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furry arts discussion => furry storytelling => Topic started by: Jet on April 27, 2012, 01:28:54 pm
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I have decided to begin a sort of Project. This one is about my writing. I will take in a word from you guys, then write a short story inspired by said word. I am asking you guys to post a word here, then I will respond with a short story. This is supposed to help me practice my writing while under some restrictions, while practicing coming up with an inspiration to write from anything. I only ask that you words be something interesting. Please don't post words like "and" or "but." Think of the most interesting word you can come up with, then we can see what I come up with in my writing. Here's an example. One of my friends, Jessica, came up with the word "Aviator" for me to write on. So here is my story for Aviator...
---Simple Assignment---
A simple assignment. That’s what they told us. We were just supposed to fly in, drop our load, then get the Hell outta there. Simple. “No enemy resistance,” they said. Boy, were they right. No enemy resistance whatsoever. In fact, there was nobody there. Not even the troops we were meant to resupply. Now I’m lying here on the ground, my plane scattered in pieces around myself. I remember I was so proud to join the United States Air Force. The Gryphons. That’s what they called us. A strike team that could fly halfway ‘round the world at a moment’s notice. So many cities, bombed. So many fields, covered with the receivers of my guns. So many enemy aircraft, turned to charred heaps of twisted metal falling from the sky. So many troops deployed. So many soldiers, sustained with much needed food and supplies. The Gryphons did everything. And I was a Gryphon. I still am a Gryphon. And I will die a gryphon. I stare up at the sky. Planes, with the same insignia, fire upon each other in a desperate attempt to remain airborne. Brother fighting brother. The ultimate betrayal. A man walks into my view. His uniform holds a patch. The patch of a fellow Gryphon. A brother. Accompanying this patch is a cloth bar, upon which, USA shines proudly in the afternoon sunlight. I spit at the man. My efforts are feeble, as I am too weak to project my saliva any farther than my chin. The man hangs his head, places his pistol against my temple, and fires.
And there you have it. Any ways I can improve my writing are also accepted responses. This is just a thread to give me some practice writing, and maybe get you guys involved in my process as well. Again, make the words good. Post an animal, or some place, or an activity. Just post a word you would like me to write about! :D
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luminescence
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Hmmm...I can think of a whole bunch of words I'd like to see you expand upon in your own unique way... ;)
Let's start with: chrome
((on a side note, I'd think it'd be awesome if other members can post short stories to this thread based on the word before. For example, I write "a" and you write a story about "a." Then your write "b" and someone writes on "b" and so on. Anyways, start writing! :D))
EDIT: PsychotixxFox beat me to it... :P
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Moved from Artwork Techniques to Furry Fiction as the topic is better suited here.
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((Whoa! Just read that short little story, gotta say, EPIC! :D))
My word: Murder ((Oooooh! Scary words! Muahahahahaha!))
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Headshot! (good enough?)
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luminescence
Here it is, my story on Luminescence. This, believe it or not, was my first attempt at third person. First person narratives just come to me, but I decided to change it up... this is a challenge anyhow, right? :)
---Life Light---
Young Matt enters the room first. He walks into the yellow cube with the fiery excitement a ten year old boy like him would have if they were about to receive a magnificent gift. And he is. Grandpa slowly walks in after the eager child and takes a seat in the chair that lies at the far end of the small room. The only objects in this room are that chair, a large trunk, and some cardboard boxes. “Matt, bring that old trunk over here for me, will you?” Matt eagerly grabs the trunk and drags it to his Grandfather. The trunk has the appearance of being about a hundred years old, but it has been in this family for a much greater time than that. The hinges are coming out, and the ancient leather is losing its hold on the frayed wood beneath. The trunk stands at two feet, and measures two feet across as well. The last dimension of this box is less than the others by a foot. “It looks like a treasure chest, Gramps!” Matt exclaims as his Grandfather feels his old friend with the intensity of a young man in his eyes. “Hush now, Matt. Pull up one of those boxes over there, and join me for the opening.” Matt follows the elder’s orders. The old man slides the chest so it stands between Matt and himself. Matt’s grandfather unclips the iron latches, and pulls back the lid slowly, as Matt excitedly shakes in his makeshift seat. The lid falls, revealing the interior of mysterious old trunk. The thing is bare. Void of all items, save one. The old man pulls out the only item in the chest. A singular pea-sized bead. The grandfather plucks the small black thing from its container, and rolls it around in his wrinkly, old hands. The grandfather hands the bead to Matt, who brings it close to his eyes in amazement. The small sphere glows with such passion. The blue light illuminates the whole room with the eerie glow. It shines as if the souls of all the past ancestors of this family were contained within its limits, creating the glow of life. The grandfather explains the importance of this small bead to Matt. He agrees to maintain this treasure for the rest of his life, until his first-born grandson reaches the age of ten. At that time, Matt says he will pass the object down to him, and continue the tradition.
There you have it. And, I knew that was going to happen. I knew I was gonna get flooded with eager contestants to challenge me to write, but that's good. Come at me Bros!...and Bro-ettes....I will continue and see if I can write a story for all the words! :D
Again, anything you guys see, such as a flaw that I continue to replicate, feel free to tell me about it, or suggest someways to improve.
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Hmmm...I can think of a whole bunch of words I'd like to see you expand upon in your own unique way... ;)
Let's start with: chrome
Ok, here is Chrome. A sort of past tense, transitioning very briefly into present tense, told from third person. Feels to me more like one of those excerpts you would hear that explains the history of a game or movie, before the actual playing of said item. Either way, here it is.
---Chrome Rush---
Chrome. A simple element to understand. Hard, malleable, resilient, and very colorful. Greatly valued by mankind ever since the Gold and Silver Extinction of 4013. The world had entered The Depressed Era in 4027. Never before had anyone heard of such a steep drop in progression. Massive unemployment rates. Millions of people lived out in the woods, illegally hunting any species of animals they could get their hands on. Millions others decided, unwisely, to brave the storm of this worldwide economic collapse. Chrome saved the world. Or so it seemed. In 4033, Jer Regernald found the biggest load of Chrome ever seen with human eyes. Regernald became an instant millionaire with his findings. People from all over rushed in to claim land and make their fortunes on this mother lode. People who found the precious material, found their lives to be instantly improved to a degree that would appear heaven-like to any believer. Anyone who were misfortunate enough to not find any Chrome, spent the rest of their lives scraping the scraps of life from the bottom of Hell’s barrel. Greed. That’s what started the events that occur today. It wasn’t long before the first man was killed over his find of Chrome. A violent end to a desperate miner, dealt by a merciless individual who couldn’t wait another day in poverty. The murder uprooted a brewing debate over the even spreading of Chrome’s wealth. Jump forward another ten years, and we have today, June 9, 4054. Today, an army of soldiers are heading to a small town, built in the rush to prospect the Chrome. There have been reports of severe Chrome Army activity there. The Distributionists have been at war with the Chrome Army for four years now. Thousands are killed on both sides every month, over this small, shiny metal. Chrome.
Another one bites the dust! :D On to the next challenge...
As with everything I do, feel free to comment or suggest anything.
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Sunrise
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((Whoa! Just read that short little story, gotta say, EPIC! :D))
My word: Murder ((Oooooh! Scary words! Muahahahahaha!))
And here it is... Murder! This is definitely something I have never written before. So, ya...here you go.
---Suicide by Cop---
“No! No, Harry! Please don’t!” she will say to me. That’s exactly what she will say to me. And then I will say, “No. You had your chance, and you wasted it with somebody else. You should’ve stayed with me. Now I have to kill you, Amanda.” And, of course, she’ll plead some more and beg me for mercy. But I am all out of mercy, so I’ll tell her, “I have no mercy.” Then, I will place my pistol against her head and wish her a good night. Then I will blow her brains out. It will feel so good! To finally kill the person who has made my life a living hell. Oh! I’ve wanted this for so long now. Tonight, tonight is when I will do it. Tonight I will call the cops and send them her way, then I will run over to Amanda’s perfect little house where she lives with her perfect little boyfriend. I hope Terry is there, too. To shoot that smug little, oh! I would love to kill him off with her. Serves him right anyways. What kind of man runs off with another man’s wife? That’s just despicable. He deserves to die as well. Anyways, I will call the cops and then go over an finish her, and hopefully him, too. But I can’t go to jail. No way! I wouldn’t survive in jail. That’s why I’ll call the cops first, to ensure they are there for phase two of my plan. After I kill them, I will walk outside. The cops of course will tell me to drop the gun and put my hands up. But I won’t. I will point the gun at them. If that doesn’t work, then I will fire at their vehicles. I won’t try to kill them, I couldn’t live with myself if I killed a police officer. After all, my dad was a cop. No. I will just hit their cars, but that should be enough. If that for some reason doesn’t work, then I will take out one or two of them. But only if it is completely necessary for them to shoot back. That’s all I need them to do, is shoot back at me. With any luck, one bullet should hit my head or something. Yup. This is a foolproof plan. Solid as steel. Now all I have to do is go do it. My gun is ready, all the bullets are locked and loaded. Now for the phone call…
On to my next challenge.
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Headshot! (good enough?)
Yay! BOOM! Headshot! Anyways, the first thing that popped into my head was that movie, "Shooter." I dont remember the actors, but that was what was in my head, so I wrote something almost somewhat close to something that may be considered relevant to that movie. So here it is.
---Headshot---
There he is… the man I’ve been tracking for a week now. My partner and I have hunted down every lead into the dead ends we expected them to lead to, but hoped for better. But now, it seems, our lead was solid. Its sunrise now, the beginning of a new day, and with our actions, a new era. So much pressure to place on two men. The future of this world, resting on our shoulders. Up here on this hill, I can feel the freedom in the air. The oppressive war could be all over with what we do today. I look through my scope, and see the man who stands a mile away as if he were close enough to shake my hand. “Wind speed, 20 miles, coming from the west,” my spotter tells me. I adjust my sight appropriately. No way can I afford to miss this man. He is the leader of the Nolegha System. This man has been fighting our armies for almost thirty years now. It could all end here, on the planet of Thella. Ironic it would end here, though. Thella is a peaceful planet. The war has not touched here yet. What we do today will mark the first act of war here for the last thousand years, and the last for another thousand. The man in my sights walks up to his podium, where he plans to convince these people to fight for his side. No doubt they will refuse. The Thellas are nothing like the inhabitants of the Wrenker Planetary system. Those savages left our cause last month. But the Thellas won’t sway from their decision of neutrality. They would rather line up and die before they picked up a rifle and fought for someone. So if anything, we are saving them from imminent doom. This single bullet, contained in my rifle, holds billions of souls’ futures within it. “We’re on in five,” my partner tells me. I raise my finger to the trigger, and focus harder on my target. The man is raising his fists and yelling into the crowd. This looks like a very passionate speech from here. His grey body against the surrounding orange scenery makes him an easy target. The hat on his head is very large, and holds the insignia of their star system. A sort of many legged insect, with large claws and pinchers. I position my crosshairs just above that hat, and slightly to the left of it. “Take the shot,” the man beside me says calmly. I take a deep breath and squeeze the trigger. Boom! The sonic explosion recoils against my shoulder. I stabilize my rifle, looking at the man again. He raises his fists again, then drops them to his sides. He makes a motion towards the crowd, pointing at them. Obviously telling them to accept that the war will devour them if they do not join the Nolegha cause. His hat flies off his head. The walls behind him are plastered in a mist of black liquid. The man, now with no hat, or the accompanying body part, slumps against his podium. “Headshot,” my partner verifies my thoughts. I smile at a job well done. The inhabitants of this planet are sure to be safe now. As is the rest of the universe. I pack up my rifle, and my spotter collects his equipment as well. We walks off away from our hiding spot. He places his arm over my shoulder and repeats the words with an excited tone of accomplishment, “Headshot.”
I like it...So on to another challenge! :D
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Sunrise
Well, I really like this one, actually. I started off deciding to write about a happy sunrise watching between a dog and his human. I did write it from the perspective of the dog in first person. It was going good, until I realized one thing about dogs I forgot before....
