wildfire Hunters, too. (see post 59. *points up*)
I wonder what they will think of that. XD
SFTDP- What are the Borg, exactly? I have a vague impression of what they are but in reality have no idea what they are. XD
Just like with the TARDIS, before I started watching Doctor Who.
Chapter 1 of a new story I’m writing (first one in a while). Feel free to share your opinions…
Entry 1
We watched a video in school today. It was like all the other ones we watched during the year, showing us the basic principles of the system of equations they kept trying to stick in our head. It went something like this: Americans=good, aliens=bad.
I suppose they might have a point, judging by some of the footage they show in those videos. Again, the same every time; aliens destroying cities, people dying, the President giving long speeches that meant nothing to the average middle schooler. Which pretty much means me.
Of course, I know better than to think that the aliens are winning that quickly, because if they were, why are there any people still alive? I think that these aliens really didn’t do any research on Earth, otherwise they’d be attacking the White House and the Pentagon and all those important places. Instead, they attack small towns with weird names. I guess I’m lucky that I live in San Diego, because big cities like this never get blown up.
They also had us watch stupid movies from the 1900s, like this weird one about aliens destroying the White House and the Pentagon and…well, you know the drill. How are they supposed to make us feel like we can identify with these movies? I mean, in that movie I just talked about, do the aliens attack towns that nobody’s ever heard about? No! They must have done their research.
Actually, according to my teacher, when this movie came out, most people didn’t believe that aliens existed. Even when they had the evidence right in front of them. Aren’t these the guys who made the first 3-D movies? Shouldn’t they have been smart enough at least to see what was right in front of their noses?
My mom’s calling. She says I need to turn my computer off. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.
Yours sincerely (did I really just write that?),
Jakob
Sheesh, a little feedback please?
Don’t forget, we’re still writing the ST(S) story, Enc.
68- I did an SSSS about that very theme (Small towns nobody cares about being wrecked in disaster movies) a while back.
This should be interesting…do you have a link?
Go to the most current SSSS thread and type “Ithaca” into your ‘Find on this Page” bar.
After a massive overdose of Alastair Reynolds, I want to write some truly optimistic science fiction (in the vein of fellows like Sir Arthur C. Clarke et cetera). Problem is, utopias are often far less interesting than dystopias, and when one tries to strike a balance between them, there still aren’t as many opportunities for conflict in a “nice” world.
Ideas- for areas of scientific thought I could explore, plot lines, characters, et cetera- are greatly appreciated.
For a school assignment of writing a myth that explains some natural occurence, I chose thunder. I really like this little blurb, and am considering writing a collection of stories on this theme of “When the world was alive”, just for fun. I’d really like to get some feedback on this. But you don’t have to. *shrug*
—
Once upon a time, everything in the world had a spirit, a personality. Once upon a time, the world was alive.
A long time ago, when the world was still alive, Cloud and Sun constantly argued with each other. Sometimes, Cloud would cover up the sky so that Sun could not shine through. “Cloud, move out of the way!†Sun would scold him. “I need to shine on the land, so that the crops can grow!â€
“No!†Cloud would reply defiantly. “I need to rain upon the land, so that the crops will have enough water! You can give them your sunlight when I’m done!â€
But this would not satisfy Sun. Sun wanted to shine upon the land all the time, so that his glory would always be seen. So he would send his messenger, Lighting, to open up the doors to Cloud’s house so that Sun could get through.
Lighting would force open the doors and dart through triumphantly, but always Cloud slammed the door shut in Sun’s face with a loud BANG!
“Ha! Sending your friend Lightning again? Will you never learn that doors can be closed as soon as they are opened?†Cloud would laugh as Sun hammered on the doors.
The world is no longer alive as it used to be, but it still remembers this ancient battle between the Cloud and the Sun. And that is why we hear a loud bang after the lightning- that is the sound of the doors slamming shut behind Lighting, and when the thunder rolls on and on and on, that is because Sun is hammering on the doors and Cloud is laughing in his face.
72- Well, you could use the Star Trek solution of having the antagonists come from outside of the mostly happy society.
Okay, something to help you along, Enc, here’s a bit of Piccard’s log from that day. (I probably screwed this up a lot, I really don’t know Star Trek.):
Captain’s Log, Stardate 45926.35:
Half an hour ago, the Enterprise-D received an unexpected hail in the primitive Ku-band radio frequency. The speaker identified himself as Steven W. Lindsey, commander of the Space Shuttle Discovery. He claimed to have somehow come from the year 2010.
According to official Starfleet databases, there was indeed an STS-133 mission occurring in the timeframe Lindsey claimed to be from. The Discovery was an actual first-generation transatmospheric shuttle used by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration in the late 20th and early 21st century and a sister ship of OV-101, the first spaceship to be christened Enterprise. NASA would later become a crucial member of the United Earth Space Probe Agency following the Meridiani Treaty*, which would in turn be absorbed by Earth Starfleet in the late 22nd century.
The visuals our scanners have obtained show the shuttlecraft that hailed us to be completely identical to all of the Discovery’s technical specifications circa 2010, however records indicate that the actual shuttle Discovery is currently on Earth, in the Smithsonian Museum complex, where it has remained since the culmination of its final flight, STS-133. We are currently unsure of what this means, and Mr. Worf suspects it may be a trap, especially as rumors of clandestine ((insert TNG enemy here)) activity in Low-Earth Orbit have been reported in the past few weeks.
However, the man who identified himself as Stephen Lindsey appears to be in genuine distress, and as such, we are currently calibrating our transporters to bring all six lifeforms detected on the shuttle aboard the Enterprise. Because of our uncertainty, I will meet them with a security team headed by Worf. The spacecraft itself will be towed into one of our docking bays for inspection by an engineering team.
Quite frankly, I am not certain what I believe the origin of this shuttle and its crew are. Isolated incidents of time travel were reported decades ago in the travels of the Enterprise NCC-1701, but more mundane explanations must be considered before fantastical ones. Several of my crewmates have suggested that they may be historical re-enactors of some sort, but I believe it is unlikely that any actor would remain in-character when hailed by a ship of our power and reputation.
Whatever their origin, whatever their story, the images of these original shuttles that Mr. Data has provided strike me very powerfully. Three centuries ago, the height of human technology was a six-month stay in an orbital facility without artificial gravity a mere 200 miles above the Earth. No human had ever traveled farther than the orbit of the moon, and both warp drive and official first contact with extraterrestrials were several decades away. Earth knew of no intelligent civilizations other than their own. Two of the Discovery’s sister ships had been lost in fatal accidents, one only seven years before the flight of STS-133.
I cannot speak for the man I spoke with earlier today, but I can say that the real men and women of STS-133 and all of those early shuttle flights displayed remarkable courage. Their accomplishments, like the earlier Apollo hops to the moon and the later first warp flights to Alpha Centauri, seem pitiful today, but they established the necessary infrastructure in Low-Earth Orbit to make future colonization and exploration possible. They were true pioneers, and though their missions took them to well-tread ground, it was in making orbital flights commonplace that they paved the path for others to go where no one had ever gone before.
((* Memory Alpha says NASA never appeared in Star Trek after the 2030s, while UESPA’s first appearance was in the 2060s, with the implication that it became part of UESPA, along with the agencies of other nations. I made up the “Meridiani Treaty†as a way of sort of “filling in the blank†for that 30 year gap. Meridiani Planum is the place on Mars where the Opportunity rover landed, so the assumption is that sometime in the 2040s or 2050s, representatives from NASA, ESA, Roskosmos, corresponding Chinese programs, etc, met at a base there and signed a treaty combining the various agencies into UESPA.))
((TNG enemy would probably be Romulans, though as a better idea, rouge Klingons would work too because they wouldn’t be suspected if their ships showed up.
I’m sort of stuck right now. I’m not really good at writing dialog for scenes where people are stressed.))
((Hmmm… after reading old Twilight Zone summaries, I realized that while there never was a Star Trek TV show in the world of Star Trek, it’s probable that one of the shuttle guys would have remembered “The Odyssey of Flight 33” by now, an episode where a commercial plane flies through a weird barrier and ends up in the dinosaur age.))
((The idea I had was that the enemy ARE active in LEO, and they created the portal to try and trap the Enterprise in the 21st century… but never expected that another ship would fly through from the other side.))
((Hmm… I think that in Star Trek, the Federation is almost totally aware of all non-fed things happening, so rouge Klingons would not be suspected. I mean, in one episode they spot a small Romulan ship before they’ve passed into Fed territory.))
((I guess it would have to be rouge Klingons, then.))
(( I write too many books. ITs a problem))
” Should we do it, Brandon?”
” You worry too much ,Alexandra.”
” Oh, you be quiet.”
Two voices hovered in the old magic factory. The rope bridge wobbled under the weight of two 11 year olds running.
“Shush, Peanut! You’ll give us away!”
” Woof.”
Alexandra and Brandon Landoni wanted to be links between the animal kingdom and human society. Nobody had ever done it without dying in 200 years. Rumor had it that there was tools to meld a human soul with an animals.
“Alex, we’re here.”
Alex was melting with dread. I’m going to regret this… Alex thought. But, no stopping Brandon when he’s determined.
“You ready, Alex?” Brandon said. Alex nodded.
”
The animal kingdom must prevail,
The hounds have lost thier sense of smell
The war of species must end now
Or the word shall end tomorrow. ”
Alex and Brandon read. Alex looked down. Her hand was glowing. she was levitating. ” Please pick up the slates.” A voice said.
Here’s a little taste of a SF project I’ve been working on.
Epsilon Eridani System, Outskirts of Pharos City, 2121
Mort Strand had fallen asleep at his desk, as he often did. He was lost in a dream of twirling double helices when the familiar beeping of an incoming message jolted him awake.
He fumbled for his tea mug and spoke to the wallscreen. “Display call.”
The pulsing, green sunburst of the standby screen vanished, replaced by a scene straight off one of the more sensational news channels. Searchlights juddered across a shattered ice field, hurtingly bright against the black night sky. A heavily jowled man with dark hair stared worriedly at the camera- hand-held, Mort guessed, from the way the image was shaking. An oxygen mask covered half his face, and his thermal clothing was law-enforcement sunflower-yellow.
“Mr. Strand?” the officer asked, voice muffled by the mask. “We have a problem. Did you hear about the crash?”
Mort blinked and took a swig of tea. “No… How long ago was it? What crash?”
“About two hours. It was a Strand ship, and part of it’s gone into emergency lockdown. We can’t open it. I know most of the overrides are keyed to genetic markers…”
But Mort was barely listening. It had been a long, time since he’d heard anything from the rest of the family.
One of them had called after the armistice, bouncing the message down from orbit. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, one of the diplomats they’d coded up from the gene banks in anticipation of the war. She’d said a lot of things about public relations- post-war atmosphere- orbital markets- violation of armistice terms. But Mort knew what she meant.
We never approved of Siri working with the Terraformers in the first place- and now that we’ve got an excuse, we’re cutting you all off.
The funding wasn’t the important part (although they’d cut the funding, too). The Strands were supposed to look out for one another. It had been a basic rule of the family/company/state ever since its beginning, a handful of disaffected geneticists fresh off the ship. Mort and his strain-siblings were still Strand to outsiders; they had the reputation, and the training to back it up. But even the most naive, freshly-cloned contractor down from orbit was higher on the private totem pole than they were. All because of politics.
“Mr. Strand?” the officer repeated.
Mort swallowed the last of his stone-cold tea. “Yeah. Send me the coordinates, I’ll be there in fifteen.”
***
It was closer to twenty minutes later when Mort arrived. The crash site was more than thirty kilometers away from the cluster of habitats that the Terraformer faction had named their capital, and his light, private wheeler wasn’t built for the icefields off the maintained roads. He hardly needed the coordinates in any case. The entire area was lit up like an Arrival Day parade, cordoned off with hastily erected barriers. Two emergency copters lurked just outside the glare.
As Mort’s vehicle drew closer, he could see the warped trail of ice where the ground had re-frozen after being melted by the plummeting ship’s exhaust. One of the officers hurried up to the barrier, but quickly drew it aside and waved him through.
Mort stepped out of the wheeler just beyond the cordon, slipping on the breather mask hanging above the door. As he clipped its air tank to his belt, he felt a small flicker of absurd professional pride. In the days of the first colonists, nobody had been able to walk unprotected on Sisyphus’s surface for more than a minute without debilitating frostbite and decompression bruises. It was still bitingly cold, but exposing skin to the wind wasn’t going to kill him.
The officer who’d called him hurried up out of the glare, a looming bear of a man in a bulky uniform. He stuck out a thick-fingered hand. “Constable Rickard. You’d be Strand.”
Mort returned the handshake diffidently. “Yes. What kind of shape’s the ship in?”
Rickard bit his lip. “Maybe I’d better show you.”
They followed the track of the shuttle’s jets. Mort was glad of his thermals; the wind was already stinging his cheeks, making his eyes stream.
There was a crater where the ship had come down. The hull was caked in ice, despite the scurrying techs trying to keep it clear, which made it hard to make out its overall shape at first. When they got closer, though, Mort squinted through the flurrying wind, unable to believe his eyes.
“That’s a ship-to-ship shuttle,” he said. It was a tangle of blocky capsules and tanks, about as aerodynamic as a dropped rhinoceros. It might have skimmed atmosphere once or twice- it must have had heat shields of some kind, or there wouldn’t have been anything left of it- but it was never designed to make an emergency landing. “I’m surprised it’s in one piece…”
His gaze followed the constable’s grimly pointing finger to a scree of mangled metal further down the ice, and Mort shut his mouth abruptly.
“The passenger section is still intact as far as we can tell,” Rickard explained. “It’s sealed off from the inside.”
Mort and the constable scrambled over the ice toward the forward portion of the shuttle. It had come down engines first, crudely slowing its descent, but the spars and struts holding it together hadn’t been meant for full gravity. The lower half had buckled before it tipped over, spraying fuel that had already frozen into a slippery black crust. The airlock door was a dull gray rectangle where the ice had been scraped away. A black box was clamped to its surface.
Rickard spoke to it. “Override 12. Outer door.”
There was a quiet whoosh as the atmospheres interchanged, and the thick hatch slid open. Mort stepped through carefully, the constable following like a golden shadow.
The inner door was less industrially minimal than the outer, but it was still proof against hard vacuum. A single word was printed across the ceramic plating in block letters. STRAND. The family had never needed a corporate logo.
The outer door shut with a whine of hydraulics, startling Mort briefly. Vents slammed open in the walls, sucking out planetary atmosphere and pumping in ship’s air. He felt his ears pop as the pressure changed.
Rickard checked a gauge on the sleeve of his suit and yanked off his mask. “Oxygen levels are normal. That’s good.”