---A Dog’s Life---
What did he call it again… a sunrise? Yes, I think that’s what it was. A sunrise. My human says it’s the most beautiful thing in this world. He wanted to watch it with me before, but said he was always too busy. He told me that a sunrise happens every day, but I have never seen anything like what he describes to me. A dog like me likes to sleep, and he says I always sleep right through it. But I’m wide awake right now, and so is he. He sits on the edge of the concrete stairs that take us to the inside of the human house. I nudge my nose under his arm, and he moves it to let me in. His touch is warm in the early morning. “look out that way, towards the horizon,” my human tells me. I stare in the direction he does, eagerly awaiting the beauty he named sunrise. He explained it as the whole world stopping for the color of life to flood into the dreams of the sleeping. He said it’s like an explosion of colors. Things called reds and splintering pinks that dance across the heavens. I have never heard of anything like this before. Few humans are awake to watch this miracle, he told me once. I want to experience this sight for myself. “Here it comes,” he whispers in a low voice, as if the scene itself were to be scared away if it knew anyone was watching. I keep perfectly still and watch the mountains. Then my human lets out an “awe” as the event comes to a life in front of us. My human shivers around in excitement. He hugs me closer and pets me firmly. I continue to stare at the mountains, wanting desperately to see the colors he has described. I begin to whimper at the sky. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” the human holding me asks. I do not understand. He begins to point out where to scenery is changing in the sky. My eyes dart from one section of the sky to another, still trying to envision the details of a sunrise. I see nothing. The sun, a hot ball of grey light, rises higher over the mountains. My human begins to cry from the magnificent scene. He hugs me tighter. I, too, weep in response to the sunrise. The indescribable splendor of the sky escapes me with every glance. I cry out for one glimpse of a fraction of what my human has seen. He stands up, and says, “Well… it’s over buddy. Let’s go back inside now.” I refuse to leave. My human leaves me there to cry in ponderous wonder of what the magnificent view I have missed out on contained. I stay there, staring at the mountains, until the night has shut out the light that allows me to see the horizon. I then trudge back into my home. My human greets me with a smile. I walk past him and slump near the fireplace. I go to sleep, depressed of the colors my human has described earlier. My dreams are filled with visions. Visions that I imagine can only be a small percentage of the amazing scenery my human is so inspired be. The sunrise.
...dogs can't see colors! Sad. Anyways, as you probably can tell, I am trying to do these stories in order of the posters. So there is no cheating for me and skipping a word I don't have an idea for and moving to the next word. This has been fun so far, and it looks like I finished what posts have been made so far. I look forward to another challenger. and don't forget, all comments and critiques are welcome. Who challenges me to write next? :D
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Nice job so far Jet :)
Here's another one: camera
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These are very very good! How about: Spy! 8)
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These are very very good! How about: Spy! 8)
Hey, sorry I haven't posted in some time. School and such. I did do the story for Camera, but it is on paper and at my house, and I am in Vegas over the weekend. This story, however I did on my computer all the way, so I decided to quite procrastinating and post something. So this is what I have for your word Carter, Spy. Enjoy. :)
---The Mission---
Thirty minutes. I have thirty minutes to reach my target. The truck I am lying under has finally stopped leaking. Good thing, I hate oil in my fur. I laugh to myself. I am the only one with fur. Well, other than the animals I see from time to time. But I’m much more… what did they call them? Human? Yes, that sounds about right. Human. I’m too human to be an animal. Silly humans. Most of the ones I know are fine. But most I encounter on my missions are so weak. They tend to have very fragile bodies. It doesn’t take much for me to break their bones. I guess that’s why they made me. They still won’t tell my if I was human before and underwent some change that caused a memory loss of my previous human self, or if I were a test tube lab experiment. Either way, I’m the perfect soldier, so they say. I used to run team operations. It turns out some people have a problem working with an eight foot, biologically augmented, humanoid fox. Due to their discomforts, I’ve been assigned to solo espionage missions for the past six months. It’s not all that bad, though. Humans only slow me down. Speaking of slowing down, I think I’ve spent enough time hiding under this truck.
I roll to the right until I am out from under the vehicle. Rising to my feet, I can see I am in some garage. I make a beeline for the only door leading into the building attached to my current position. I enter the room, checking my watch once inside. Ten minutes. Running as fast as I can, I make it to a room with lettering on it that I don’t understand. I recognize the patterns from my briefing. This must be the room. I slowly enter the room, and slip into a nearby dark corner. I’m immediately soaked in shadow. Perfect. A man comes down the stairs in front of me and starts toward the door that leads to the room near me. It’s probably best if I kill this man now, so I won’t have to sneak around him later. The man doesn’t carry much in the way of weaponry. Just a standard pistol still in its holster. He doesn’t suspect a thing. A s he moves past my corner, I being to crawl forward. I’m low to the ground, ready to fly. I aim for the man’s neck. My ears are forces to perk up as I hear a low humming coming from the roof behind me. The sound of metal vibrating as it rubs against more metal. I press my back against the wall again, and look up. I see a security camera, rotating to the left. When it reaches the end of its field of vision, now facing the door the man wants to enter, it stops and with it the sound dies out. I forgot about cameras.
Not a big deal. The man enters the room as the camera watches. After the door shuts, the camera naturally begins its rotation to the right. Once it’s out of range to see the door, I enter it swiftly. Once I enter the room, I see the man I wanted to kill, along with two others. They are standing by some desk, talking amongst each other. The room is brightly lit. I dive for a nearby desk, and hide from the light that floods the rest of the room. I don’t think they saw me. I slowly crawl on my stomach until I am on the other side of their table. They are talking in a language I don’t understand. It’s probably the same language that the lettering on the door was in.
I prepare for the attack. I pull out my pistol, which is equipped of course with a standard issue silencer. This should make things easy. I look at the men’s feet and determine where they are standing relative to each other before I strike. One man in front of me, one right beside him, and the final man near his right a ways standing next to the corner of the table to my left. I back up a little and prepare to leap. I thrust myself forward, propelling my body over the table. My jaw latches onto the middle man’s throat. I reach out for the man to my right and clutch his throbbing neck with my massive hand. I raise my left hand and fire four shots near where I predicted the last man to be. I hear his body slump to the ground. The man I bit is now starting to fall as well, so I release my grip. A distinctly familiar metallic flavor slithers down my throat. I turn to my friend that I have around the throat. I raise him off the ground and, while his feet kick at my knees, I shoot the man in the eye and drop his lifeless body.
Easy stuff. There’s a big dresser behind where the men were standing. I run over and search the thing top to bottom. It’s not long before I find what I was sent to retrieve. A small black box with red markings on it. I place the object in my pocket and switch on my small earpiece. “Strawberries obtained, sir,” I say, remembering the code word for the box. The voice relays back to my within seconds, “Great work. Now go make a smoothie.” I switch the earpiece off again, according to previous commands, and make my way for the stairs. I remember the camera and wait for it to pass before sprinting up the spiral staircase.
Once up I see several doors. None of them are what I want. I search around for a while, but I can’t find the door where my “smoothie” is located. I hate these situations. Most of the people I find doing this are so helpless and weak. I can’t stand having to protect them when they can’t even stay hidden and keep up with me. Why is every hostage so....so…human? This floor is obviously not where the man I am looking for is, so I head up another flight of stairs and search there. Then I see the door with the markings I am looking for. I pull my pistol and enter the room. It opens with more rooms inside, all the doors being open. This makes it easy for me to slip into the rooms quickly.
Running form room to, I keep my eyes peeled for any enemies. They should be towards the back, near the hostage, but you can never be too safe. As I enter a new room, a man starts to walk into it. I hide behind the open door until he passes. I grab his head and press it against my gun’s barrel. I fire, then drop the body behind the same door I sought cover. In the next room, there are two more enemies, which are easily disposed of. I find the room I need to enter, closed and locked.
I press my ear up against the door. On the other side of the wood, I hear two men talking back and forth. I pinpoint their position in the room. One man to my left, maybe about three feet out. Another about two or three feet from him to the right. I place the barrel of my gun against the door at an angle to the left. Then I transition it to the right the appropriate degrees. I repeat this three more times to memorize the movements.
I place the barrel of the gun on the door in the first position. I fire, then immediately move to the second position, firing once there. I take a step back and kick in the door. I raise my gun in case the two men are alive. They are slumped over each other in a pile of blood. “Good calculations,” I say aloud.
Then I see the hostage. Her bright orange hair shines through the room. She stands and bites off her restraints. “Thanks. I thought I was gonna have to take care of them on my own,” she says. She smiles at me, her whit cheeks stretching to accommodate her teeth. She stands as tall as me. I am at eye level with her. My ears perk up from a noise behind me. I notice that her ears also perk toward the noise. Her lips curve into a snarl at the enemies that are forming in the rooms I cleared earlier. Her tail swats at the air as she gets ready to pounce.
A man grabs my shoulder to pull me to the ground. The hostage before me leaps and gets the man around the neck. The fox lady then turns her attention to another man, this time taking his rifle. She tears through the enemy reinforcements and continues through the rooms. I can’t believe it. Another agent like me. I recollect myself and chase the fox hostage down.
It is relatively long, in fact most likely the longest I will write for this. But I liked to write it and I think it turned out good. Thanks for the word and I will post "Camera" tomorrow when I get back to Pahrump. :P Comments are as always acceptable.
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That... was awesome! I'll remember those tricks when I am a secret agent xD
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That... was awesome! I'll remember those tricks when I am a secret agent xD
I played tons of Tom Clancy, especially Splinter Cell, as a kid :P
Nice job so far Jet :)
Here's another one: camera
Well when I actually did write this about two weeks ago it was hard. Spent about four days thinking. And this is what I came up with. Leave it to Mylo to choose a word I couldn't find a story to match. :P Well I procrastinated long enough. Here is... Camera!
---A Picture’s Worth A Thousand Words---
HI. I’m Kayla, and this is how my day went. It was on the way to second hour at my high school. Just so you know, in case you didn’t, I’m a senior here. Anyways, it was in second period that I realized I dropped my phone on the way to class. I was so scared I got up and ran out to search for it, without the teacher’s permission. After several hours of desperate searching , I still couldn’t find it. I was terrified. My phone had several pictures of me and my best friend Holding hands and kissing. No way that I could let any of my friends find out. I didn’t even sleep last night from all the worrying. That was yesterday. This morning, when I got to school, I got a copy of the school’s newspaper. The front page headlines read, “Popular Girl Discovered to be Lesbian!” My face, and that of my friend, was plastered next to those evil words. This was horrible. I haven’t show up for any of my classes so far. This was a major problem. Was a problem. But now I know how to fix it. That is why I brought this rope. I finish writing the letter and fold the paper four times. After placing my note in my pocket, I peer over the stairs’ railing. It’s a long way down. Perfect. I tie the rope to the railing and climb to the top of the railing, holding the rope tight. I make myself a necklace to wear from the other end of the rope. “I’m sorry, Kassandra,” I say as I take a deep breath and jump.
Little sad... but that is my style it seems. Keep throwing them words at me. And don't be afraid to criticize me too, other than grammar stuff, I don't really edit these things before posting, although I should. (:
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Aye...the one for camera was so depressing... I really wish it had ended a different way... :(
Next word: Trend
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Well thar was sort of depressing. But at least it's a story.
Heres one for you: journey
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The Word of the day is: Angelic
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Ok. I really like this one because of its pretense. You may recognize some elements here from somewhere else. *cough cough* I wrote this in the hospital visiting my mother. She is having back surgery and such, so I decided to start writing in my notebook, and this is what came from it. Just a thought, but America... Can we please make hospitals less creepy!
---In the Eyes of the Beholder---
He entered the school. This man. His face hangs loosely off the bones beneath. His droopy, grey eyes wander around, looking from one door to the next, mapping his eventual course. This man was a fashion designer. He made some of the most popular trends come into reality. That was a long time ago, though. Since then, he has lost his touch. This man, once a profoundly successful fashion designer, has spent the last two years scraping by on cheap fabric and plastic accessories. He is here today as a final attempt to recapture his previous fame. This man came to this high school to take a survey of the students, to try to draw inspiration for his next project. The man has arrived rather late, unfortunately, due to a severe car accident choking up the road to the school. It’s almost the end of last period by now. The man decides to start his surveys upstairs, as all he can see down where he is are a bunch of Math classes. He starts his way to the stairs when a woman’s voice stops him cold.
A child, most likely a student at this school, apologizes to another student named Kassandra rather loudly. The man is forced to stumble back as a girl jumps down from the second floor. A crudely fastened rope catches her midair. Stunned, the man gawks at the recently deceased. A fairly attractive young girl. The body twists back and forth in front of the man. He stares at her. What he notices most, above all else, is the Clothes she is wearing. Collectively, the outfit is mediocre, but the man can view the articles of clothing separately in his mind. He sees the shirt, with some minor adjustments and possibly some added patterns. The pants, add a belt and trim them down some. The man’s ticket to another fame filled, successful chapter in his life dangles on a rope before him. The man walks up to the girl. He stops just out of reach and looks around nervously. The school is eerily empty, as though these two are its only inhabitants. He decides no one can see him, so he proceeds to desperately remove the student’s shirt. He folds the garment under his own. The pants slip off easily enough. As the man folds the pants, a folded piece of paper falls out of the pocket and lands softly at the man’s feet. He bends down, picking up the paper, and unfolds it to read its message. He reads aloud an excerpt, summarizing the events of this child’s final days. Something about a camera and a newspaper and a best friend lover. The man hears a bell. Children flood the halls. The man walks briskly out of the school, throwing away the desperately written suicide note, leaving the girl hanging in her undergarments without an explanation.
So as you may have guessed, this story is a sort of continuation of my previous story for "Camera." This gave me an idea. Would a book that was just a collection of short stories that were interconnected in some way, like these two, be a good idea. I may write one sooner or later, but that idea just came into my head when I started writing this story. Thanks for the opportunity, and dont be afraid to critique my work. I dont mind someone saying where I fall and where I am doing good.
Also... maybe I write too many sad stories... sorry guys but thats just what comes to mind when I start writing. Tragedies have always been the most fascinating writing to me...
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Also... maybe I write too many sad stories... sorry guys but thats just what comes to mind when I start writing. Tragedies have always been the most fascinating writing to me...
That's not a bad thing...that's like saying Stephen King writes too many horror stories :P
Hmmm...this piece really got me thinking. In fact, I don't quite know what to think. It just seemed so abrupt and, I guess, cold. It was a little hard to understand at first because I didn't believe what I was seeing. But now that I think about it, it parodies desperation in such an odd way...and that man is still a mystery to me. Very interesting, thought-provoking piece.
And about your interlocking stories idea. The thing that comes to mind is this novel, Cloud Atlas (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cloud_Atlas_%28novel%29). The Wachowskis are making it into a movie for release supposedly this October. ^.^ But back to your idea...that would be an awesome project to undertake (but I know you've got Project Tango and your as yet unnamed Anthro project in the works). I'd really like to see you do something like that!
Next word: Asia
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Jet..you're mad XD.
this is such a crazy challenge you're taking on here and you are pulling it off so darn well! big thumbs up from me ;)
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How about the fear of many things. "Polyphobia"
It's a rabbit thing. :o
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Well thar was sort of depressing. But at least it's a story.
Heres one for you: journey
Hey, Finally got some time to sit down and write some. Got The story for journey done, and I will apologize ahead of time. This is vent art. Yes there is vent art in literature. I crashed yesterday and this is sort of a venting of what my crash was about. Sorry if you dont like reading this sort of stuff, but I feel your best stuff comes out when you are at your lowest, so Im not redoing this. This is what I thought of in my mental state when I heard Journey. Thanks Wanderer, for posting this. This story helped me some... Here it is, Journey
---Journey of Life---
Look at these things. Humans. The way they go about living. Millions of them. Billions of them. They “live” their lives. They are born and start with innocence. Risen from the dirt by those who gave life to them. They actually believe they can give life! Children. Nurtured into adapt adults. Then it’s off to work. The newly formed worker men toil day in and day out. Turning soul. Melting Earth. Crafting machines. All their life. Their brief expanse of existence withered away through work. And for what. The benefit of others. But there is no benefit. All of them work all their lives for the next generation. So they can live easier. But the next generation only follows in their ancestors’ deep-set footsteps. There’s always work to be done. And it’s all so pointless. So profoundly without use. And if there ever should be a time of slow production, the time old human practice rises from their perceivable Hell. War. The war demands more production. And thus there is work to be done again. More melting of Earth. And after that war, reconstruction. They build again. Humans rise from the smoke and dwell on their instincts to build. They gather the rubble and piece back together the dismembered puzzle of their society.
And when all this building and rebuilding is complete, they end. Their entire lives. All their work and turmoil. All the building and unbuilding. All progression leading up to the eventual and irrevocable end. The sudden stop to their lives, brought about in numerous ways. Some stop work simply because their bodies stop work. Others fall victim to the very things they built. Many die out in their efforts to tear down during their practice of war. Yet they do it. Humans voluntarily live this way. Live, work, die. Live, work, die. Pointless. An endless myriad of work and death. But they do it. They enjoy it. And why? Faith. They believe in something. Not more work. They believe in relaxation after the end. That’s why they slave away. They work away their short lives to achieve peace. And endless, worry free existence. They actually believe this. That life is an odyssey with the final destination being an eternity of karmic pleasure. But that keeps them going. They work. They die. They believe. Thus is this, the journey of life.
Again, venting and stuff. Im better now I think. Moving on...
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The Word of the day is: Angelic
And I finally got the chance to write for you Cheet. I like this story. I dont have much to say about this, so I will just let the work speak for itself. Here it is, Angelic.
---When Angels Die---
Nothing but the best. Heh. That’s not really important at this point. It’s not like this will help any of us really. It may be the best armor around, but that doesn’t mean it is any good. Not in this fight. I look beside me. The table stretches on forever. A man stands beside me. We have lined up this way. One man, one woman. One man, one woman. Alternating. He stares down at his armor on the table bleakly. He knows as well as any of us here know, we are all going to die. We must die. I thought we were better than this. We look down upon the beings that inhabit the planets below us. They fight senseless wars over territory, not us. We are angels. Protectors of the heavens and guardians of life. It doesn’t matter. None shall pass through here and overtake this place, even if we all must die. But where does an angel go after death? The order is given and I strap the metal plates to my body, fixing each piece to its correct position. The best armor around. Its light illuminates the entire room, filling our faces with light gold. The armor is lighter than air. I turn around, and take one last look at the man to my right as we walk towards the giant doors. He senses my look and turns to me. He smiles. I smile back. I take position at the door.
“Prepare!” someone yells out to us. The man beside me changes. His nose protrudes out and morphs into a muzzle. His arms grow fur and his legs grow an extra joint. He is now a Cross. Somewhere between man and dog. I change into my Cross as well. A dog woman. My eyes collectively enhance to see clearer. I smell what lies on the other side of this door now. It frightens me down to my core. I look left to find another Cross. A man who is also part bear. He feels it too, the despair on the other side. We exchange nervous smiles, then stare straight again. There’s a sound as the doors prepare to open. Then, they swing open suddenly, revealing the horror in full. The sky is no longer existent, only a black tar that hangs over the fields. An inky mist drowns the ground and surrounding mountains. Cries of painful torture find their way into my mind and I stir them back out. Whimpers and whines escape our mouths. The angels. Protectors of the heavens and guardians of life. Only the best.
“Attack!” the voice yells for the final time. All of us, in unison, charge blindly into the ink. I smack into it hard, but soon claw my way into the muck. The ink is thick and allows for almost to movement. My wings are useless here. I tunnel until I am picked up by something. It grabs me and lifts off the ground. I claw at the creature. It’s eyes are revealed to me. Dark red with some yellow burning like embers deep down. I bite at its face and claw for the hideous thing’s neck. A yelp is heard in the distance. I continue my fight. I hit it somewhere and it lets me go, but I don’t loosen my grip on it. Now that I have found it, I tear it apart as we fall. The ink lessens as it dies. I touch down and continue to tunnel again. Another thing brushes by and I jump at it, teeth bared. I connect with it as it lets out an ear-piercing cry of desperation. I grab at its head and rip in, biting and clawing my way into its thick body. Before long it dies as well and I continue my quest. I hate it in here. The ink makes it impossible to see. Something grabs my head and carries me off again. I reach up for it and find a hold on the creature. The ink all of a sudden dissipates and I fall to the ground. I am covered in ink, and my wings won’t open. My back slams into the ground and I lose my grip on what’s real. I hear a few more yelps and some howls somewhere in the fog of blackness. The ink creatures swirl around me, closing in. I can’t move. I ‘m a goner. I am an angel. Protectors of the heavens and guardians of life. Only the best. I have served the cause. And now I die. I close my eyes and wonder, where does an angel go after death?
There you have it, Angelic and what I wrote about it. I liked writing this. So on to the next story....
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Next word: Asia
Asia?!? What? I had some trouble thinking of one for this, but I did find something. Took me a while, but you know, I wrote something. I like it, especially the ending... here you have it, Asia...
---Population Control---
Just stay hidden. That was the only thing she was supposed to do. The little girl failed her one sole objective. And nothing could save her now. Maybe if she were born elsewhere she could have had a normal life. Anywhere else. That was the burden that embodied her parents for so many years. They already had two children. You can only have two children. Any more must be turned over to the authorities. “Population Control,” they called it. China has always had a population issue, but none as severe as this. The boom in population in the 2040s was too much for their government to handle. It fell, again, and up rose communism. A total monarchy overruled. First act of this monarchy, population control. All families are allowed two children only. No more. The third child must be sent in immediately. There was a food shortage in China too. Been there since the 50s. Too many people and not enough to feed them all. This family knew that. That’s why they hid this little girl. They know they can only sustain two children, but they kept the third. They loved it too much. That was their eventual downfall. The child has remained hidden for this long. Crammed under the floorboards or in the walls. Every inspection, the child is sent to the dark crevices of their old house.
The child has been successful until now at remaining unfound. But this inspection, the child became afraid. She was scared and needed her mother. Her mother could not come, so she screamed. She cried for her family. Her mother tried her best to pass the noise off as the family next door and their annoying children. It almost fooled the officer. But the noise did not die down, and the officer grew suspicious. He wanted to investigate. It wasn’t a long search. Soon the others came in and tore down the wall to retrieve the child. She was dusty and terrified. Nothing could calm her down now. Yet she did not know the severity of her own situation. The family could only have two children. No more. Population Control. That’s what they called it, even if it was cruel and inhumane. It had to be done, so the rest could survive. The officer takes the child in his arms and walks out the door. The other men hold the family back as the child is taken away. They all know where this child is going. It must be done, even if the family doesn’t want it to. You can only have two children, no more. The third must be given to the government for slaughter and redistribution as food.
A little disturbing at the end, but it reminds me of something I once read or a game I played or something. Maybe a movie. I dont know. Anyways, I will probably write Old Rabbit's word, Polyphobia, tomorrow. I would write today, but im sort of tired and dont feel like writing anymore. Three stories in one day is good....
Also - For those that dont know, one of the stories I posted today ended up on the first page...go ahead and go back and check it out if you care to. Its the story for Wanderer's word, Journey. Hope you enjoy and dont forget to comment or give me more words. School is piling up so i may be slow right now, but I will write soon. Promise.
Jet..you're mad XD.
this is such a crazy challenge you're taking on here and you are pulling it off so darn well! big thumbs up from me ;)
THANK YOU! I may be mad for trying, but I seem to be doing an okay job at keeping up. I like writing and I seem to be relatively good at it. Im no Mark Twain or Steinbeck but I am Jet and that's good enough for me. It makes me happy to see you post that though. Makes me feel special. ;) Why dont you post a word, I'm sure you can come up with something that I will enjoy writing about, or would even be a challenge for me to write about. It all helps either way. :)
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How about the fear of many things. "Polyphobia"
It's a rabbit thing. :o
Alright, as promised, here is the story for Old Rabbit's word of Polyphobia. I sort of drew some inspiration from a scene in the movie "Babylon A.D." Its a great movie and I liked the market scene towards the beginning. So this is my story for Polyphobia...
---Irrationality---
“Going to the market to get some oranges,” I say out loud, not really caring of anyone hears me. Hearing my voice helps me calm down and make sense of the things around me. “Mother wants some oranges, so I must get some oranges. Going to the market to get some oranges. I don’t quite like oranges, they have always crept me out a little. With the color and their strange smell. Oranges.” I continue to talk as I enter the market. There are a lot of people here, too many people here. “I don’t like crowds,” I say. The orange guy is on the other end of this market, so I begin my walk through the crowds. The orange guy gives me the creeps too, with his long hair and how he always wears leather. Why does an orange vender wear leather? I man brushes up beside me and I jump away from him. I don’t like being touched, “I really don’t like crowds.” Some people laugh as I walk by. I stare at them, and see they are laughing at something on the table before them. I stand ready to run in case they turn around. People who laugh could be crazy. They could have a knife or worse, a gun. If they see me, they will shoot me for sure. I quicken my pace a little. A guy behind me yells. I cover me head and duck out of sight to the right. The man calls again to his friend across the market. I stand up and shakily make my way to the orange guy again, “That was a close one. He could have been trying to group with his friend to get to me more easily.” I walk fast. A loud crash goes off somewhere to my left. The sound of metal smashing into something hard. I scream and take off running at full speed to the right, away from whatever made that sound.
I slam into some man, who turns around and asks what I think I am doing. I don’t know. The man towers over me and his dark chin bares down on me like a hammer. I push away from him and head back towards the noise. The sound rings out again as a man slams a hammer into the side of a wall, trying to knock it in. I turn ninety degrees and take off again. “I have to get out of here,” I yell, “Get away from here!” I run thought the crowd and people push me as I get in their way or bump into them. I run from the people, the hammer, the noise, the man, the oranges. I keep running, I don’t want to die. The crowd diminishes as I get closer to the unfinished bridge. I run across it, seeking the high ground. It abruptly stops. I look down in and see the concrete a great distance below me. I turn around and see the crowd, moving like some sick worm. My heart presses against my chest as I try to catch my breath. I jump into the air as another noise punches my ears. A similar noise to the one before, coming from right about me. Metal on metal. I turn to run, but the road before me is unfinished. “Me or them. Me or them!” I say. The noise screams out again. I grit my teeth and desperately leap over the bridge.