Mort removed his own mask uneasily. The news was good for them, at least… but if oxygen was normal inside a compartment that had been locked down for over two hours, it might mean that not many people were breathing inside.
Alright, here’s that one-off story I was talking about on the Random Thread…
The backstory- The year is 2030. The world is in chaos. A despotic President whose identity is unknown has ruled the United States for the past few decades. Superhumans have been all but eliminated, executed or driven underground by the armored Cape Enforcers. The magical Black Knight, formerly a member of the superhero team The Avengers, has been driven insane. The Black Knight’s rampage through downtown Toronto was stopped only by the intervention of the heroic Sasquatch, seemingly at the cost of his own life.
ABOVE IT ALL
BES-1 Resilient, Low-Earth Orbit, Today
On night passes, Brisbane is a glittering jewel in the chain of lights that runs down the Australian coast from Cairns to Sydney, pearls of light ringing the edge of the continent before the darkness of the Pacific.
Dimmer strings run across the Outback, following the railroad lines through the dry interior.
I’ve seen it my entire life, but the sight never fails to soothe me.
orth America used to look like that, with the entire East Coast aglow, from the Maritimes to Key West. Everything from Boston to Washington DC was one blob of light like a fat glowworm. The lights were sparser as you looked west, with the highways a grid linking the cities. The big ones, like Las Vegas and Detroit, were like spiders, with the spindly roads converging on a thick, bright body. At least that’s how it looks in the old pictures. I wasn’t alive back then, I wouldn’t know.
In the old recordings, you’d always see the astronauts pointing out their home cities. They could make out geography so well just by following the city lights, the Iberian Peninsula, the Italian Boot, the home islands of Japan…
Industrialized, populated islands like Taiwan and Puerto Rico packed as much wattage as they could into their small areas, blazing in defiance of the dark ocean around them. Africa was mostly dark, but the Egyptian Nile was a bright thread through the Sahara, making life possible in that harsh desert. They could even make out the Korean border- South Korea had lots of city lights, but North Korea was dark except for the capital.
The world is darker now, the lights are jumbled, the chains that mark roadways and coastlines interrupted. The grids are still there, but with misshapen dark holes punched into them, breaking up the lines. So many people have evacuated in the past 20 years, abandoning homes left to rubble.
Australia’s one of the few places that still looks like it did at night.
But all too soon, we pass out of the night, out of the Earth’s shadow. It’s not the dawn I mind, when the pure white sunlight hits the atmosphere, it gets broken into every color of the spectrum, filling our windows with a beautiful prismatic rainbow. We speed onward, into the day, and I readjust my grip on my camera before Vasily’s voice in my headset can prompt it.
He tells me.
We speak in Russian, my first language, and his. We all know English, though, and Chinese, and bits and pieces of other languages with varying proficiency. And on Resilient, more often than not, we get them all mixed together and speak our own sort of pidgin. But when we talk to Korolev, Russian is the easiest.
They call us the eyes of the resistance. The enemy controls all of the spy sats, which means the only way for our people on the ground to get an overhead view is with the data we send back from Resilient. We take our photos and scans and send them down to the control center in Korolev, and from there, the Russians make sure it gets to the right people.
I said “the Russiansâ€, even though, I am, I suppose, Russian myself. (I suppose the name “Alexi Drakon†rather gives that away.) I was born in Moscow, but when I was eight, the troubles started in the United States, and my mutant power first surfaced. My parents at first believed everything was too far away for them to be worried, although they protested the President’s actions along with others. They didn’t realize how serious everything was until the Denburg-Neknez incident.
As part of his campaign to round up mutants, the President focused on one of the most highest-profile mutants at the time, Dr. Carl Denburg-Neknez. Denburg-Neknez had been paraded as a mutant-rights success story, an inventor whose natural genius was boosted by his technopathic empathy with machines. His brilliance and kind ways made him a frequent talk-show guest. But following the massacre on Genosha, he was just another outlaw to be imprisoned, which the President ordered.
The only problem was that, at the time, Carl Denburg-Neknez was aboard the International Space Station, aiding in the testing of a new plasma rocket engine. The President ordered that Denburg-Neknez be returned to Earth at once to “stand trialâ€.
His crewmates refused to turn him over. The President told their support team in Houston to force the astronauts to comply. The climate was very different then, repression had only begun, and the ground support team naively ignored him, believing the matter could be sorted out diplomatically by higher-ups. For three weeks, station operations continued as normal, despite the Presidential mandate.
When political pressure failed, the President went farther than anyone had ever expected- he sent Cape Enforcers to Houston to force the controllers into complying. Officially, only one flight controller was harmed, in an incident where a gun accidentally misfired. Many people, including my parents, doubted that this was the case. However, the agents found that the astronauts had been tipped-off and were now only communicating with foreign control centers, principally the one in the Russian city of Korolev.
Shortly afterwards, Denburg-Neknez and the other Americans aboard the station DID return to Earth- landing in Central Asia in one of the station’s Soyuz escape capsules and seeking immediate asylum in Russia, which they were granted.
Shortly thereafter, my parents realized that there was nowhere on Earth a mutant could grow up safely with the Cape Enforcers active. And fortunately, some very rich people felt the same way. It began very subtly. It was announced that several anonymous clients had signed contracts for the creation of a commercial space station, and that many boldfaced names were helping to design it as a luxury resort.
The “space hotel†talk was only a cover, but the Resilient was indeed designed by some of the best engineers in the world at the time, people perpetually described as “second only to Tony Stark†in their fields. Half of the NewSpace industry was involved in one way or another. Denburg-Neknez himself did most of the work for the gravity wheel covertly. We didn’t have Stark, it was true. But if we had sixteen people who were one-sixteenth as good as him, there wasn’t much difference.
After launch, the Resilent’s backers dispensed with secrecy and declared the station a sanctuary for all those persecuted by the new policies. I didn’t understand much, I was just a little ten-year-old kid who was more interested in learning to control my power of creating ice and snow. I’d just picked the codename Buran- blizzard- when my parents packed up and moved our family to Resilient. Since then, I’ve never spent longer than a month on Earth.
I don’t know if citizenship can expire, but I haven’t been to Russia since I was ten. I consider myself a citizen of the Space Station Resilient.
Vasily’s voice jolts me out of my memories. I raise the zoom lens to my eye and scan the curving horizon out my window. A dark gray blob is visible. Smoke and dust. I’ve seen enough ruined metropolitan areas to know what the clouds look like.
The winds carry the smoke eastward, across Lake Ontario and towards the New York shore. It interrupts the usual shining of the lake’s waters in the afternoon light.
It’s pretty bad, I can tell that much already, as I snap my photos. They say that the guys on the ISS in 2001 could see the smoke rising from the World Trade Center after it was destroyed. It was new and horrible to them, and they felt helpless.
I’ve grown so used to sights like this.
But I still feel helpless, looking down, unable to do anything but shoot pictures. We relay messages for the various resistance branches, keep the comsats running for them, and from what Vasily says, the Canadian resistance is planning something big.
I hope to God they succeed.
Because the world deserves better than what I’m seeing.
[End Transmission]
CAKE IT! I wrote the words in Russian in pointed brackets, and I forgot the board makes those invisible!
Right before “He tells me”, it’s supposed to say “According to our sources, the incident in Toronto occurred just over an hour ago.â€
Right after that, before “We speak in Russian”, it’s supposed to say “The Black Knight, you said? The former Avenger? And Sasquatch from Alpha Flight?â€
And then, after “Russian is the easiest”, it’s supposed to be “That’s right. The Black Knight was on a rampage and Sasquatch stopped him. Full damage reports are still coming in, that’s why your vantage point’s so important, Alexi.â€
Finally, before “Vasily’s voice jolts me out of my memories”, it’s supposed to say “Alexi, can you see Toronto yet?â€
((Right. This is a little something I’ve been working on. It has no relation to my current story. Crits and comments greatly appreciated. I also need a title, something similar to Ying-Yang, like opposites that go together.))
I ran, tripping over unseen vines and stretched out roots. My light lavender legs reaching out in front of me, then going back as I galloped through the dappled shade. Behind me, humans crashed through the undergrowth like wounded Tauros.
I closed my eyes, my whiskers twanging. The red gem on my forehead glowed, and a green reflective barrier appeared behind me. “What the…!â€One of the humans smacked into the Barrier I’d put up. It was large, but not large enough. No, concentrate, get away, I told myself.
I tripped, scraping my leg. It stung a lot, so I limped to a large oak, its bark and limbs gnarled with age. I climbed up it, careful to keep my scraped leg off the bark, and hid up where the leave covers would provide cover.
The humans caught up and stood right below the tree. I felt an involuntary shiver and drew back even further until my forked tail touched the trunk of the tree.
One of the humans, the taller one with a deeper voice, wore a black and white spacey uniform with silver knee-high boots. A yellow “G†was emblazoned on the chest, and his green hair was cut very short and curved around his neck.
The other human seemed less sure of himself. He wore a black long-sleeved shirt with grey gloves, long black pants, and a black hat. Around his waist was a belt with a few pokeballs.
“Drat!†said the green-haired human. “Experiment 0002 has gotten away!†“That must be me,†I thought.
“B-but at least experiment 0001 was recaptured…†said the black-hatted human. Green Hair rounded on him. “Experiment 0002 was top priority, idiot! We can’t operate without both of them!†My tails waved. These humans…there was something wrong with them…like they were scared of something higher than them.
I crept back along the branch, one paw at a time. Finally, I turned around and dashed as fast as I could, down the other side of the oak, hidden from the humans. Taillow and Wurmple looked on as I dashed through the forest, not even sure where I was going, just wanting to get away.
My life up to here flashed before me. I tried to ignore it, but it was there. Painful memories flooded me, but I had to keep running, had to get away from the humans…
“Here you are, sir. One litter of Eevees. Oh?†One of the Eevees had strayed. She was sniffing the silver boots of the Breeder’s customer. The Eevee had blue-gray eyes, innocent eyes that knew nothing beyond her mother’s milk and warmth.
The customer smiled, but it was not because of the Eevee’s innocence. “I’ll take this one,†he said, picking up the Eevee by the scruff of the neck. The Eevee mewled, slightly uncomfortable with this human, but the human paid it no mind.
The customer took out a stack of coins and placed it in the Breeder’s hand. Then he left, placing the Eevee into a cardboard box. It shivered and shrunk into a corner, trying to think of what was happening.
“Initializing cloning process.†The Eevee was in a small metal cube, one end made of bulletproof glass so the humans could look on. A light scanned the Eevee, and it closed its grey-blue eyes.
On the other end of the machine, though the Eevee did not know it, there was an identical metal cube. Brown fuzz filled the cube, quickly becoming a transparent Eevee. The machine started to belch smoke with the strain of making a cloned Eevee.
The Eevee in the other box grew solid. “Vee?†it said, putting a paw up to the glass. The machine stopped it’s great pounding. “Amazing!†said the humans gathered around.
One human stepped forward. He was dressed quite oddly, with segmented pants and sleeves. His chest was mostly silver, with some black bands around his waist, and a yellow “G†on the upper left. Most notable was his hair, which was blue and stuck up in three rounded spikes.
“Team GaTR,†he said. “You have just witnessed a step forward in bringing a new time of peace. If we clone pokemon, we can make an army. No one will oppose us.†The two Eevees scratched at the glass in unison. “Eevee, vee!†they cried.
The blue-haired human sighed. “You.†He pointed at the nearest human, who was dressed in a white lab coat. “Let them out.†The human shuffled forward and pressed a few buttons. The glass panels flipped open and both Eevees jumped out.
The two Eevees shook their fur and scratched their ear. Then they saw each other. “Vee?†said the first Eevee. “Eevee!†said the second Eevee. The first ran up to the second and pounced on it. The two rolled around on the hard steel floor.
A smile played on the blue-haired human’s lips. “Examine them,†he said to the human in the white lab coat. He nodded and picked up one of the Eevees. It wriggled, wanting to keep playing with its sibling.
“How interesting,†said the white-coated human softly. He set the Eevee down and picked up the other. “Cyrus-â€
“Yes? What is it?†snapped Cyrus.
“W-Well, this original one is a boy, but the clone is a girl.â€
“What could have caused that?â€
“I’m sure I don’t know, sir.†The human put the male Eevee back down. He pounced on his little sister, who giggled. Cyrus pointed at the other human. “Put them somewhere they won’t disturb me .And make sure they are in the same place.â€
The human nodded and picked up both Eevees. The female shrunk and closed her gray-blue eyes, but the male squirmed and lashed out with his soft paws. The human tilted his head a bit. “How odd,†he murmured. “You have the same DNA, yet very different personalities.â€
The human carried the two Eevees over to a metal cage. He placed them in, and the female ran over to the corner and huddled there, her eyes wide with fear. The male growled at the human, then sensed his twin sister was in trouble. He walked over and settled down by her, grooming her quietly with his tongue.
The human felt a small smile. “You need names,†he said. “How about Absalom for you,†the human pointed at the male, ‘and Cheshire for you.†The human pointed at the female Eevee. Both Eevees looked up with the same pair of blue-gray eyes.
~A few days later~
The human walked towards the cage to feed the twins, Absalom and Cheshire, whistling as he went. He always enjoyed seeing the little balls of fur wrestle around and pretend to stalk each other. But when he reached the cage, he stopped. Instead of two Eevees, there were two very different pokemon in the cage.
The first pokemon was black, as black as the night. It had grey eyes and green rings around its rounded tail and ears and on its legs. It was cat-like and stalked about the cage. “Absalom?†the human whispered. The pokemon stopped and nodded.
The other pokemon seemed to be the complete opposite. It was a light purple, with “whiskers†on either side of its face. It had large triangular ears and a forked tail that was patterned with the same green as its eyes. “Cheshire?†the human whispered. The pokemon stopped and nodded its head.
As the human watched, Absalom pretended to pounce on Cheshire and they both fell over laughing. But then Absalom stopped and perked up his head He heard footsteps and immediately pushed his sister over to the wall and settled down with her.
Cyrus walked up to the cage. “Well?†he said. “How are they Shaun?†Shaun bobbed his head and said, “Well, erm, you see, uh…they evolved.â€
Cyrus stepped back. “What do you mean, evolved?â€
“The female is an Espeon, sir, and the male is an Umbreon.â€
Cyrus nodded his head, like he was expecting this. “I should have known,†he said. “They are so fond of each other. Take them for a walk, but be sure they return. Or else.â€
Shaun nodded his head again, then opened the cage. Absalom streaked out, but Shaun was quicker and grabbed him by the neck. “Shh,†he said quietly, “I’m going to get you two out of here.â€
Absalow narrowed his grey eyes, but stopped struggling. Cheshire walked out of the corner she’d been hiding in and purred a bit, staring up at Shaun with big blue eyes. “Espeon…†she said.
Shaun smiled, but it was a sad smile. He took the two pokemon through the cold metal hallways, and out a door which led straight to the forest.
Absalom and Cheshire were spellbound. All they had ever know was cold metal floors and hard steel bars. All this green…! But they both knew they had to stay close to Shaun, their protector.
Shaun walked deeper and deeper into the forest, until he came to a large clearing. A fairy ring surrounded the whole thing, along with many old growth trees. Pollen drifted through the air, and it was as peaceful as could be.
Shaun knelt to face the two pokemon. “You need to promise me something,†he said. Absalom and Cheshire sat and looked at him intently. “Eon,†they said at the same time.
Shaun felt tears bubbling up in his eyes. “You need to promise me you’ll survive. You’re all I have left. Promise me you’ll survive and live.â€
The two pokemon looked at each other, nodded, and placed their paws onto Shaun’s hand. He smiled again, but then heard sirens in the distance. “Go!†he said urgently. The two pokemon ran, looking back for just a moment, before disappearing into the forest’s welcoming arms.
I love the narration from the Pokemon’s point of view.
Thank you. I’m not that great at writing first person, but I think this turned out nice. Recognize the pokemon’s names?
I do know what an Umbreon and an Espeon are, yes.
No, the other names. Absalom and Cheshire?
I know that the first is Biblical and the second is an Alice in Wonderland reference, and I know Cyrus is the head of Team Galactic, but I don’t think I read far enough ahead in my brother’s strategy guide to know about specific Pokemon with those names in the game.
“Absalom”“Absolem” is the name of the Caterpillar in Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland movie. (Not in the book, though; Lewis Carroll didn’t give the Caterpillar a name.)[Added a few minutes later: I checked it online, and apparently the moviemakers spelled it “Absolem.” In the Bible (2 Samuel), Absalom was a son of David who was killed while leading a rebellion against his father.]
I WOULD know it as biblical rather than Alice in Wonderland, I would…
(Actually, at first I thought of Cry, the Beloved Country…)
Argh. I’m going to start rewriting my NaNo soon, and I’m trying to figure out all my characters, because they all are WAY too blah. I got one of them pretty much down, but I am having serious troubles with the second. I haven’t even started on the rest.
Erk. This is going to be a serious problem.
And my logic board for my broken computer just got here. I hope to see you in several hours on my beloved laptop again.
Short story I just wrote:
_______________________________________
Water dripped down off the cave ceiling onto my head as I woke up from my dream.
I heard a voice.
It was crying.
Another one, this one was yelling.
I came to.
There was no cave.
There was no water.
There was no voice.
There was nothing.
I came to.
There was a grin, two inches from my face.
It was upside down.
Maybe it was frowning.
I can’t remember.
I came to.
I was in a prison cell.
I knew this was real, because no dream could hurt this much.
No dream could make me feel this empty.
This swollen.
My vision was clouded, and the water was back. It was dripping directly on the center of my forehead. My entire body ached, my tongue was sore and heavy.
When my head cleared I was able to see someone sitting in a chair, outside the bars of my cell. I wasn’t sure if they were a man or a woman. I asked them where I was. Or, I tried to. My mouth seemed to disagree with the message I was trying to send, and changed the words around a bit. I’m not sure what I said, but the person didn’t seem to like it so much. I tried again.
(Where am I?)
It came out jumbled again. Now the person just seemed a bit confused, but mostly bored.
(Excuse me! What’s going on?)
This time I listened to what came out. “Me going.â€
That seemed to get a reaction. The person stood up quickly, now much more aware.
I tried to apologize. (Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. My mouth doesn’t seem to be working. You’ll have to excuse me.) turned into “Doesn’t seem you’ll excuse me. You’ll have to, you’ll be sorry.â€
At this the person leaped across the room and pressed a button by the door. Loud alarms blared outside the room, worsening my headache. I tried to cover my ears, but my arms seemed glued to the floor. I struggled against whatever was holding them back. The more I pushed, the more my body ached and burned. The pain was almost to much, and I would have fainted, but held myself awake. I tried to scream, but it came out as laughter.
The doors swept open, and armed and armored people swarmed in. I panicked, and started crying. Except that no tears came out, just more crazed laughing. People took aim at me, but a command came not to fire.
The room was filled with screaming and noise and motion and it was too much and I was going to break-
-Then whatever was holding me back snapped. Or ended, I don’t know if it was physical or not. I must have been struggling much harder than I realized, because I rose several inches into the air, writhing and laughing uncontrollably, before I crashed back to the ground. That hurt, so I lay still for a few seconds, before getting up to explain what was going on.
Then I remembered that my speech wasn’t very good, and decided to just leave. I was done with this place.
No-one liked this very much. As I started walking towards them, towards the door, they panicked and began to back away, still holding guns in their trembling hands, waiting for the order to fire. I knew it would come soon, so I screamed (DON’T SHOOT!) but the words came out muffled and slurred together, and I just ended up shrieking.
The order came.
Bright white, filling my entire field of vision.
When it subsided, everyone in the room was dead.
Everyone but me.
Black.
Water dripped down off the cave ceiling onto my head as I woke up from my dream.
((I have revived Beacons, or whatever I’m going to call it.))
I loitered around the square, trying to appear inconspicuous and pretending to be reading a billboard. Don’t ask me what the billboard said; I wasn’t really paying attention to it. Hence the pretending. I was actually peering across the street at an antiques store and trying to assess how generous 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 glance suspiciously at me. After all, who spends ten minutes reading a billboard advertising a sweets shop? I knew that procrastinating wouldn’t help matters, so I took a deep breath and started across the square toward McNalister’s Everyday Items. I needed an alias.
Mr. McNalister himself (he had a nametag) was sitting at the counter scribbling in a ledger. 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? That was totally uncalled for. I cleared my throat loudly. “Excuse me, but I was wondering if you had any job openings. I-†My voice trailed off as I realized I was standing on a lush carpet with my muddy footwear.
His cold eyes stared at me in scorn. “You really think I would hire you?†he exclaimed, his voice ringing with contempt. “That just arrived from Persia. 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 about 4 years. He gave me his word that you would hire me.â€
He laughed scornfully. “Then you must have visited the afterlife.â€
Oops. So much for luck.
“I believe that you are a liar, a vandalizer, and possibly a thief. Now, I could just call for help, but since I am authorized to release Canix upon you, I’ll do it the amusing way.†He stood up and whistled sharply through his teeth.
Maybe Canix will be a nice, small, friendly dog that will just bark at me. This guy looks so stingy, maybe he wouldn’t want to have a big, expensive guard dog? 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 nasty-looking black pit bull. He and I both stood very still, him sizing me up and me trying not to breathe. Maybe he won’t notice me. Then another thought struck me: This whole situation was pretty ridiculous. All I did was try to get a job; he didn’t have to try and kill me. McNalister was a pretty mean guy. And again, Why did I want a job here anyway?
McNalister pointed at me and cooed, “Look at the tasty human, Canix! He’s a nasty intruder! We can’t have any of those, can we?†Too late.
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 clacking against the rough-hewn cobblestones. That could only mean a police patrol. I had seen four swarming the city the previous day. They’d be sure to notice a nervous twenty-two year old man dressed in a grungy rags being hunted by a vicious dog, and once they took me in for questioning, they would recognize me.
Slobber dripped from Canix’s mouth as he slowly advanced toward me. McNalister was smiling maliciously. The master and the servant looked eerily like twins. The police won’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 with a yellow sunhat. 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.
My heart skipped a beat.
The policeman scrutinized me with his beady eyes. I stared at him with bated breath. The man exhaled loudly.
“Anthony Terajal, you’re under arrest.†He said abruptly. “You’re lucky we found you, otherwise, you might have caused 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 early 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.
My guard 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 police officer 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. “An old lady recognized you from the newspaper. 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€
How is that possible? “I’ve only been here-“
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 rusted letter opener and skimmed the contents of the paper it contained.
“Well, Jack Burbank, from these records, 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 sentence of jail for life, 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 need to escape, but where can I run? How would I evade capture again? What would 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 rocky coast below. I could see the docks in the distance; I didn’t have much time to put my chancy 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 chief said, no tricks.†Herman agreed.
I sighed. “It was worth a try.†I scuffed the ground, sneakily kicking 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 lemming. 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 empty alley with a dead end and a window.
Shouldn’t there be a dumpster or something to hide in? The market had a clothes stall, why can’t I have a pile of garbage too? Cake.
“Stop! You have violated the law!†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 in fancy letters was the name Makran Katero.
Makran Katero?! The name took me by surprise. Memories that I had tried to suppress flooded back.
“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 can I go? Wait… It hit me. The one place they wouldn’t think of looking. I ran as fast I could toward the docks, as fast as someone holding their aching back can run, and left the chaos in the market behind me.
* * *
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 with scowling sailors, frantic passengers, and relaxed 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 twitched in shock and spun around, falling backwards to the ground. 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 FROM PUERTO RICO. TO BRAZIL. THIS WAY UP. FRAGILE. My brain finally clicked into a higher 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.
“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. Plus, I would then be in his favor.
“Saw what happen?†I asked. “You moved a crate, did your job. 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’names 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€
“Sure thing, Kendrick!†I replied smartly. I got on the opposite side of the crate while Kendrick got ready to lift his side.
“Ready?†Kendrick asked. I nodded. “On the count of three. One, two, three!â€
My back throbbed as we slowly lifted the crate, which was extremely heavy. I gritted my teeth as we carried the crate down the docks toward the ship. Kendrick’s face was turning red.
At last we made it next to the cargo ship. We placed the crate gently on the ground as a crane swiveled into position to load it on the ship. Other dockworkers scurried around getting the ship ready to leave.
I suddenly remembered the danger only a few feet away. How was I supposed to get on the ship?
Kendrick shook my hand and said, “Good job, m’lad. Thanks for yer help! I ne’er could ‘ave moved that all by m’self.â€
“Oy, Kendrick,†A worker farther down the docks yelled, “I need that inventory list now!â€
“Right away, sir!†He yelled as he strode toward him, then said over his shoulder, “See yer later Jerrick!â€
“Er, right! See you later!†I said as I turned back to the ship. I was now right next to the boarding ramp, and the policemen were at the other end of the dock. I waited until the crewmembers were busy securing the cargo, then dashed up the ramp and onto the ship. Ducking behind a pile of rope near the side of the ship, I thought about where I could hide from the crew. The cargo hold would be the best place, of course, but there wasn’t any food there. There wasn’t any other place to hide; this was a cargo ship, not a passenger cruise line.
Then I got a crazy and pretty risky idea. But for it to have a chance of working, I needed some rope, two barrels, and lots of straw. The rope I was hiding behind would do fine, the barrels would come from the cargo hold, and the straw would come from the around the cabins. I took my sharpened piece of shell out of my pocket and started sawing a length of the rope.
The crew’s shouts and cries drifted nearer. I sawed faster. I needed to get off deck fast, before the crew noticed me. Only a few strands of rope remained. Footsteps pounded up the gangplank. I hacked at the last thread; the rope parted. I gathered the severed length of rope over my shoulder and hurried toward the cargo hold.
The crew was almost on deck. I swung the hatch open, hastily tried to find the ladder rung. My foot fell on something solid; I swung onto the ladder, slipped, fell. I hung suspended by the rope that had caught on the hatch. The bristly hair of a crewmate was silhouetted against the sky.. I yanked frantically at the rope. The rope fell off the hatch; I slammed to the floor. The hatch closed and locked in place. The sound of the stomping and running crew emanated through the floorboards above me.
I sighed, then winced. I had landed on my back again. This would turn into a habit if I weren’t more careful.
I pulled myself up and threw the rope to the floor, then decided it should look like it belonged if one of the crew came down. I crouched and coiled it into a small pile. When I finished, two barrels caught my eye. They were lined up next to each other against a beam, and were boxier and squatter than regular barrels. They would do nicely for my plan.
I moved over to them and doubtfully looked at my sharpened shell. It didn’t look like it would be able to split open wood. I cast my eyes around the hold and didn’t see anything of use. The shell would have to do. I wedged it under the barrel lid and levered it downwards, falling back as it crumbled in my hands. Bits of shell fell to the floor as I looked at the sealed lid in dismay. Well then, what should I do now? I can’t get the barrel open, so I have nothing to do… the crew will find me… I’ll be caught… Katero will punish me. Malevolent thoughts swept through my head at the remembrance of Makran Katero…
* * *
My father owned a large sugar cane plantation in Belem; it was the grandest place in the whole city. I was born there, in 1874, and lived with my father and my mother. We had slaves, of course, but mostly my parents looked over them as tools of the business. I had a good friend in one, Boipelo. He was older than I by about seven years, but he and I had little differences other than his servility. We used to play near the sugar cane fields, and when we got tired, we sat in the shade of the canes and chatted.
My parents worked hard at their trade. They were called to from all over the city, and sometimes from outside, for the cane, which was good quality and priced low. There was only one threat to the smooth business: the cutthroat rival seller, Makran Katero.
Mr. Katero owned less land and worse sugar cane than us, so my father overlooked him for a while. That was a bad mistake; I saw it as the turning point for our life of prosperity, the weevil in the GOLDEN field. Makran played the victim game. Even though he owned a worse company, he could hurt us and bring us down to his level.
Makran Katero was cruel. I heard a rumor from one of the slaves. Mr. Katero ordered his slaves to work from dawn ‘til well after dusk. Sometimes I heard screams from across the PLAINS as a life-weary harvester collapsed. This did not deter the shrewd owner from taking advantage of the slave market. The ease at which a servant could be bought was surprising; as long as money was shown, slaves could be bought weekly. Mr. Katero had a cycle. He bought a slave, worked him to the brink of death, and exchanged him for a healthy slave.
In the meantime, Makran was worming his way into politics in an effort to stifle my family with legalities. Paperwork and bills steadily increased as Makran found and invented loopholes in laws and errors in our business management. My father knew he was doing this, but was powerless against the time-consuming world of corrupt politics. He exchanged few words with Makran, whose plantation was a mile away from ours.
“Another bad harvest, Katero?†my father would say while walking past his rival.
“On the contrary,†Katero might reply, “It is better than the last.â€He usually smirked at that point.
My father would be vastly irritated by this, but was not able to retaliate. He soon began to sleep for days.
* * *
I shook myself out of my past. Remembering my father sleeping for hours on the couch and wake up to a business fiasco was too painful. I would have time for this later. Right now I needed to get to work.
This is the beginnings of a story I’ve thought of, mostly meant to be a clever twist on what I call “You must find the banana king! *adventures* Guess what? You are the banana king!” cliche. IE doesn’t have spellcheck, so be warned. Also, there will be spoilers for many good books, so be warned!