I don't know if I accurately captured the fear of Polyphobia or not. Basically you are just scared of everything around you. I am not scared of everything around me, so this is slightly more difficult. Also, if you have an irrational fear for everything, I assume you dont necessarily say, "Ah! That scares me!" I guess you more show that through actions, such as running away. And to stick with the messed up way I write, the character is driven mad enough to make a desperate leap off a bridge. Sorry if these stories are too sad for some of you, but I really enjoy human psychology and the way their brains work. I especially love the way people break down and how different personalities degenerate into acts of pure desperation.
Also, if noone has noticed yet, I am all caught up on words! :) I believe I have now done all the words posted here. I will go back and make sure I didnt miss any, but I think I have all the stories written for now.......Give meh your words! ;)
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Also, if noone has noticed yet, I am all caught up on words! :)
Not so fast! o.o There are thousands of words to be given! :D
Anyways
While your stories may be depressing at times, I think you have a good style developing...like you described, you like delving into the human psych and continue to explore the theme of desperation.
Just some random thoughts that popped up in my head:
- I've never seen the word Cross used before to describe an anthro; I've only seen furry, anthro, anthropomorphic, chimera, hybrid... (and it's kind of coincidental that they're angels if you know what I mean ;))
- In the story for Asia, you just threw that last sentence out there, the one about redistributing her for food. It kind of caught me off guard, as in, it didn't really hit me...maybe because the delivery was rushed or maybe it's just me :P
- In fact, I'd like to see more of the drama when the family must forcibly give up their child...
- Never seen Babylon A.D. *adds to Netflix*
- The market scene reminded me of the chase scene in Blade Runner; I really liked the attention to detail
- But the one question that I still have...he was more afraid of people than he was of death? Interesting.
What would you make of this?: alone
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hmmmmm.....ok then...i'll add a word for you, whats a really curley one *thinks hard*.
hehehe....i got one: detonation
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I think you did well with my word.. I chose it because
I felt it would be a challenge. Emotions can take many
paths.. So if you want another word.
It's "Emotion"
Old Rabbit :orbunny:
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I was just going to wait and mention this when I post another story, but I am swamped with homework, so I dont know when I will write again. Also, all three of these new words, Alone, Detonation, and Emotion, would all have the same comment, so I guess I should mention this before I start writing...
Here we are, finally, getting some words that not only interest me a little more, but also develop practice for my novel. Alone is a great word because my main character, Sam, faces all of her friends and family leaving her in one way or the other. She must suffer through loneliness, and it drives her into the grips of depression as well. detonation reminds me of a particular part of the same novel, when Sam steps on two mines. Dont worry, they are concussion mines, meant to disable electronics and knock the wind out of you. But this will be some good practice for how I could describe, in first person, someone being near, or in Sam's case, on an explosion. And finally, Emotion. A broad and general word, but I could take this in several ways, too. I could try to practice how emotions can be portrayed through a character like Sam, who believes she must stay strong and show no emotions to carry the will of her father. But she is breaking inside...So this should be interesting.
While I still like the other words, angelic, journey, sunrise, trend, I am really excited to write these stories because they hit home more than the others. These seem a little more attached to my novel and the way I write. Thanks, and I promise I will write as soon as I can. I just cant wait till summer, imagine how much writing I could get done then! 8)
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I just cant wait till summer, imagine how much writing I could get done then! 8)
Writing and arting and fursuiting and movie-making...the list goes on! :D
I think it was very well done how this thread is playing out. It started off with just random words and you wrote random stories for them. And through them, you are continuing to develop your storytelling abilities...now, you have words that you truly identify with (whether in character or IRL). I can't wait to see what you come up with next!
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Neither can I wait. And yes, the list goes on, writing, drawing, animation, short films, job, license, glowstringing, and on and on and on. Basically everything but school. It is amazing where this has ended up and where this is taking me. I sort of expected it to overwhelm me somewhat, but it hasnt yet *crossses fingers.* And I have been seriously thinking about that short story collection book thing. If not a collection of short stories that interlink together somehow, them at least a book that contains a bunch of my short stories for everyone to read. I think I will take the best of what comes out of this, edit it and maybe add some to it so its not as short, and collect those stories into a book of my short stories. An idea I got from you Mylo. But anyways, in the meantime, I just write and practice.
by the way, maybe its not such a bad idea for others who are passionate about writing to do a similar challenge. I enjoy it so much that it gives me a reason to write, and this will definitely be a help while I write my novel. So maybe others can do this too and have just as much fun as I'm having? ;) ;) ;)
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My word? Fallen (angels, from grace,etc)
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How about this; Armor (In reference to things such as armored vehicles like APCs/IFVs or tanks.)
I also might start up my own writing challenge thread- this was a great idea.
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Also, if noone has noticed yet, I am all caught up on words! :)
Not so fast! o.o There are thousands of words to be given! :D
What would you make of this?: alone
Alright, finally something more to my liking of writing. A lot of other words were fun to write as well, they all were fun actually, but this more specifically links to my personal enjoyment to writing. It may not be as apparent here, because of the format of short stories, but I dont particularly write a mind rapidly descending into a collapse, like the kid for Old Rabbits word, Polyphobia. I more enjoy writing a slow mental breakdown, as is shown in my novel. Here, I wanted to slow down the collapsing mental status. I like this and I LOVED writing it. finally got some time in second period at school to write. :)
So here is by far one of my favorite stories so far for this thread, the story for Alone...
---Decent of the Abandoned Mind---
Milk’s gone sour again. I walk over to the trashcan to throw the whole jug away. It’s smell lingers in the air, shifting around as I walk. As I lift the plastic lid off my trash, the voice echoes in my mind, “Dump it out first!” My wife. Her rant about the smell throwing away a gallon of sour milk would develop plays over as I dump the milk down the sink. I wish she were still here, even with her constant bickering. I can almost see the grey fumes the milk is ejecting. I move to throw the empty jug away, but I decide against it. I turn to my table and take a step in its direct, holding the milk close to my chest. To my left is the open fridge. I shut the door, watching the thick clots of dust roll off the top on impact and slowly parachute to the musky tile beneath my feet. The dust bounces off under the fridge, leaving me to stand with my rotten milk. I take another step towards the isolated table, allowing the side of the fridge to be revealed in the corner of my eyes. I peer over to find an image. A young woman in a bright red scarf, smiling out at the world. Engraved under her are the words, “To My Dearly Beloved.” I shudder and tighten my grasp on the jug. I dare to take three steps towards my destination before stopping again. A portrait of a small boy and its dog dangles crookedly from one nail on the wall to my right. The boy’s dark brown hair jumps out in all directions. His smile is in eerie replica of the woman with the scarf. He hugs an excited black Labrador wearing a collar, which reads, “Montague” I close both my arms around the empty jug, projecting the heavy stench into my sunken face. I leave behind the woman, child, and pet with another step. Before me now lies a small photo. The frame of glass lies around it in several fragments. The dull image depicts a blond haired man smiling wide. The words “For the Best of Friends” is boldly displayed in hushed tones of blue above the man. I attempt another step away from the kitchen.
A mirror, almost swallowed up by a blanket of dust, reveals a man in front of me. His brown hair juts out in a similar way to the boy’s. His mouth seeks refuge under a month’s worth of unshaven stubble. His eyebrows disperse wildly in an unkempt manner. The eyes that were crudely placed below the mess sink in grey monotone. The skin around them are in constant threat of following the dusty clots to the floor, manipulated severely by the intense gravity of sleep deprivation. I move forward another step, drawing closer to the man in the dusty mirror before the projection leaves its borders forever. I pull myself into the wooden chair that lies beside my table. The decrepit wood cries out as the full pressure of my weight is set upon it. I set the empty milk gallon on the table in front of myself. Just beside the milk jug is a newspaper. I lift it up and read the text on the front page. My dry mouth creaks open, releasing the frayed voice of selective speech. “May 26th.” More than a month ago. I know what is continued and although I dread hearing the words again, I read on. “Derailed Train Rolls over Car, Killing 3 and Dog!” images are scattered around the story, resembling those which laid about my previous path. I replace the newspaper where I found it, careful not to disturb the walls of filth that box it in. I lay my head on the table, displacing the stale air. I stare into my empty milk jug, watching curls of dust settle at the bottom.
I hope you liked it. as I said, this is more my style of writing. And I like the story a lot. I guess theres not much more to say about Alone, but I am excited to write for detonation. The main character of my novel steps on a land mine and this is a perfect opportunity to experiment with how to write a first person of someone caught in a less than lethal explosion.
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Excellent job as ever Jet. I loved what you did with alone, the fact that you described in detail the consequences of being alone, the "want" for the people who are gone (and the simultaneous denial that they are truly gone). That's one of my favourite themes in stories.
Now for another word...how about...plot twist... Furtopia. XD
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Youre doing great Jet! Has anyone suggested "Jet" yet?
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Hmm...I still have other stories to write first, gotta stay chronological, but ideas are bumping around in there for Furtopia and Jet. I have two ideas for Furtopia, not sure which to do, but I like them both. And as for Jet...the options. Maybe I could write an excerpt from a novel I plan to write as a background for one of Jet's personalities... Im sure I will find something. And FINALLY school is starting to die down. Just finals week this monday and an oral presentation I am dreading tomorrow. I should be able to do at least one story a day. Ive got a lot of writing to do this weekend. :) And Metalhead_Mockingbird, go ahead and do a writing challenge of your own if you want. I find it a lot of fun and it is definitely good practice for my book. I just write what I like to write. Even if its a happy word, I write the way I enjoy to, which isnt traditionally the happiest stories out there, but I love it a lot. Mylo also seems to be having fun. But how can you not have fun when you arent just doing what you love, but being recognized for it. ;)
I would like to formally thank everyone who has ever posted, is posting, and will post in this thread. You guys are awesome and this has been an amazing experience for me. honestly, I could see myself still writing in fifty years! :D So thanks everyone here, you have really turned up my passion for storytelling. So again Thanks everyone and keep posting like you have been. I really appreciate it. :goldgrin:
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I would like to formally thank everyone who has ever posted, is posting, and will post in this thread. You guys are awesome and this has been an amazing experience for me. honestly, I could see myself still writing in fifty years! :D So thanks everyone here, you have really turned up my passion for storytelling. So again Thanks everyone and keep posting like you have been. I really appreciate it. :goldgrin:
that makes me feel better, i was worried you'd be running about saying "OMG wordsplosion!" and having a 'pressure' of work to do but it is clear that you dont take it that way...FANTASTIC!
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hmmmmm.....ok then...i'll add a word for you, whats a really curley one *thinks hard*.
hehehe....i got one: detonation
Ok. I dont know if I will make a habit of this, unless you guys like it, but I could help it for this word. I decided to write a small piece of my novel in progress, Project Tango. I havent gotten to this part yet in writing. But I wanted to write here to practice two key things. I will explain those after the story. So if you for some reason dont want to be spoiled about the story if I publish it later and you get a copy, dont read it. Although it is a rough idea of how this section will go and is liable to change, a specific plot point will remain the same.
Also, I toned down the blood and gore here a lot. I skipped some parts, like the SSAD and Napalm dogs, as well as the wasps, mainly to cut down on the length. This whole scene will be bigger in the actual book, but I think it serves its purpose for this challenge. So here's my story for detonation.
---Battle at Valley S---
The intense heat is almost too much as the fire warps around the tree I took cover behind. It dies out, thankfully. I peer out, seeing the blue-eyed boy is no longer there. The mostly melted knife he used to kill the dog is all that is left of him now. I turn to Liberty, who knows what has occurred. She whimpers for her fellow dog, now gone due to the cruel acts of the Germans. I peak over the stone wall to my right. The Germans have begun their advance down the hill, led by more dogs. As they enter the bottom of the valley, I see several of them drop. More and more follow them. “What’s going on?” I whisper to myself. Then, from the forest on the left, droves of green suited men rush into the German army. The Mexican’s morph into the Germans and fight mercilessly. I can see a small orb coming up the hill towards me. I squint to see the ball better, but it’s still a blur. As it gets closer, I cans see it more clearly, and soon I realize what it is. My eyes bulge and I slam my back against the wall of stone. I gather enough sense to grab Liberty and pull the dog close to me. A man charges towards me and I shake my head at him. He ignore me, jumping over the wall I hide behind. Shortly after his departure, I hear a scream. It must have got to him. His arm comes over the wall and drags the rest of his body onto my side. The man spasms for a while then dies in front of me. Through his quivers, I see the large creature that killed him. I lift my gun and shoot the two-foot Mexican wasp. A swarm of the deadly mutations of war fly past me and collide with more members of the volunteer army. I sneak over the wall, Liberty following close behind.