~~~~~~~~~
Death has certain fatalistic tendencies. You can’t avoid it, it’s going to happen to you. Even if you try to avoid it, your quest to avoid will fail, and sometimes cause it.* These last cases are some of the saddest, as whomever is pursuing the life eternal (Which, of course, won’t happen since, death is certain) accidentally causes their death. Imagine that, having your hopes and dreams snatched away due to your own mistakes. However, they do have one small patch of silver lining, like that one sprinkle on an otherwise bare and distasteful cupcake. This little sprinkle is the fact that the person probably won’t know that they brought death upon themselves, since it happens quickly.** Of course, it’s true that sometimes the person is completely aware of the fact they caused their death. Then that sprinkle isn’t there, though, of course, others can learn from their mistakes. Usually.
Those rare cases where nobody can learn from the mistakes of the deceased, and they knew they caused their death are those cases that are truly sad. And of course, truly sad things are what make some of the best novels. For example, in To Kill A Mockingbird is there anything happy about a man being falsley accused and falsley killed? Or is there anything happy in 1984 where Big Brother is watching you? Of course, many of the characters are happy, but that adds to general sadness of the book, because they are happy because they don’t know that their life is, well, hell. The story of Alex LeStray is has a few happy times in it, but his death is, well, truly sad. The story of it, well, that’s the book and he wouldn’t want us to give it away.
It begins with a shy, geeky boy, aged 14, reading countless books. His name is Benjamin, and he is the aforementioned Alex LeStray’s brother. Most of the books he’s reading are probably the type that would interest you, since you picked this book up. But some of them are a bit strange. Books on ancient legends, tales from unknown lands, buried in the mines of history, yet to be uncovered.*** He got these books because they looked like they might have good stories in them, which, of course, they do.
“Still reading? Geek.” Alex walks into the house, laughing at his geeky brother. Alex is the type you probably dislike, the all too popular sports hero of the local (American) football team. Big, brawny, and 15, Benjamin has always been the wimpy little brother nobody notices.**** He’s back from football practice, and something completely very important is going to happen, completely by chance.***** Alex picks up one of the books of mythological tales from old forgotten lands, etc. etc. He reads aloud a passage which takes him by surprise by chilling in his bones.
“The heron and forge unite
To make the world right
But they shall fall
The word shall maul
And the grains gotten shall make their flight
And letters spill into the night.”******
Alex throws the book back onto the table, obviously disappointed in his brother. He didn’t realize how important that rhyme would be to them in the not-so-near future.
“Are you really reading weird crap like that? Is that really what you enjoy reading?”
“It is. And I’d rather you not insult my favorite passtime, as I don’t insult your tradition of bashing one another’s skulls in.” Benjamin replies, slightly snobbishly, but mostly annoyed by his brother’s closemindedness. He had only an inkling of how important the rhyme is. A sort of chill in his bones, the cold breath of someone who had just eaten a whole pack of mints.
“Just stop using strange words, ok?” Alex asks and pounds off to his room.
*Such as the time when the Emperor of China died from mercury poisoning because he thought that mercury would cure the symptoms brought on by mercury poisoning.
**Like the time when the 16 Ton weight falls on you when your Rube Goldberg experiment goes horribly, horribly wrong… But I won’t spoil your ending for you.
***How they ended up in those books is a complete mystery to me. In my opinion, the most likely theory is that they developed a subtle field around the world that broadcasts bits of their history into our subconcious. This may or may not explains such strange happenings as myths about pyramids, alien abduction stories, commercial television, and most of all, Justin Beiber, which nobody is willing to accept the blame for.
****Sometimes even his mother sets the table for three.
*****This is the sort of thing that makes you wonder why the universe couldn’t have gotten a better planning comittee.
******This is one of those strange lines of poetry that refers to itself. Stay tuned, take notes, figure out what the poem really means. (But I’ll tell you later anyway. I’ll also tell you that the poetry makes a small reference to this story, or, more correctly, words used in this story. Strange how life works like that.)
~~~~~~~~~
Well, what do you think? Too many footnotes? Too strange? Jumpy? Confusing?
((I posted this on Writer’s Notebook, but it didn’t get much attention, so I’ll post it here.))
Foam dripped from the creatures fangs, which half-hidden in the dimly lit room. The creature was bound by its wrists to supposedly unbreakable chains, which were attached to a concrete floor. The only light came from a weak flickering lightbulb. The lightbulb seemed to know what dark secret it shone upon, and did its best to hide it.
Three of the walls were solid, 20-inch steel, but one was 5 layers of bulletproof glass. Outside the room and in front of the glass, two humans observed the creature. They looked almost identical, with the same stupid green bowl haircut and grey space-agey clothes.
One human stared intently at a red line against a white background. If you could look back, you would see the line followed an upward trend. The human gulped and turned to his partner. “It’s getting stronger,†the first human said.
The second human swallowed loudly. “W-We need to inform Master Cyrus.†He picked up his walkie-talkie and spoke a few words into it. “Master Cyrus, you need to come here. Experiment 13M is getting stronger.â€
Almost immediately, a blue haired man who could only be Cyrus appeared.He stepped off the teleportation platform, and made his way to the two grunts. Pushing one aside, he peered closely at the red line that was slowly moving upwards.
Cyrus suppressed a grin. “Why, gentlemen,†he said calmly, “there’s nothing to be afraid of! 13M is just a little bit upset. Here, I will show you. Let me in.†One of the grunts reluctantly pressed a button, and the locking mechanism on the door whirred into action.
The double steel doors opened, and Cyrus stepped through. When the doors closed behind him, their clicking sounded oddly ominous. Cyrus turned and waved cheerfully. Then he stepped towards the creature known as 13M.
“Stay…back,†13M hissed. It spat on the floor, near Cyrus’ black polished shoes. He frowned, moved around the foamy spittle, and took another step closer to 13M. “Come now, dear, won’t you be a good little experiment?†he crooned.
“I said STAY BACK!†screamed 13M. It launched itself as far as the chains would allow, thirsting for Cyrus’ blood. The creature’s face was thrown into the light. Almost at once, the light died, but 13M’s face had been revealed.
It’s face bore vaguely Zangoose-like features, most noticeable being the blue scar that ran through its left eye. However, it had long fur extending back from its head, and wicked fangs, two inches long. The fangs were covered in spit and foam, and snapped angrily in the dark at Cyrus.
Cyrus chuckled when the light came back on unsteadily. “Such a firecraker! And to think you were achieved…the greatest breakthrough in pokemon history…greater than Mewtwo…you were nothing but a lowly Zangoose. Won’t you let me pet you?†He reached out a hand to stroke 13M’s fur.
The creature snapped at Cyrus’ fingers, and everything went black again. In the darkness, the two observing grunts could hear various sounds. The snapping of metal, a man’s scream, and something like gushing water. The sound of a million toothpicks being snapped at once, and then…nothing.
When the light cam back on, it shone steadily for the first time. It shone on the body of a blue haired man, face up with an expression of insanity and horror still on his face. It shone on a cavity in the same man’s chest where a heart would usually be. It shone on broken chains and a cracked concrete floor. And it shone on a trail of blood leading to a four-foot hole in the back wall.
((It gets pretty graphic past here, so if you want to stop reading, that’s okay. Well, are you? No? Okay then, I’ll shut up and you can go ahead.))
Sirens blared and wailed. “Warning,†called a calm voice over and over again. “Evacuate the building.†Grunts ran screaming towards the exits, their legs propelled by sheer terror at what had just been unleashed. Others in the back were not so lucky. Some lay in a permanent sleep in a pool of their own blood. Other lay dying, huge gashes ripped open in their chest and face.
Yeah, sorry, I saw this earlier but really didn’t have much to say. It’s good. Not THAT gory, really. You could’ve made it worse. What are they experimenting on 13M for? (Like, what kind of experiments?) Just curiosity.
My original notion was they were trying to make a creature more powerful than a legendary. I think Cyrus didn’t imagine what would happen if they kept something that powerful starved and locked up.
(I’m starting a new book! Reality novel again, except this time with more high-school basis. So far, I’m pretty sure the title will be Backseat Driver, and this is the prologue. Hope you enjoy it!)
There are five little words that no girl ever wants to hear herself say. Questions almost always begin with confusion and end with frustration, but of all that I could have asked, this was the most painful, the most terrible.
“You’re breaking up with me?â€
“Yes,†he breathed, running a hand through his thick dark hair. “I’m sorry, Riley. It’s been great, but things just aren’t working out.â€
I can remember, now that I think about it, the way he looked at me. It was as though my boyfriend, the love of my life was giving me the once-over, a last examination. Maybe he was reconsidering, but if he was he didn’t show it, only stared at me with a blank frankness to his manner. At that moment, so many unasked inquiries popped into my mind. I spluttered the first that came out of my mouth.
“What, what is it? What happened, what did I do wrong?â€
Still left over in my mind were, why me? Am I not good enough for you? Not pretty, not smart, not enough for you to want anymore?
Anthony sighed, heaving the breath of air from his chest. He sat next to me on my bed, took my hand, and stared into my eyes. It was too painful for me to move away. “It’s not you, it’s me. I’m in college now, and we’ve had a good run, but I need to start over. I have to have a clean break from high school, you know?â€
I felt myself nod, stiffly, slowly. Was this all I was to him? A clean break from all of the laughter, the fun and the love that we’d shared? I could almost imagine my boyfriend of two years in college, in Orlando, miles and miles away from Philadelphia where we sat in my bedroom. His laughing green eyes and strong build nestled against another girl, a faceless woman with numerous assets and a beauty far greater than my own. My stomach lurched. The room began to close in around me, walls tightening, and all I could see was Anthony’s stony expression boring into my soul.
“I understand,†I said, pulling my hand away from his. The connection between us broke, the light in the room faded to grey. “I think you should go now.â€
“I think so, too,†he replied, getting up. But before he left me, his lips came down to my face, brushing gently across my cheek. Then, with the slam of the door, he was gone, out into the cloudy night.
I stood for a moment, motionless, and then fell haphazardly to the carpet, my face resting slantwise against the smooth floorboards. A tear slid gently from the corner of my eye.
His kiss still burned against my skin.
+brainstorming for my book that’s in my head.+
hmm….
how about:
PROLOUGE
Some people say I am wasting my life. Others say I should settle down and go to school. But I am using my life. And better then they are.
Because I am free.
The earth and life have a pounding, a pulse. The seasons change. the pulse keesps going. If you let it, it pounds into your soul. You are part of the earth, you feel stronger, taller, completely at peace. you are your own life but at the same time you are part of the greater life of earth.
When I tell people this they think I am crazy.
But it’s true.
OK. END OF PROLOUGE. CRITICISEM WELCOME BUT I HOPE U LIKE IT.
Excellent.
I like that.
CHAPTER ONE
It is winter. The snow is falling. But I am in alaska. So really, there is altogether to much snow. It’s getting annoying.
I have been on my way north for about a week. I am used to this. I like it. I am sort of a nomad.Sort of a vagrent. Sort of… a wanderer. But then I get there. To the house.
See, no one exactly owns it- very few people know it’s there. But I do. And all my cousins and cousins once removed and seccond cousins and friends of cousins and aunts and other relations know about it. I am only going there because I haven’t been there in about a bazillion years. Which is why I am now.
OK I HAVE WASTED ENOUGH TIME AND HAVE STUFF TO DO
I need some advice. I’m trying to write a story called The Bone Girl and I have most of the basic plot down, but there is one detail I can’t figure out how to take care of.
*WARNING: WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS IF I ACTUALLY GET AROUND TO WRITING THIS.*
The point is, there is this world that is similar to ones you might find in a fantasy story, but there is NO MAGIC. The main character is a girl known only as the Bone Girl. At some time before the story, she murdered her family. Since then, she’s started murdering various citizens of small towns. Her claim to fame is that she wears an outfit made out of the bones of her early victims held together with leather, and she murders her victims with knives made of bone also from her victims. By neccesity, she is a nomad. Her trademark is that she leaves the skull in the place where she found the victim, scraped clean and with the name of the victim carved into it.
She has an alter ego, which she uses during the day to find victims. As there is no point in being a murderer if you aren’t feared, her alter ego spreads rumor about the Bone Girl under the ruse that the Bone Girl wants to kill her and she is running away. She finds victims by being an incurable gossip.
What I need help with is, how can she dispose of the evidence? I can think of various ways to get rid of the flesh, but you can only use so many bones in the making of clothes and weapons. A mass grave would be to time-consuming, not to mention conspicuous if somebody happens to walk by. Dumping them in a river or lake will not work with the amount of victims she’ll have at a time, not to mention that it might be too far away from the town she’s terrorizing to be practical. Any ideas?
PROLOGUE
So tired. So thirsty. Can’t see.
Where was I? This wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I would have been up and clawing desperately to escape the near-nothingness, but my arms and legs felt like lead at my sides. I could only lie there and listen to a rhythmic clinking from somewhere unknown… and yet, despite my overwhelming conviction that this was completely and totally wrong, I was haunted by a shimmer of deja vu. Why did this seem familiar? I had certainly never been here before. Or had I? It was a struggle for my sluggish brain to recall who I was. Maybe I had always been here. The speculation made me feel rather dizzy. Who knows how long I was in the darkness; all I know is that after what seemed years, a pressure seemed to lift from my body. I sat up, and realized that I could feel a perfectly smooth floor beneath me. And I could see something, as well.
My breath caught in my throat. I stared in horror at the source of the continual clinking: a tall, softly glowing hourglass, in which clear marbles were falling to the bottom one by one. Now I remembered why this place seemed so familiar. Also, I realized something very important.
I had died for all the wrong reasons.
So, I’m writing a Gothic story for school, and we had to have partners… When my partner handed me the beginning and said I had to write the end, I was okay with that. Then I read the first half… And died.
Her writing:
We start walking throughout the old hospital. The floors were made of white tile that matched the white walls. We walk down the hall and in the hall were many doors that led into rooms for past patients. Each room had a bed, a counter with a sink, and many tools within the room. At the end of the hall there was a wood stair way. Steven started climbing the stairs.
My writing (at a different story part):
I grab his body and sling it over my shoulder, dragging him through the abandoned hospital. Through the burnt white corridors, past the doors of the dead patients rooms. Watched all the while by the pale white ghost of Juliet Thranger. She slowly disappears, finally content to leave the world of the living.
Not saying mine is very good, but I have A LOT of editing to do. *sigh*
I’m not really sure if this fits in the books in progress topic but it is the closest I could find for this post…
Ouch. Sounds like some people in my school.
((I have been cursed (blessed?) with a complete urge to write. Not just to write, but to attempt a Steampunk style story. Wish me luck.))
SOCIETAS ULTIMUS
“What you propose, sir, is completely impossible!” rang out, yelled by a gentleman who shall go un-named for the moment in a dimly lit room under the streets of London. Below the pavement and roads being traversed by the middle class, below the pneumatic rail systems, driven by immense pistons, below even the multitude of steam engines running the pistons, was the location of an entirely secret organization. It was run with enough skill in secrecy for no person to know by face more than three others, and to know by name no more than six others. It had a system of codes that was essentially unbreakable without having a few thousand years to spare. Every operation of the organization was coordinated with every other operation in a completely confusing, but perfectly synchronized way. The exact scope of the organization was known by a small few, and they were rumored to be in service of a single leader, who was one of many leaders in each industrialized empire. It was, to say, fairly daunting. It was named “PRIMA SOCIETAS”, and had all the pride the name suggested. It was proud since its beginning in 1712, by Thomas Newcomen, who used the power and influence of his steam engine to collect a small group of important people in, and it was still a proud organization that guided the politics and technology of 1914.
It was, in Randal Gerard’s opinion, stuffy and pretentious. It stifled innovation, the very spirit it had been founded upon. However, he did not mention this while at the desk of the unknown man in the dimly lit subterranean room. The only words he spoke, after being intimidated by what was a fairly imposing man were “But why would it be impossible to manipulate governments out of a point of possible collapse? You have been able to control unrest before, why not now?”
“Because” The man behind the desk said “Our analysis mechanisms have definitively proved that if war among the Germans, Brits, and Americans is prevented, then mankind will be on a route to an even more horrific war!”
“Would this war not be horrific enough? Could it even promote another war?” Randal demanded, though his voice rose only by a slight tremor.
“Another war could only be started as consequence of this if Prima Societas were to completely dissolve itself before 1924. This is an exceedingly unlikely event. I suggest you make no further suggestions to the Society.” The man masked in shadow gave Randal a signal to go.
Randal could barely resist the urge to storm out the door onto a hidden pneumatic lift operated by a code, punched into a modified typewriter. The code could be used twice only, once to enter the lift, and once to exit. Heaven forbid you forgot the code on either side. The system would not accept one code until the previous one had been entered twice. It could jam the system for weeks or months. The punishment of that was severe. It was even worse if you wrote it down.
Or at least, if they found out about the it being written down. though Randall, who quickly disposed of his illegal slip of paper.
((Night, all!))
*facepalm* Only the title was supposed to be bolded.
HTML Gnome?
I can’t really pass judgment until I’ve read more of this, but don’t you think that 1914 is a little late for steampunk? Wouldn’t early dieselpunk be more appropriate?
Why can’t I stop talking in questions?
Because you’re a MuseBlogger?
Didn’t Neil Gaiman once write a story entirely in interview answers? Do you think it would be possible to do something similar with questions?
Yes, he did, and now I’m intrigued with that idea. (Not doing the question thing.) I’m thinking maybe one half of a court transcript, with only the lawyer’s part of the conversation as it.
There’s a movie called… Rage, I think, which is a series of interviews with the interviewer’s lines omitted. It’s also filmed entirely against a series of colored backdrops, with nothing to break up the monotony. Weird movie.
Yes, I know it’s late. I thought about that.
However, this is an alternate universe where (as might have been inferrable in the excerpt I posted) inovation is stifled, or at least controlled. I’d say they progress at half the rate we did, which puts them around steam engines. Cultural progression probably would go at the same rate, which is why the fashions would be more 1900’s and additudes (sp? I can never spell that.) are more chronological.
Atlantis: The Lost Empire is in 1914 and it’s Steampunk.
I’m busy creating a world for a sci-fi story I’m writing. In all honesty, I don’t actually have a story yet, but I’m hoping I can make one from the information I gather.
Tromkala system
Planets: Gargos, Tromkala, Pentopha, Tribb
Gargos
Inhabited: Yes
Sentient lifeforms: Chempolians
Diameter: Approximately 11,000 kilometers
Other notes: Smallest planet in the system, rocky environment
Tromkala
Inhabited: Yes
Sentient lifeforms: Humans, Roppets, many others visiting spaceport
Diameter: Approximately 17,000 kilometers
Other notes: Main planet in system, major spaceport located in capital city of Tromnus
Pentopha
Inhabited: No
Intelligent lifeforms: N/A
Sentient: Approximately 128,000 kilometers
Other notes: largest planet in system, gas giant
Tribb
Inhabited: Yes
Sentient lifeforms: Unknown
Diameter: Approximately 13,000 kilometers
Other notes: Inhabited only by Tribbian ice beetles
Species
Humans
Creatures living mainly on enterprising planets, which cannot survive long in most atmospheres.
Chempolians
Barbaric race that is hostile to most other species. Native to Gargos, they have very primitive technology.
Roppets
Childlike species native to Tromkala. Low intelligence, but skilled in battle.
Tribbian Ice Beetles
Insect species native to Tribb. Their endurance to extreme cold is essential for survival.
Belfen
A quadrupedal species, similar to deer, native to Gargos. Hunted by Chempolians.
So, let me know what you think…
So, in an attempt to create a non-cliche story, I have created…
Alien Thursday.
It’s kinda long, but I want to know what you guys think so I summarized it.
Eleven-year-old Rachel is a social outcast. She plays the saxophone and likes to read. She’s about to die.
The hygiene essay was due yesterday. Now the Exterminator, an evil teacher, is about to give her a death sentence. Aka detention.
Suddenly, there’s a buzzing noise, and the public school is trapped by aliens. The aliens abduct the teachers and the school is surrounded by a dome/bubble of glass. Like a snow globe.
Things get crazy.
Rachel and her friends take control of the chaos and they end up being captured by the aliens. The aliens want to conduct tests on them. And kill them with desks and light.
I think Stephen King has done that.
My gosh, it’s going to be weird watching the launch of STS-133 now that our story is Alternate Continuity in about ten thousand ways.
I have begun a rather foolish undertaking. I probably won’t finish, anyway. But I went back to the original thread- Bunny Apocalypse, Part 1. I began to pick through the contradictory, rehashing monologues of the original role-playing, stringing them together. And now, though it’s not much of anything, I present the first chapter of…
Bunny Apocalypse: The Novel
Chapter One
“All your base are belong to us,†intoned one of the bunnies, its pure-white eyes glinting in the half-light.
“Resistance is useless,†added one of its companions.
The group of rebels stayed in place, watching their foes warily, fingering their weapons. Then a third bunny sprang forward- and was instantly zapped by Groundhog, who then swung around and incapacitated the other two. Before any of the other humans could react, a voice sounded from behind them.
“You fight…valiantly, humans,†it said. They all recognized it immediately.
“William,†spat Groundhog in distaste, whirling around. “So, we meet again.â€
William chuckled, his magenta fur rippling. “Oh, I admire your bravado. It’s very amusing. However, our victory is inevitable. Surrender now and we may spare your lives.â€
“Never!†cried IBCF.
“Then you will all die!†William snarled.
Instantly, the battlefield erupted with reinforcements, bearing down on the humans with pie launching machines, the likes of which had never been seen before. Unabashed, the humans fought back valiantly. Then…
“Helibunnies!†someone shouted. There were gasps. Advancing from the treetops were dozens and dozens of the flying enemies, their ears whirring loudly. The largest opened its mouth, spewing flames.
“Flames? Helibunnies can’t breathe fire! There’s no way we can win!†spluttered IBCF through a faceful of banana cream. “Call a tactical retreat!†He began backing up, and the others followed him.
“Where to?†shouted TMFA.
“Scatter!†Hypatia called. “Get to the lairs through whatever tunnel is possible. Try to get them off your scent so we don’t reveal our hiding place.†Not waiting for a response, she sprinted toward the nearest opening, letting fly a few last pies as she went.
IBCF and many others dashed after Hypatia into the tunnel. There was a deafening explosion as the entrance collapsed just behind him and his followers. Dust fell from the ceiling, and the light of day flickered out. Then all was still.
Everyone had made it into the tunnel, but they were in fairly bad shape. The skirmish had resulted in a sundry assortment of abrasions, bruses, and puncture wounds on everyone’s limbs, but there was no time now for medical attention. The group hurried down the tunnel, driven by the sounds that echoed from the cave entrance. The bunnies would not be stopped by dirt and stone; they would dig until they broke into the tunnel.
After traveling about a mile in the dark tunnels, the group saw a familiar mark on the ceiling. IBCF placed his hand on the left wall and followed it about fifteen feet, until felt a spot that didn’t feel like rock. It was a curtain disguised a wall. He moved the curtain aside and stepped into another tunnel.
As she brought up the rear through the veil, Hypatia seemed to survey the group. She frowned. “Did anyone see what happened to Alice?†she wondered. They all shook their heads.
Meanwhile, there was a commotion in Sierra, the small country made of former northern California, northwestern Nevada, and southeastern Oregon. Sierra is the westernmost outpost of the widespread human resistance that pervades the Rocky Mountains. Dr. Prarilius Canix, the eminent scientist stationed in the Sierrian chapter of BEACON Initiative, was at home, wondering when he’d get a call from his assistant, when his phone beeped.
“Dr. Canix, you’re needed in the lab.â€
Prarilius pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open.
“I’m on my way, Wyatt. What have you got for me?â€
“I’m not sure, sir, but I think it’s Bunnius aerialis. The ball-and-socket joint at the base of the ear, the rigid cartilage, the powerful cranial muscle… â€
“So why are you unsure? It seems to have all the hallmarks of a standard aerialis.â€
“It breathes fire.â€
Prarilius paused and shook his head, swallowing until his ears popped. “What?â€
“It breathes fire, sir. Burned Grayson badly before the patrol brought it down.â€
He paused again, the momentous implications of the statement striking me with the force of a 16-ton weight. He’d thought the rumors about the new aerialis/draconis hybrids were hoaxes or exaggerations, but if they were founded on fact…
He took a deep breath, then spoke again. “Keep it confined, Wyatt, and don’t depigmentize it until I give the word. This is monumental. I want you to notify groundhog22, Earl Gray, Fiona O’Connell- every bunny researcher within range of our transmitter. They have got to know about this.â€
On his way to the lab, Prarilius passed through the situation room. General Valentine was there, with a huddled group of officers around him, listening to battle reports from the frontier.
“…large group of Human Resistance fighters routed, retreating in our direction, approx. 50 klicks away. At least three battalions are in pursuit, mainly zombies and demibunnies with platoon of full bunnies, possible 29th or 28th Ear Lancers, under command of Magentaral William. Supporting squadrons of helibunnies are tracking west… â€
Dr. Canix whisked through the room and plunged on through the antiseptic white corridors of the scientific-medical wing, into room 9949245, where Wyatt was waiting with the specimen.
Wyatt, a pale, thin young man, stood at a console elevated several feet above the floor. The room was mainly occupied by a hexagonal chamber of transparent carbon composite, currently filled with roiling white steam.
Wyatt turned and nodded. “I’ve had the sedative mist going for the past five minutes. This should keep her out of it for two hours at least.â€
“Good. That should be enough to conduct a preliminary examination. Siphon off the mist, and we’ll go in.â€
Wyatt flicked a lever on the console, and the humming of the blowers changed timbre. The mist vanished into vents in the floor, revealing the creature imprisoned within. The bunny was completely unconscious, ears rigid and parallel, sticking straight up from the skull- all in the manner of the common aerialis when at rest. Its eyes were shut tightly.
Prarilius carefully looked the bunny over, taking in its characteristics. The rotor ears, the pale coloration, the streamlined ovoid shape- all were hallmarks of an ordinary helibunny. However, the pink fur darkened to a fiery, deep magenta around the whitish lips, and hardened into horny scale-like protrusions. A trail of smoke drifted from its nostrils.
“Anything unusual about the circumstances of the capture?†the doctor asked Wyatt.
“As a matter of fact, yes. She was wearing this.†Wyatt pulled on long rubber gloves and reached into a sealed container near the wall.
“Wearing?†Dr. Canix inquired. “But HPBs have never really gone in for clothes, have they?â€
“Not clothing. Armor.†Wyatt pulled out a metal object that resembled a medieval helmet. It was designed to fit snugly around a near-spherical head, with substantial holes to allow the ears freedom of movement. Engraved upon its dully shining surface were weird hieroglyphs with meanings unknown to man.
Wyatt indicated two oval pieces of metal with leather straps trailing from their sides, resting inside the container. “Those were fastened to the ears. Their edges are jagged and razor sharp. I presume, sir, that you can imagine the sort of damage a bunny flying with that sort of armament could cause. It’s like having a circular saw strapped to your head.â€
A scowl. “Did you call the researchers?â€
“I called O’Connell, left a message with Groundhog. Couldn’t get through to Gray–â€
They both knew what bad news this was. Last they’d heard of Gray, he’d been holed up in Glasgow. If Glasgow had fallen, that meant one of humanity’s last footholds in Europe had gone down.
“What did O’Connell say?â€
“She’s in Japan.â€
Wyatt didn’t need to say more. Prarilius knew the implications. If she left her hiding place, the bunja would descend on her like a pack of critics on a B-movie. That left Groundhog. He hoped she was still alive and in a condition to meet them.
About half an hour later, a very battle-worn group of people burst into the situation room.
“Hello, General Valentine,†said TMFA, stepping to the front. “We have left Las Vegas, or what remains, at least.†He paused, but before Valentine could respond, he added, “I have to say, before you get mad at us for losing, there were hundreds of helibunnies.â€
“So?†asked Valentine. “You are trained to attack and depigmentize ALL bunnies!â€
“These also breathe fire.â€
“WHAT!â€roared the general. “That- that’s impossible!â€
“It isn’t,†replied TMFA grimly. “I feel that we need to see Dr. Canix.â€
Nice work! I love the added details, starting with the bunny’s white eyes.
You know, I was looking, and that accounted for about 44 posts on the RPG thread. This is going to be one LONG novel.
I assumed it’d be a series.
Well… let’s see. There are 6 threads, all of which have approximately 400 posts. The first chapter accounts for 44 thread posts’ worth of roleplaying, and is about 4 1/3 pages long/1400 words (Book Antiqua, 13-point) Assuming that all the chapters occupy around 40 posts and are around the same length, that’s 60 total chapters, or 260 pages/84,000 words. A bit long, but hardly unheard of for a single novel.
Of course, that isn’t figuring in BA:TNG…
Ah, I didn’t realize one chapter included just one post. Never mind.
What?
Er, I meant so many posts. Sorry.
I wonder if any publisher would take this seriously…
There’s always Createspace!
Yes, there is that. I suppose I’ll need to add some more exposition to make it make sense to any outsider.