The Russian army has reached the valley and is fighting brutally to win. Four helicopters with the Japanese army insignia on them have also arrived and are taking out the masses with their SSADs. I make it to another wall and take cover behind it. From behind my wall, I can see him. Marc is lying on the hill a good distance in front of me. There’s just a flat open field between us. Thankfully, he is sniping towards the Russians and doesn’t see Liberty and I. I vault over my wall and sprint towards the man who killed my father. Maybe I can get some answers before I kill him. Liberty pursues after me. Marc feels closer than ever as I approach. Then all sound stops. The shooting and yelling is sucked from existence. Something punches my feet and the vibrations smash their way up my body. Dirt and pieces of metal engulf me and obscure my vision on the hill, still a distance away. I feel weightless as I am lifted out of the cloud of dirt and debris. I reach out to the ground, but it leaves me sight and is replaced by the sky. I land flatly on the ground. My eyes are swallowed by black and purple. My lungs can’t seem to remember how to perform their job. The world snaps back into vision all at once. I see the dirt settling back into its crater. Liberty is dragging me into cover by a tree. Liberty looks up at me. I stare into my dog’s brown eyes. Her black fur is still matted down with the blood and dirt I promised to wash off. I know what she is thinking of doing. I try to tell her no, but all I can manage is a garbled moan. Liberty takes off around the tree. I rock my head and force my unresponsive body to fall over. I watch on my side as Liberty runs for Marc. She gets farther and farther from me. An explosion of dirt eats her whole, then spits her out the top. Her light body flies farther than what I assume mine did, and she hits another mine.
Her body comes to a limp stop and I manage to prop myself up on shaky legs. I can see from here these are concussion mines, designed to knock the wind out of you. They also tend to knock tank treads loose as well as other vehicle’s tires. Non-lethal. Liberty should be fine, a little shaken like me, but fine. I stumble over to her. Out of the corner of my eyes, an explosion goes off in the sky. German anti-air has hit one of the Japanese SSAD helicopters. It loses control and smacks into the ground, sending me back onto my side. The blades catch on the ground and send the twisted heap into a roll. The burning metal machine rolls over Liberty, coming to a complete stop in two pieces over her. My heart ceases to pump the blood into my body, my fingers turn frigid, my stomach drops off the Earth. “Liberty!” my throat tears open and my voice is forced out so fast its almost incoherent through the desperation for what I have witnessed to be only a mirage. I pick myself up and force my uncooperative legs to run towards Liberty. The whole world falls away as my eyes fixate on Liberty’s paw, the only thing left visible under the crashed helicopter. Inch by inch I get closer to my dog. My best friend. My only family member. My heart turns back on, and I notice my hyperventilation now. I open my mouth to scream for Liberty, but it is immediately filled with charred dirt. I am weightless again. The paw I so desperately longed to reach leaves my sight. Sky replaces paw. Earth replaces sky. Sky replaces Earth. Earth finally grabs me back. My body is limp again. A boy enters my fixed vision. My mother’s blue eyes stare worryingly into my own. Matt. Matt scoops me up and runs off into the forest to get us to safety. As the forest closes around me, I catch one last glimpse of the charred wreckage, fatefully positioned on top of the last thing left on this Earth I cared enough to live for. This must have been how John felt.
The chapter this is in is called "Battle at Valley S" hence the short story's name. I wanted to see if I could accurately portray someone in first person being engulfed in an explosion. the mine is less than lethal of course, but well effective. imagine an explosion, minus the parts that blow off your legs. its similar to that. The second thing I wanted to do was show someone, who has already lost everything, lose the one thing in their lives that made it worth living. I will go more into detail on the violent gore of the battle in the novel, thus enhancing the feeling of total chaos that revolves around the situation, but here I had to make it more family friendly. If you dont know who John is, you can PM me for the part that has his reaction which is hinted here. He had what he loved most teared from him, and his bloody reaction to the situation isnt Furtopia friendly. So you can PM me for a link to read that excerpt.
Thanks for reading and I will get around to the next word tomorrow with any luck. Today has flown by and i dont think I will be able to write much today from what else I still have to do today before bed. :P comment if you want, and again, i dont know if its a good idea to post excerpts from my novel as you miss out on the rest of the story and subtext. But whatever. (:
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Well written Jet.. I know your trying to write about war.
But the story is kinda pushing the rules a bit on
gore. Just a reminder ..
Rules about art/literature
http://forums.furtopia.org/index.php?topic=42767.0
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Well written Jet.. I know your trying to write about war.
But the story is kinda pushing the rules a bit on
gore. Just a reminder ..
Rules about art/literature
http://forums.furtopia.org/index.php?topic=42767.0
Yes, I know all too well about that gore rule. I have posted other parts of my novel here. I posted one that was a fight the main character had with a small Mexican unit. That particular piece had shooting, some people being shot, an explosion that took out plenty of people, and a decapitation. I ran it through with the staff and they told me since I did not go overly into detail on the bloodiness of the battle, which I do a lot, it was fine to post. The bloodiest thing here is the dog being crushed under the wreckage. I toned that down so it would be acceptable. I skipped several parts that she sees as she runs down the hill, like the Napalm dog attach, which is an extremely gory scene. I also will go into more detail on the crash in my actual novel. But again, I toned it down some to accommodate the rules here.
Also, not all of my novel resolves around the war. In fact, most of it is Sam, the girl, and her group surviving in the wild. There are creatures the likes of which have yet to be seen by this world. I think a scene with the Swarms will be too gory, other than one particular scene. But anything with a Fuzzapede should be okay for here since they are non-violent. Hunters are just creepy, but they dont get any gory parts in this novel. Shadows are some of my favorite creatures, but when they fight, it can get pretty brutal. There are some parts they are with the main character because of the Fuzzapede that follows them. So not everything is gory, but the fights can get a little bloody. This is also the reason I did not post a link to the part with John. That part, according to staff, is too "excessively gory" so I can send the link only through a PM if requested. I love that part and how it was written. But that is just me.
But ya, I know about the rule and I am sure this isnt too gory. I also have a sort of question. Is it still gore if it isnt really realistic. Like for instance, my school wont allow Call of Duty to be played in after school game nights because its too bloody. But Halo, which has the same amount of blood coming from the Elites, is okay because it's "unrealistic blood" coming from aliens. So is it still gory if they arent human or a creature that could exist on this planet. I ask because I was sure a certain part I wanted to post was too gory. I explained the spine and blood and skin and other things that are too gory if it were a human. But since it was a dead creature that was unrealistic, it was fine according to staff to post it. Just me pondering...
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I think you did well with my word.. I chose it because
I felt it would be a challenge. Emotions can take many
paths.. So if you want another word.
It's "Emotion"
Old Rabbit :orbunny:
Alright, here I wanted to show some different emotions that are exhibited in a war situation. So i wrote this after my final was done. Hope you enjoy.
---Trench Warfare---
“Just get over that hill!” A man yells at the others. He is obviously the leader here. The men huddle close together in the trench, waiting for their leader to tell them what to do. “Johannes! You and Mariko take the left. And don’t stop until you reach the bunkers!” A man, holding his helmet tightly to his head and quivering down to his very bones, crawls over to another man and touches his shoulder. The man, upon being touched, jumps, throwing his rifle far from his current position. “Mariko! Pick up that rifle and get your butt moving!” the leader continues his orders. Johannes and Mariko crawl to the left of the trench, ducking at every sound. Loud explosions and bullets stream across the tops of their trench. The two men, upon order, swiftly run to the next trench. They dive headfirst inside, for fear of being hit while climbing down. “Martin, grab what’s left of your squad and take to the right!” The man named Martin collects four others and takes off to the right trench. Two of the men are hit upon exiting the trench, and fall back into their trench. One dies immediately, the other spasms and screams out for help. The bullet has hit his neck, and the blood is rapidly pouring out. A man, shivering in fear and mumbling to himself, sits not three feet from the dying man. “Would you shut him up, please!” The man mumbling to himself hears something no one else can and throws his hands up in the air, returning them quickly to holding his helmet on. The leader walks over to the man, “What’s your name soldier?” The man does not answer, and continues to mumble. “I said what’s your name!” the leader screams into the man’s helmet. The man mutters his name at first, then repeats it three times very loud. The leader responds, “Hill. Well Hill, pick up your rifle and shut him up!” The man who claims to be Hill stutters that he has lost his rifle and has no weapon. The leader rises to full height, his face gleaming red, and points his own rifle at the dying man. The leader takes one clean shot to the man’s head, killing him instantly. Upon seeing his leader kill a soldier, another man farther away lets out a distressed scream and begins weeping uncontrollably.
The leader looks at the man who calls himself Hill and yells, “If you don’t have a weapon, run to the right hill and grab one in the bunker!” The man cowardly climbs to his feet and positions to climb out of the trench. “Go Hill!” the leader screams, sending the man out of the trench in a heartbeat. Hill runs for a distance, but a bullet passing close by sends him into a frantic crawl. And explosion hits a tank passing by, and the man becomes immobilized. The leader sees his soldier huddled on the dirt rolling back and forth. The leader climbs out of the trench, walking briskly towards Hill. More bullets pass by the man, but he doesn’t lessen his pace. Once he has reached the fallen soldier, the leader grabs Hill by his coat and drags him to the right trench. The leader throws the man into the ditch and yells at him, “Go get your rifle and group up with us at Bunker 6!” The man agrees and trips over himself in his run to get a weapon. The leader walks back to his trench. Bullets grab his attention and he fires several shots blindly in the direction they are coming from. The leader jumps back into his bunker. “All left! Listen up! We are going to Bunker 6, those who fall behind are doomed to die! Get your gear and follow me!” The leader climbs out of the trench. Once on the higher land, a rocket cuts through the air, eventually colliding with the leaders chest. The explosion sends the man into the air, and the fearless leader’s corpse lands far behind the trench line. One man still in the trench breaks and refuses to move from his spot. A few men crawl out of the trenches to face the enemy head on. More men than not simply bunch up in tight masses, and quickly duck into the next trench over. Not knowing when the next plane will fly overhead and drop more bombs, the masses of men continue along the maze of trenches.
So that's the story for Emotion. I was going to write something different, but this was playing in my head, so I just wrote it instead. It looks like I have a decent amount of words up there to do. I have all half days this week, so it looks like I should be able to knock out at least one story a day. Time to write! :D
Also, typingwithpaws, I was afraid this would get overwhelming. But it seems even though I have tons of writing ahead of me, it doesnt seem at all that daunting. maybe its like the old saying goes... If you love what you do, you never work a day in your life. This I guess could be similar to that, because i love to write and this doesnt seem like work to me, just some good fun. :)
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Jet, I wanted to wait until your queue depleted before giving you a word since I wanted to avoid overwhelming you with a large queue (particularly since you weren't out of school yet), but it seems that you aren't having that sort of reaction. Since that is the case, I'll append a word to your queue now.
"Tenacity" is the word. I hope you find it to be a good one.
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ferocious is my word :P
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Hey,nice stories. Kinda remindes me of The dark Tower books. More so at the end. My word is Paradox.
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Very well done on "emotion" Jet.. emotions and
war are a dangerous mix. Sometimes they can
give a warrior uncommon bravery too..
The next word is "Fodder" It's the same
as the one I last gave Mylo.. I am curious
how you both write a story using it.
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My word? Fallen (angels, from grace,etc)
So I sat down and wrote this finally. It is a continuation of my previous writing for Angelic. For those who don't remember, that was about the angel who could turn into a Cross and had to fight those ink creatures. She was attacked at the end. This basically picks up right after that. So here is the story for Fallen...
---When Angels Die---
I open my eyes and I see darkness. The whole world is black. I am falling, falling through the darkness. I look around me to see the walls or the floor, but there is nothing around me in all directions but the blackness. I search my thoughts to what has happened that brought me to this place of eternal falling. I can remember a cloud of thick ink. I recall being lifted and dropped, fighting off something concealed in the black goo. I remember the fall I took, the open area of clear I fell into. I remember something coming at me through the ink, and the black enveloping my being. I died. I am an angel, protectors of… I am an angel? But I can’t remember the creed. My tail swings in front of me. My tail! I am still a Cross. I feel my body and find a muzzle and ears and the tail. I am a Cross, so I am an angel. But why can’t I remember our sacred creed. I don’t remember it. I seem to fall faster and faster with each passing, confusing second. I am the guardian of protecting Earth? Or I protect what guards Earth from someone? The Crosses, we are…angels? What am I?