We can hope…
So for English, we’ll have to write a story following the Hero’s Journey / Monomyth (i. e. basically following the plot that inspired LotR)
My basic idea is:
Guy starts going a bit insane- not really, just believeing that the world is a lie intended to decieve him. He enters eventually is hospitalized as a paranoid schizophrenic. He grows more and more suspicious of the world around him. However, in the climax, he is able to shake his madness, and is free, and can now live a normal life. The only problem? The last scene in the book reveals that it was a fake all along, with the hospital he is leaving being disassembled, while his hometown is frantically rebuilt.
Chapter Two
The half-dozen low-ranking bunnies clawed feverishly at the dirt, trying to uncover the BEACON escape tunnel. William stood by, watching and glaring.
“Dig, you slugs, dig! We’ll shovel them out of their rat hole!â€
“We aren’t slugs,†pointed out one of the diggers, pausing and looking up at William with a wounded expression. Fortunately for him, the Magentaral was then distracted from the digging by the arrival of a messenger-bunny.
The messenger bowed deeply and addressed William. “Great commander, we have taken a human prisoner. She was fighting with the humans that escaped into the tunnel.â€
“Good work,†William said. “It looks like we won’t have to dig the humans out now. Bring the captive to me!â€
“Yes sir!â€
A few minutes later, Alice-for the captive was, indeed, her- found herself standing in front of William and about twenty other bunnies (with even more behind her, guarding the door), still bound and gagged.
“Human, we will not hurt you, nor bunnify you, as long as you do as we say,†began William.
Alice shuddered, feeling that the requests would not be good. “What…†She faltered. “What do you want me to do?â€
“You must participate in a video. Let your fellow humans know that you are captured and need their help immediately. Tell them that there is no hope in a rescue attempt, and if they surrender now, you will not be subject to bunnification.â€
Alice hesitated, feeling acutely the HPBs’ eyes boring into her. “Fine. Fine. I’ll do it.â€
“A wise decision, human. You’re smarter than the last one.†William grinned evilly and turned to address the waiting bunnies. “Proceed!â€
“Yes, commander,†said a nearby bunny, pulling a video camera out, and holding it up. “Speak now, human.â€
Alice began to speak, desperation in her voice. “My dear, dear, friends, I have been taken hostage. Don’t –†She winced as one of the spears pricked her back. “I mean, I need your help desperately. Don’t bother trying to me rescue me, though, you’ll never make it. If you surrender, they won’t bunnify me. Help.†Alice took a deep breath and leaned in closer to the camera. She thought desperately, trying to think of how could might somehow give her allies a sign- some sign of what the bunnies’ true plot was. But this time the spear did not merely prick her. Alice cried out in pain and fell to the ground, clutching her wound. It was not bad, a large but not life-threatening cut, but by the Muses, did it hurt!
Dr. Canix led IBCF and the others into his lab.
“This is the hybrid. She’s still unconscious, and will hopefully remain so for another hour. Wyatt and I will depigmentize her in a few minutes. We’ll have to inject pigment 24 Indigo to suppress the fire-breathing reflex. First, though, we have to get some DNA- find out as much about these things as we can.
Now- what have you observed about the hybrids’ tactics in battle? Their flight formations, any special abilities? Tell me anything you think might be useful.â€
IBCF thought for a minute, then said, “Their battle tactics–they often come from straight from above in large waves, and breathe their fire down on us. We don’t even see them coming. Then they swoop back up just before they hit the ground, but not before they use their spinning ears to cut through anyone unfortunate enough to be in their path. I was hurt this way myself.†He winced at the pain in his leg. “They seem to have some sort of armor on their ears, too.â€
“Here,†said Dr. Canix, pulling out a first aid box. “Let me see that leg of yours.â€
His eyes widened at the sight of the deep cut. “These bunnies sure are dangerous.â€
Hypatia shuddered. “They’re just…horrific, Prarilius. Demonic. Infernal.â€
“Thank you,†said IBCF when his leg was all bandaged. “The bunnies routed us and chased us into the tunnels,†he continued, more seriously. “The cave entrance collapsed, but I bet they’ll be trying to dig into it. Do you think they’ll find us here?â€
“I doubt it,†TMFA opined, rather more cheerfully than one would expect from an agent that had recently been at arms against HPBs. To support his theory, just then Valentine poked his head into the door.
“We’re moving the complex to ‘Frisco, agents.â€
They nodded.
“See? Nothing to worry about,†TMFA said to IBCF.
After Valentine had departed, Prarilius exclaimed, “‘Frisco? The place is a bunny nest! What’s Valentine thinking?†Then it seemed to hit him. “Oh. The BART system. Of course. The bunnies sealed off the tunnels when they took over, so we should be able to remain undetected.â€
He turned to his companions. “Groundhog, Wyatt, I’ll need your help transporting this thing. Let’s put it in the portable cage.†Then he added, seeing Hypatia’s look of confusion, “For those of you who don’t know, the BART system is Bay Area Rapid Transport, the San Francisco Bay subway system. When they zombified the population of San Francisco, the bunnies sealed off the BART stations, but there’s still a few places where we can get in.â€
Before he and Groundhog could begin mobilizing the hybrid bunny, Hypatia’s smartphone beeped. “Look,†she said, holding it out to the others, “The bunnies are on video chat. They’ve got Alice.â€
Dr. Canix took a deep breath, his mind racing. Some of these people are Alice’s good friends. They’ll try to make us surrender, and we can’t allow that. Our cause is greater than the life of a single person.
But is it necessary to leave her to her fate? An idea hit him like a thunderbolt.
He turned to the surrounding company and indicated the caged hybrid. “Two words: hostage exchange.â€
“Um, I hate to be a wet blanket, but are the bunnies going to go for an exchange?†asked Groundhog. “They have millions of bunnified slaves; is one bunny, even a hybrid one, going to matter to them? And if we give this bunny back, then we’ll never get to discover its secrets.â€
“You’re right,†agreed IBCF. “But there’s really nothing else we can do. We’ll have to try it.â€
“We are awaiting your answer, humans,†William said onscreen. “Surrender, or we will torture and bunnify the hostage.â€
“I just wish I could analyze…†frowned Groundhog. “Wait a minute!†he exclaimed. “That’s it! If we make the bunnies think that we can unlock all of their secrets by analyzing this bunny, then they will agree to an exchange!â€
“Tell them that I’ll treat the prisoner humanely if possible,†Prarilius said, “but if it comes down to vivisection- y’know, I’m not squeamish when it comes to a creature that’s killed a lot of my friends.â€
Alice watched the bunnies in terror. Please, my friends, she prayed silently, do something wise. Preferably something that involves rescuing me.
William turned from the camera. “Foolish humans. They want a hostage exchange, do they? This could work to our advantage…†He returned to the camera. “We will exchange for the dragon bunny, but on two conditions: You must not run any experiments on the bunny, and they must be exchanged at the same time. You may take as many weapons and guards as you want. We plan no tricks.â€
“Sure, they plan no tricks,†Groundhog muttered, too quietly to be picked up by the camera. “If they plan no tricks, then why are they letting us come with weapons and guards? Why aren’t they demanding anything else? Why are they making it so easy for us?†Then it hit him. Hypnosis. Something that the bunnies rarely used nowadays, but did all the time when they were starting out. Groundhogremembered cases of bunny hypnosis from the days working at the asylum. The victim would be outwardly unaffected, but there would be bunny dogma planted in their subconscious, making him or her into a willing spy for the bunnies, transmitting information back to them through the mind link created between the victim and the bunny that hypnotized it. They’re planning on hypnotizing Alice, and then giving her back so that she can spy on us for them.! “Prarilius?†Groundhog called softly and urgently, still being careful not to let his voice get picked up by the microphone, and picked up a test tube, as if to show it to him. “I think the bunnies might be planning on hypnotizing Alice before they give her back to us, so they can spy on us through her.†He made motions at the test tube, to keep up the illusion. Dang it, this is hard, saying one thing with my mouth and another with my body. “So when we get her back, we’ll need to make sure she doesn’t see anything important until the former asylum staff and I can have a look at her. Whatever you have to do, do it, as long as it keeps her from seeing anything important.†Groundhog paused as another thought hit him. “And we should probably move all of our hideouts too, if that hasn’t been done already. If they do hypnotize her, then they’ll get the current locations of where everything is from her memories.â€
William made some movement with his armored ears, and said something Alice couldn’t hear. The bunnies closed in around her. She had a suddenly clear image of what they were going to do to her…what they had done to so many people. Alice closed her eyes, but another spear jabbed her, and they were forced open with surprise and pain. The bunnies were close now, so close… Why couldn’t I have got to the base before this happened? she thought. Why don’t I have all the equipment…? The eyes were swirling and multicolored. They sucked Alice in, and she could not look away. “Help!†Alice cried, and that was all she knew before the whirling depths claimed her.
William spoke, his voice oddly pitched. “You will spy for us, human, and you will tell us everything you know. Everything.†He stepped back into the camera’s range. “We’re ready to exchange the hostages, humans. Bring the dragon bunny quickly, before we change our minds.â€
Alice heard herself, as if from a long way off, say heavily, “Yes, master.â€
Prarilius “replied†to Groundhog loudly. “I see. The chemical mixture you proposed is an interesting possibility.†He made an emphatic movement with his hands, away from the camera. “I think your plan should be implemented. I’ll give you full authority in this measure. But remember not to add the quinine until it’s fully at a boil. We can’t allow anything to jeopardize this experiment. Our spare lab should serve the purpose well, although there’s a bit too much resistance in the high-voltage circuits. Carry on.â€
Groundhog was slightly confused at the beginning of POSOC’s reply, but caught on quickly. “Okay,†he replied. “It’ll be ready in a few days then. I can’t do all of this myself though, I’ll need someone else to prepare the quinine. It needs to be ready at an exact time. I can do all of the rest of the preparations myself. I have all of my precautionary measures set up, except for the blast hood. I should really do a checkup on that burner though. The last thing we’d want is to get Alice back, only to give ourselves more troubles with a gas leak. But you need to get going, don’t you? I’ll find someone else to do the rest of this with me.â€
There was a crackle, and the bunnies disappeared from the screen.
There’s a story I’m writing. It’s in the outline stage at the moment, and I haven’t thought up names for the characters yet. So, as I said on the Random Thread, I’m calling them One, Two, Three, and Four.
Just now, I realized that Three is a flat character who does nothing but mope about his failed relationship with Two. So I cut him out. My protagonists are now One, Two and Four. I’m reminded of the prank where you release three pigs with three non-consecutive numbers on a school campus and watch the staff search for the nonexistent Pig Three.
Three was also the only male protagonist, except perhaps for En (who is an alien and has no POV chapters, so en is outside both the numbering scheme and normal human gendered pronouns). I’ve been wanting to practice writing more female characters, but I didn’t realize I’d be starting so soon.
1Okay. Here is a possible story of the Time Cake’s origin. (I admit I got carried away.)
There were the three wise Beings of Light and Time and Life and All Things, and there Was Order and Chaos and Nothingness, for all things must balance out, and all things must have a neutral party. And so Order made sure that things did not collapse, and Chaos made sure that nothing Was perfect, for Perfection is as Evil as Disruption, and Nothingness did what Was truly best and kept the balance of Chaos and Order.
And it Was from Chaos that sprang Time, and Order gave it an appearance of an Orderly progression. And Nothingness said–
“We must have a way to correct the Order if it should get out of control.”
“No,” said Order, “Order is Perfection.”
But Nothingness Was wise, and said, “Nothing is ever as simple as Good and Evil. You are blinded by Perfection.”
Chaos agreed, and said, “I will have control of this Way, if it is so, and it must be.”
Nothingness spoke again–
“Time is an Orderly thing now, but that is only on the surface. I will have control of the way, and this is how it must be.”
Chaos cast the stones, for it is true that all magic came from Chaos, and saw the truth.
“And we shall make a Cake, a cake of Time.”
“Ah,” said Order, “But is not Pie the Supreme Desert?”
“Precisely,” added Nothingness, “Why we should have it be as accessible as possible, and not constrain it to Time, and only Time.”
“Ah,” said Order. “But Creatures eat Cake all the Time–here is where your logic falls.”
“That is not True Cake,” roared Nothingness. “For only we three have True Cake.”
“Ah,” said Order, “I Understand.” But of course Order only wanted control over Time, and all of Time, and had understood the whole Time.
“That is how it must be,” Chaos said, firmly; and of course it Was, and Was indeed.
And so the three created the Cake.
Order took a Line of Order, and formed a harness. Chaos called upon the raw force of Time–for of course Time, really, is Chaos, behind the Mask of Order–and poured it into the harness. And Nothingness opened the oven, and so it cooked, and so it was.
When the Balance Tipped, Nothingness could go and repair it through the Time Cake.
All Nothingness needed to do was take a bite…
Brilliant! I’m a non-neutral servant of Order, though; does that mean I can’t eat the Time Cake?
Nah, Nothingness is just the Being that watches over the Time Cake. All of the three are equally qualified to eat the Time Cake. So is everyone else in the world, provided they can get their hands on it.
(( I know this doesn’t qualify as a book, but I also know that there are a lot of Doctor Who fans here who might like to read this. it’s a little jumble of a short story, a fan fiction, really, centered around Amy and the Eleventh doctor. Be warned, it’s a romance, so those of you who are adamant Amy/Rory or Doctor/ River shippers might not like it. I’m a die-hard Amy/Eleven fan though, so I was inspired to write. I hope you all like it.))
———————————————————————————————–
“Come along then, Pond. We’ve got places to go, things to see, aliens to capture.”
“All that jazz,” she sighs, and she pushed open the TARDIS door.
Amy Pond is an adventure, the Doctor thinks to himself. Not afraid anymore, are you? Not a scared little girl with a crack in her wall any longer. He laughs, a small blip of a thing, as he follows her out onto the banks of a grassy hill nestled into the frontier of the American Revolutionary War.
“What’re you laughing at, stupid?” She smirks at him, her fiery hair blossoming out behind her in the breeze. Her eyes are glistening brilliantly in the unclouded afternoon sun.
“Nothing,” he dismisses her. “Just…realized something. Now, come along. There are some creatures impersonating Redcoats that we ought to stop from tearing apart colonial America.”
“Or maybe we ought to let them,” Amy jokes, widening her eyes at him meaningfully, and then she’s bounding away down the hill towards the village below, her laughter echoing like a siren. The Doctor lopes along after her, that stupid grin seemingly glued to his face.
He’s not lying to her. He has realized something.
Amy Pond is beautiful.
———————————————————————————————
It has been exactly four hundred and twenty seven days since Amy dropped everything in her life to run away with the Doctor for the first time. There are differences between the second time and the first time, before the wedding. The main one of these is that before the wedding, during the wedding, and immediately following the wedding, Amy was in love. With a man who was not the Doctor, but a lone centurion dedicated to her very existence. It’s been nearly a year and a half since the two were married, and already, life has fallen apart.