I see something peel off my tail, leaving nothing in its place. A chunk of my tail breaks off and floats past me, resting in the air in front of myself. I stare at it, wondering what has happened. More pieces join it, linking together to form a whole tail, moving on its own whim. I look down to find my tail replaced with thin air Another piece of myself disconnects from my muzzle, joining the floating tail. My muzzle breaks away, one piece at a time, and I grab unsuccessfully at the escaping body parts. My hands are now mostly human-like again, with the claws joining the others above me. I reach up to collect myself in the air, but my hands phase straight through the body forming. My muzzle is replaced with a human’s face. My tail with a short cut spine. My claws with nails. My fur with flesh. The pieces collect and tie together before my. A mirror image of myself in Cross form. My Cross. I stare at her, and she stares back at me. I don’t know what is happening, but I can sense she does. I reach for her sad face, which unwaveringly bares down at me with tearful eyes. My hands go through her fur, and I feel the darkness close in. My Cross closes her eyes and she slowly fades into the ever growing darkness. When she finally fades from existence, my eyes are forced shut. I am dead. I am no longer an Angel, guardian of something protected, but rather a deceased relic of what was once a protector of something guarded. I am no longer a Cross. My Cross has been torn from me, taken piece by piece and recollecting into its own form to another place. I am dead. I was an angel, but now I have died. But where do Angels go when they die?
So for those who don't know yet, I am thinking of writing this into an actual novel and such. So this is her "dying" and turning human basically. She is no longer an angel, but rather a human on Earth with us. She will try to get back up there and continue the fight, but I still need to work all that out. Also, her Cross will be a sort of guardian angel she sees a lot on Earth as well. So, she is not gone. Anyways, I have two more stories to post, so here it comes...the triple post! :o
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How about this; Armor (In reference to things such as armored vehicles like APCs/IFVs or tanks.)
I also might start up my own writing challenge thread- this was a great idea.
I decided to write something from my planned novel about Jet's story. So here, my story for Armor...
---The Prototype---
I raise my pistol and aim at the man’s neck. There are four of them. Four men walking down the road, their tails swishing side to side with each step. The thick jungle I am hiding in provides more than enough cover to take them all out without getting caught. Just as I am about to pull the trigger, I have a better idea. I open my back pouch and find a large disk. I look out at the men and smile. Time to have a little fun. I spring out of the trees and sprint across the street, tripping one of the men with my tail. I can hear the bullets chip away at the wood behind me. I push the button on top of my disk, place it on the ground, then continue a few more steps. I kneel and raise my pistol in the direction I came from. The disk is activated, setting off a huge explosion. I fire all sixteen bullets from my pistol into the dense jungle. After a swift reload, I listen. Nothing. All who followed me are now dead. I continue my path to the city. Once there, I see my objective. A large building, a factory manufacturing a prototype weapons system. I walk in through the front door. These places don’t usually house anyone. Everything runs on computerized robotics and conveyer belts. They should be in by the end of the day to check on the machines, but I will be well done by then. I move around the building setting charges on all the large support beams. I place one in the server room controlling the arms just to be safe. Before leaving, I take one of the prototype weapons. It’s sort of like a big ball, but with enough room to fit your whole hand inside. It covers down to my wrist, still allowing full movement of that joint. Inside there is a bar I can hold onto so it doesn’t fall off. Outside there is a small screen displaying an empty battery sign. A button that doesn’t do anything when I press it except flash the empty battery on the screen accompanies it. I pocket the device for now and exit the building.
Outside I am greeted by a dozen men similar to the ones I killed earlier and four light armor anti-infantry tanks. They yell at me to raise my hands. I refuse and snarl at them. they move towards me, the tanks now aiming at me directly, and tell me again to drop the weapon and raise my hands. I growl deeply, my fists clenching in defiance. Then a blur on a two wheeled vehicle crashes through an abandoned building and shoots all the men, then continuing down the road. I dive forward to avoid the tank shells now pelting the door I exited. I run at the tank in front of me. The top swings open and another soldier climbs out to kill me. I lunge at the man, catching his face, I use one had to claw at his neck, and the other to press a small trigger on a small cube. The explosion goes off and I allow the force of the blast to throw me off the tank. I land on my feet and sprint away. Once I am a good distance away, I turn to watch the building collapse on the helpless tanks. “About time,” I say.
The voice returns into my ear via my earpiece, “You ain’t dead yet, Jet.”
“And why’d you bring that vehicle with you? This is supposed to be a stealth mission.”
“I think stealth went out the window with that building,” the voice answers. Another tank turns the corner and speeds down the road after the motorcycle.
“Jumper, what’s your parallel?” I say. After a moment a man respond that it is good enough. “Then what are you waiting for? I need retraction!” Just as I say it, a decent sized metal object flies past me trailing behind a long black wire.
It smashed into the speeding tank and the voice calls out, “It’s live, disconnecting!” I grab the wire and it drags me through the dirt towards the tank. The wire is sucked into the device, forcing me onto the vehicle it’s attached to. I stick several explosives on the light tank and jump off, making sure to grab the retractor off the back.
So there is a story inspired by Armor about Jet. There are I dont know how many people in his squad, but Jet naturally takes charge. And as shown a little here, they have their own way of talking, almost like their own language. And they sometimes call each other by nicknames not by their real name, such as "Jumper." he developed that name because he frequently jumps off buildings and high up places rather than climbing down them safely.
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Excellent job as ever Jet. I loved what you did with alone, the fact that you described in detail the consequences of being alone, the "want" for the people who are gone (and the simultaneous denial that they are truly gone). That's one of my favourite themes in stories.
Now for another word...how about...plot twist... Furtopia. XD
Ok the last story I wrote today, and I think I will leave you at this one. A did write about Furtopia in here, and its sort of...well...I think I will allow you to decide for yourselves.. So here is my story for Furtopia...
---Furtopia---
The kid sits in the dark, the walls glowing softly in the blue light of his laptop. He has done nothing for days other than sit here on his bed and browse the ever expanding internet. The lack of social acceptance pulls on him harder now than ever. His eyes droop low from his sleep patterns. The clothes he wears are wrinkled and stuck to his skin though the sweat of sitting in a single room for too long without moving the solid air. His back aches, but he doesn’t dare move from his uncomfortable spot. To move is to live, and that dream is gone. The lights in the room don’t work anymore, being off for so long has rendered the bulbs unable to remember their primary function. The only source of light has come from the laptop that buzzes in hushed tones on the child’s lap. The computer is more alive than the life controlling it. The kid searches site after site. One day, this day, he finds a video. Nothing in it strikes entertainment in him. Nothing about the video seems to stir any form of life that the child seeks to acquire. His back continues to complain, but the boy ignores the pain because it means only what the child demands is no longer worth accepting. The video ends and the kid moves to the next video. Another pointless exhibit of someone else living while he lays dying. Nothing in this video draws any human emotions to surface from the boy. Video after video. A funny episode, and gory reenactment, a boring speech, a tedious project, a meticulous structure, a cruel act, a depressing story. Nothing being displayed before the eyes of this soul draw him closer to reality. He moves over to choose another video. His hand slips farther on the touch pad than he wanted to move. The sweat drags the pointer farther down and the child instinctually clicks on the video. Realizing what he has done was a mistake brought on by his own doing, the child curses his existence and goes to click the back button on his web browser.
The video starts and the music slowly seeps into the kid’s ears. He hesitates to click the button as a wolf howls into his mind. An image appears on the screen. A boy, not fully human, but rather intermixed with something animal. The music continues as more images of part man part animal creatures make their way into the child’s vision. The music forces his arms limp. The images force his mind to wander. His heart makes its first appearance and drops into his stomach. His crusted over eyes are cleansed by rivers of emotionally driven waterfalls. His voice crawls into existence with some garbled noises of self-pity and loathing. The video ends and the child swiftly refreshed the browser. The noises reenter his head and the images appear through the blurred coverage of his eyes. After several viewings of this video made by someone who has yet to know this child, and may never know him, the kid moves to another video. The video has reoccurring images similar to the previous one watched. One after another, the child watches more animal men and sad music, until one video suggests a place to go. The boy clicks the link and is redirected to a dark page of black and blue. The blue is soothing, and the black, and easy color for his red eyes. He moves around the site and spots several areas of interest. People who are different in every way, like those in reality. Unlike those in reality, the child takes note of, these people do not see their differences. A gay openly admits it, while in real life would never dare to exhibit that reality. Someone who draws these creatures displays his art with a smile and without fear of discrimination or judgment of their artistic talents and virtues. A writer displays his talents without others harassing his unique way of developing a story. Musicians, poets, performers. All gathered together for a simple love of art, rather than the cold bond of society. The child sits up, alleviating his ailment. His faith in humanity is bolstered through this site. I single space in all of the internet that has somehow managed to draw people together without anyone tearing down others for personal gain. The child looks to the top of the web page and sees its name. A perfect name for the perfect place. The name echoes inside the boy’s mind, dragging with it all the heartaches and tears that have rampaged the child for several weeks. The word makes its home within the child, exterminating all trespassing emotions of self-wallowing and despair. The word travels through the child’s voice, which until now has been assumed non-existent, and escaped his lips in a revived pattern of hopeful speech, “Furtopia.”
So, ya....I don't think I have much to say about this one really. Just...there... Also, one story that I posted today was posted in the second page, while the others made it on a third page here. Just incase you didn't know, the story for Fallen is back one page. (:
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Nice to see you picking up your writing thread again!
So I shall give you another word...I liked that story for Furtopia...so my next word is: Love. It might seem like a generic word, but I'm eager to see what you'll do with it...
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Hm... If it hasn't been done, vanish? :0
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Youre doing great Jet! Has anyone suggested "Jet" yet?
Whether you believe it or not, when I hear jet, the first thing in my head is not my character. Maybe it should be, but whatever. Actually, what comes into my head when I hear jet is a scene similar to this...
---To The Last Man---
The charred lumps of broken concrete trip me in my pursuit for the next room. I make it unscathed and look around for my team. The two other men follow me in shortly after my entry. The room is silent again as the rubble settles down. I listen for the return. An engine revs as it nears closer to us. Slowly the sound rises into a loud scream. I motion to the next room and my team immediately dives in it. I run to them as well. The walls that we came from give way to the explosions entering from the windows. “Get out of the building!” I yell at my teammates. They pick up and run with me down the hallway. The engine roars again, this time from my left. The explosions pelt the building again and the floor gives out below us. I am picked up by my two friends and they half carry me for a ways before my feet regain their abilities. The door in front of us falls under its own weight at the machine passes over again. A member of my team makes a hole in the thin wall with his gun and we pass through it with ease. A quick survey of the field we now stand in tells me we are not in a good situation. Not much better than the collapsing building anyways. I sprint to the tree ahead of me, my team following close behind. When I hit the tree, I drop to the dirt as the engine blasts its way past us again. “Rodger, get the rockets,” I tell the man to my left. He siphons through the backpack he has on and finds some metal thing all folded into itself. He pulls it apart three times and locks the now tubular shape into position. He slides some other tubes out and connects them to the other one. Now a completed piece, he hands the device to me and sifts through his backpack some more. I do a quick check of his masterpiece. It seems workable. The sound returns. I duck my head. Dirt and chunks of wood stab at me open flesh. A scream tears out through the bullets. I raise my head to see the man who gave me this tube now laying on his back with several holes in his shirt. The holes rapidly pool over in blood as the man’s life dwindles. I turn to my right and motion for the remaining man to move. He does as commanded and I grab the dead man’s backpack, then chase after the man who left. I throw the pack to him, ordering him to search it for the warheads. He does so, responding that there are none contained in the pack. I look around in confusion to find the needed supplies nestled in the dead man’s hands. I run over to him and slide into the weapons.
Bullets chip away at the tree behind me. I duck my head, turn the direction I can tell they are coming from, and fire my rifle at the oncoming soldier. The bullets punch through his chest, forcing the lone shooter to fall to his knees, where more bullets knock him onto his back. I drop the rifle and jam the rockets into the tube. The screen attached to the weapon glows green, indicating that I have a go ahead for fire. The engine rumbles over the crumbling building. Bullets the size of fruit plummet to the Earth, forcing me to close my eyes. When they open again, the man who I gave the backpack to is in the same position as the one beside me. I run out into the field. The smoke from a burning building to the left obscures the image of a metal machine soaring through the air. As it makes a loop around to come back at me, in an attempt to finish its primary goal, I raise the weapon we had pieced together. The screen blinks for a while, locating the desired object, then glows red to signal a full lock. My fingers jolt away from the trigger as a sound rips into my chest and tears through the other side, leaving a whole to look through. I fall to my knees and four more punctures appear through my heart. I spin around to see the man nearing me, still firing aimlessly at the man with the rocket. My grip on reality loosens as the life sustaining fluids of my body make their desperate escape. I fall sideways, still seeing the red screen on the tube. I painfully force my fingers shut. The tube punches my stomach as the warhead leaves out the front. The rocket hits the man firing at me. His heart suffers my fate as the rockets ignite and the warhead tears past its obstacle and reaches for the skies. The engine pasts me, followed by the rocket bent on meeting with it. Through the black smoke, I see the warhead leave my sight. Before my eyes shut for the last time, the sky ignites in a blaze of red and orange that could only mean one thing.