Of course, with every problem comes a solution. Amy’s solution popped up on a late November night, in the form of a magical man in a timeless blue box.
It was after the third fight of the week. She sat crouched on the back porch steps, wiping fresh tears from her cheeks and staring into the bright and endless stars that lay just above her in the dark night sky. Her mind was working, as usual, to try and figure out exactly where her life with Rory had gone wrong. After the adventure of travel and action had disappeared from their lives along with the Doctor, their mundane existence settled into continued failures and a constant strain between the two of them. It was hard to tell where love had turned into bitter disappointment. When they were together, they argued, because they were angry with life or with each other or simply because they had nothing better to do.
After she had finished crying, Amy leaned back against the steps, her eyes shut gently, listening to the crickets and the symphony of the nighttime. It seemed to be the only beautiful music in the world anymore. It calmed her, soothed her nerves. If she listened carefully, she could almost imagine her world melting away. In her mind, Amy was back with the Doctor, and she was in space, flying. His hand clutched her ankle, warm and gentle, anchoring her to the world itself…
Suddenly, the music stopped. The air was completely still and silent. It was replaced in an instant by a loud whooshing, whirring sound. Amy started, looking up at the yard before her. She would know that sound anywhere. The blue box materialized before her eyes, tremendous and ancient and the most beautiful thing she’d ever beheld in her life.
And, just like that, the Doctor was back.
He poked his head through the TARDIS door, as though wondering at whether he was in the right place. His eyes wandered around the rural grounds of the farmhouse until the settled on Amy, standing upright in the middle of the overgrown grass, her dressing gown and hair swirling about in the evening breeze and an expression of incomparable relief and joy spreading over her face. The Doctor’s eyes lit up, and a smile broke across his face as he stepped from the box, straightening his bow tie. He opened his arms wide, as if to welcome her home.
“Why, Amy Pond. I hope I’m not too late.”
“Just on time, actually,” she said, and her voice cracked.
His expression softened, and it was as though he could sense how much things had changed since he had last seen her: standing on the front porch of her new home in her wedding dress, shoulder shrouded in Rory’s jacket and held tight in his arms. There was an almost palpable distance between that happy, carefree Amy and the nearly broken Amy that he looked upon now. Without pretense, he walked over to her and enfolded her in his arms, rocking her in a hug. “I’ve missed you.”
Amy clutched him closer, like a vice. “You have no idea,” she sniffled. When at last they broke apart, she looked up at him. Her eyes were gleaming mirrors of the porch lights that shone down from above. “Can we go someplace far away tonight? Right now, maybe?”
“Hence the box,” he said. “I came back for you, because there are just too many adventures we haven’t had yet.” He grabbed her hand, leading her towards the door.
She didn’t stop once to look back.
As he had predicted, she’s back on her feet after one adventure. Sad, reclusive Amy blossoms before his eyes, back into the fiery and curious woman he had traveled with so long ago. They visit ancient Egypt, rescuing Ramses II the Great from a particularly nasty bunch of aliens who resemble scarab beetles, only much larger and much more vicious. As a reward for saving his life, the powerful pharaoh allows the two seemingly innocent commoners in strange robes to enter the ancient temple deep inside his palace. Amy becomes particularly fascinated with the hieroglyphics on the walls, attempting to decipher them.
“What’s this one mean?” she muses, perusing a small line of symbols made up of eyes, eagles, a snake and rushing water. A gold headband is perched on her fiery hair, and she’s shoved a sheath of expensive metal bangles onto the sleeve of her sweater.
“Don’t know, but it looks rather mundane,” he replies, running the sonic’s beam over an enormously tall portrait of the pharaoh being prayed over by one of the ancient gods of Wisdom, a rather tall beast with the body of a man and the head of some kind of turtle. “Do you reckon that this god may have been some kind of Chelonian?”
“What’s that?” She straightens up, puzzled.
“Just another of the ancient enemies, I’ll explain later.” He snaps the sonic shut.”We could investigate this further.”
“Well, we’ve got loads of time,” Amy quips. “Where are we going now?”
He walks over to her, grinning like an idiot as usual, and takes her hands up in his. “As usual, we’re going anywhere.”
A shiver near the frequency of electricity runs down her spine when the Doctor’s hands flit over her own. It’s certainly an odd feeling. It makes Amy’s heart glow with happiness. She’s warm, and safe with him. “Of course,” she smiles. “I’d like to go anywhere, as long as you’re with me.”
“Anywhere it is, then,” the Doctor says. He smiles, and opens the door to the TARDIS, which is conveniently parked near the steps of a golden altar. “Come on then, hop in.”
“Why thank you, sir,” she replies, and steps inside.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he adds under his breath, trailing her warm essence and closing the door after them.
———————————————————————————————
Now it’s night time, thousands of years in the future and on a distant planet that not even the Doctor has heard of. He’s landed the TARDIS, unwittingly, smack in the center of a receding colony of some particularly vicious reptilian nomads called the Pythlorians. They want blood, flesh, or any sort of pulsating life force to feed on. And they don’t want the Doctor, they choose Amy.
They’ve been hiding out deep in a forest, after being forced to leave the spot where they have hidden the TARDIS and chased for miles. The darkness has finally fallen around them to the point where resisting sleep is no longer an option. Amy has drifted off, long ginger hair curtaining her face as she breathes quietly, her head resting on the Doctor’s shoulder. Danger is growing ever closer, he knows it, but waking her would mean having her steady warmth moving away from his body and he can’t sacrifice that. Not now, not ever. She doesn’t have to know that it is the only thing keeping him from going even more bonkers than usual.
It doesn’t matter, anyhow. Her eyes fly open with a jolt, and it becomes quite clear why. Noises like whirring plane propellers around them grow louder. She’s slowly starting to rise from the earth, as though something is pulling her upwards to embrace the sky. The air around her is distorted, thrown out of balance.
“Doctor!” she cries. “Doctor, what’s happening to me?”
He springs to his feet right away, sonic screwdriver out and pacing madly around the slowly rising girl. “There’s a multi-force tractor vortex, they’ve got it focused on you,” he calls. “They must have some sort of ship up there. That’s quite very not good.” He snaps the screwdriver shut and rolls his sleeves up as fast as his fingers can roll.
“Will it take you, too?” she yells.
“No, Pond, it’s just for you. They’ve got this weird sort-of soul focus, these types of vortexes.”
“Now would not be the time to tell me that,” she shouts back, though she knows full well that he’s never been one to sugar-coat the truth. “And you can get me out, right?”
Her tone is so sure, but when he looks up at her and she sees his face, she’s cut short. It’s so serious. He is rarely ever serious.
“Amy, take my hands. Reach through and take my hands, now,” he commands.
She knows it’s useless, but she tries anyway. Nothing happens. Instead, the Doctor quickly sticks his hands through, grabbing her tight. “Whatever you do, don’t let go of me, do you understand? That vortex can’t last forever.”
“I understand,” Amy breathes. She’s almost calm, for she has never been one to fear the worst, but she quietly understand that he can’t come with her. She’ll be alone. Her legs are rising, and now she’s floating vertically in the air. “Don’t you let go of me, don’t you dare.”
“Never, Pond,” he says. Even then he knows it’s a lie, the force of that beam is putting a strain on their grasp. “You’re going to be okay. I promise you.”
“No,” she gasps, for it’s becoming a struggle now. The Doctor’s face is strained, twisted, an unbearable mask of uncertainty. With a small thought, Amy realizes that he might be crying. Her lapse in attention causes her hands to slip, and she screams shortly. She starts to float away, but he fumbles for her grasp and, with all his strength, pulls her back in.
“Amy, don’t give up. Please!” He’s begging, Amy registers. The Doctor isn’t ever desperate.
“I’m trying so hard,” she gasps. And she isn’t lying, for it is murder on her bones and her muscles to hold on.
“Don’t leave, I need you. I need you here, don’t go.”
It’s in his tone, in his expression, in the way he looks at her. Utter need, almost to the acute point of pain. And she knows, without having to ask. With every ounce of energy left in her, even with the force of the vortex tugging so aggressively on her, she pulls her face down to his. Their lips meet.
The kiss is short, urgent, passion in an action that has never meant so much before. Her mouth dances intricately with his for what could be only a handful of seconds, but it’s enough. A noise escapes his throat, deep and satisfied. And then, the gravity is all too much, and her softness draws away from him and her hands, the vices of her warmth and all that he hopes for, are gone from his.
And she doesn’t yell for him as she is dragged up into the bowels of a ship containing who-knows-what horrors. This time, she knows, without having to doubt. He will save her. He will come back for her.
He knows it, too.
———————————————————————————————
It’s been a week or so since the Pythlorian incident, and they have successfully defeated a band of humanoid multiforms in Elizabethan England who attempted to overthrow the monarchy by disguising themselves as royals. After days of quick thinking from the Doctor, and Amy having to quickly pick up sword fighting, and near death experiences on both of their parts, returning to the TARDIS is more like coming home than ever.
Still, neither of them mentions the kiss.
“So where to now, Pond?” he asks, dashing to the controls and flicking a couple of oddly colored buttons. The Doctor is almost never tired lately.
Amy sighs, running her fingers through her hair. “I’m so sick of running. I need a rest.”
“Ah, yes, you humans and your ‘rests’,” he chortles. “Again, where would you like to go?”
“Nowhere,” she replies. “Let’s take a break.”
“Nonsense, Pond!” he cries. “Time never takes a break.”
Amy slouches back on the steps of the metal staircase leading to the upper deck and rolls her eyes. “Fortunately, we happen to have a time machine, so that won’t be much of a setback.”
The Doctor sidles over and plops down beside her. “Well, all right. I suppose we can float for a while if you want.”
“Mmf, thank you,” she groans, rolling her head onto his shoulder. Her nose just slightly prods his neck. Her mouth is close to his temple. Too close. Amy’s too beautiful, and too close.
The Doctor stiffens, his awkwardness almost immediately kicking in. He quickly gets to his feet. “Ahm, best go check on the thingamajig,” he says, rather too loudly for the situation, and bounds off up the stairs the main controls of the TARDIS, fiddling around with the sonic and a pair of clamps. Amy sits up, looking after him.
“Doctor,” she says quietly, but he’s round the bend and he’s gone, lost in his own little world. She shakes her head, kicks the dust off her boots, and gets to her feet.
“I need you, too,” she whispers, but he can’t hear. He never does.
Meanwhile, the Doctor rushes down a corridor, bursts through a door into a small room full of controls and panels and collapses into a chair nearby. His head crumples into his hands, palms pushing into his tightly shut eyes. It takes him every ounce of concentration to take in air slowly, one breath at a time, not to be emotional or irrational. He can’t understand what is causing him to be this disrupted inside. It was one time, one encounter. He had kissed the other companions plenty of times before. Nothing like this ever occurred with any of them.
She’s dangerous. You have to let her go.
“I’m not prepared to give her up,” he says quietly to himself.
It’s not fair to let her love you. She could have a life, a family, back home. She cannot stay here. “But she doesn’t want Rory, she doesn’t,” he repeats. “I know. I can see it in her.” And he also knows that it’s irrational, that he is just arguing with himself, with the truth of the matter. Even so, Amy is real. She’s left her human life to travel the universe by his side. “That has to count for something.”
Reality beats a cold tattoo against his hearts.
You two can’t run forever.
“Watch us,” he breathes.
———————————————————————————————
It’s a beautiful night, so the Doctor takes it upon himself to decide that the two of them should do some sightseeing. And never mind that Amy wants to stay inside, adventure and the beauty of Earth are both calling out loudly to the pair of them.
Like every other negative thought or feeling in the TARDIS, the tension between them has seemed to melt away, if only for a moment.
“Where are we going?” Amy chirps excitedly.
“Somewhere special,” he answers, the triumph of secrecy glossing over his sharp voice. He pulls on the levers and dials that send his time machine whizzing, while he and Amy cling to the console for dear life. Gravity pushes down on them for a few more endless seconds and then, without warning, they come to a stop.
The Doctor sidles down the steps and graciously opens the door for her. “Ladies first, I believe.” Amy obliges, half-giggling, and walks out onto soft, crushed terrain until she reaches the very edge of it and there is nothing left but space and air.
She stands like a statue on the edge of the hill where they’ve landed, the world stretched out before her like a canvas deepened with the dim blanket of nighttime. Below, an indigo sea ebbs and crashes on the shores of a distant, rocky beach. From the horizon far in the distance explodes a nebulous array of glowing silver, pink and orange stars, glimmering against the ebony sky like precious jewels and reaching out all Amy, drawing her in. The energy they emit is almost human, unnervingly close to her and nothing that she had ever seen or experienced on Earth. It’s like the sky is calling out to her, stringing beautiful melodies of happiness and strength through her ears and into her mind. She only notices that the Doctor has come to stand beside her when his hand slips its’ way into hers.
Amy grabs onto her Doctor, holding his fingers fast with her own, never wanting to let go.
“It’s just gorgeous,” she breathes. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“Nor will you ever again. Still human, so much to know,” he whispers, knowingly, maddeningly. “These are no mere stars, Amy Pond. These kinds of stars only come out once every five hundred years.” He turns her to face him, his wide eyes glinting with a fervor that makes her heart race for reasons she cannot comprehend. “You are witnessing a miracle.”
They stand there for a few more moments, feeling the shining light of the glorious stars permeate the air around them. The pair of them shut their eyes and they listen to the sky singing, a hum of warmth and billions of years of energy. Amy simply presses her forehead to the Doctor’s, her hands running up his jacket and clutching his jacket’s lapels. Her heart pounds a cacophonous beat against her throat and her mind.
The Doctor’s instincts kick in, and he draws away from her, if only slightly. “We should go.” His words catch in his throat, words that he doesn’t want to say, but are necessary.
“Don’t go away this time, please,” Amy whispers, her voice shaking. Tears catch on the edge of her eyelids, and she wants so desperately for him to understand her. “Stay right here. Stay with me.” She is so close to him now. So close. He can feel her warm breath on his face. It’s real.
And the walls come down.
He takes her face in both his hands and closes the space between their lips, molding to her form effortlessly. She responds so enthusiastically that it nearly knocks him down, drawing her arms around his neck and perching on the tips of her toes, drawing him in, until there is positively no space between them anymore. Her heart beats wildly as his cool hands tangle themselves in her mess of ginger hair and his soft mouth caresses hers over and over, whispering the love that neither of them could speak in actions.
“You are impossible,” she whispers. His lips flit over her features, her button nose, her eyelids, her cheeks, covering every bit of her as she breathes him in. “You’re mad.”
“You’re wonderful,” he breathes, and draws her face back to his.
And, if even for a moment, you’re mine.
Behind their entwined figures, the stars pulse happily.
Sorry, I meant to pie that, not squid it.
Anyway, that was beautiful. I haven’t even finished season two and I loved it.
New story ideas…
((visiting authors to my school always say write what you know. So that’s why all the characters are in band. And social outcasts. Also: this is kind of a “school story”. I’m sorry.))
Protagonist the Saxophonist moves to a new school in Roswell, New Mexico. And she tries to join the band program, but it stinks, so she creates her own ensemble and a band of social outcasts. Meanwhile a boy thinks that he has been sent to Earth by aliens, and that Protagonist’s friend Other Main Character has been sent by the aliens to take him back to the other ship.
Other characters:
M (Protagonist’s Object of Romantic Interest, except, unbeknownst to Protagonist, he is already “going out” with I,)
One author visiting my old school said “Write what you know is bullcake. Write what you’re interested in. After doing research. The research will be fun, because you’re interested in it!”
This same author also said “If in doubt, add a talking cat”, so I think you can probably trust them.
That sounds about right, and I am interested in the subjects I’m putting in. I had to get off, so I’m posting more characters now.
R: Flute player. Is constantly fighting with T, trumpet player. They are brutal to each other even though they’re nice people when the other isn’t around. Each claims the other is an alien who has been sent to Earth to destroy everyone. (But of course, they would say that…)
Protagonist: Shortly after arriving in Roswell, she develops a strange ability to be extremely influential.
This is probably really far-fetched. But oh well.
If I sent in a story, would anyone read it? *is curious* It’s really not very good, but I’d like some feedback. I have about… *counts* ten chapters. So far. But I wouldn’t sent them in all at once. Can I copy-and-paste from my original text document? Because I remember you can’t do that with the Muse official website…
This is a short…piece I wrote while thinking about how hacking looks to the in-game trainers:
~~~[ ]~~~
“Weak.”
Ramses coiled around the Tepig, the small orange pokemon squealing and wriggling in the Serperior’s harsh grip. He slowly squeezed until the Tepig’s eyes bulged and blood trickled out of its nostrils. With a final shudder, it was still. Unhinging his jaw, Ramses licked his lips and swallowed the small pig pokemon whole.
“Useless.”
Blue feathers drifted slowly to the ground. Valiant had left them behind, his movement was so fast. The Leavanny barely had time to raise its arms slightly in defense before it was pulverized. The shiny Braviary crashed into the wall behind it, but it was a small blow. Almost comically, the antennae of the destroyed pokemon were still intact, twitching slightly and surrounded by scraps of leaves and sticky green blood.
“Pathetic.”
Flames danced around the Zebstrika’s hooves, but Aranaea was too quick for the Flame Charge. She leapt onto its back and plunged her front legs into the flesh. The Zebstrika screamed and thrashed, but the Galvantula would not let go until ever scrap of life-giving electricity was sucked from the Thunderbolt pokemon. It fell, and with a final twitch, the white lines dulled to grey as the last drops of electricity were sucked out.
“A poor excuse.”
Bright colors were the last thing the Krookodile ever saw, before being torn apart by the Archeops’s Dragon Claw. Cleopatra was behind the great red pokemon before it knew what happened. It turned slightly, then fell apart, slices of pokemon hitting the ground with wet splots. The prehistoric fossil pokemon ripped a piece from one slice and ate it, growling deeply.
“You should know better.”
The trainer was silenced mid-laugh. ‘Cuddles’ was not an Audino or Darumaka like he’d expected. ‘Cuddles’ was a three headed, pissed-off dragon. Before his horrible eyes, Cuddles the Hydreigon bashed the shell of his Wartorle until it cracked, then sucked out the quivering form of the pokemon inside. The two smaller heads cried, snatching bites from what the larger head was devouring. When the meal was finished, Cuddles turned all three heads on the trainer and lunged.
“Experience fodder.”
Bits of pink and grey feathers littered the area, the remains of what used to be an Unfezant. The biggest piece was being kicked into dust by Sparkle, a legend gone horribly bad. Sparkle finally cracked open the skull of the bird, and nibbled at the grey sludge that poured out. The Keldeo spat out feathers as it went, then turned to the Swanna still on the field. It raised its horn and a glittering red sword appeared in the air and slashed at the Swanna.
What happens to the trainers who expect a Servine and get a Hydreigon?
This. This happens.
Hacking hurts.
Chapter one of a story I’ve been writing called ‘By Your Side’.
Chapter 1
*Keenan’s POV*
It was 7:35 AM. The bell rang, signaling the end of homeroom. I was supposed to head to the lobby of the school to wait for Mrs. Reath with the rest of the Gay-Straight Alliance. There were only six of us. The GSA was going on a field trip today. We were going to the Regional GSA meeting. It was being held in a church. A… something church. Gay-friendly, all accepting. I was totally spacing on the word, but that was okay. I didn’t really need to know right now.
Terri, Lisa, John, and Amerana were already waiting. They were my four best friends. Chris wasn’t there yet. He was probably stopping at his locker. I went and sat on the little brick stairs by the main entrance, across from the main office.
“Hey, Keenan!” Terri exclaimed, loudly, even though she was only a few feet away from me.
“Hi.” I waved, watching the stairs.
“Oh, whatever, just say ‘Hi’ then. I bet your boyfriend will give me better than that.” she said sarcastically.
I rolled my eyes, “Hello there, Tamantha.” I said, lowering my voice to feign being menacing.
“That’s better! Creepy attempted rapist hello.” she laughed. She liked to be greeted…. differently.
I looked up, hearing Chris’s music before I saw him. He waved at me, smiling, as he came down the stairs, jumping the last four. Amerana walked up to him as he came over and pushed his almost industrial bright pink headphones down off his ears. They rested around his neck. He was listening to Alestorm, a heavy metal Pirate-Rock band that he loved.
“Think your music’s loud enough?” she asked rhetorically.
He answered anyway, “Everybody should hear it because it’s just that awesome.”
Chris walked over to Terri and put his hands on her shoulders. He said, totally seriously, “Tammy, I was visited by the spirit of a narwhal on my way down here, and I’m afraid that he wanted me to tell you that your grandmother is on fire, and the President of Burundi is headed to save her. She won’t be fine.” He then turned around and sat next to me like absolutely nothing had happened.
“Good morning to you, too.” she told him, “And told you so, Keenan.”
Chris laughed and turned his iPod off. “Any’a y’all know where Mrs. Reath is?”
We shook our heads. I melted a little on the inside because of his adorable Southern accent. He’d moved here from Texas a few years ago, and hadn’t picked up on our ‘Pennsylvanian’ accents.
Chris looked at me and raised his right eyebrow.
“You know you buttoned your shirt wrong, right?” he asked me.
“Uh… yeah?” I looked down at the front of my shirt. He was correct sure enough.
“No you didn’t.” he smiled, making his dimple show. “Help me up so I can fix it?”
I stood and pulled him to his feet. His phone fell out of his back pocket and tumbled to the floor. He waved it off. It was hard for him to stand up from a sitting position because of his scoliosis brace. He couldn’t bend over very well either. Chris unbuttoned my shirt, his fingers gently brushing against my chest and stomach as he did so. Mrs. Reath came down the stairs as he finished re-buttoning the last one. She went into the main office to talk to the secretary before we left, not before giving us a questioning look.
“I can’t believe that I’m going to say this,” John commented, “but you guys make plaid and stripes go together.”
Chris laughed and said, “I’ll call the fashion police and tell them to amend the rules, yah?”
I picked up his phone for him and slipped it back into his pocket.
Now, thanks to John’s comment, I couldn’t stop looking at him. He was wearing neon green skinny jeans, black Uggs (which were probably some generic brand of animal-free Uggs), and a red studded belt. His shirt was a thin, skintight, black and white striped, long-sleeved v-neck shirt. I thought it looked soft. I pulled him close to me into a hug while we stood and waited for Mrs. Reath. It was soft.
I played with the clasp of one of six necklaces that hung around his neck. All of his silver and gold, metal bracelets jingled when he put his arms around me. His iPod was cold on my skin. I could feel it clipped to his front pocket through my shirt. The headphones around his neck were a bit awkward, but I didn’t mind that.
My eyes were drawn to his features one by one. The freckles across his nose and cheekbones, the ones I could see on his shoulders and collarbones where his shirt fell off them, and the ones I knew he had on his arms, and hips. One of the straps of the black tank-top he was wearing under his shirt was twisted. I fixed it. The light purple eye-makeup he wore brought out his bright, light green eyes.
I loved his piercings especially, and his tattoo. He had seven in his left ear, two in his right. The bridge of his nose and his left eyebrow. He had snakebites, a Medusa piercing in his top lip, a septum, and his left nostril. Chris’s tattoo was a twisting, thorny, vine of roses that went from his right hip all the way up the side of his body and his neck to stop directly behind his right ear.
Chris had bright, apple red hair like a ripe Macintosh. It was short and layered on his left side, like a Pixie-cut except a little longer and shaggier. It got slowly longer toward the top of his head and around to the right side, and usually fell over his right eye. On the long side, the ends of his hair were just below his knees. It touched the ground if he sat on low things. It was tapered, so it was pointed and not cut straight across at the bottom.
It was impossible to decide what was my favorite part of him was. Honestly, the answer was everything. He was perfect.
Mrs. Reath assembled us by the door, breaking up the hug. We followed her outside, where it was bright and sunny. She took us to one of the small white school-buses. They sat sixteen people, and were better for small groups.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Chris poked my arm to get my attention as we walked into the bus.
“Yeah hun?” I asked as we sat down together. He got the window seat, which was how we usually sat.
“Happy Tranny Pride day.” he said, still smiling happily.
“Haha, you too.”
We were sitting in the first seat on the right side of the bus. Lisa and Amerana sat behind us. Terri and John sat in the seat to the left of us, behind the driver’s seat where Mrs. Reath was. She started the bus and somehow managed to drive away with the door open.
“Whoops! Isn’t there supposed to be some sort of safety against that?” she stopped and closed it.
“Apparently not.” Lisa laughed from behind us.
Chris asked Mrs. Reath if he could turn on the radio as soon as were were in motion again. She said yes to him, and he leaned over the seat and managed to reach it without taking off his seatbelt, which we were required to wear. He put on Kiss108 and sat back down after he turned it up loud enough to hear. Adam Lambert’s “If I Had You” was playing, so obviously we all started singing along to it. It turned out that they were playing all of his music from ‘For Your Entertainment,’ and we caught it right on the first song. The music would probably last us the ride to the church. I had a sort of feeling that Chris knew that it was going to be on. It hadn’t just been luck and good timing. That was probably why he’d asked where Mrs. Reath was back in the lobby.
Chris rested his head on my shoulder, taking my hand in his. I noticed that he had faint circles under his eyes. It made me wonder why he hadn’t slept.
“Tired?” I asked him quietly.
“Yeah…” he said, “I had a crazy hallucination episode last night…” he paused, raising his voice a little to talk to Terri, “And Tammy, I didn’t actually see a narwhal, just ‘cuz you’re wondering.”
“Aww, that would have been cool!”
Chris giggled a little.
It made me a bit worried that he wasn’t sleeping well because of his Schizophrenia. He smiled, though, and shut his eyes. Chris stroked the top of my hand with his index finger lazily. His nails were manicured black and had little white patterns stenciled on. I knew he knew that he was distracting me from worrying about him. But for some reason I really, really liked it when he did that. It was sort of what I considered a pretty special moment. He would rest on me, and we’d just space out like this, thinking, not thinking. It meant… more than people might think. I loved Chris more than anything. He loved me. That’s all that matters. Boyfriend, friends, family. The three most important things in my life. I don’t know where I’d be without those things. Him especially.
Chris had helped me through a lot. My gender-reversal surgeries especially. He’d had his at a very young age, six or seven. He was… conscious, I guess, of himself that early on. His parents understood, and because they were Doctors, they did his surgeries. He had a male puberty. For the most part, he grew up male.
I was a little bit different than that. I had all my surgeries done when I was thirteen. I had a kind of mix of both gender puberties, and I had a really rough time. It was weird and uncomfortable. Sometimes it scared me. Chris was my boyfriend then too. I don’t think that I would have made it through everything without him. All the torment and bullying we got for being Transgender guys, and gay in addition, was awful. But Chris, he… he had this ability to just take everything in and immediately let it all go. He brushed it off like it was nothing, he was happy almost all of the time. He got me through it.
I stared absentmindedly out the bus window at the passing scenery, which was really just other cars, and marshland a little farther on. That was pretty boring, but I looked anyway. Otherwise I’d just be staring at Chris the whole way. I didn’t want to do that, because he’d notice and then he wouldn’t get any rest.
Amerana gently tapped the back of my head and asked, “He asleep?” quietly when I turned to look at her.
“No,” I replied, not yet.
I think he was almost asleep though, because he’d stopped tracing circles on my hand with his fingers. The hand I was holding wasn’t holding me back quite as tightly as it had been a few minutes ago. I put my free arm around his shoulders. He stirred a little and a tiny smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. Yeah, he’d be out in seconds.
—
Sooooo…. what do you think? Should I post the next chapter?
This is the… fourth? third? something like that… iteration of the beginning of what was going to be my Camp NaNo story – it’s by far the best version so far, I think. I don’t know what will happen next, but we’ll see where it goes.
*
It was commonly known among the people of the town that the girls of Weatherby Hall were all half-mad, or perhaps rather more than half.
There were five of them, but five was more than enough. There was Ada Renwick, the queer one with the dark hair, who mixed things in bottles and wouldn’t look at you when she talked; there was Dora Ellwood, the tall fair-haired one, who looked at you far too intently, and said odd things and made everyone uneasy; Dot Robins, the one with the pink hair, who wore iron jewellery and spoke only in whispers and shouts; Rose Carpenter, the youngest, who had plants wound around her arms and an uncanny smile that made her look as though her mind was somewhere else entirely; and Joan Charnley, the shortest one, with the ink-stained hands and the frightened expression. They all looked as if they were afraid of you. It was unsettling. No one was sure if they were altogether human. The dark one looked like a vampire; the pink one might be a werewolf; didn’t that Ellwood girl look fae?
The teachers were strange as well. There was Sarah Jenkins, who wore evening dresses and swore she could see the future; Emily Williams, who just swore; and Ruth Lewis, who everyone knew did magic, and no one quite trusted magic. There was also Headmistress Blackwood. No one knew her first name. Perhaps she didn’t have one. Everyone was slightly afraid of Headmistress Blackwood.
There was also a gardener, who did nothing, so far as anyone could tell, except cast baleful glares at anyone who came near him. No one knew his name, and they were half-convinced that he didn’t have one. He and the grey tomcat were the only males allowed on school grounds.