So...ya..A story, strangle enough, about a jet. Meh. Also, I have been really lazy about this thread lately. I have been busy with other stuff, but that is no excuse to let the que build up. So I am going to at least try to write once a day..if not more. What's my next word now? hmm.........tenacity...interesting one.... ;)
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Nicely written Jet. You hardly give the reader a chance to breath much less get bored. :D
Keep up the nice work. :orbunny:
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Jet, I wanted to wait until your queue depleted before giving you a word since I wanted to avoid overwhelming you with a large queue (particularly since you weren't out of school yet), but it seems that you aren't having that sort of reaction. Since that is the case, I'll append a word to your queue now.
"Tenacity" is the word. I hope you find it to be a good one.
Tenacity. I was thinking of doings something from Jet's novel, but then I started thinking about my other Anthro novel. The one about the marine who turned anthro. This is a scene a have been thinking about for some time now. The name is liable to change, I just came up with something for the sake of giving him a name for now. I toned it down some in description wise. I also removed the part where he killed his best friend, as that part is pretty bloody. It is important to the novel and the main character's development, but its too much for Furtopia. The whole scene will be in the final novel if and when I write it, but for now, here is my story for tenacity...
---Human to Anthro---
“Set it down right there,” the man tells the two guys holding me up. They drop me and I land on my hands and knees. Four guys hold me down while another man sticks things to me. He parts the fur on the areas he is trying to get to before pressing down small sticky pads on my skin. I feel the wires fall against my back after they are all in position. The men release me, joining the other man behind me. I move to stand up and one of them kicks the back of my head, sending me back to my hands. “Stay down now,” the man tells me. I remain where I am. I don’t know what they are going to do with me now. I see two boots move in under my muzzle. The voice belonging to the boots speaks again, “Now I am going to ask you some questions, and you will answer them. First question. What is your name?” That’s a ridiculous question. My name’s stayed the same since I was born. They all know my name, the man before me used to be my commanding officer. I raise my head to answer, only to be met with another kick to my head from the back behind me and another “stay in position” remark.
I shake my head clear of the pain and answer clearly and audibly, “James Slerrick.” My answer brings a vibration into my body unlike anything I have ever felt before. It burns the inside of my bones and I can feel my heart stop. My body goes limp and I fall to the floor, paralyzed. The electricity stops and I regain the ability to return to my kneeled position. I smell smoke now.
“That is not your name. That is the name of a person. Now, I ask again, what is your name?” the man asked me. I feel the rage building. My claws dig deeper into the carpet. My tail swishes angrily side to side. I snarl uncontrollably. “What is your name?!?”
I yell through bared teeth, “My name is James Slerrick!” The man lifts his boot into my nose, forcing my head back. I arc up and hold my muzzle, which throbs with pain. The kick comes again and my nose is driven into the ground. I assume my original position to avoid another kick to the head. The man repositions himself in front of me. I see red now dripping from the end of my nose and splashing onto the man’s boots. This is pointless. My name is James Slerrick. I am human. I was human. They aren’t going to let me out of here. These are my friends. People I knew. Men I fought for. This war was for them. For me. For humans! This has gone too far. Four weeks. I’ve been here four weeks and have been tortured too much for no reason. “You can’t treat me like this. I’m a human being!”
The man bends down so I can see him in full, “No, you’re not.” He points to my left. I turn to see a mirror with an image of a dog man kneeling before five men, with another standing in front of him. The blood coming from his nose traces the snarled expression he refuses to waver from. An Anthro. That’s all I am to them now. My fighting for the human race, all those years I risked my life for them, doesn’t mean anything when I am turning into the enemy. I am still me inside, I just have fur now. Why can’t they see that? My own friends. My fellow soldiers. Why can’t they see me? The man turn away and begins his next question. I don’t hesitate. My legs ache as I lift myself through the air at the man’s head. I catch him with my teeth, sending him into the wall. His falls to the floor, unconscious. I turn to the other men. One of them presses a button on a small circle. The burning rips my bones and eats at my flesh. My legs forget their motivation, sending me to the floor. The other men jump on me, kicking and punching, trying to subdue me. My resolve is set. I will not go down. I bite at one man’s legs to get him away, then move to the one with the button. He presses again, sending another shock into my back. I grab at the wire and manage to rip them off me. I regain full abilities with them off. I force my hand into another man’s face, allowing him to absorb the electricity. I grab the last man and through him at the one holding the device. Without hesitating, I run for the door.
I enter the hallway and take off right. There’s some stair back there. As I approach the staircase, though, more men run up it. They shoot down the hall at me, forcing me to dive into the next hallway on my left. I sprint down it full speed. There’s nothing here but more cells locked tight and a window at the end. I charge for the window. A bullet catches my arm. Another grabs at me side. I slow only for a second, then push myself harder for the window. I see a man exit a cell and step in front of the window. He pulls his knife and readies himself for me. I run faster. I grit my teeth at another bullet hitting my leg. I can’t stop. Must get to the window. Must get away. I smash into the man holding the knife. He stabs at my left shoulder. I don’t slow down. He clings to me and continues to stab, missing my neck only because of my bobbing with the speed I am traveling. He reaches over and stabs at my back. I growl at him, but do nothing that could possibly slow myself. I turn slightly sideways as I come in contact with the window. It gives way, and I fly out it with the man still attached. I drag him in front of me. He glares up at me. I look out and see we are well above the tree line. How high up was that window? Four, five stories? I get myself in an upright position and prepare for the landing. As the ground approaches, I place my feet on the man’s face and stomach. We hit the ground hard, sending pain all through my body. The bullet holes seep more now that the blood has been shaken. The man I used to break my fall is obviously dead. I take off for the trees and disappear into their thick cover, bullets still chasing me. I keep running. There’s an Anthro settlement a good distance this way. Maybe I can get help there. If not, I can still kill every last one of them. They deserve it for starting this war and somehow changing me into one of them. Those sick monsters.
There you have it. Of course, there is more to the whole story. The character has been changing into an Anthro for some time now. His transformation is the sole reason for his imprisonment and torture by his own fellow soldiers. This is why he resolves to escape and join the Anthros against the cruel humans.
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pretty good, i really liked that one! :)
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i love that one!!
might have hit a winner in story originality there :D
would love to read the whole novel when you someday complete it 8)
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ferocious is my word :P
Wow, I haven't posted here in what seems like forever. Argh, too much arts. :P Well I sat down here and did this little bit for you all. The character here is a little different. Lately I have been going through a bit of a Fursona crisis. I eventually decided upon removing Jet's second personality, and instead implanting it into a new character entirely. I am working on a visual reference of this new being now. He is still unnamed, and yet to be fully thought through. He will also be replacing Jet in Jet's Story, for those who know about that novel idea. Also, that novel will change some to accommodate the new being. Go ahead and read my story for Ferocious! :)
---Utter Defiance---
“Don’t do it!” I clear the dirt from my eyes and stare at this kid. He stands in front of me, blocking the door, refusing to allow my through. “Stay here, don’t do it!” the child repeats. Stubborn little cheetah. He should know by now the war is inevitable. There’s nothing anyone can do about it. I wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t a war. I tower over the child, but the small animal stands tall. The kid must only be about ten or so, but has the will of a full grown soldier. “Don’t go out there. War is wrong, don’t kill!” I pull out my pistol and aim at the kid. I motion the pistol towards his left, signaling him to move out of my way. He shakes his head, once again reiterating his rant about the war. My finger forces the metal trigger against its neighboring metal. I walk over the cheetah corpse and see the world outside the small building. Metal and shrapnel scatter the building debris on the ground. To my right, militia. Animals of all kinds, charging in with their guns and swords. A desperate attempt to save their lands. To my left, soldiers. Marching in the militia’s direction, wielding advanced machinery and weaponry. I advance towards the oncoming soldiers. The cries and screams of the militia coming from behind me propel me faster towards the army.
I collide with the soldiers, one of them addressing me as, “Sir.” I stand high, looking at the man dead in the eyes. “Welcome back, Sir. We have a unit waiting for you.” The Panther motions for something to come to us. On arrival I see my unit, filled by some bird creature. The animal steps out from my suit and I climb in. I sit in the metal seat, pressing a button near my midsection. A large metal dome encases me, blocking all vision of the outside world. Two tubes dangle from under my arm, just in front of the elbow. I attach the tubs to a metal device on either side of me. The tubes are long enough to allow full motion within my confinement. I press a button on the board in front of me. Immediately, I see the world outside though one of my eyes. The tubes connecting to my eye are linked to my arms, sending the video feed from the cameras attached to outer shell of my unit. The soldiers in front of me move aside, and I walk forward. The machine stands, then follows my leg motions. I run at the enemies. All of them deserve their fate. None should stand against us. Resistance is unnecessary. We mean the world good. The enemy militia collide into my unit. I let out with punches and kicks, crushing the bones of my enemy under the tons of metal I possess.
A rocket comes in from my right, reflecting off the armor and redirecting itself into the crowd on militia. I turn to see a man, dressed in plain clothing, standing on a rooftop. He stares down at me, flabbergasted his attempt failed. He begins to load another rocket. I get angry. How dare he, such a simple man. I am here to assist these people, give them food, shelter, structure. Yet they repay us with violence and resistance. This man looks as though he could be helped by our government, yet he refuses to sit idly by and allow us into his city. High up on his building, he fires another rocket down at me. It reflects off again, this time colliding with his building. The structure gives out, and he falls into the rubble. I catch him, pulling the feline out of the mess falling around him. He scratches at my unti’s fingers. I see his snarl in the camera. I glare back at him. He still defies us, even in death. I raise my arm up, letting the machine do the same. Bringing my arm down to the ground, I release my clutch and he slams down hard. Without hesitation, I crush the animal under my metal fist. Raising my head up again, I face thousands of militia resistance. I stand at full height, walking into the crowd of disobedient men and women.
Yes, he has two tubes coming from each arm, and two more coming from one of his eyes. I haven't decided if its the left or right eye, and I may add more tubes to his legs later. The animal here is part African Wild Dog and part Shadow (Can I mix a real animal with an animal I created for a whole different novel! :o Doesn't matter, I did it anyways :D ) I am still attempting to mix a furry, strangely spotted dog and a leather-skinned, pretzel-spine, dog-like creature. He is plantigrade, and will act very similar to this way. One goal in mind, nothing stands in his way. Shoot those who resist, even friendlies. The army he fights for is VERY similar to the Nazi Third Reich during Hitler controlled WW2 Germany, minus the mass genocide of course. their methods are swift, brutal, and questionably inhumane. I have always been fascinated with that type of warfare and now I have something to channel it through. 8)
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What a cold character! :o
And an interesting one at that...I'm eager to see more about what he looks like (in your coming drawing) and how he, I guess, "works" (with the tubes and all).
It reminded me of the Terminator, only this was a person and not a robot (although he is treading along that line).
Keep it up Jet! I much enjoy the way you go about writing war stories (it's like a trademark of sorts :D). It'll be interesting to see what you do with Paradox as well (that's a word I'd like to write about sometime).
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i feel guilty for not reading all of these...or mylo's. but when i do find time i am ALWAYS impressed!!
My finger forces the metal trigger against its neighboring metal
Neighbouring....the way you worded that is AWESOME. really creative and it struck me and made me smile when i read that sentence :D
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i feel guilty for not reading all of these...or mylo's. but when i do find time i am ALWAYS impressed!!
My finger forces the metal trigger against its neighboring metal
Neighbouring....the way you worded that is AWESOME. really creative and it struck me and made me smile when i read that sentence :D
:D :D :D
Thanks Typing! I liked that one too. :) Yay for creative wording! (:
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Great job. I have a word for you.... Insanity.
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Hey,nice stories. Kinda remindes me of The dark Tower books. More so at the end. My word is Paradox.
I checked out some Paradoxes for this one, and I think I like this one. It is about religion, a slightly touchy subject, but I think this is a good story anyhow. So here is my story on paradox.
---The Problem of Evil---
The blood drains into the sewers in front of me. The rain makes the road I kneel on slick and hard to keep my balance. I use his hand as a stabilizer. The blood that painted his hand has been washed away by the thick rain already. The whole scene feels unreal. Like I have been sleeping all day and this is just the last of a series of vivid visions. I know this one is real though because I hurt. I hurt so bad. But my pain is nothing in comparison to what I imagine my friend feels. He doesn’t look at me, although I stare at him. He is staring blankly up, into the stars of dusk. I feel like I should say something, although there really isn’t much I can say. The only thing that comes to my mind is God, so I say it, “Maybe God will help you through this?” It’s more than meaningless, I know that already. Josh has never been much of a religious person. He never participated in any of my discussions on the subject of God. He tilts his head towards me, an effort that expenses a large quantity of bodily fluids from his side. That too is swiftly washed under the streets.
Josh looks me in the eyes and responds, “Don’t kid yourself, Derek.” I ask him what he means. I admit I ask him more because I know that speech is a sign he is alive still. He changes his view to the oncoming stars in the sky, “He doesn’t exist.” I know he is distraught to some extent, but he says this so sincere and calm. I know Josh hasn’t been the most religious person on Earth, but he was always content with life. I for one am very religious. I attend church every Sunday. I know people who are Atheist, but they seem unhappy. I never took Josh to be one of them because he has always been happy. I just don’t believe him. I ask him to reiterate. Josh asks, “Have you ever heard of The Problem of Evil?” I say I haven’t. “It’s a paradox of life. God is omnipotent, right?” I confirm. “God is omniscient, yes?” Again I say it is so. “And God is perfectly good?” I tell him he is. “The Paradox runs on that very belief that make you so faithful. A God that is perfectly good would want to stop any evils. An omniscient God would know all of evil’s forms. And an omnipotent God would then prevent the existence of evil, since he knows how it starts. There is evil in the world, so therefore, a God of your faith does not exist. There is evil in the world. Lots of it. Even here now, I am subject to that very evil.”
I squeeze his hand tighter, feeling it slip out of my grasp, and say, “No. No, you…this was just a misfortunate accident. Nothing more. Just the wrong place at the wrong time, Josh. There’s no evil, it’s just an accident.”
He shakes his head, “Come on! Derek, look at me. Look at my body.” I do so, although I have already seen it. His chest is covered by a heavy jacket with several wholes torn into it. Blood rises and falls in the wholes with his speech. Upon examination of his lower half, it’s no longer there. His pants dangle off his waist, tattered, but the legs that gave the jeans shape are no longer within view. “This isn’t evil? A man ran me over with his car.”
“It was an acci…”
“He shot me, Derek! Shot me!” Josh interrupted me midsentence. “He ran me over and shot my while I already lay dead in the road. He took off without looking back. That is not evil?” Josh’s voice begins to flutter the longer he drains. I know he is in a tough spot. I know I probably won’t see him again. But when someone is in this situation, they turn to God for help. If not to help them live, then to help them cope with death. Josh has no one. Nothing but impending stars and the clammy hold of our hands. He turns his head away from me and mutters, “God doesn’t exist. There is evil in the world.”
I siren finally sounds far off, slowly approaching us. I don’t do anything more than stare at the back of Josh’s head as he mutters his Problem of Evil Paradox over and over again. His speech stumbles into a slur, and soon a mad man’s rant. His thoughts blend together into one camouflaged net of incoherent, half thought through ideas. The medical people come in and tear Josh from my grip, getting what’s left of him in the truck. They leave as soon as they came. I am left in the rain to wave goodbye for the last time to my best friend, accompanied only by the blood stains slowly washing away, and the thought of God’s existence in my mind.
There you go. Obviously this one is about The Problem of Evil Paradox. Took me a little while to figure out how to write about this from the right perspective. I felt it best that the main character not be the one defending the Paradox, but rather listening to it. Tell me what you think though. I always like critique. ;) A wiki page for it can be found here - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Problem_of_evil
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That's a very depressing way to die, accepting the evils of the world and dwelling upon them. And it's very interesting to see this debate, complete with ignorance from both sides, play out. I like the way you dealt with paradox.
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That's a very depressing way to die, accepting the evils of the world and dwelling upon them. And it's very interesting to see this debate, complete with ignorance from both sides, play out. I like the way you dealt with paradox.
I have had this debate many times, from both sides. Back when I considered myself Christian, I defended it against an Atheist friend (stupid thing to argue about in retrospect). And I have had the debate of how the Christian God as we know him cannot exist. I have come to the conclusion that unless the opposing side already had doubts their God was real, there is no way you will convince them He isnt. People believe what they want to believe. I dont mind religion, its really good, especially for people in this person's situation. Meh, the argument is like the game Tic Tac Toe....the only way to win is not to play. :P
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That was very good. Except, I wasn't too fond of the begining. It was a little out of place, like you started off unsure of what you were writing, maybe? But I like how it picked up and the ending was my favorite part. :3 Hope I helped... :D And don't feel offended, I've always gotta put that
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That was very good. Except, I wasn't too fond of the begining. It was a little out of place, like you started off unsure of what you were writing, maybe? But I like how it picked up and the ending was my favorite part. :3 Hope I helped... :D And don't feel offended, I've always gotta put that
Thank you thank you! I am not offended at all. I had an idea when I started. I person who was going to die, and them coming into this conversation. I wasnt really confused, but I did force myself to start writing. After a while I started really getting into the groove and it ended well. Maybe that is what is showing, but forced writing as compared to the eventual fluid thinking I enter after starting. This is some good critique, and I will make sure to work on that "rocky start" stuff. :)
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Okee! :3 Well, good luck! And here's a word: Antique
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Banished sounds like it would interesting!
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Very well done on "emotion" Jet.. emotions and
war are a dangerous mix. Sometimes they can
give a warrior uncommon bravery too..
The next word is "Fodder" It's the same
as the one I last gave Mylo.. I am curious
how you both write a story using it.
I was unsure if I wanted to write this or think of something else. I decided why not just write this anyways. So here is the story for the word Fodder...
---Devotion to the Cause---
By breathing apparatus fits snuggly on my mouth. I strap the tank onto my back, making sure the straps are locked into place. The planet we are going to doesn’t contain any methane in its atmosphere. Once I have the machine secured on my back, I flip the mask’s switches. The fresh air fills my mask, and I breathe once more. I walk over and get my gun. Standard issue for all of us, the same weapon. Most around here say it’s the weakest thing in existence, but the humans have nothing against this weapon. Single fire plasma rounds. Charged electromagnetic pulse fire. I can kill the enemy and their vehicles with this versatile handgun. A member of my squad passes by without his mask on. I ask him what he thinks he is doing. “I’m gonna die anyways,” he wines back.
“What do you mean?” I ask quickly. There isn’t much time to talk before our landing.
“We are nothing more than bullet sponges. Life shields. Cannon fodder. Suicide squadrons,” he replies. How could he say that? He answers my internal question with, “We go out there for the sole purpose of being shot. So the enemy has less bullets for our masters.”
“No. We fight to the death for our lands. As long as our master is with us, there is no way we can die. That’s why the humans call him an ‘Elite.’ Because he is the most elite thing they have fought. They are scared of him! We can take back our planet and secure the artifacts.”
“What of the demon? He tears through the masters like a crimcon plant. And he kills us with ease. No way can we survive this. Just yesterday, sixty four squadrons of our best were lost in action while moving the human prisoners. And now that one of our masters has betrayed our cause, we are even more dead. That Arbiter possess the same devotion as our masters, but fights for the wrong side now.”
I hadn’t thought about the betrayer. He left the path of the Gods. He is not one of us. “The Arbiter is nothing anymore. Without his faith, he has no power. We will teach that traitor a thing or two. And the demon will be no problem. He shouldn’t even be here. His electronic counterpart has been stolen from him by the diseased ones. The demon will be hunting for his friend in the infection. There is no hope for him in there. The Flood consumes all.”
He waves me off and walks into position. I follow of course. A towering figure in blue armor positions behind me. A blue energy forms around the master, then turns to his colors and becomes invisible. A large arch in front of us glows blue and purple. The master gives the signal and I charge into the beams. My eyes are blinded for a few seconds, then a world of greenery forms around me. I drop to the ground. The master and the rest of our squad land around me. I see before us a tall human, dressed from head to toe in light green armor. His body is covered in the same shields around my master. His visor gleams yellow at us. He runs at faster than any human I have ever encountered. Our master is shot immediately by this man, sending our squad into a panicked dash for cover. I reach into my back pouch and find the two grenades I stored there earlier. The bright blue orbs fit in my palms without space for anything else. I hold the red button, turning the outside of them into a thick jelly. I hold them for too long on purpose, allowing them to stick to me. The plasma charge sounds off, building up the energy needed for the explosion. I run towards the creature who killed my master, “DEMON!”
If it wasn't obvious, this is a Halo story, from the perspective of a Grunt. When you say Fodder, I think Cannon Fodder. A cannon fodder is someone usually in a military that is deemed readily available and thus replaceable. This means you are just a meat shield for others. Completely expendable. A Grunt in the Halo universe is used for the purpose of wasting the enemy's ammunition. They hold no purpose but are given the false thought of being useful. Silly Grunts. :P But ya, this is my story I guess. (:
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Once again, how depressing. How much will power does it take to be a grunt, knowing that you are essentially dead at first sight? Knowing that you can't win...curse protagonist shielding. x_x
But anyways, great job on that word. :) I guess fodder does have some variety, eh?
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I have to say, I've really noticed alot of improvement over the course of this thread, so I'll give you another word.
Prototype.
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Here's a word: Dissociative Fugue
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-Meat-
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@Hiiro: I think you have your story in the wrong thread. This is Jet's thread where members give him a word, then Jet writes a story involving that word. ;)
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-Hiiro forgot to read the full description apparently.-
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Nice job on "Fodder" Jet..
How about "Meteor" :orbunny:
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Loved prototype jet!
There's something about your writing style, something different, something special. It stands out somehow but I can't quite put my paw on it....
Detailed? Maybe that's it. Like comparing a painting to a photo, one has a bit more clarity if you know what I mean.
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I think I know what you mean Paws. I try to add as much details as possible. I feel it adds to the story, although others have told me details tend to take from the main idea of the story. There's a happy median somewhere I guess. :P
So sorry there hasnt been much if any stories coming out lately, I am in my first week of school right now and have a lot of reading to do for my drivers written test on Friday, so I don't have much free time right now. After August I hope I can start up again though. :)
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what can you do with the word "life"
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good luck with your test Jet!
i know the feeling, school holidays over. sudden work load. getting back into the rhythm of things. :o
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So I shall give you another word...I liked that story for Furtopia...so my next word is: Love. It might seem like a generic word, but I'm eager to see what you'll do with it...
*fights off giant cockroaches and evil dust bunnies of death* Woah! :o It's not been as long as I feel it has been...has it? Sorry guys, life kinda drowned me for a while there. MAN! It feels amazing to write again. :) Oh, how I've missed you writing thread. Hopefully I won't be absent for this long ever again.
So, I saw Mylo's word "Love" just a few days ago and my mind jumped immediately to this short comic strip I read a week ago. Coincidentally, Mylo just did a comic thing for his short story challenge. Not motivated enough to draw recently for some reason, so I just decided to write instead and have the picture to accompany it. So I put a link at the bottom so you can view it after reading the passage. Yes, read first, then go to the link and see the image, this way you dont spoil the story by seeing the image by accident first. (:
---A Master’s Flight---
The door was left slightly ajar. No light came from the room. No noise had drifted its way from the empty bed. The dog sitting in the next room had no feasible motive to rise from its late afternoon slumber and ponderously venture towards his master’s den. The door, left open as stated before, provided only a small barrier to the curious animal. Upon discovering his master, the dog was overjoyed. Recurrences of belly rubs and long hugs sped through the dog’s simple mind. The obedient creature swiftly moved to the space near his master’s feet. The rapid displacement of the thick air sent small tornadoes of dust into the emptiness beyond the two sole inhabitants of this residence.
“Hi master! You’re trying to fly again?” yelped the excited dog. The master had attempted this many times prior to this night. He always failed due to either fear of falling or lack of commitment, arguably the same stimuli. Upon this failure, the dog was more than accepting of his role as emotional support for his discouraged master. This dog, always supportive of his beloved master’s endeavors, laid near his master’s feet, graciously offering a supportive, “It didn’t work last time, but I think you got it this time. I believe in you.”
The dog, now satisfied he had presented his master with a sufficient boost of confidence, let a lengthy yawn echo along the empty concrete floors. To follow up this yawn, the animal rested his head on the cold ground and said, “I think I’ll nap till you come down,” reassuring his master that his loyal friend would wait for his return.
Slowly, sleep grasped at the dog’s mind. Darkness seemed to close in all around as the night grew older. The door, once left to allow passage, was pushed shut by the air moving away from the two friends in the empty room. Moving to a more comfortable position, and smiling at the thought of his master returning gratified of his success at flight, the dog whispered his final words before slipping into his dreams. “Night, master. Love you.”
Picture - http://www.furaffinity.net/view/8865955/
Sorry it's not a "happy" story for Love, but then again, have I yet written a "happy" story? I like it, though, tell me what you think. My next word is...I think..vanish? I will have to check to make sure, my que has piled up some. (unlike Mylo's :P ) It's good to be back. 8)
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Aw... That's so sad D:
(the first one)
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I was very surprised and shocked after reading the story and then looking at the comic. In fact, I had to read the story again...I thought I had missed some details or hadn't read it in depth enough. It's great to see that you have time to continue this writing thread...keep on going with it. But this story was so sad...I will give you another word...character.
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That was a really good story for love, but i didnt realize that until i saw the picture, i thought it was an actual happy story. Good job though, i can see some really great improvement on this thread!
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good read! sad while happy at the doggies positive mindset ;)
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i choose the word "welcome" AND GO! :orfox: