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furry arts discussion => furry storytelling => Topic started by: Mylo on May 25, 2012, 10:24:53 pm
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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? ;) ;) ;)
I want to try this out. With school done for the summer, I'll have a lot of time to pursue something like this, and I'll also get the chance to maybe develop some better writing skills. Essentially, it's the same as Jet's thread (http://forums.furtopia.org/index.php?topic=43798.0). Post a word, and I'll write a story about or pertaining to said word. :)
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Yays! I'm inspiring people, and better yet...I'm inspiring people through writing, which is my favorite art! Cool. :)
So, seeing that you are now starting to write short stories based off words the community gives you, allow me to be your first...what would we be...opponents? i dont know, just write for me!
Let's try...maybe..... redundant! That seems like a decent enough word. Good luck Mylo! ;)
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Twilight (please not the vampire movie :D)
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Let's try...maybe..... redundant! That seems like a decent enough word. Good luck Mylo! ;)
Thanks for posting Jet! So here is the story for redundant. Hope you all find it interesting. This reads a lot like a premise...I'd love the chance to explore an individual character in this world in more personal detail. Next up is Blackrose's twilight sans vampires. XD
Noah began to feel a strain in his eyes, which were nearly suctioned to the eyepiece of the microscope he had been using for hours that day. He was one of many workers in the factory, those they liked to refer to as scientists, called into action in a time of war. Hardly a war…more like a show of force, or perhaps economic power. But these were worldly ideas to Noah, who saw nothing but the microscopic eggs floating in a gel, suspended from growth until he could perform his crucial operation. It was like magic. After resting his eyes for a minute, Noah resumed his job, tightening his latex gloves and feeling around for the inward-pointing micro pipette attached to the side of his apparatus. He had done it so many times, it had become less of a procedure and more of a habit; a magician on stage smiling and awing. The pipette was his wand and these small eggs were his volunteers. One by one, he carefully inserted the pipette into a single egg. Pressing a small button, the pipette immediately injected one small round mass into the minute orb floating like a lone jellyfish in thick water. And just like that, the operation was done; nucleus and egg had been united in a single action so quickly and so easily. Noah pushed it to the side and moved on to the next one. Inject. Done. Inject. Done. Inject. Done. A fairly simple job for a fairly simple man standing among rows and rows of fairly simple men fertilizing the supply of eggs for the day. This was but one room of the factory…these eggs would be packaged and moved to the next room, where they would be inspected for completeness in the unification process. Then they would be grown in tubes, side by side, for 1.5 years at an accelerated growth rate until they became the equivalent of 23 year old males. They would learn for 1.5 years at an accelerated pace. And their final destination: the war front. Noah’s society had great mastery over this process, and had been using it to spread their borders around the globe. The secret to overcoming a stalemate, they thought, was simply to outnumber their opponents. The country’s original people waited in comfort while their creations fought for them, brainwashed to serve the privileged nation. Noah saw the propaganda video posters spread out across the factory. All summarised the same plan: Only three more months and there will be one of our warriors for every warrior in the enemy nations, and in a year, two warriors for every single human in the enemy nations. In another year, there would be three for every human on Earth. So Noah continued to fertilise the eggs one by one. Inject. Done. One more human to match an enemy. Inject. Done. One more human to replace one who died on the front. Inject. Done. He thought nothing of it, for he had never seen the horrors across the sea. They were just egg and nucleus. Number and quota. Life and breath.
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Nicely done! Really excellent story to start off your thread. :) I was gonna go to bed and read it when I woke up, but once I knew you posted, I couldn't sleep until I at least read it. Then I had to comment of course. Very interesting story, too. Well written and I am actually interested to learn more about this world, which is a great thing since this is just a nice little story. It amazing it got me hooked into learning more about the world these people lived in. Good job, and may many more like this arise in the future.
So, hows about another word for ya? Maybe something like... Disorient
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Twilight (please not the vampire movie :D)
So here is another story, this time based around the word twilight. I wanted to go for a more normal plot line, just to see how it turned out. Tomorrow I'll be doing the story for disorient. Thanks everybody who's been reading and posting words! This is quite fun! :D Anyways...there are numerous tense errors, but I wanted to put the story out there before tomorrow (I've got so much stuff to do... DX). Enjoy
Work was to end as usual at six that evening. I shuffled and organized my papers to pass the time leading up to my favourite hour of the day: the time where I would walk out of my dry office job and into the bustling city as the sun fell below the skyline. It was always beautiful this time of year, the way the sun's many rays would reflect from the gothic glass and marble that made up the towering apartment complexes and office buildings. The city was known for its twilight...the exteriors of the building were coated in such a way that when light hit them at an oblique angle, they would emit a soft rainbow glow in all directions. It was especially beautiful just before the sun would "set" (at least behind the buildings in the distance. As mundane as my job was, I would always look forward to this time.
I walked out of the building, dropping my ID badge into a bin on the side of the entrance. Freedom. Outside, there were so many people going about with their busy lives, talking on mobiles, listening to music, conversing with colleagues. But I was pensive. I liked to take this opportunity to simply look around at what was around and before me; there were so many colours and sounds and people.
I walked down the concrete, absorbing the reds, the violets, and everything in between with my covered eyes (I was wearing a pair of sunglasses because I was walking towards the sun to get to my apartment). The anger of some people, sounding horns in their cars, yelling at the people walking on the street. All of this was comfort that I was a part of this bustling city, that I was one element in a network of people and places who all lived in "harmony."
I had gone to grab a bite to eat, but the line was unusually long today, and so I didn't get my food for a half hour. The sun had set. The sky was violet. I ate my food at the restaurant; I wouldn't usually do this, but today was a rough day at work, and I felt like taking a break from eating alone at home. Another fifteen minutes or so went by, and then I left the restaurant feeling satisfied. The rainbows that glistened only an hour before we're replaced by the dull glows of off-yellow incandescents lighting the roads and sidewalks. As I walked by my turn off road, I remembered that there was to be construction after six today. Dang it, I thought. I would have to go back home another way.
So I went a street down and turned in the direction of my apartment. The light bulbs hanging over the roads were especially dim; half of them were out. The asphalt was very defective, with potholes carved all over the surface. To think that this street existed just to the left of the one that I walk along everyday. The street was devoid of people, so I walked casually down, but under a light pole, I saw a man dressed in rags sitting down with his right leg bent up, his right arm resting casually atop the knee. He had the beginnings of a white beard, and he was wearing a green jacket with a tattered baseball cap. A plastic cup sat just beyond his hand, filled with a few coins of various sizes. I had gotten change from the dinner I had...a few dollar bills and some dimes, and I felt sorry for this man, sitting alone on the side of the road. I pulled out my wallet in front of him.
Suddenly, he shot up and pulled a knife from his green jacket. I was such an idiot, pulling my wallet out like that. I did it impulsively...I wasn't thinking. My change was in my front pocket, and now here I was with a knife at my chest. He quietly told me to give me the wallet, my mobile, and my watch. I was unprepared for a situation like this, but I was surprisingly calm and respectfully took off my watch and handed it to him. I handed him my mobile...he inspected it, and told me to unlock it. I told him I couldn't do that, and he asked me again for my wallet. He looked more nervous than I was, so I just did what he said and handed him the wallet. But as he reached for it, he knocked it out of my hand and onto the ground. Now, I had a stun gun in my jacket pocket that I wanted to take out now. As I bent over to pick up my wallet, I felt a sense of false pride, and I reached into my jacket pocket pulling out the stun gun. I quickly released the safety, jabbed it into his neck, and hit the trigger; he subsequently jerked and stabbed me with his knife where my right lung would be. I was stupid that day...I was overconfident in my abilities and my toys, and I thought that I could just run home and forget it ever happened after reporting it to the police. I couldn't understand why I had done that...what was I thinking? I fell down. The stun gun hit the ground beside me; the man realised what he had done and quickly grabbed my things and left. I was still in shock as to what happened. I was in a dream-like state, but my chest felt like it was on fire. I moaned for help, and laid there, thinking about the rainbow city that I would see tomorrow night as I slowly drifted into sleep, listening to nothing but the eventual car going down the main road.
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very good. Mysterious, and very beautiful imagery. Good work Mylo, I applaud your efforts. (round of applause)
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Nice work Mylo. It was easy to get a mental image from the story.
How about "creepy"
Old Rabbit :orbunny:
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So, hows about another word for ya? Maybe something like... Disorient
Thanks for the comments Jet, Blackrose, and Old Rabbit. I'm glad you all like the stories I've written so far. This is a small story I developed from one of my previous ideas. In fact, the earlier story that I wrote for this idea was one of the first things I posted on this forum. :) Enjoy the story for disorient...
The clouds were perfectly white and the sky was a solid blue. Too blue. The plants were all alive and healthy, saturated with greens and the colours of their flowers. All was perfect on this cool summer day as Leon walked down the road to the soda fountain at the end of the main road. He was savouring a grape soda and planned on meeting his friends there to talk about the usual things they would discuss: classes, movies, and girls. Leon had a sort of swagger; he was wearing a solid yellow polo with a red collar and solid blue jeans, finished off with a pair of sunglasses to protect his blue eyes.
The street instantly became crowded. It was rush hour, thought Leon, and he continued to walk on to the white building just a few blocks down. A mechanical voice confirmed that is was safe to cross the road ahead, and so Leon joined the mass of people transversing the black asphalt, which was completely flat and lacking defect. Everyone was minding their own business, walking in whichever direction, but that didn't stop them from bumping into each other. Leon pushed through; the streets seemed like they were getting more crowded. And then, just like that, Leon fell to the ground after someone bumped into him and he tripped over another's shoe. The crowd blurred around him, but he quickly sat up and saw the person he had bumped into, also knocked down, staring back with a pair of large white eyes. This was a fur, those who walked in the bodies of human animals. Leon never quite understood them... The fur was what looked like a greyish white wolf or something like that. Leon got up shyly and put on his sunglasses again, which had fallen from his face as he got up. The crowd blurred around him.
"I'm so sorry," said the fur. From the sound of the voice, Leon could tell the fur was female.
Leon didn't know what to say back, so he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "No no. Um. I'm just...it's all right."
Just then, the wolf disappeared and the black of the asphalt engulfed Leon completely. He saw flashing lights of all colours, desaturating very quickly, and in an instant he was lying in a chair with a small white plastic apparatus on the back of his neck, hearing a soft beeping noise in the background as the words "Connection error. Network overload." flashed across the wide flat panel on the wall in front of him.
"Where am I?" thought Leon. He remembered that he was in a Vire launch station on the corner of Vandal and 443rd, one of thousands in the old and decaying city Leon had grown up in.
"Why am I here?" thought Leon. He remembered that he was here to use a Vire (Virtual Reality) Personal Simulator and Launcher to log into the online word built to replace the old world of dying metal, pollution, and overpopulation.
"How long have I been here?" thought Leon. He looked at the timer on the wall next to the wireless payment system. 54 hours and 3 minutes. His stomach began to cramp badly. Timers were required by law in some places but not here. Leon felt light headed, and emptied his almost empty stomach in the trash can beside his station. Then he tapped his phone on the payment receiver, saw the balance decrease to zero, and waited for rush hour to subside.
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Ooo... interesting. Sounds like an excerpt from a larger work like a novel or something. Great job. This was amazing and I had t fun reading it. keep it up. ;)
So lets try another word, shall we? *rifles through some words in his head* Uhhhmmm... Let's try.. Disembodied. That seems like a strange and unusual word, so that should make for a fun write. :)
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How about "creepy"
Whenever I think of creepy, I think of online stalking. So, I decided to write a story about someone's paranoia over this and especially how small details can evoke big responses. As for the next word (disembodied), I have no idea what to do... :P This'll be quite challenging because it is such a specific thing.
Anyways, the story for creepy:
I wonder how deep someone would delve to discover my identity. What is the motivation? Perhaps it is a challenge, or maybe it is intended to make themselves more comfortable around me. Whatever the reason, the thought crosses my mind of the lengths to which one could go to discover more about me than I ever intended to share with them. Who knows the paths that people could trace given only a small set of information, a few facts which they can connect like puzzle pieces (actually, more like Sudoku, where you use your found numbers to discover even more numbers until you finish the entire puzzle). How deep does one invest themselves into a community? What would someone do?
Danny thought of all the possibilities as he continued to type on his computer. He had a way of picking things apart, overthinking things…it dug into his mind always sending shivers down his body. He first thought of the things he had shared…he lived in Rail, was 20 years old, and was involved in a fencing club. Then the thoughts started to flow in, like a dam had been broken in Danny’s mind, and apprehensiveness and doubt were released to flow uncontrollably as he began a train of thought that led him to the conclusion that someone, somewhere, could discover who he was behind the mask of the Internet.
He began to think. The fact that he was 20 and in a fencing club had a few possibilities. Fencing was stereotypically considered a sport for the well-off if it was a stand-alone club in his town. Then again, his town was relatively normal…something like a large town, and there weren’t enough interested people to justify a fencing club outside of the colleges. There were three colleges in that area (colleges being the only other place where a fencing club could be found): Rail Community College, Jared Johnson College, and Rail Women’s University. Danny had shared his gender, so Rail Women’s was out, leaving only RCC and JJC. Both had club directories, easy enough to search through. None had intramural fencing, and only JC had a varsity team, so RCC was ruled out. JC’s Men’s team was 12 men strong. They each had a picture and information next to the name…simple things like class year. He thought that his age would be useful in sorting the set in half…the Sophomores and Juniors. 6 men to choose from. Danny was on the RCC fencing website, looking at his picture eighth from the top, smiling back at him confidently. But how to choose between the six? There was his Facebook, but that was set to private everything, so no one could connect to his friends. But, perhaps someone could look at the other members of the fencing team. At least one of them wouldn’t be so cautious about his privacy settings, revealing his friend lists and Danny’s pictures to the rest of the world. Someone could make a false account, friend Danny’s fencing team members, whom one would most likely friend back out of habit. Perhaps then they could change their name and friend the others (whom they had rejected before, which justifies changing the name so that it is a fresh friend request). And after all this, they might just get access to the information on Danny’s Facebook indirectly through his friends. Maybe there was something he liked that could hint towards his true identity, something that would complete that final connection between false and true self. Maybe someone would crack it.
Danny was then distracted by a friend’s picture on the fencing website, which was particularly embarrasing.
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You did a nice job working your idea of creepy into the
story..
So how about "Botany" :orbunny:
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Hmm... That is not what I expected...Nicely done. I think you did very good on this. It reminded me of a movie I saw, i think named Sahara? Maybe... I dont know. But this was an awesome story to read.
I am thinking another word could be... Junker.
I can explain why i though of this word after you write it if you want, I dont want to fill your head with ideas before you get the chance to make your own. :P
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michael howard....LOOOOOL
you 2 are both mad!....hmm....dont tempt me to be a copy cat (:
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michael howard....LOOOOOL
you 2 are both mad!....hmm....dont tempt me to be a copy cat (:
We may be mad, we may even be crazy! But, we are having one hell of a time! :D You should join, its actually a lot of fun. I little time consuming, but with summer coming up, Ill just be drawing and writing anyways. Gotta keep myself busy somehow. Plus this is great practice, and its given me some great ideas as well, for my novel. :)
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I'm with Jet on the fact that this is a whole lot of fun :D You should definitely join if you feel up to it!
So how about "Botany" :orbunny:
This one also has a theme of war present, but I wanted to take on a different side...there are so many faces to war to describe, whether it be experience or speculation... Enjoy the story for botany.
She had picked the best flowers to put on the dining table that afternoon, emphasising the ever luscious summer she had seen for many years this time of August. They reminded her of the times she would come out to her garden and smell the various herbs she grew with such care, picking only the best ones to put in their dinner, hers and her husband’s. They had moved atop a hill back in the homeland, overseeing a picture-perfect green valley after her husband was promoted in the Army. She was so excited to find out that they would have space to have a garden, and the weather would be so permitting, which was why she spent the months before the move studying the different plants that she would grow, for eating and for looking. But this fine day in August, much like the year before and the year before that, she put the flowers in the crystal vase in the centre of the breakfast table and set the table for only one, for her husband was overseas fighting in the War. She waited patiently, with apprehension, fear, discomfort, and love, waiting for the day when her husband would walk up the hill to the open door of their house. Then, she would make him pasta with fresh tomatoes and basil from the garden and give her that smile that broke her heart so many years ago.
She hadn’t spoken to him in years, nor had she received a letter of any kind. She waved goodbye with a static depiction of her husband present in her mind. She always pushed the doubt from her head, but at times, it was difficult. At times, it could be maddening, but she trusted him. As she put the angel hair in the boiling water, she thought of various situations that could arise after his homecoming. Would she recognize his face or his self? Would he be the same person that waved back to her as he walked down the hill and into the valley, where he would be whisked off to the coast? Would he still love her, she who never changed during their separation…would the excitement of war have drained him of his love for his static wife? What had he seen; what would he see differently? She felt a sting on her hand and pulled back suddenly. The boiling water was overflowing rapidly and the bubbles had spewed a few drips of hot water on her hands as she was preoccupied with her thoughts. She quickly grabbed the pot by the handle and shifted it to the burner on the right, which wasn’t on. Afterwards, she wiped her hand (which was not burned by the water) and added the spices to her dinner. She drained the pasta and poured it onto a plate, where it settled into an even circular pile in the centre of the porcelain plate that was etched with a green vine design. But as she brought it to the table, she noticed a sound (emanating from a distance) much like the sound made by motor cars when she was in town. She thought nothing of it at first, and proceeded to sprinkle a bit of basil on her pasta (she had prepared a tomatoe sauce concurrently which she had poured on her pasta before bringing it to the table). The sound grew louder. She looked to the front window where a motor car was driving up the hill on the gravel road, shooting out a stream of black smoke from its tail pipe. The car had the insignia on it, the same insignia that graced her husband’s uniform. She stood there for a moment, out of breath. She inhaled slightly, and her legs numbed; she consequently sat down in her chair in front of her still-steaming dinner. She knew what happened when the motor cars came to your house, but she was in disbelief at first, and simply stared out the wide window at the motor car spewing its smoke, rolling towards her home at a constant pace. It stopped just a little ways down the hill, about 40 or 50 steps. Her peripheral vision went black, and she became increasingly light-headed…the smell of her dinner was nauseating her, so she stood up and stumbled to the door to breathe fresh air. In that short walk from the table to the door, she had forgotten about the motor car’s presence, hoping it was her imagination, but as she stepped out the door, she saw the door open to her husband’s scarred face, smiling back at her with a duffle bag by his side. She said his name softly and a tear shed down her face, which she wiped off immediately while walking to her husband briskly. She didn’t notice, after he had stepped out of the car, that the left side of his pants was tied to the knee with a large knot. She smiled at him and felt so joyous that she could still see the man to whom she said goodbye by the familiar eyes which complimented his warming smile, both of which had remained as static as the August summer when the flowers grew so plentifully.
The next word is junker.
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That is a fine story that touches ones heart.
Very nice take on the word Mylo. :orbunny:
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This is an interesting experiment you two are running.
I have a word for you, Mylo. Try one on "dissonance".
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Ok, How about trying this word: Yukon
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Another fine job Mylo..
Shows one should carry a survival pack in
a lonely desert environment..
How about "pack" :orbunny:
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good read!
stories like that annoy me slightly (in a good way), i have trouble comprehending people who cannot do things such as fix cars. i know i know, i simply cannot sing. same senario.
the whole time while reading that i was thinking "aaaahhhh, check the battery terminals, give the starter a bash with a rock, get it set up and ready for a tow/push start should someone come along"
THIS MEANS YOU DREW THE READER IN!!!! fantastic work mate!
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Well written Mylo.
That story would fit "slaughter or ambush" as well. It's tragic but soldiers have
died in similar events where everyone was killed.
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Ive read a few and they're awesome Mylo! How about: Spy.
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:o :o :o
what was that! Oh my God! My whole body was shivering and chills raced down my spine shooting out my toes like bolts of electricity! Your story for dissonance was amazing. The total war and fear felt by those who lived and died in that short amount of time. I was ignoring people talking to me in the IRC and Skype so I could just read one more line. Just one more line. One more... Then it, ended... I want to read the whole novel that this small piece was obviously pulled from. Seriously, there must be a whole novel out of this! Ive gotta buy that thing! 8) This was extremely good. Some of the best writing I have seen here. Seriously, I cant even find the words to congratulate you!
Thanks for taking my advice and starting a short story challenge of your own. And Thanks for allowing my eyes to fall humbly upon the words your mind formed. This was an amazing story, and I loved it. Also, its not that bloody. :P That's just my opinion, but this was rather tame for war. Great job.
I dont believe I have posted a new word after Junker, so let me think of another one for you. How about one of my favorite words to read in literature, what about Materialize. I am interested in what you could write about for materialize. :)
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Your interpretation of the word "dissonance" is markedly different than my own perception of the term (most notably, I was surprised to see a wartime theme in the result). Having said that, you pulled off the theme excellently; the story had an irresistibly strong hook, and expressed the concept of dissonance in the myriad of related details you included.
I have another word (or, rather, your choice of a word, since I couldn't decide between two) to append to your queue. You might be familiar with these words if you've taken a computational theory class. Try either "determinism" or "nondeterminism". The latter is easiest to define as an opposite of the former (http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/determinism), but this isn't *quite* accurate. The many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Many-worlds_interpretation) is an easy to cite example of nondeterminism.
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Old Rabbit: With this story, I wanted to capture the fear of being in the battlefield. It's difficult to imagine unless you've seen it for yourself, and really, I can't imagine what it would be like to be in this situation, where there is too much going on and you need both luck and skill to survive...
Carter: Thanks for reading these stories :) I'm glad you liked them.
Jet: I don't even know what to say to your comments other than thank you. :-[ I'm so glad you really connected with this one, and in the future, I would like to expand this story so that I can explore more of the themes. It didn't come from a novel, though...originally I thought of the dissonance of a soldier killing civilians in war, but then, I wanted to explore the dissonance of a horrified soldier who didn't know what he was getting into, the dissonance of choosing between his own life and the lives of his fellow soldiers. Again, thanks for starting the short story thread and inspiring me to do one of my own! I haven't written since last year, so it's really awesome to be writing again and with other people. :) There is so much activity in the writing forum now! :D
RedYoshi: I'd actually like to know what you had in mind for dissonance. These new words seem very interesting...I find that the more stories I write, the more I have to go to the Internet to research the various things I write about. Interesting how you gave me two words to choose from as well; I'll have to do some considerable research when I get to your word(s).
Ok, How about trying this word: Yukon
This word was pretty tough to come up with a story for since the word was so specific. But anyways, here's the story for Yukon. Next up is pack.
White pines. Matte sky. Permafrost.
Among the thick snow, an arctic fox crawled briskly searching for his meal. The air was still. He camouflaged with the snow with his rather dense coat of white fur; his black eyes were his only feature that stood out amongst the terrain. Quiet. The fox would walk a few feet, then stop, then repeat. Every now and then, he'd turn his head around and perk his ears up because of a stray sound; perhaps some snow or a branch had fallen, or maybe the breeze would blow. The fox hadn't found food that day, and the sky was already dimming. He continued his search.
Suddenly, he stopped cold. He was like stone, the only movement evident in his ears. This was not snow falling; this was his next meal, and he knew exactly where it was. He quickly and quietly zoned in on where the sound was coming from, unbeknownst to his prey, and weaved through the pines, whose needles laced the ground. The white fox climbed up a small hill and slowed down, quietly looking over. Down in the crevice below the hill, a fire was going out, emitting small crackling sounds now and then. The fox was puzzled, but realized that what he heard was not his food, but this small fire. There had been more and more of those fires in the mountains lately.
The fox went up to examine the fire, which had almost ceased offering a usable warmth. It crackled, and the fox became startled and lost interest in the fire. He retraced his steps, looked back, then moved on to continue his hunt, the routine walk through the snow and the pines. But little did he know that the fire had been created by a human, a human who had seen the arctic fox scurrying away from the dying fire. The human was also on a hunt, not for gold like he had been for the entirety of that year, but for food. He was on the long journey home, a failure, back to the mundanities of his former life. But if he was to survive the journey, he needed to kill the fox before it could escape from him.
So, he took out his gun and aimed at the fox. Upon cocking it, the fox stopped in his tracks, his ears perked up, and he turned around staring straight at where the man was kneeling. His beard had greyed considerably since he arrived in the north. He aimed again, matching the notches on the barrel to the fox's torso. The fox didn't know what the man was doing, but he was apprehensive; he could sense that the man could see him. The man inhaled. The fox turned his head towards another sound among the pines. His tail twitched. Then, the man blew through his mouth and squeezed the trigger. The gun fired, emitting a sound that shook the snow from the tree above the man, and sending a bullet straight through the fox's chest. The fox was propelled backwards a few inches and landed in the snow. His black eyes and his blood stood out amongst the snow, red amongst white, the sky darkening to a dull grey. The man got up to gather the fox, so that he could live another day among the permafrost and continue his long journey home.
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RedYoshi: I'd actually like to know what you had in mind for dissonance. These new words seem very interesting...I find that the more stories I write, the more I have to go to the Internet to research the various things I write about. Interesting how you gave me two words to choose from as well; I'll have to do some considerable research when I get to your word(s).
A large part of the answer to the first question is something I talked about on the IRC several months ago. Below is a quote of the beginning of that conversation (things said by others irrelevant to this point have been edited out):
(8:50:26 PM) ***Hiiro wonders if the Yoshi can shoot magic blasty thingies at stuff and blow it up
(8:51:12 PM) redyoshi49q|traveler: hiiro: no, quite the opposite
(8:56:16 PM) redyoshi49q|traveler: hiiro, though I don' t necessarily have the best writing ability, I have an active imagination in some ways
(8:56:38 PM) redyoshi49q|traveler: I' ve developed a magic system that I used to incorporate into RP characters on the forums a few years ago
(8:56:54 PM) ***Hiiro headtilts.
(8:57:18 PM) redyoshi49q|traveler: under the system, a typical character would have 3 out of a total of 9 domains of abilities
(8:57:44 PM) redyoshi49q|traveler: when I roleplayed as my fursona, I used rock, life, and water as the domains; this particular combo is that of an *extreme* pacifist
(8:57:57 PM) ***Hiiro sees
(8:58:16 PM) redyoshi49q|traveler: those domains were the domains of protection/defense, empathy/healing, and zen/evasion, respectively
(8:58:24 PM) ***Hiiro would probably want something big and painful and fiery...and blunt.
(9:07:46 PM) ***Hiiro hands his brand spanking new giant flaming mallet to the yoshi
(9:07:54 PM) redyoshi49q|traveler: ...
(9:08:05 PM) redyoshi49q|traveler: ........
(9:08:32 PM) ***redyoshi49q|traveler notes that hiiro does not see
(9:09:14 PM) ***Hiiro supposes a mallet isn't too magical..
(9:09:24 PM) redyoshi49q|traveler: ...
(9:09:26 PM) ***redyoshi49q|traveler eats the mallet
(9:09:45 PM) ***Hiiro ponders the other types of magic
(9:11:22 PM) ***Hiiro questions the Yoshi about the most violent magic
(9:11:49 PM) redyoshi49q|traveler: hiiro: the domains are fire (influence/power), rock (protection/defense), water (zen/evasion/dexterity), life (empathy/healing), wind (initiative/agility), light (knowledge/convergent thinking), dark (dissonance/deceit/divergent thinking), and normal (endurance/perserverance)
(9:12:16 PM) redyoshi49q|traveler: the most offensive combo is fire/wind/light
(9:13:28 PM) redyoshi49q|traveler: ...apparently, I can' t count
(9:13:30 PM) redyoshi49q|traveler: 8 domains
(9:13:33 PM) ***redyoshi49q|traveler fails
Under the magic system, for a lack of a better name to call it, character personality and power were intrinsically intertwined. The word I gave you is one that I would also use to best describe a Dark character's personality. Generally speaking, this type of character...
- ...would rarely say what they mean. They could be a natural liar, a habitual liar, sarcastic, snide, or several or all of the above. They might even take sarcasm to an art form; for example, saying "I hate you, too." in response to someone saying "I love you.".
- ...would be unpredictable. They tend toward a D&D chaotic style personality, and rarely act in a conventional or typical fashion.
- ...would be comfortable with playing roles and subtle deceit. Some can put on a metaphorical hat (disguise, persona, etc.) as easily as one would put on a physical hat, and others, even when being technically truthful, can oftentimes dance around "the whole truth" much like the elves from the Inheritance cycle when speaking in Elven. On the other hand, some are able to tell when somebody else is doing the same.
As you can see, "dissonant" is a very good descriptor for such a character. What you've written is different from this, but no less valid; dissonant is a complex term with a lot of sides and possible perceptions to it.
It's also worth noting that the first two terms I gave to Jet and Metalhead Mockingbird were descriptors of Normal and Fire, respectively. I chose those three domains over the others since I felt that the terms I used to describe those were more accurate embodiments of the concepts I wished to express through the corresponding domains than some of the others (for example, the ones I list for Wind are exceptionally weak, and the ones for Rock a a bit imprecise as well).
Also, my inspiration for the second word I gave you was a theoretical construct from my computational theory class called a Nondeterministic Turing Machine. I didn't want to choose just "nondeterminism" and risk possibly forcing undue difficulty on you. I also didn't want to choose just "determinism"; though the word has much better definitions available, I felt it might have been a limiting term to choose if it turns out the concept isn't one you were interested in writing about (imagine a strong believer in free will having to do this exercise on the word "destiny" and you have a notion of my concern).
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Ok on the experience of warfare. It's a terrible thing that
I wish no one need experience..
Here is another word.. "Fodder"
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Gerbil
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Nothing like a unexpected ending. :D Nicely written Mylo.
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And now to clean off the dust from this... *blows dust away from neglecting this thread for nearly a month*
How about one of my favorite words to read in literature, what about Materialize. I am interested in what you could write about for materialize. :)
This story is a continuation of my previous story for spy. Next up is either determinism or nondeterminism...still haven't decided which one. But until then, enjoy the story for materialize!
William Mansfield pulled open his drawers and grabbed any article of clothing he could lay his hands on. A droplet of sweat dripped onto one of his dress shirts, and he consequently wiped his face with his forearm. It was the dead of night; Mansfield had received a cautionary alarm, alerting him of a break in at his lab. This was no doubt the work of Mega, he thought. Luckily, he had completely corrupted the data back in the lab…his work was not on holographic drives, but rather, in the drive he was holding in his hand…and in the very neurons in his head.
Mansfield took his suitcase stuffed with clothes and ran to his car, failing to shut the door to his house behind him. He didn’t notice, nor did he care; Mega could be here any minute now, he thought. He started his car, an older model from the early 2000’s with no antenna to the Internet. He drove out of his driveway very rashly and took the roads to the interstate and eventually the airport. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here.
He knew of the treacherousness of Mega, how scientists would go to sleep one day only to wake up with their minds brainwashed. The rumors. He had constructed this plan for this very situation. Pulling up to the parking lot, he tried to differentiate between the airplanes and the stars in the yellow sky (a consequence of the vast amount of light pollution). He briskly walked to his terminal, dragging the heavy suitcase, but then…his stomach sank. Five Mega agents were standing in front of the doorway. He stopped in his tracks and shut his eyes for a minute to relax. He had practiced before…
He opened them and the agents were on the ground, seemingly asleep. He walked over them and into the terminal…looking behind, he saw that the police had taken notice (they were also emblazoned with the Mega Corporation logo). Paying for his tickets up front, he took the plastic paper and walked to the security checkpoint. Another obstacle, but this time he was ready. He went into the bathroom, shut his eyes, and opened them again.
“What the hell?” yelled a guy. He opened his eyes and saw a man sitting on a toilet in the same stall as he was. “What the…” Before the man could say another word, Mansfield punched him quickly and then touched his head. The man on the toilet went unconscious. Walking out of the stall, he confirmed that he was in his gate (past the security checkpoint) and proceeded to walk to his terminal, but he realized he had not yet materialized his suitcase.
“That’s enough,” said a voice.
Mansfield stopped and looked around. The people in the terminal were gone. The windows were black. Then the lights dimmed and his vision blurred. And finally, he discovered that he was wearing what seemed like a suit of wires, with a helmet that obscured his vision. He proceeded to remove the helmet, and looked upon a small room with a score of scientists around him.
“We saw you do it!” said one of the younger looking scientists. He had black hair and pale skin, and a set of angular glasses that obstructed his eyes because of the glare. “You did it in your induced dream, and we saw you produce it for us!”
Mansfield looked around the room very confused. “I don’t…I don’t…”
The scientist pointed to the left of Mansfield. Sitting on the ground was a suitcase, just like the one Mansfield had packed in his dream. “My suitcase…”
“You materialized it right now! It appeared here…you’re making progress with us. Please, Mansfield, we know you can do this for us. But now we need you to take this to the next stage and materialize something…well…tangible, valuable…and do it consciously of course.”
Mansfield looked at his hands and touched his head…all covered in wires and probes.
“Otherwise, Mansfield…” said the scientist, thinking of his next step: putting Mansfield under the knife to reverse engineer his psychic technology.
“I told you…” said Mansfield. “I can’t do it like this…and I can’t remember what I’m doing or supposed to be doing when I’m in my dream.”
The scientist adjusted his glasses and shook his head. “Disappointing,” he said. “How very disappointing.”
The Mega Corporation logo glowed on the main wire piercing into Mansfield’s powerful mind. This was his thirteenth trial; one of the other scientists took the suitcase to the back, putting it with the twelve other suitcases that looked exactly alike. The other scientists analyzed their data and began preparations for what was to come.
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I know what you mean by dust. x_x
Nicely done with Materialize Mylo. This sounds like a strange story here. With him being lost in dream most the time, and being forced to materialize items with his mind. This could be expanded in a multitude of ways. This small piece, however, was well done and made me want to see if he actually manages to get something "tangible" to appear. It would also be interesting if he later on used this gift to escape or something.
I was trying to think of a word, but I am so terrible at choosing these things. I don't believe you have written on this word yet, so how about Isolation. It's about the only word I can think of at the moment, maybe because of my own current position. But I think several interesting stories can come of the word isolation, so I guess that's my word for you.
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I have another word (or, rather, your choice of a word, since I couldn't decide between two) to append to your queue. You might be familiar with these words if you've taken a computational theory class. Try either "determinism" or "nondeterminism". The latter is easiest to define as an opposite of the former (http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/determinism), but this isn't *quite* accurate. The many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Many-worlds_interpretation) is an easy to cite example of nondeterminism.
Unfortunately, I haven't taken a computational theory class. I liked the ideas of these two words, but I think this story best fits determinism. It's very long compared to my other stories (due to details that really don't need to be in the story, but that I wanted to add for fun; I actually wanted to make it longer, but this is a short story thread :)). So, here goes:
Extreme individualism. This was the root of popular culture in the late 21st century. Atmo Dellik stood on the walkway, which carried him in a highlighted direction (augmented in his vision) to his work; he watched the various souls passing him above and below (for these walkways meshed throughout the entire city), looking at the sheer diversity in the crowd. A woman with glossy skin and plastic hair. A man entirely naked with the recently popular video tattoos painted all over his body. A woman who had implants to make her shoulders appear pointed and her face flat, wearing clear plastic clothing with a glowing, animated designer logo on the left chest. A man and woman kissing…they had been genetically modified to resemble wolves, except their fur was died with all the colors of the rainbow (and the patterns and colors changed every few seconds or so). A woman jogging, her hair encased in a skull cap that was emblazoned with a video logo for Nike; her other articles of clothing also carried the animated logo.
The walkway led Atmo to a lift that would take him up almost a thousand or so floors to the lab. On the way up, he was bombarded with the usual advertisements.
You are something…else. Inside. A video showed a man morphing into a lion. Become what you are. Then, the Evolon Corporation logo appeared in mid-air, and a voice enunciated the government- mandated warning of the risks associated with genetic modification. Another advertisement came on. It showed a couple of half-naked males dancing in a VR club. One of them took off their augmented reality headset, sat down, and pulled out a bottle of Coca Cola, in a nostalgic black metal bottle. He sipped it and smiled. Atmo suddenly had a craving for Coca Cola…it was common for advertisements to do this to their demographic. He tried to look past the holographic advertisements, but they suddenly changed so that they remained in focus to Atmo’s eyes. He sighed and turned around. The lift stopped at floor 987. Atmo revealed his eyes from behind his headset; they were subsequently scanned and the door was opened.
“Mr. Dellik,” said one of the men in the room.
“Mr. Zololoa,” said Atmo, shaking hands with Fenway Zololoa as he stepped off the lift and walked for himself. Fenway was the head of this project.
“Now that everyone is here,” said Fenway. “Well, I’m afraid there’s no more punch for you Mr. Dellik.”
The other people in the room started to laugh in unison. Atmo laughed along with them. “Nah, I think I’ll have a Coke after the meeting’s done.”
Fenway chuckled. “Anyways,” he said. “As you all know, our team has been working anxiously, persistently, and vivaciously on our Project Point-of-Origin. Years of planning, circuit design, programming, studies…not to mention a whole lot of Coke and money.”
The team reacted to Fenway’s cue of humor and laughed in unison again.
“Yes, Coke and money,” said Fenway. “Now please, a special round of applause for our patron, Ms. Delika Howard.” He motioned towards a very old woman sitting in the back of the room, sipping tea in a crystal cup. She smiled, further wrinkling here already wrinkled face, and then nodded to Fenway as the team applauded.
“I’m glad you were able to be with us today Ms. Howard,” said Fenway. “That flight from New Shanghai must have lasted a couple hours. But now…” he put his hands together. “Let’s be serious. Let me show you all what your thousands of hours and trillions of yun have bought you. The production as you know cost more than half of this entire project, but it did not let down. Now if you will please direct your attention to the back of the room.”
The crowd turned to face the back. The outside windows dimmed and a glass window (darkened to hide what was behind it) faced them. Atmo was very anxious to see the project he had been working on for so long.
“Humans have a natural desire to discover,” began Fenway. “It is in our DNA. From the beginning of recorded history, it has been our ultimate goal to know. Know the past. Know the present.” He paused. “Know the future. Ancient astronomers studied the heavens to know when it was going to rain, when winter was to come. Physicists studied what we cannot see nor imagine to discover the meaning of our universe, and what is to come in the years and millennia.”
Atmo and a couple of the other team members chuckled to themselves at Fenway’s drama. He continued to speak.
“But the ultimate question still eluded us. How can we know the past, present, and future absolutely? Years of research led to the obvious conclusion that we, as humans, are incapable of comprehending this. We, as humans, have started to lose faith in our species. We’re too limited in both physical and mental capacity, and the public knows this. A lot of people dread being human because of these limitations, hence companies like Synthegene, Evolon, IQpacity, etc… But that’s not what we’ve studied. In fact, we took a whole new approach. We’ve created a mind smarter than the score of humans who created it, who also were augmented themselves…more intelligent than the entirety of the human species, rather, the collection of sentient animals who’ve ever lived, and who will ever live. My friends, it’s no laughing matter when you create a God.”
The team laughed softly. Ms. Howard sipped her tea and smiled superficially.
“But we did,” said Fenway, who hadn’t laughed at his own remark. “And this is our key to understanding…everything.” He lifted both his hands up; the window at the back un-dimmed revealing a glass-like sphere suspended in mid-air. Surrounding it were two cylindrical glass walls; a black, circular disk sat beneath the levitating orb, which was about a meter in diameter.
“The sphere is connected to an interface that is capable of connecting with the entirety of human knowledge online,” said Fenway. “And now, we will see.”
He faced the sphere and held out both his arms again. The sphere levitated slightly; the crowd was silent. They watched the sphere glow all sorts of colors until it was a bright white, like the sun. It grew whiter and whiter, and the windows compensated by dimming.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Fenway. Atmo looked in amazement. “Congratu—“
Immediately, Fenway’s mind was filled with thoughts. He heard a voice. “I am inside of you now.” The voice sounded like a mix of every type of voice there was. The sphere became whiter; the glass was almost completely darkened, but the sphere was in perfect view. Atmo, as well as the rest of the team, heard the voice.
“I am inside of all of you now.”
And then it stopped using words. Language was not necessary. Fenway saw Atmo in his mind, as well as every other team member. Atmo saw the same. So did Ms. Howard, and the rest of the team. They all began to know each other, feel each other, as if they were each other all at the same time. They saw Fenway go into a room with Ms. Howard, at night, both smiling and drawing the blankets. They say Ms. Howard coughing up blood. Marcinii was born, and then he died falling off a walkway. Paplidara was conversing with his daughter, and then a spy. Atmo was staring at the Evolon advertisements…he longed to be a customer.
They only saw each other. The sphere had already determined the course of human history for the next hundred years, and was continuing to decipher the timeline, but this output merely grazed over the humans standing in the room. Several separate streams of knowledge spewed out from the sphere, each a calculation of some particular aspect of the unknown world. Within the next few minutes, every technological advancement, every war, every societal shift, every movement for the next thousand years was known. Every thought had been calculated.
“Um…” said Fenway. “Is it working?” he said to one of the team members, a woman named Matsoka.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I must have spaced out for a second…let me check to see what it’s doing.”
Fenway looked back at the glowing orb. “I must have spaced out as well.” He tried to remember what had happened in the last few minutes, but they were blank. The other team members looked around, all feeling as if they had lost focus, all unable to remember anything from the last few minutes.”
Atmo remembered the voice only, and everything after that was a blank. He quickly justified it as his own voice inside his head…the team had not built a way to interface with it directly, mind to machine. Matsoka confirmed that the sphere was in full operation, but they couldn’t understand why the data wasn’t being recorded on the millions of holographic storage drives underneath their feet in the hundreds of floors below them.
“Hmmm…” said Fenway. He grabbed a slender bottle of Coke from his pocket. “Well, um…”
Ms. Howard smiled superficially. She felt very weak all of the sudden, and tried to muster a few words. She knew her time had come…for she was the only one in the room who remembered. “I was under the impression that I would be among the first to see God before death Mr. Zololoa.” She motioned to set down her glass with her shaky hand, but she missed the table as her vision left her, and collapsed to the ground. The glass shattered on the floor, the shards reflecting the light of the sphere in many colors.
The next word is: fodder.
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Here is another word.. "Fodder"
And here is another story. The next word is gerbil.
“Father?” asked Charlemagne, who was called Charlie. He was a young boy, maybe twelve, with glassy eyes that reflected the massive airships in the distance.
“Charlie,” said his father, an officer in His Majesty’s Royal Air Force.
“But when shall you return to Atlantia?” said Charlie, who had already asked the question several times before.
“My son…” said his father with a smile on his face. “I’ve told you a thousand times before that I’ll return no later than December of next year.”
“But father, that’s so far away.”
“I know Charlie,” said his father, whose wrist watch suddenly clicked repeatedly, indicating that it was time to leave. “I know you’ll do well in the fine school His Majesty has so generously provided for you. You’ll make a lot of friends, and I hope you’ll be happy.”
“But I don’t want you to go,” said Charlie, hugging his father’s legs. “Why can’t you stay?”
“Oh Charlie,” said his father, bending down so he was at eye level with his son. “Sometimes, Charlie, we have to do difficult things. We all have to do things we don’t want to at some point. But you see, it is our duty to pull through them, to take them head on and overcome them. Charlie,” he said, placing his hand on his boy’s shoulder. “You’ll have your own share of difficult things. And right now, I need you to be strong. I need you to be a man, and…and excel in your studies and make lots of friends, and enjoy yourself.”
“But father,” said Charlie.
“Now’s not the time for any more chit chat, son. Now I want you to get into that automobile. You’ll be just fine, and so will I. I’ll send you a parcel every now and then from the islands.”
Charlie looked down at his feet and at his father’s mechanical watch. It had exhausted its alarm. A tear then rolled from his eye. His father tried to smile, but felt a lump in his throat.
“Charlie,” he said with difficulty. “I want…I want you to take this.”
He took out a small notebook from his back pocket as well as a ball point pen; he ripped a few of the pages from the front of the book.
“I want you to write down what you do today and every day, Charlie, until I get back. That way, I’ll be able to read about your various adventures when I return.”
A fellow Air Force officer called towards Charlie’s father.
“And now it is time for me to depart…” said his father.
Charlie looked up at his father, into the same glassy eyes. “I love you, father.”
Charlie’s father picked him up and kissed him on the forehead. “I love you too, Charlie.”
Then, he put his son down and waited until Charlie boarded the automobile and shut the door. He then waved, turned around, and boarded his own vehicle which would take him to his assigned airship that was destined to cross the ocean to the far away islands.
Then a voice came on.
“The war is hard on all of us, and we must all do our part. Support His Majesty and your Atlantia.”
Then the anthem of Atlantia played in the background accompanied by the white and gold; fodder for the people.
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:) I really like the above story. I can't really explain it, it just gets to me in that right way, y'know?
Either way! You shall have no shortage of words! How about- Transcendence?
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here's one for yah, sorta hard: overfamous? or unsanctionable?
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Nicely done Mylo. A touching goodbye of a father to his son.
You probably won't run out of words, but here is another. "stampede"
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Gerbil
To those who've read my stories in this thread, thanks for keeping up with them! :) For this story, I took a different approach and wrote a "news story" ala Onion News. So if you are interested in this sort of thing, read on for the story for gerbil.
...
LOS ANGELES—Two days into the Electronic Entertainment Expo, the video game industry’s most popular trade show, Nintendo has unveiled their newest gaming console, the Wii Ball. While some analysts have predicted the demise of dedicated video game consoles due to the popularity of smartphones and Angry Birds, Nintendo’s Reggie Fils-Aime is confident that this new console will keep the company relevant.
“We’ve acknowledged that there is a problem. Our customers want to play video games, Nintendo video games, but they don’t have the time to play at home nor do they have the space in their pockets or purses for yet another device. So we thought, how do we fix this problem? The answer: Wii Ball.”
Wii Ball is essentially a white ball, seven feet in diameter. The ball is designed so that a person can get inside it and walk around as the internal screens create a virtual world for the player to interact with, much like a gerbil walks in a hamster ball. Nintendo Chief Executive Satoru Iwata discussed the Ball with us over video conference.
“We wanted to make a video game console for everybody, for all people of all ages. That is why we created Wii Ball. In fact, we prefer to think of it not as a console, but as a video game experience. Life becomes a video game. You can take the subway, drive a car; we are already in talks with major automobile manufacturers and government infrastructure departments in seven countries, including Japan, the United States, and Great Britain, so that they can accommodate for the increased size of the Wii Ball. It is a new lifestyle that blurs the edge between home and portable gaming.”
According to Nintendo, the Wii Ball will be available by the holiday season, but the pricing is yet to be revealed. However, Fils-Aime did detail several launch games and accessories for their upcoming console.
“We’ve listened to our customers, and we’ve got a surprise for you,” said Fils-Aime, during the conference. “Wii Ball is launching with Super Mario Galaxy Land 3D as well as Wii Ball Sports, a totally new sports game where you are the ball.” This was greeted with a large applause before Fils-Aime rose his hands again. “And we’ll also be offering a host of new accessories specifically designed for the Wii Ball, including the Stair Climber Pro, for increased mobility, and the Classic Controller, for when you want to play games in a more traditional way.”
Nintendo didn’t have a prototype on display, but did show a CGI rendering of the Wii Ball coming out from a pool of milk in slow motion.
...
Next up is isolation.
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I was trying to think of a word, but I am so terrible at choosing these things. I don't believe you have written on this word yet, so how about Isolation. It's about the only word I can think of at the moment, maybe because of my own current position. But I think several interesting stories can come of the word isolation, so I guess that's my word for you.
Often times I think about what the world would be like if there were more than one sapient species on Earth (just like most other furries I presume :)). Not about wars, but the difficulties of assimilation and cooperation...so here is the story for isolation:
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“Mrs. Lee,” began the older woman in the room. She wore thick glasses and a spotted dress, and spoke in a calm but cold tone to the concerned mother sitting across her desk. “Ms. Lee, we have to discuss what to do about your son…”
Mrs. Lee, having gone through several of these conversations before with several different teachers, was well aware of this teacher’s dismay. She was a strong-willed woman, more so when she was defending her child yet again.
“I’ve just about had at with him,” said the teacher. “I do not mean to be offensive, but he is too much for this classroom. He makes a mess with his hair, he’s very stubborn and disregards everything I tell him, he doesn’t get along well with the other students—“
“Oh Ms. Wan,” said Ms. Lee, flattening her dress with both hands. “Am I to be put at fault for my son’s differences? Ms. Wan, I told you at the beginning of the year that he was going to be a handful…he is with me, but he’s a good kid.”
“But Ms. Lee,” said the teacher. “Today, my goodness, he turned around and started snarling at Lu Yan…I was afraid he was going to bite him or worse; I couldn’t get him to calm down.”
Ms. Lee sighed. “I’m so sorry that happened, but I know Atka. He’s a calm boy unless he’s been provoked. You watch the kids in the classroom don’t you?”
“I most certainly do,” said the teacher with a stern look.
“Well then,” said Ms. Lee. “You are bound to see them pick on him. It’s sad really…and I simply want the best for my son…”
“I know Ms. Lee.” Ms. Wan took hold of a pencil and twiddled it in her hands. “But I cannot tolerate this kind of behavior in my classroom, even if provoked. I want the best for all my students.”
Ms. Lee looked below Ms. Wan’s line of sight. “I know you do…and I do everything I can at home with Atka, but I have no control over others’ thoughts. I can’t stop them from pointing out everything, and frankly, I don’t know what to do.”
Lee Atka was from America, the desolate continent home to the pantheran species, the only other sapient species on earth besides humans. Aside from their resemblance to the species of which they were named, the pantherans were not all that different from the humans of Asia and the East in their ability to walk and think similarly. It was very rare for a human couple to adopt a pantheran, simply because of the accepted dogma that humans attest to humans and pantheran to pantheran. But due to the gross poverty and the drought that plagued America for nearly a decade, the government had granted licenses to a few who were to adopt pantherans and raise and educate them in Guzhou, the most populous city in Asia; it was thought that this would help create relations that would allow humans access to the oil fields of northern America, since it had become too expensive to utilize the wells of the East.
This experiment was met with extreme resistance by most of the Eastern natives, and tensions rose concerning the consequences of educating the pantherans. They learned Eastern with difficulty, finding it very difficult to pronounce certain sounds due to their elongated heads. Atka endured these problems, and his classmates made him further self-aware of his differences. He had lived in Guzhou for one year and eight months.
If the experiment was deemed a failure, the East had decided to cast aside their olive branch negotiations in favor of more costly invasion.
So there was Atka, sitting in a desk in the center of the classroom. The young boy in back of him yanked at his tail while Ms. Lee was facing the blackboard, and by the time she had turned around, Atka was growling at the scared Yan, who had backed up into the very back of his chair. Yan and his friends made it a point most days to imitate Atka’s speech in a condescending manner, and it was no different that day, before Atka was pulled aside. He was waiting for his mother to finish speaking with Ms. Wan, swishing his tail back and forth in anticipation, looking at the gloves on his hands (which prevented him from extending his claws), wondering why he was so different from his peers. He felt angry at himself for reacting the way he did, but then felt anger towards his classmates (except for a girl he had met during recess, who had come to see why he was sitting on the bench alone, and then subsequently pointed out that his manner of speech was…odd). Ms. Wan and Ms. Lee continued their conversation.
“Ms. Wan,” said Ms. Lee. “I love Atka, and I want the best for him.”
“Of course, I know,” said Ms. Wan. “But I am concerned with the safety of my class as well, Ms. Lee.”
...
The next word is transcendence.
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Aww...that came off rather sad to me. :'(
On a happier note, Good story, And I think Atka is MORE than justified here. He should bite that child! ;) (though maybe that wouldn't end well :o )
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On a happier note, Good story, And I think Atka is MORE than justified here. He should bite that child! ;) (though maybe that wouldn't end well :o )
Thanks Jet. Also, you're right in that it wouldn't have ended well if that were to have happened... x_x
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Either way! You shall have no shortage of words! How about- Transcendence?
I woke up quietly and abruptly, looking up into the sky with little breath and poor sight, for the moon was hidden in the shadows. I remembered having an unpleasant dream, but I couldn’t remember its contents, for I was suddenly preoccupied with a single light in the dark heavens above. It was dull at first, but progressively grew brighter and larger, and I could see it move. Then, I heard a noise behind me…my stomach lurched out of fear and I quickly got to my feet and turned around, not making more sound than a leaf falling from a branch. But I saw nothing.
Turning back to the sky, the light was not there; darkness had engulfed my perception again. But as I waited in silence scanning my surroundings, I could slowly begin to make out the familiar trees and crevices of our land, the rocks, and brush. And that’s when I heard a sound, like a whistle, but distorted, from behind the forest. I became very frightened, and lowered my body below the line of bushes while listening to the faint sound. It grew fainter and fainter, and then suddenly, I heard a roar of thunder. I jumped and got lower to the ground and looked around me; it was at this moment that I realized my family, my entire tribe, was gone.
My stomach felt as if it was in knots, and I was attempting to wake myself up from this awful dream but to no avail. I didn’t want to call out to anyone, but I desperately wanted to know where they were. Had they gone without me?
Then, I saw a dim light outline the silhouettes of the trees. A fire perhaps. I got to my feet and briskly walked through the brush and trees towards the light; it was only a few hundred paces away it seemed. It was just now that I could hear my own footsteps…seeing the light and hearing myself, I stopped dead…the insects were silent. But the light was so close. I looked back at the darkness behind me, and not wanting to go back, I continued on slowly and cautiously, anxiously awaiting to see what was behind the trees, but frightened of the unfamiliar and the feeling of unnaturalness plaguing the night. I slid up to the last tree blocking the light from hitting me…it was as dim as the moon, and had a slight tint to it that seemed to change ever so slightly from blue to green. I crept up to the bark, not wanting to see what was behind the tree, but my eyes steadily pulled my head to the other side of the trunk, itching to see what was there. I began to hear the sound again just as dimly as when I was back at our grounds.
I saw a tall dark figure staring up at the sky. Too tall to be my blood. I stood frozen, my eyes locked on the figure, my heart racing, perhaps even audible. I remembered the stories, the demons from the sky, how when the moon was dark they took the animals and drained them of their blood… I noticed my mouth was open; I shut it and slowly retracted to the back of the tree, but my eyes were still on the demon, the light emanating from behind him.
And then, the demon began to rise, about the length of the ankle to the knee, and after it had finished rising, it floated towards me still looking towards the sky. I lost my breath, turned around, and ran as fast as I could away from the light. Suddenly, I heard another roll of thunder, louder than the previous; I dropped to my knees and covered my head with my hands, sliding over to the nearest tree and breathing very fast. The light had diminished. The insects still remained silent. I concentrated on the sound of my breathing to eliminate any background noise I might hear, and I stayed in that position until I saw the sun rising over the forest, with the morning haze following closely.
As I opened my eyes, I thought that maybe I had had a terrible dream; I had merely frightened myself walking amongst the trees at night. But then, I remembered my family and my tribe…I ran back to the grounds as the sun disappeared behind light grey clouds. They were not there.
I couldn’t convince myself of their utter disappearance, nor could I convince myself of anything I had seen that night, but I had a strange desire to return to the hollow. The sun peaked through the clouds.
I retraced my path through the brush and forest. As I moved on, I began to hear the sounds of the animals and the insects leak back into the air…a sign of life. But as I grew closer to the hollow, I noticed that the ground grew duller; the trees grew greyer. I slowed my pace to a walk, but reassured by the sounds of nature, I continued. Then I saw the tree, just a few paces away, white, the bark chipping away, despite the absence of breeze…and I saw my tribe, laying down beyond the roots. I shouted to them, and ran to the ground behind the tree; my voice sounded foreign considering I had been listening to my thoughts for so long. But as I entered the hollow, I stopped and stared at their bodies, still and white, ignoring the other atrocities that I tried to destroy from my mind, realizing the curse that had infected these grounds. My eyes burned as I covered them in my hands, catching tears of sorrow, loneliness, fear; the clouds had passed, leaving blue sky and white sun.
...
The next word is: overfamous or unsanctionable
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amazing mylo, simply amazing :D
the emotion stored in those words is very powerful.
if you have not got a large back log, then try: Safety
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Aw...thanks Typing. I honestly felt frightened and sorrowful myself while writing that one...
here's one for yah, sorta hard: overfamous? or unsanctionable?
This story is a continuation of the story for disembodied. Reading back over it, there are a lot of things that need to be fixed plot-wise, but I shortened it down for this thread (not from source, but rather, ideas that I wanted to write down). Enjoy the story for overfamous (the word I chose from the two options).
...
I had prepared for this day for some time now; it was now or never. As the plane touched the edge of space on our way to the other side of the world, as it touched down violently, parachutes exploding behind us, as the limousine took us into the inner city to our hotel at Howard Tower, I was thinking of my every move over and over again, every detail in great detail. And now I was ready…ViRe’s were simply not enough now.
That night, while my father was away on business, I casually took the elevator from my room to the ground floor. I would simply walk out…
The elevator doors opened slowly and steadily, concurrent with a synthetic bell that indicated the elevator’s arrival. I looked out; there was my father, talking with a few of his men, his black hair showing no age. His eyes drifted up to the sound of the elevator, and my eyes met his for what seemed like minutes. Unscathed, I walked out of the elevator, but I felt his eyes on me as I moved across the lobby. And then I heard his voice.
“Son?” he said, in a surprised tone.
I did not answer him but continued to walk.
“Alex?” he called again. “Alex, where are you going?”
I was almost there…I could see the lights of the skyscrapers beyond the window that rose up for several stories.
“Alex, come here. Where are you going?”
I had almost reached the door when I heard footsteps coming behind me…my father.
“Alex!” he called, but I did not turn nor answer.
And then he shouted my name, “ALEX!” I turned around with my hand on the glass door…one of the workers opened it for me. I looked into the pits of my father’s eyes as he quickened his pace. His conversers stared in confusion, as did some of the guests in the lobby. The man tapped my shoulder.
“Alex, where are you going tonight?” he asked in a friendly tone. I looked back at him and had no memory of his face…but mine was recognizable. At that moment, I bolted out of the door into the city, crowded as ever. The street in front of me was full of traffic, but I took the chance...it was now or never. I ran in front of a couple cars, stopping in the middle of the road before I could get hit by a third. Then, I waited for another sedan to pass quickly before I took a few more steps into the road, where I stopped for three cars to pass in a tight line. I turned back, backing away quickly to avoid getting hit by a trolley. I saw my father rushing out of the door, turned back, and sprinted across the remainder of the road to the other side. Immediately, I felt the adrenaline rush, and I ran faster than I thought I could down the sidewalks, among the people.
They all gave me strange looks…they all knew my face. I could hear my name being uttered and whispered; I had anticipated this, which is why I was headed to a very specific district of town, where they had the gene modifiers. I heard sirens…but upon rounding the corner I found that it was a fire truck. I was still running, but I was slowing down; I flagged down a cab, told him where to go, and in an instant, I blended with all the other cabs, all the other people. I was gone.
...
Stampede is next.
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Nicely done Mylo. Reminds me of the saying. "Should have stayed in bed."
How about "hysterical" :orbunny:
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if you have not got a large back log, then try: Safety
After another long hiatus, here is another story. :)
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She sat on the beach that sun-soaked afternoon, reflecting the rays of the sun in all directions; she who lost her husband some time ago, about ten years, just before her child was born, the child who was playing in the shallow water, watching the waves sway like the metronome of the beach. The child, called Lin, having never known his father, had no fear or remorse or the empty part of the heart that exists when one loses a loved one, for he had no idea of what a father was, nor did he look upon the other children envious of their fathers. He thought his predicament normal. Lin’s mother, Yan, looked upon her son with a slight smile, enjoying the sight of his face, a face that displayed utter fascination with the white waves and the indigo ocean that stretched to the islands on the horizon. It had been so long, she only cared about the now, the new life, her son, and the thousands of other sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, on the beach that day…it was so hot and the water so cool. And as she stretched her legs out and dug her toes into the sand, her feet following after, she closed her eyes for a second to listen to the sounds of the ocean and of the people, to recline and relax. Splashes. The sound of the water sliding over the sand, pushing up rock and seaweed and shells from the depths below. A girl’s laughter. She opened her eyes, seeing white as her eyes adjusted to the intense sunlight pouring in, her eyes quickly adjusting to the colors of the view. But as she looked back to where her son had been, her eyes met the empty water filling with ten other people who were diffusing to ease the crowd.
“Lin?” she called out, getting up quickly from her towel and launching sand a foot in front of her as she lifted her feet from the ground. She stood and scanned around at the myriad of people, seemingly as diverse as the seashells encrusting the sand, periodically revealed as the waves rose and fell. She was very concerned; the sheer amount of people was intimidating, and to find him among the numbers would be confusing and…
“Lin?” she called out again. “Lin, where are you?” The others lying on the sand, soaking the sun like the sand soaked the water, focused their attention to her for a second to see what she was shouting at. They didn’t stare at her, not wanting to get involved, knowing that her son was probably somewhere among the people, one of the many children running about, building sand castles with a newfound friend or splashing others with the water. There were so many people in the water, they thought, that there was little possibility anything terrible could have happened to this kid, and that his mother, the one walking frantically along the shore line, waves breaking at her feet as she wove between the people and scanned beyond their shoulders, would find her child in short time. So, they went about their business again, ignoring the woman, minding themselves, directing their attention at the next odd sight along the beach until they had nothing to focus on…in which case, they could relax.
Yan felt slightly nauseous, the feeling one gets when they know they’ve lost or forgotten something very valuable, perhaps invaluable. She thought, I should have kept him safe, with me. I should have kept him safe. And as her mind trailed, following the repetition of scanning and matching faces, a thought crossed her head: the thought of her husband, smiling at her when they discovered she was going to have a child, that she was going to have a boy, and that they would name him Lin. I should have kept him safe. She looked at the water…but she denied her most grievous thoughts and turned around to continue searching.
And as she rounded another wave of people, this time heading back to her bag and towel and umbrella, she laid eyes on Lin, smiling at another child, building a sand castle together. Part of the sand had just collapsed; Lin’s newfound friend scooped up another pile of sand with his hands and filled in the hole, fixing the grand wall they had built together. They were both nestled in between several other families, having found a plot of sand not occupied by a towel, a person, or the water, for the beach was crowded as always. She smiled and breathed and stroked her hair back behind her ears, only for it to fall back down again beside her eyes; it seemed as if she had held her breath throughout the entire ordeal, which had lasted less than a minute, but which seemed to take so much longer. In her heart, she wanted to go up to him, scoop him up like the sand for the castle, and hug him tightly, never to let him go again. But in her mind…
She saw Lin’s smiling face, but Lin did not see her. He was too affixed on his friend and castle, and so she watched him from that distance and listened to the sounds of the beach with eyes open, mind open, heart open.
...
The next word is hysterical.
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Survival
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How about "hysterical" :orbunny:
Perhaps a war story with no war... What do you all think he is laughing about? ;) Anyways...
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We were marching inland to take the river valley. Our weapons were loaded, but we had expected no resistance from the nation who had surrendered the moment we landed on their shores. The jungle had been fierce the night before, and I had been bitten by all sorts of insects, leaving tiny welts along my arms, legs, and neck. I tried to fight the urge to scratch, but those bites itched. My captain and fellow men were all scratching themselves…the insects had done more damage to us then the people. Good thing they’d be gone in the coming weeks.
We were the initials, the team that took control of the land before the main squads came in. It was our job to stake control and muster up some organization amidst the chaos of a fallen nation. The next squad would come with supplies, and then the one after that, the one we were all waiting for, with their torches and oil, would burn the jungle to the ground to eliminate the disease, the dangerous animals, and whatever else that had an advantage in the vines and canopy.
Finally, after a few days of travel, we had reached our destination, and I was surprised. It was a slum; just a few shacks along the river, some boats along the shore. The jungle was clear for a quarter mile along this valley, but so was the village. Everyone had left, it seemed. We weren’t there to hurt or kill the natives; we weren’t savages. But the valley was quiet, the village was desolate, and we marched with caution waiting to see if this was some sort of isolated ambush…we were prepared. I thought their spirits would have been too demoralized, but then again, I’d been wrong so many times before.
We walked into the village, with shacks made of mud and sticks. The smell was awful. Small puddles of grey liquid lurked along the dirt pathways. There was no fire, no smoke. No sound.
Suddenly, my captain (who had ventured just a few steps ahead of us) put up his hand, motioning us to stop. He was looking to his left around the corner of one particularly awful-looking shack, its roof half caved in. Then, he motioned us to come forward. I walked up to his position, slowly looking around the corner to get a look at whatever caught the sight of my captain. There, sitting on a rock, was an old man. His eyes were half open; his hair was grey and white. He had brown, leathery skin with black spots and wore absolutely nothing. But I could see his hands and feet…he had nothing to hide, though it was odd that he was just sitting there staring.
My captain called out to him, “Hey! You! Where is—ah God-dam—where’s Pak?” He was referring to our translator, a tall soldier with glasses. He didn’t talk much to us. Pak briskly moved to the captain’s side. “Ask him where the other villagers are.”
Pak spoke in the language of this nation. The old man opened his eyes slightly, as if to express that he was paying attention, but he did not respond.
“Ask him what happened here,” commanded my captain. Pak again shouted to the old man, who did nothing but stare back.
“All right then,” said my captain. “Koa! Radio into home base. Tell ‘em—“
At that moment, the old man started laughing loudly. It frightened a few of the soldiers, just for a second out of surprise. They looked back at him with confused expressions. He kept on laughing.
“Who is he laughing at?” I asked, sort of rhetorically. “Us?”
“He’s probably just screwing with us,” said a soldier behind me. “At least this guy’s got a sense of humor.”
But he continued on laughing, almost manically. I wondered myself what he was laughing at. I tried not to scare myself, thinking we were in some sort of trap. The old man’s eyes were wide open now…his wrinkles were so evident on his face, that we could see the cast shadows from that distance away. His stomach muscles were contracting with every breath.
“What now Captain?” asked another soldier.
“Ignore him,” my captain said immediately. “Come on Koa, just radio in already. Next squad’s gotta get up here before the sun gets down…I’m not spending another night getting’ eaten alive.”
The old man continued to laugh. Perhaps at us? Perhaps at his situation? Did he think we were going to take him prisoner? Kill him? I was thinking too much into it…we began to set up our post.
...
The next story will be about survival.
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Survival
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Any country he touched with his hand bled gold, and they all bowed down at his feet to have a chance at his wealth and prosperity, giving him the opportunity to influence local governments and place people of political power at his disposal and command. He burned the jungles, replacing them with the long, black, glass-like structures that had the slightest tinge of green, the photosynthetic unit factories that would employ much of the population, eradicating disease as every tree fell beneath the arm of his conglomerate, the new monarchy. He laid down grey concrete and steel, carbon, the base for the future and the tried-and-tested past, the old world’s glory swept across the massacre of nature, a precedent set by Information City decades before. He gave them roads and advanced the traffic control systems to handle the massive population of humans that had infected every level and every corner of the earth, skyscrapers that reached the heavens in grandiose architecture, eclipsed by the spire, the tallest tower in every city, his watchful eye and a symbol of his domination, the epitome of every skyline.
And the world converged underneath his hand. War was a long forgotten nightmare, buried away under the shadow of Project Nectarine, whose laser-equipped satellites circled the earth in preparation to fire at a moment’s notice with precision that could distinguish between individual people in a crowd, the same project that led to the destruction of the world’s most coveted city, the project that directly led to the conglomerate’s manifestation of the world; people saw them in the sky, passing slowly above their heads, moving stars in the night sky, hanging 200 miles above the earth in perfect orbit, waiting. The developing world became the developed, rising above the memories of poverty and war, death and destruction, placing their trust in the conglomerate, who would keep them safe. There would always be enough food, enough water. Mothers would no longer have to make the decision of feeding their child or themselves, children would never have to see their mothers starve as they fed them their final meals, and fathers and husbands would no longer die in wars they didn’t believe in or were coerced into fighting or were caught in the conflict. And as they pledged their faith, he came and built infrastructure, telecommunications, and economy.
Developed nations became congruent with the conglomerate and adjusted their laws and constitutions to cater to the massive hand, to ease the transition to a better age of openness and harmony, regressing back from democracy which had destroyed itself beneath its own weight, relinquishing power in favor of money, money in favor of wealth, wealth in favor of superficial happiness and meaning, all to what they believed to be an unbiased mind and hand. The distractions of sorrow and hardship no longer had meaning as humans from these nations searched for greater existence in their thoughts and actions, looking to themselves rather than their conglomerate to distinguish happiness from happiness. The old morals were destroyed. Humans adjusted their bodies and minds, becoming unrecognizable humanoids, however restricted by the conglomerate. And as time moved on, they resented his hand, and affirmed their individuality over all other humanoids…but they had built their bodies with his hand and his wealth and his mind and plan, and by then it was too late to revert to the old world, for the new world had taken their lives by the will of the people as rampant consumerism destroyed the soul of the people, rendered shells, mere metadata that his supercomputers would analyze, tabulate, and feed into the network of the conglomerate, ready to predict every move of society, every decision and every thought. But they continued to live, to breath, to wake up to the sun rising above the mist of the city as holograms adjusted their contrast optimally for the eye to see and giant screens and speakers echoed the latest news, advertisements, and propaganda.
Their children had children, skyscrapers grew taller, roads grew longer and more networked, their minds intertwined with the conglomerate, armed with a passion to serve. The rate of technological advancements increased steadily, then exponentially, as mankind set foot permanently on the moon, then Mars, then Titan, planting the corporate flag, and etching their handprints in the rocks, showing the empty universe their presence and that they were capable of expanding to every corner of the universe at will, for time was an illusion. The executives of the conglomerate had ultimate control over their species and the countless species they had created through the spirit of a man who had died ages before in the heart of Information City, the day of the blast, at the top of the central tower, looking upon his city, wanting for the world, the whole world, who bowed down at his feet to have a chance at his wealth and prosperity, the fictitious man who lived on in memory, in the hearts of the people, of the humans, the humanoids, who looked upon themselves as if they were chosen for something they could not imagine but would ascend to, someday. They built to build because they could.
Atoms proved too large and the cosmos proved too small as conscious mind left frail body in favor of permanency in the scale of time. And as he became He, as time became unapparent, as galaxies began and ended, expanded and contracted, He wandered the void of time and space looking to prevail upon those restrictive dimensions into the new and to end the perceived cycle, to destroy Himself and all that existed around him. And so it was.
...
And with that, I've finished all the words in my queue! :) So now, it begins again...
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what of the word Deck. That the word in my head right now, so....WRITE! :D
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That story of survival was a interesting read.
Nicely done Mylo.
How about the word "Reality" :orbunny:
I would have said "Virtual Reality" But that's two words. :-[
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what of the word Deck. That the word in my head right now, so....WRITE! :D
Space is cooler than card games, so here is the story for deck ;)
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Our ten year contracts had expired, the documents that required our habitation on the moon Titan. We were supposed to be among the original colonists, but the hysteria, murders, and tragedy in ’92 paved way for certain regulations that would require definite time periods of habitation, before order could be taken to the distant moon, mankind’s latest venture beyond our point of origin. It was our reinvigoration in space that kept us going, that kept me going. It was strange and brilliant to live on the alien world.
I was a communications engineer, not space-borne, maintaining and repairing the giant satellite dishes on the surface just outside the limits of the colony. No, I was definitely not space-borne, hooked on a cable and dangling on the main satellite in geosynchronous orbit above our colony. That was too frightening for me. My job was tedious, and I can’t say that I enjoyed it every day, but as I boarded the shuttle, all the memories swept past me of my contributions to this station, the friends I had made, the troubles and fear, and the sheer wonder and majesty of the giant ring encircling the planet Saturn in the sky. My, I had never seen anything so beautiful.
I was reassigned to Earth. It had been twelve years since I’d seen the planet, taking into account the two year journey I had taken in sleep. It would be fourteen years once I woke up again.
Automated systems woke the commanders first, and then the commanders woke us all up. It only seemed like one night aboard the Aurora, one of twelve massive cruisers that traveled between the Lunar Base, Mars, and Titan. But as soon as I opened my eyes, I felt absolutely awful (just like the first trip); my eyes were more of a hindrance than anything and my stomach felt tight and very empty.
“You feel alright to stand?” asked one of the commanders. Most were from Earth and had not been stationed in Titan for an extended period.
My stomach contracted again…it had been about half an hour since I had woken.
“Hey,” he said again, waving his hands in front of my eyes. I could see things, slightly blurred though. “Can you hear me?”
“No,” I said, then realizing that I could hear him but was responding to his original question. “I mean, yes, I can hear you. I can’t stand yet. Just give me a minute.”
“Okay then,” he said, getting up to go check on the next person.
A few minutes later, most of my symptoms went down. I mustered the strength to stand, but a commander came to my side to assist me in case I might fall; I guess I still looked off balance.
“Whoa there,” he said. He had a higher voice than the first commander who greeted me. “Hang on, let me help you.”
“Thanks,” I said with short breath. I lifted myself up, my hand in his for support, and then stood on the cold ground. I shivered a little out of reaction.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s much warmer up on deck. We can get some new clothes on you right away. Just go out the main exit to the health center—“
“Aight,” I said. I knew the drill.
“You know the drill then,” he said with a nod and smile. Then, he gasped and ran for another person who had collapsed on the floor.
I walked off to the health center where I got my vitals scanned and checked, and then dispensers gave me a set of clothes to wear. I’d have to wait to land on Earth to retrieve my own.
The deck seemed promising...there was always food and wide windows to view the stars. I knew faces, but I didn’t know anyone as friends. Yet. I looked out into space first and saw the millions of lights that decorated the empty void, looking to see if Earth was anywhere in sight.
“You’re not going to find the planet yet,” said someone behind me. I turned around, facing another commander, a woman. Her eyes reflected the light panels on the ceiling in such a way that it looked like two stars among space, her thick black hair.
“You know when we’re landing?” I asked her.
“In time,” she said. “We should be arriving in no later than a couple days. Until then, you can go get your bed card.”
“You’re from Earth?” I asked.
“Everyone is from Earth,” she said.
“No, I meant…” I said. “You took the cruise here and back?”
“I did,” she said. She spoke in a very flat tone of voice.
I tried to make conversation. “So…how is Earth?”
She looked at me with an expression that matched her tone. “Earth is Earth. You’ve been away for fourteen years, and I four. Let me just put it this way…on my first trip back, I was absolutely stunned at how long I had been gone.”
“Stunned?” I asked.
“It’s a static life on the colonies,” she said to me. “Fourteen years is a long time. Longer on Earth.”
I nodded, not knowing how to respond. She began to speak again.
“Well, you should go get your bed key. I need to go.”
“Oh,” I said suddenly. “I’m…sorry.”
She nodded once towards me. “Well then, have a grand day.”
“Yeah…” I said. “You, too.” Even as a communications engineer, I was very awkward in conversation.
She turned to walk off to the front deck exit, but then turned around and said one more thing to me.
“You will be amazed.”
Then, she went off.
I waited there to gaze at the stars, unaware of my starving stomach and the thousands of people waking up from such vivid dreams.
...
The next (and last DX) word is reality, perhaps of the virtual sort...
Wait...when did we get a spell check? :o
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How about the word "Reality" :orbunny:
I would have said "Virtual Reality" But that's two words. :-[
And now, I am out of words. :P Here is the story for reality:
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“Now tell me, Mr. Takahashi,” said the newscaster, displaying his brilliant white teeth and luminescent eyes. “Your invention, the Vire, has penetrated into so many American homes, and you all are preparing for a world launch in the coming months. Tell me why do you think so many people have fallen in love with the Vire, why it has been adopted so quickly?”
They were both sitting on yellow chairs made of a reflective material, perhaps satin, facing each other with their eyes and facing the cameras with their bodies. The newscaster had on a stark black suit, very modern and angular with the trendy elbow point, which directly contrasted with Takahashi’s white collared shirt, casually unbuttoned, with an old-fashioned polo collar. Takahashi’s eyes were very heavy, as if the air around him was pressing deeply into the sockets, a result of lack of sleep or apprehension. He smiled, revealing the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, and brushed his straight black hair back out of his face.
“Well, I suppose I have to tell you of its beginnings then,” he began. “I hope I wouldn’t be going over my time if I continue with the story.”
The newscaster smiled and nodded at Takahashi. “That’s why you’re here Mr. Takahashi.”
“Well then,” said Mr. Takahashi in his soft voice. It was rough, but caring and soothing in intention. “I was working off of a now declassified grant from the armed forces research division. They were very interested in the field of simulation, and they regarded me as a…knowledgeable person in that field…”
The newscaster let out a half laugh. “Don’t be so modest!” he said with a smile.
Takahashi smiled at the newscaster and bowed to him with his head ever so slightly. He continued. “Well, my team and I were given a project. They wanted us to build newer and better simulation technology for the military, for…cost and risk purposes. Now, I’d written my thesis on this subject and I already had an idea for how to complete the project, given the money. So now I had the two pieces of the puzzle. It was my dream…” His eyes were full of wonder, but now, they seemed to drift into pensiveness.
“But then…” said the newscaster.
“Then,” began Takahashi. “Then the war.” He said it direly. “They cut off funding for the project and kept the research for use in the future. I was so eager to work on the project, and my current patron, Mr. Michael Howard, took a great interest in the project. He organized a meeting with my team, and I explained to him the concept, and then he told me something.”
“And what did he tell you?” asked the newscaster.
“He told me, ‘You talk so passionately about the subject but not its application. I can see it in you, and I can see that you’ll bring it into fruition. I believe in this project as well, but I’d like to adapt it…’ At that point, I told him, ‘… for everyone.’ He told me that we were on the same page so to speak. We both liked the idea. So, Mr. Howard organized a contract that would allow Mega Corporation to acquire a whole set of research projects from the department, including my own, at the time known as the Direct Virtual Reality Simulator and Interfacer.”
The newscaster sat back in his chair. “Now that seems like a mouthful. Good thing Mr. Howard’s PR department came up with Vire, don’t you think?”
Takahashi laughed, although what the newscaster had said was not funny to him. “Yes, it was a good thing.”
“So,” said the newscaster. “Can you tell us what all that means?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said with a smile. “Let me explain. While traditional simulators have achieved virtual reality by means of obstructing and distracting the senses through immersive video screens, true surround sound, moving walkways, etcetera etcetera, this is limited by a number of factors like space, cost, and the ability for your senses to be fooled by the imitation of objects. Now, that is the key word: imitation. What my team did was to directly interface with your brain, replacing the sensory input of every sense in your body with alternate sources.”
“That pretty much just blew over my head,” said the newscaster with a chuckle. “Can you give us perhaps an example?”
“Let me see,” said Takahashi. “Okay. So imagine you’re skydiving from a plane. A simulator can let you hang, but you don’t feel weightless. It can also immerse you in projected surroundings, but you don’t feel the wind in your hair or on your skin. And if you see the source of projection, or the cables and motors that move you around, or the fans that push the air, or feel the head gear that covers your eyes, then the experience is lost. But if you directly interface with the brain, bypassing all of the body’s natural sensors, and interface with virtual sensors…that’s when you can truly immerse yourself into a simulated reality.”
“Amazing,” said the newscaster. “Absolutely amazing.”
Takahashi nodded. “Now, you asked me before why so many people have adopted this technology. With the Vire, the line between simulation and reality is destroyed. People, I have found over the years, have a natural desire to escape. Escape through movies. Escape through video games. Escape through stories and online worlds. Escape to a better place. In a way, I think the war has contributed to that, along with the recent economic depressions. But perhaps this is just a part of human nature…”
“Yes yes,” said the newscaster.
“We tested it with a man who had lost both of his legs,” said Takahashi. “He said it was like a dream. We actually had to calm him down, because when we took him off the machine, he later told us it was like he had lost his legs for the first time. The experience is so immersive, and everyone we tested it on was absolutely shocked. My most memorable test was when we connected a blind woman to the machine. She could not describe her experience; it was…incredible.”
“How inspiring,” said the newscaster.
“Then we tested it on other people. All of them were asking when they could come in again. Then word of it spread virally online. Then, the Time article.
“I’ve got it right here,” said the newscaster, motioning to someone offstage. A woman brought him the magazine, Takahashi’s face emblazoned on the red-bordered cover with a caption that read:
“The ‘New’ New World: How Akira Takahashi and MegaCorp Are Creating Virtual Miracles”
“But you see,” said Takahashi. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Yes?” said the newscaster.
Takahashi spoke in a slower voice. “I saw the word ‘virtual.’ I described my project…our project…as virtual. But it wasn’t until I began to see the looks on their faces as they came out…of…of pure disappointment.”
“They loved it!” said the newscaster, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yes they did,” said Takahashi, ignoring the attempt at shift. “They loved it too much. After Mr. Howard introduced it to the public, I couldn’t object…the project was his after all, and it’s now best-selling. They called it the renaissance we’ve been waiting for since the advent of color television.” He chuckled, but his eyes still displayed seriousness. “And then, when I saw the article in Time and read my interview, but especially the author’s word…”
“What word?” asked the newscaster.
Takahashi sighed. “Miracle,” he said.
“But it is a miracle, after all!” said the newscaster with his famous smile.
“It’s also an illusion,” said Takahashi. “And while the millions of people watching you and me right now are probably doing so through their Vire’s, there are billions around the world who I cannot help with Vire technology.”
“But you’re shipping them worldwide!”
Takahashi ignored the newscaster’s enthusiasm. “During the tests, we could bypass every sense in the body…but if a person has nothing to eat and nothing to drink in the first place, then they will starve. We found that even though we bypassed all the senses, except of course the vitalities, the mind is still absolutely connected with the body. If the body dies, then there is nothing we can do for the mind. Billions are starving around the world while we live out our dreams. And I wish…I wish that we could all live out those dreams…but in the end, it comes down to one basic question: can I sustain myself for another day? Will I starve?
“I see,” said the newscaster, leaning over with folded arms on his knees.
“No,” said Takahashi, his face carrying an expression of seriousness, perhaps even sadness. “I don’t think you do. I don’t think I do.”
...
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Very good Mylo. The mind is the gateway to eternity. Or extinction.
Perhaps one day we all will be drifting through space exsiting only
as virtual brains in a machine. Or we could be now. x_x
How about the word "eternity" :orbunny:
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Hmmm....Give Insanity a try? 8)
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I dont know about you, but I dont like the idea of floating through space as as a virtual brain in some machine like Rabbit there. We may very well already be doing that anyways, but I dont feel too fond of the idea. :P Just me though. (:
Hmm....since you keep running out of words, maybe you could so one up for Collar. 8)
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I dont know about you, but I dont like the idea of floating through space as as a virtual brain in some machine like Rabbit there. We may very well already be doing that anyways, but I dont feel too fond of the idea. :P Just me though. (:
Hmm....since you keep running out of words, maybe you could so one up for Collar. 8)
We have had spell check here on the forum for as long as I remember Mylo, it's the
button that's new to me..
Nothing like sifi for story ideas Jet. :orbunny:
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How about the word "eternity" :orbunny:
For eternity, I wanted to use this word in a sense that we take for granted what we think is an eternity.
...
“You all ready?” the teenager said over his cell phone while looking outside at the darkening sky. His hair was slicked up and back, his glasses thick-rimmed with a pristine sheen. His suit was glossy and clean, bought specifically for that night by his affluent parents: his father, an executive marketing agent, and his mother, a graphic designer for the same company.
“What?” he said surprised. “You guys take forever to get ready.”
A pause.
“Well, I know the limo isn’t here yet—wait,” he said, as he examined outside the window, noticing the stretched black car pulling up in front of the building. “It’s outside right now. Get down here!”
A couple minutes passed as the teenager alternated between glancing at his phone, outside, and the stairs to where his friends were getting ready. And then, the hallway began to reverberate sound at a low volume, and then higher as the laughing of the couples became audible outside of the open door to the front of the building.
“Jun!” said one of the girls, referring to the teenager who had called them from downstairs. She was wearing a pastel yellow dress and had her arm interlocked with her date, who wore a neon yellow suit, smiling from behind his tortoise shell sunglasses. “Jun, we’re ready!”
“You’d better be!” said Jun with a chuckle. He then began to speak melodramatically, “Now ladies and gentlemen, please follow me. Our escort is ready.”
“There’d better be drinks!” said a teenage boy in a neon red suit.
“I think there’s water in the ice bin Key,” said Jun. “Now let’s see if we have everyone.” He looked from left to right at the couples. “Peggy and Brian, present” he said, referring to the girl and boy in blue, the former in pastel, the latter in neon. “Key and Esther” he said, looking at the boy and girl in the same pattern of neon/pastel, this time in red. “And, Ray with Emma,” bearing yellow in the same pattern. “All here! Wonderful! Now please ladies and gentlemen,” he said motioning to the limousine.
Ray took out his high definition digital camera, equipped with two lenses to capture three dimensional video, and recorded the group’s entry into the limousine.
“Wow!” said Esther. “This even has grape soda!”
“I didn’t know that,” said Jun. “Here, let me get you a glass.”
Key blocked Jun’s hand. “Let me,” he said, taking the glass while simultaneously looking into Jun’s eyes. Key cracked open the grape soda, poured some of the soda into the glass, and then gave the glass to his girlfriend. Esther took it and smiled at Jun while sipping. But as she took another sip, the car jerked forward, and some spilled on the ground.
“Oh thank goodness I didn’t spill any on my clothes!” she said.
“Don’t worry!” said Key. “I’ll clean up the mess.”
While Key acquired towels from the center console, Brian turned on the radio to the city’s dance music station. As the sound filled the car, Brian started to bob his head to the beat, taking Peggy’s hands and doing a miniature dance with her as she laughed. Ray, with his camera in hand, was reclined with his arm around Emma, who was smiling at Jun since Jun was sitting alone on the single seat near the door. The driver remained fixated with the road, expressionless.
“Well, it is getting dark,” said Jun. “Watch this.”
He slid his finger down a black plastic strip on the wall; immediately, the windows tinted until barely any light could enter, leaving the cabin black. Suddenly, the group’s clothing began to glow, and motion patterns emanated from their attire in sync with the music.
“Wow!” said Brian. “That’s so cool that we can do this before the party!”
“I know!” said Esther. “The patterns you suggested Peggy are beautiful!”
“Aw, thanks,” said Peggy.
Their clothes illuminated the previously dark cabin with multicolored lights and patterns. Key kissed Esther in her hair, and she pulled back and ran her fingers through her hair to fix it out of fear that Key had adjusted it. Emma took Ray’s hands and tried to get him to dance, but Ray sat there staring into Emma’s eyes while trying not to laugh, his camera still recording but focused on the palms of Emma’s hands. Jun marveled at the faces of his friends, their smiles, and their electronically lit faces, their eyes twinkling like the billboards spaced out all over the high rises of the city. Then, each person took out a soda from the cooler, wiped the condensation with a towel, spilled some of the drink into a glass, and then put the remainder can in a cup holder beside them. The driver remained fixated with the road, but smiled.
Key had his arm around Esther, but her eyes were fixated on Jun, who was sipping orange soda and planning the night out over and over again in his mind. He glanced at Esther for a second. She smiled and then turned back to Key, resting her head on his shoulder. Jun’s uneasiness left him, and he began to feel the music. He moved to it, realizing his friends were all around him, and everyone was enjoying themselves. He took another sip of his orange soda, put that glass in the cup holder, and then took out his phone to check the time. 7:54 PM. December 31, 1999.
He smiled and forgot about the outside world beyond their limousine and their destination, a trendy club in the central city; he thought to himself, “We are young.”
...
Insanity is next.
-
Hmmm....Give Insanity a try? 8)
“What do you remember?”
“I don’t think I…”
“What do you remember?”
“I remember…a trench.”
“And what was in the trench?”
“It was red and tall…”
“And what was in the trench?”
“Nothing…”
“Nothing was in the trench?”
“Nothing…”
“Draw the trench.”
I drew the image in my head, the only image that was in my head as I was instantiated. I traced out the left trapezoid with my finger, beginning with a line that extended straight down, another line horizontally, then a line diagonally up to the left slightly, and then a horizontal line to connect it with the start point of my drawing. I then repeated the process in the reverse on the other side so that the bottom horizontal line touched the opposing one on the left side. In my eyes, I could not see my drawing, but in my mind, I could see the crucial shapes come forth out of the inner cavities of my memories onto the space in front of me. And then, I colored it red.
“So that is what you saw?”
“That is what I remember…”
“And what else do you remember?”
“Nothing…”
I was in a cave; it was lit by a hole at the very top with a murky grey light shining down. The air was heavy and humid while the ground was soiled and filled with mud…strange I had not noticed this before; otherwise I would have drawn in it. So I did.
“And that is all you remember?”
“That is all I remember…”
I looked up at the light over my head. I looked at the shadow it cast on my hand as I dug my hand into the mud, watching the water fall away as the dirt formed patterns on my fingers. I looked at the rocks on the wall…perhaps my eyes had adjusted to the dimness, for I had not seen the detail in the stones. And then, I looked up again; I found a ladder propped up to the light, unmoving and precarious, made of a grey stone. I lifted my feet with difficulty as I pulled against the suction force of the mud, but it gave way and I pulled myself to the first few rungs. As I set my foot down on the next rung, I slipped. Reflex caused me to grab the rung up ahead with both hands, but only my right hand was successful. The inertia twisted my body, and my eyes met the ground, or at least where I thought the ground was. The light did not reflect off the ground, and all I saw before me was a black pit. The rungs of the ladder grew darker on the way down, completely disappearing into darkness only a few feet beneath me. I turned around looking up to the light and began my climb again.
I had to shield my eyes as I came out of the cave, but the entire sky was lit uniformly because of the dense cloud cover. As I hid behind my forearm, I looked to the ground: it was white and smooth, like firmly compacted sand, or concrete with dust all over it. And the air was cold…and dry.
Then I noticed I was wearing a coat, and I felt at ease for that fraction of a second that I didn’t shiver because of nature. But then I remembered…how could I have seen my forearms before?
“What is your name?”
“My name?”
“Your name.”
“My name is…”
I tried to remember. I could think in sentences…I could remember that the sky was supposed to be blue. I could remember names and facts about everything. I had experience, and I was capable, but it never dawned on me why I was…
“Why are you here?”
“I am here.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because…because…”
“Why are you here?”
I gazed towards the ends of the infinite plane, where earth met sky.
“What do you remember?”
“I remember…”
“What do you remember?”
“I remember…a trench.”
“And what was in the trench?”
“It was red and tall…”
“And what was in the trench?”
“Nothing…”
“Nothing was in the trench?”
“There was nothing in the trench…”
I closed my eyes and focused on the image in my mind…the overpowering red trench stood before me. And then I noticed…
“…but there was something…under it…”
“And what did you see?”
I traced my finger in the air…up, down, up, and down, mouthing the symbol, and then doing the same as I traced the other three.
“M”
“E”
“G”
“A”
I opened my eyes to a great light, and in that light, there was a face. It was my own.
“You are ready,” I said to myself, as it said the same words to me.
...
The next word is: collar.
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Interesting story on eternity Mylo. Time is eternal.
Nice job on insanity too.
How about "vacuum" :orbunny:
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Hmm....since you keep running out of words, maybe you could so one up for Collar. 8)
I thought I'd write a story involving a furry theme, considering the forum it's in. ;) So here is the story for collar...what furry doesn't like transformation experience stories?
...
It was an amazing experience really, putting on the collar for the first time. I felt the blood rush through my head; I felt light and dizzy, and I had to sit down before I fell out of exhaustion. And that is when the thoughts started to course through my head, visual spectacles of all different colors and shapes. I couldn’t see anything with my eyes because I had instinctively shut my eyelids closed, but I could feel the changes circulating throughout my body. My head, overwhelmed from the images, began to ache. My imagination was exploding from the crevices in my skull, and I shouted as if it were an ailment to the pain. I yelled out. I yelled again. I scratched the ground and then hit it hard with my hand only to withdraw it after I felt the hard concrete bruise the side of my palm. I clutched my fist, but felt something inside it. That is when I opened my eyes and looked at my body, but only for a second, for the dizzying effects still lingered in my mind. In that second, I saw my hand much thicker than before, with thick black masses on my palms and claws where my nails had been. Stretching from the tips of my fingers to all along my arm was a light coat of black fur…I could still see my skin, but barely as the fur encapsulated every bare space on my limbs.
And after I had closed my eyes again, I began to see images of my face, the computer simulations of what was to come. The pain shot out from my skull into the rest of my head, and my jaw began to ache, throb. I scratched my arms and legs because the skin felt very irritated, like the feeling of a bad shave, or the feeling of wearing a wool sweater over bare skin. The pain seeped through my neck and down to my arms and legs, and only now did I realize the pain in my hands. I writhed on the ground, in agony, my body on fire. At the time, I didn’t think of the training or of the procedure (they had injected a plethora of pain medication).
I opened my eyes again to the unfamiliar sight of my temporary body: black fur sprouted from my legs, my feet, and the rest of my arms. I wanted to feel my neck and my head, but I couldn’t because of the soreness of my arms. My feet had lengthened, and I felt thick flesh, like calluses, underneath my toes. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my foot and my ankle. I yelled out, but the pain still existed. My breathing was clearly audible, raspy, and intermixed with cries of pain. Then I felt the same pain in my mouth and my face. This time, my muscles reacted on their own, and resisting the burning sensation throughout my arms, I reached for my face. I hit my nose with force, knocking myself back and causing me to open my eyes again to see what I was becoming. I couldn’t see anything below my sightline with peripheral vision; my nose…my muzzle…was jutting out in front of my face covered in the same short black fur. I could breathe well, and I didn’t notice any blood in my nostrils. I opened my mouth, sore but not as sore as before, and felt the inside of my mouth with my hands. It was strange because I had lost a lot of feeling in my fingertips, but I could still feel my sharpened teeth and my dry tongue. What had I become?
The originator of the pain had subsided, leaving sore muscles in its wake. I was on my back, staring at the fluorescent lamp hanging from the ceiling, breathing through my new mouth and relaxing from the agony of the transformation. I felt my neck with my hand: the collar was still affixed. As well as catalyzing the transformation sequence, this device (so they told me) protected me from developing rapid and dangerous cancer during the growth steps. I rested both my arms on the cold floor. Feeling something underneath my back, I abruptly sat up, only to be greeted with a sharp soreness in my abdomen as I fell back down from weakness. So, I rolled over and felt what was behind my back: an extension of my spine, a tail. It was done, and as I rested there, I didn’t realize that I had closed my eyes and drifted into a dream where I could still hear the scientists come into the room around me, discussing the next phases in the project.
The project had virtually no military applications or scientific advantage. I was now genetically diverse, but I could have been without alteration of my physical characteristics. I was slightly stronger and faster, genetically designed for superior stamina, but once again, the changes in the physical aspects of my face and body could have been muted. The military had already adopted robotic drones to do most heavy battle, and I was still flesh and blood…a gun could end me as easily as it could end a human. Was I a human? The scientists didn’t want to dabble in the ethics of the project, only the results and the procedure. But the real instigator of this project was the mysterious patron, whom I had talked to on the phone for a single minute. He paid the bills (and the scientists’ hefty salaries) in exchange for his mysterious passion for the project being realized. That was the only reason.
I was the fifth person in the entire world to undergo transformation successfully, so they said.
...
The next word is vacuum.
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greatness has been achieved :D
i think everyone loves a good TF story :) well done buddy!
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Nice story for Collar Mylo..
Not aiming to jump the gun, but how about "distinguish"
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How about "vacuum" :orbunny:
...
Hair all over the ground. Orange fur. Peter’s mother was vacuuming around the house when she came to his room. The carpet in Peter’s room was covered in that fur. His mom sighed and called.
-Peter?
He was in the bathroom.
-Yes mom?
-Your room, Peter! Don’t tell me you let Drake’s dog in here again! There’d better not be pee anywhere on the carpet!
Peter quickly drew up his shorts, flushed the toilet, and pumped a drop of soap on his hands (he had cleaned himself, but was relaxing on the cold porcelain). He was thinking about something to tell his mom.
-Um…sorry mom. I was…
He thought of a lie.
-Yeah, I’m sorry. Drake brought Remmy over when you were at the grocery store. Don’t worry! I would have smelled something!
-Look at this mess!
His mother sifted through the items on the ground, making way for the vacuum cleaner. She did not notice that the fur was orange and that Remmy had blonde hair; a labrador.
She gave up.
-Peter, you get out of the toilet and—
-I’m here Mom!
Peter slid down the hallway to the entrance to his room.
-Clean all this up and then I’ll come and vacuum it.
-Got it Mom.
Peter acted normally…this wasn’t the first time he had hidden the fact from his mom. About his new friends. How long could it stay hidden? The first time he had seen that girl wear ears in class. And then he followed her. She turned around, and he introduced himself.
-Hi.
-Hi.
Peter had never asked anyone about this, but he felt brave today, hyped off of the caffeine in the Coca Cola he had that morning.
-I noticed your ear hat…I think it’s pretty cool.
-Oh, thanks.
She blushed.
And then she took him to her friends by the classroom. Sure enough, he was friends with that guy who wore the fox shirts all the time.
-Hi.
Peter was anxious, but better to pop the question.
...
-> distinguish
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Cool job on the word Vacuum Mylo. :orbunny:
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Not aiming to jump the gun, but how about "distinguish"
I was reading Typing's short story thread, and the idea of doing a comic for a word. So I made one for distinguish. :)
(http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2012/260/a/9/comic__distinguish_1_by_arctic_mylo-d5f34x4.jpg)
(http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2012/260/d/d/comic__distinguish_2_by_arctic_mylo-d5f350u.jpg)
Next word is...well, nothing at the moment... x_x
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I lol all over this kid. Good job on this one Mylo.
Paws was correct when he said greatness has been archived. Really good TF story for Collar. Maybe it's just in our blood, or maybe it's just an extension of our fascination with becoming an animal, but a good transformation story will always be loved.
Next word is...well, nothing at the moment... x_x
Ha ha! Well, nothing is exactly what your word is. Write...nothing! 8)
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I've got one: wings.
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I think wings is a pretty word, after you do that one, here's another! :Alone: I'd like to see your writing skills, sir (:
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Ha ha! Well, nothing is exactly what your word is. Write...nothing! 8)
I've got one: wings.
I think wings is a pretty word, after you do that one, here's another! :Alone: I'd like to see your writing skills, sir (:
Here is a story I wrote for all three of those words. I wanted to get the entire story down in one sitting, so it may feel rushed, and I apologize for that.
...
There was a time when I couldn’t spare a thought on the (what I thought of as trivial) happenings surrounding me. Little did I know how much I would change based on adversity; little did I know that my future was not as concrete as I had imagined.
A few days after I had turned nineteen, the northern border was crossed by our enemy. We were almost a thousand miles away. I had nothing to fear at the time; we were raised on the belief that our nation was the strongest in the world, that the will of God was on our side, and that our soldiers and army were the best in the world. We were invincible.
That changed when I heard the first bomb go off in the middle of the night. I awoke my brother who hadn’t heard the distant blast. A few seconds later, my parents came into my room telling us to go down stairs into the basement. I was afraid then, and I quickly escorted my brother downstairs. He hadn’t the slightest idea of what was going on. It was probably nothing, he must of thought.
The night subsided with variable blasts echoing in the distance, but none so loud as to indicate that it was at any distance to do damage to our home or our neighbors. That didn’t stop us from gluing our eyes to the television, checking the Internet for any developments, seeing just how far the invaders had come and how well we were holding up. Just a few days later, an alert was issued ordering those living in a string of cities, including ours, to leave for the south. My mother and father quickly packed their belongings as I packed mine and my brother packed his. As we were zipping up our bags, my mother came into the room and told us that we needed to bring much more than that. She pulled out our large traveling bags from beneath my bed, set it on my blanket, and told me to stuff it with anything that would fit.
That would be the last time I would see my house for a long time.
We arrived at a hotel along the sea after several hours of driving, several hours of listening to the radio and browsing the Internet on our smartphones, several hours of watching army vehicles go to battle in the opposite direction. The crowd was horrendous…this hotel had been fitted as a shelter. I overheard some people talking, something about a boat that was going all the way to Indospha. I followed my parents to the army clerk that was directing people to appropriate settlements. He told us that we would be at a ground level room with four other people, a variable number depending on how many people would show up over the coming days. There, we waited. The cell network was still operational. The television worked; all the channels were broadcasting some sort of news about the invasion. My mother would hug my brother tightly whenever he was scared; my father would converse with our suite mates about the invasion, army strategy, rumors. The war was real, but it seemed so distant…
And then we awoke to a blast. The window had been covered partially with some wood planks, but it was not enough to stop the glass from firing into the room as the heat filled the suite. My parents told us to sleep in the back room of the suite, just in case. Their suspicions were proven right that early morning, just minutes before the sun would rise, for the back room was protected from the window by a door and wall. I quickly got up to see if my brother was okay and then rushed to open the door to the front end of the suite; I quickly closed the door when I saw that the windows had been blown in and that a fire was brewing just outside. We waited in that room until a soldier opened the door, telling us to face the wall and walk out. I didn’t see my parent’s bodies, but I knew they were dead; this was confirmed by a soldier taking role outside.
From then on, I only partially remembered what happened. My mind was wandering between reality and my thoughts to the point where I could not distinguish the two. I had the sanity to keep my brother with me, safe, to get on the boat to Indospha, to live in the poor country in poverty rather than death. I had the will to survive for my brother and for my family. Our memories seemed as distant as the war in the early days, slowly becoming a fantasy, something exciting to see as we kept up with the developments on the Internet and the television, until the war came home. I was starving, scavenging through the garbage to find something for my brother to eat. How quickly we had changed.
I’ll never forget the dream I had before I woke up on that humid day to a foot in my gut. My father, mother, brother, and I had gone shopping in the mall. The walls were white, the stores were shades of red and white, and the merchandise was gold. As my mother and father entered one of the flagship stores, I looked behind me, realizing my brother had gone missing. I ran up to my mother, who didn’t seem to care…she told me he was probably somewhere else. I went to look, but in the back of my head, I knew I was going to get lost, a premonition that would soon come true in my dream. The lights in the mall went dark, and I didn’t know where to go. Everyone had disappeared. Then, my phone rang and the voice on the other side, my father’s, asked me where I was. They were waiting for me at home, with my brother. I was completely and utterly lost, and I didn’t reply back to my father…instead, I just stopped using the phone. I had traveled here by car, and there was no way I could walk home. And then, my vision faded to black as I realized that I was lying on the dirt ground, out of breath and clutching my stomach from the blow I had received to it.
I saw a fallen woman near me…she had tripped on me walking through the crowded city. It was particularly crowded that day. I turned around to wake my brother…
There was nobody there. I turned around. Nothing. The woman had gotten up and walked away, but I didn’t care… I shouted my brother’s name, searching every head in the crowd for him. It was suffocating; my stomach hurt more from the intoxicating anxiety than from the woman’s foot. I shouted and shouted; people gave me weird stares. As I maneuvered through the crowd, I became frustrated and I shouted. I felt a lump in my throat, and then a person shoved me to the side to make way for a never ending stream of people. That’s when I lost it; I turned around and pushed him with all my strength, what little I had left. I wanted all these people to just die. I wanted them all to disappear, go away, something…why were there so many people!? They all looked the same and gave me the same cold stares…they were poor, but not as poor as me.
The man turned around and punched my square in the face. I fell to the ground…I could feel the blood from my nose seep down into my throat, like swimming underwater with your head facing the surface. I got up.
The man who had punched me had meshed in with the crowd. I looked around, tired, starving, bruised, my eyes glazing over. Maybe he had just gone out to look for food, or maybe he had…
I fell into a half sleep from a lack of it…my dream resumed. The mall had changed now to resemble the street of clay buildings that my brother and I had called home. The gold merchandise was still there, the wood supports of the buildings were red. The sky was blue and white. I found my brother (I had disregarded what my parents had said on the phone earlier); There you are!, I said. But now it was a matter of getting home. The ceiling to the mall was gone, and so, I rotated my arm in a circle like fashion, like a softball pitcher. We rose of the ground, my hand clasped onto my brothers, my arm acting like a wing propelling us over the clay buildings. When we rose, there was not another person beside us. However, when I looked down, the street was filled with people. I could fly, and we were going home. I hoped that our parents wouldn’t notice that we were gone, and I was wondering how my life would change now that I could fly. And then I looked down at my brother, who started doing the same thing with his arm. He began to fly, too!
I woke up. The crowd was still there; my brother was not.
I desperately searched the city for him over those next few days. Every day, I would return to the same spot, hoping to see him there. Every time I would leave to search, I would be afraid that he would come back to find me gone. As my search dwindled, my fear overcame me and I decided to stay at that spot, the spot we had slept in for so long, and wait for him.
Days passed.
Days passed.
A man was looking for people to work for him…he offered me rice and a few coins. It had been weeks since I had seen my brother, and by this time, I knew he was….
I didn’t want to believe it…I took the job offer, stepping in a pot of murky dye for hours on end to crush the berries beneath. Days passed. My employer gave me another job to replace this one. Days passed. He sent me back to the street after he himself went broke. Days passed. I starved in the streets and awaited the return of my brother. Days passed. Another man wanted me to work in his factory for food, or at least, what he called a factory. Days passed. He sent me to another man who had bought the workforce of this factory. Days passed. The workforce was sold to a foreign woman who was supervising a large manufacturing lane, where I was the cog that snapped a small L-shaped plastic piece to a small T-shaped plastic piece. If any broke, which they often did because the plastic was so cheap, my pay would be deducted. I didn’t want to lose this job, so I avoided doing what my colleagues were doing: stuffing the broken pieces into their pockets to avoid being caught. Only one person was fired for doing this…the workforce was always plentiful, our manager said. Because of this, I began to do it, too. I was very careful not to make the same mistakes that that one worker made.
I worked at that factory for nine years, making friends, talking aimlessly, watching people get severely injured by the machinery. I was lucky to be healthy during those years; I was lucky to survive. I normally didn’t pay attention to the date, a luxury that I had abandoned so long ago, instead only looking to the hours and minutes of my shifts. My job was simple…snap those two pieces of cheap plastic together, then snap two other pieces of plastic together, then snap two pieces of plastic together to form a hinge, then check to see if other people snapped plastic together correctly and fixing it if they didn’t. But one day, I looked at the calendar, realizing that just a few days before, it had been ten years since the day the bomb landed just outside that hotel by the sea, ten long years that had culminated into my life, being just shy of my thirtieth birthday.
I had saved enough money to go back to my home country long ago…rumor had it that the war had ended and that reconstruction was nearing completion. One day, I didn’t return to my post, leaving the factory for the port where I had scheduled to leave for home a few weeks ago. I looked back at the coast, the grey sky. I kissed my hand, sentimentally regarding it as my brother, and then watched as the smog engulfed the city far off in the distance behind the growing plane of water separating me from my past.
And there I was again, back home, but upon closer examination, it wasn’t quite home. I had visited the city where the boat had landed every year back before the war, but this time, it looked different. There were more buildings, and the current ones had been revived with mirrored glass. The billboards were animated, like moving paintings. The soldiers who greeted us as we stepped off from the boat wore slightly different camouflage, and the flag, which had previously been red, white, and gold, was now red, white, and blue. They aimed a strange camera at me, with a lens that looked horizontally elongated, and took a photo. Directing me to a building on the pier, they told me to sign the necessary paperwork to gain access into the country; apparently there were so many refugees returning that the process was simplified. I signed my name on a touch panel with my finger, typing information onto the onscreen keyboard. After I submitted the form, a receptionist gave me a plastic ID card. The picture on the front was a small video screen which displayed an image of my head; rotating the card while holding down my finger on the new seal of our country would rotate the image of the head in 3D. At one time, I would have been amused by this, but I quickly slipped the card into my pocket and went about the next rounds of gaining access to this country.
I was told to give all of my foreign money to the teller so that they could put the corresponding dollar value onto my ID card. It was convenient. After this small transaction, I was free to go.
The city had a train now; it looked more like an airplane than a train. I took a sip from the public fountain and bought a ready-made lunch for the trip, which ten years ago by car took about thirteen hours. I wanted to go back to my city, back to my house, just to see what had become of it. As I sat on the train waiting for it to take off, I noticed the people. Some were from the invaders, some were of my race. All were dressed in clothes that looked…odd. One of them took out what I thought to be a glass plate, until of course the plate turned into a multicolor screen; a smartphone. I looked outside. There were people sitting on the public benches, homeless people sleeping on the public benches, people in rags, people in T-shirts, couples, people in strange clothing with material that resembled satin, people with clothes that illuminated and displayed moving images. There was even a person whose face was animated. But one person stood out in particular: a young girl with a ready-made lunch, standing by a support pylon, waiting for something. Her mother and father came up to here, and the little girl greeted them with smiling face, holding the lunch up to her father. Perhaps she was holding it for him. The mother smiled and rested her hand on her protruding stomach. The little girl put her ear up to it, her brow furrowed, her eyes aware…and then she jumped back and smiled. I couldn’t help but smile as well as the train took off. We accelerated faster. Faster. Faster. I was getting frightened myself, and so I asked the person sitting next to me that we were going a little too fast.
He replied, “Not so much. You’ve never been on the train before? Wait until we hit 500 mph, then you’ll see. Don’t worry.”
A few minutes later, we rounded a turn. I wasn’t aware of it from the g forces…I looked out my window to see the ground from above as the train angled fifty or sixty degrees from the vertical. The person beside me took a sip from their coffee as I stared in amazement at the ground. He chuckled.
So much had changed. So little had changed.
Just a couple hours later, I arrived home. My city had not changed so much over the years, although the scars of war were still evident in some of the buildings. There were cranes everywhere, and army vehicles were present along the roads. The cars all looked a bit different. Two flags were waving on every crane. The streets were black, repaved. The traffic lights were not the circles I had grown up with; they were three bright bars.
I walked on to my house…I was surprised at how my memories were flowing back so effortlessly. An hour later, I rounded the corner of the familiar brick wall to gaze upon the hill where my house effortlessly stood. I was nervous, imagining all of the possibilities. It could be gone. Perhaps rebuilt. It could have been bought by someone else.
My eyes met the familiar house, this time surrounded by an unfamiliar black gate. I walked up to the gate, amazed that just behind this black metal stood my home, untouched by the war. What had happened in ten years?
A few minutes later, a black car drove up the road that led to the house. The car pulled up beside me, and the window rolled down, revealing a woman perhaps in her early forties with white skin and jet black hair. She wore a grey sweater that matched her grey eyes.
“What is it Mommy?” said a high voice from the back of the car. There sat a little girl in a car seat with the same jet black hair, dressed in pink; a cow jumped over the moon endlessly on the front of her shirt, with the moon occasionally smiling.
“Who are you?” asked the woman.
“I’m so sorry that…that I…” I stammered. I didn’t know what to say. This had been my home, but in the back of my mind, I had been preparing for this moment.
“I can give you some money if you want,” she said. “That way you can go buy some food.”
“Mommy, who is he?” asked the little girl. She held onto the paw of a stuffed bear dressed in the uniform of our invaders.
I hesitated, and then smiled.
I told them my name, and where I was from. I told them that at one time, I had lived in this house; that at one time, I couldn’t spare a thought on the (what I thought of as trivial) happenings surrounding me. That I had a family and a brother. I tried not to weep in front of her; she only apologized. I thanked her for her offer in kindness, and then I turned around and walked the other way.
...
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Unfortunately a story that many victims of war could relate to..
Nicely written Mylo :orbunny:
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Unfortunately a story that many victims of war could relate to..
Nicely written Mylo :orbunny:
Thanks for reading it Old Rabbit; it was kind of long... I don't feel like I did this story justice after reading over it, but how am I to know when I'm just imagining everything?
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I read this short story this morning. I loved the imagery invoked and the sadness is gripping. You ought to be published, sir! (: I also liked the way you included the word wings.
If you have the time, please write a story around the word pugmarks. (: (Those are pawprints btw)
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I read this short story this morning. I loved the imagery invoked and the sadness is gripping. You ought to be published, sir! (: I also liked the way you included the word wings.
If you have the time, please write a story around the word pugmarks. (: (Those are pawprints btw)
Thank you Iara. I'll work on your word sometime! ;)
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I love the stories so far. New word. How about Dragon?
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I read this short story this morning. I loved the imagery invoked and the sadness is gripping. You ought to be published, sir! (: I also liked the way you included the word wings.
If you have the time, please write a story around the word pugmarks. (: (Those are pawprints btw)
I love the stories so far. New word. How about Dragon?
I'm glad you all like my stories. :)
Here is one combining the two words:
...
Amerie and her husband of two years had made the decision long ago to leave their country, the day she became pregnant. Mark was against it at first considering the sheer danger there was of crossing the border through the misted forest, but Amerie...she was set on leaving before her child would be born.
The moon shone its hazy light through the mist of the forest as husband and wife quickly walked among the trees, being careful to not step on the pine cones or the fallen sticks. Mark led the way scanning the cast shadows for any sign of movement; Amerie followed behind looking across her shoulder every now and then. This was escape; their hearts were beating from their physical exertion, but their chests were bursting from the anxiety of the possibility of being seen. Step by step, they moved forward, hoping that this was the right way, that the rumors were true and that this was the path. Step by step, they moved closer to freedom.
Suddenly, Mark stepped on a pine cone, the little seeds crunching together mashing the pine needles between them. The sound bounces off the trees and into the night, into the mist. Amerie contracted her breath silently, still walking with Mark who ignored the sound and was instead looking down at a set of paw prints in the mud. He was confused and looked ahead…to his surprise, there was a black figure standing against one of the thousand trees. Amerie felt light-headed, not realizing she was holding her breath, while Mark stood very still, the moonlight only touching the bridge of his nose and the back of his hand. The figure was still at the tree. Amerie was as still as the air. Mark was as still as the night.
And then, the figure slowly stepped out into the night, revealing two black scale-covered legs. But that was all they saw of the figure at the moment, as he drew back into the shadows upon hearing a shout in the distance. Mark and Amerie knew that this was a dragon and that it was such a coincidence for three escapees to meet at this exact same time and in this exact same place.
But then they all heard a shout again. Mark pulled Amerie towards the thick areas of trees, trying to find a dense patch of mist to conceal them. Amerie looked back, making out the dragon still standing in the shadows, its scaly skin camouflaged well with the bark but only given away by the small star of light reflected in its eyes. Then, Mark stopped.
Just ahead of them, three officers had turned on a flashlight and were shouting just beyond the other side of the trees. Amerie prayed that the officers had not seen them, and Mark could only stand still, crouching down slightly out of fear of being captured. He took Amerie and hid behind one of the closest trees, but he knew it was too late. She knew that they would be caught any second. The crunching of branches, pine needles and cones, and dirt flakes coupled with heavy breath and talking amplified in volume as the officers grew closer and closer to the couple. Mark hugged Amerie as tight as he could, and Amerie shed a tear while concentrating on not breathing. Both of them began to feel lightheaded, wanting desperately to take in more air than their minds would allow. And then, they heard a crack right behind the tree.
Suddenly, Amerie heard a blast and opening her eyes, she and Mark saw a fireball rise up into the night. One of the trees caught on fire, and the branches were immersed in red flames. The couple knew, but why? Why would he do such an irrational thing? The officers quickly barked at each other while running to the flaming tree, their flashlights making visible beams in the humid air. Amerie and Mark could see their backs now, but only for a second as they disappeared behind the trees.
Nobody knew how it happened. Suddenly in this small country, human women began giving birth to half dragon offspring. The degree of humanity and dragon in their DNA always varied, but their intelligence was deeply affected to the point of retardation. Some were more dragon than human, some more human than dragon. Some were almost indistinguishable from humans aside from their rough skin and tails, but the government mandated that all its citizens were human or dragon. There were no degrees. So, it was ordered that all pregnancies be registered with the government so that at the end of the first trimester, the species of the baby could be determined. If the baby was a human, then they would live a human life. If born a half-dragon, then they would be taken away from their parents and subject to an alternate future, one that some people, including Amerie and Mark, were more than repelled with. Whether their baby was born a human or a dragon, they would raise him or her as their son or daughter.
...
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A tragic, but interesting story. One could say to a dragon wife.
Your beautiful when you blow fire. :D
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you have a really good way of describing things, something i seem to lack. :-[
Keep up the great work Mylo :D
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Nice work! Love the dragon-human element! :D
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Awesome work Mylo!
Can I suggest a word?
I'm not sure this would qualify as a word, it's actually a condition. Post-Encephalitis.
I think that might be a little hard, given there's almost no info on the topic so......Colours
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apocalypse? :3
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Wow...I wrote my last story several months ago...
Perhaps I can start up this thread again. :)
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Mylooooo! Arctic?
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want to try your hand at "steam-punk"?
stuff like http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_BlsrVUapJ8k/TPjJnyGQJtI/AAAAAAAAAJI/oYHlMgEbOIE/s1600/Steam_Walker_by_Keithwormwood.jpg (leviathan)
http://digital-art-gallery.com/oid/95/1600x906_16535_Medium_marauder_airship_2d_steampunk_airship_picture_image_digital_art.jpg
http://www.imgbase.info/images/safe-wallpapers/miscellaneous/steampunk/13143_steampunk.jpg
i think you get the idea
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http://www.imgbase.info/images/safe-wallpapers/miscellaneous/steampunk/13143_steampunk.jpg
i think you get the idea
i don't see how that would fly....
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really really strong engines (not meant to be realistic just to get the idea of advanced technology but no electricity, its all gas and steam powered.) the leviathan series is a great example of steampunk if you have read it. its by Scott westerfeld http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=PYiw5vkQFPw it has 2 books after it if you are interested in reading them if you haven't
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get back in the game mylo :p
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ricochet. lots of possibility there. keep up the good work. :D
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I think that might be a little hard, given there's almost no info on the topic so......Colours
This thread is going to go slow, if at all. But here is the story for colours to start it again. ;) Or rather, just a descriptive paragraph.
...
I remember when the colours of the world seemed brighter. People’s faces seemed to glow like the lampposts that lit the boardwalk as our fiery sun met the orange water in the distance, the passion of the world sinking beneath the sea. The neon lights would spark to life, advertising happiness in exchange for glittery coins that sparkled in your hand, just like the goods the eager shop owners were selling, and the cars that glided so smoothly along the road. Life was simple;life was fun. Nature was among us and we were all together, and I longed for that moment before I came into the world of the future.
Bleak. Solo.
Nothing could compare to the rain clouds that touched the mountains, the mist that coated our faces in a cool film as we drove in that beautiful white car down the road they built into the cliff. You were with me and the sun was shining.
And then the future world fades back, and I can’t do anything to step out of it and back to this peaceful world where the sky sheds its colors for the points of light poking through the black of nightfall.
I couldn’t go on nor could I go back, so I would reminisce of and for that unforgettable week, quietly ignoring the flaws in my painted picture. It was easy to mark over those...small…flaws in that memory. There are so many shades to choose from, to distract me from the rotting canvas below.
But I cherished this canvas nonetheless, this picture that hanged prominently in the wall of my memory, its many colors so tastefully echoing among the subtle hues of the room. Even as I let it fall apart, as the linen came undone and the colors began to peel, revealing the mistakes beneath, I held this masterpiece centerpiece for my mind to enjoy and cherish. Because to me, it was the most beautiful painting in the world.
But no…those are the colours of nostalgia that distort our views of the past...we colour-blind ourselves in a way it seems. Then again, aren’t all colors beautiful in their own way?
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Lygon or um Panda or um um OH OH I KNOW Box
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apocalypse? :3
July 11, 2019. Tropical Base.
Beads would be an understatement to describe the rivers of sweat flowing down the soldiers’ faces as they kept guard at the gate, weapons at the ready, eyes on watch. Even the heavy sun struggled to send its rays through the dense air, let alone a soldier’s breath through his mouth and into his lungs. A truck rumbled through the shrubbery to the gate of tropical base, and its driver wore the uniform of the army. The driver rolled down the window.
“Hot day,” not knowing what else to say as he pulled out his identification.
“Certainly, sir,” replied the officer, scanning the identification badge. “All clear.”
The driver of the truck turned to his partner, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Thank God, only two more days in hell.”
“Thank God indeed,” replied the second officer. He noticed the still bleeding cut on the other soldier’s forehead, the blood mixing so slightly with the sweat to make it seem like it was bleeding more than it was. But it was just a small cut, nothing to worry about, the kind that would heal by tomorrow. It was just the humidity that was making it seem worse, so thought the soldier as they drove into the base, ready for dinner that evening, the thought leaving his mind as fast as the sweat from his forehead.
September 21, 2019. Dallas, Texas.
“Marty, come back inside!” called a mother from her patio, her son kicking a plastic ball, enjoying the fact that it changed colors as it rolled.
“Mama…” yelled the kid in disappointment. “But I wanna stay out here…”
“Come one honey, we’ve got to go pick up your father at the airport,” she said. “Let’s fix you up and then we can get in the car and go. You want to see Daddy don’t you?”
“Yeah…” said the kid, as he looked at the ground, then the ball, then to his mother, and back to the ground.
“Yeah?” said his mother. “Come on Alex, let’s go inside and get you cleaned up.”
The mother bent down as her son walked to her with struggling legs, and then she picked him up to go inside…he seemed very tired from the heat outside. The news was on in the kitchen, talking about the terrorist attack in London two days before and its potential impact on the upcoming Olympics in Tokyo. As she was putting on her favorite shirt, the news switched to a segment about two other soldiers who had died in Virginia from an as yet undetermined disease. They didn’t know if it was at all connected with the other soldiers who died in mid-August, shortly after returning to the United States.
December 21, 2019. New York City, New York
“There’s a pandemic among us!” yelled the burly man with his short, unkempt brown hair rustling in the cold breeze. “The United States has gone too far this time! I’ll tell you why all those people are dying! Operation Lasting Freedom! That’s right. We’ve pushed too far and now we’re all being cursed for it.”
Some people stood to listen, although whether or not it was through legitimate interest to his cause was not apparent. Most people walked quickly past him as it was the holiday season, and they were all scouring for gifts on this bustling, cold Saturday afternoon.
Two police men on patrol took notice of the man.
“Sir, you’re gonna have to come with us.”
The shouting man took no heed, instead continuing his monologue maintaining eye contact with the sum of the people who didn’t seem to care.
“We don’t need people fear mongering so close to Christmas,” said the officer in a more firm voice. “Now if you’ll just come with us.”
The man pointed at the police officers. “You see this?”
“Sir, put your hands down.”
“Put your hands down!” said the other police officer.
“Put your hands down now!”
Another officer had heard the commotion and took a baton from his belt, pressed a switch on the side, and immediately, all the surrounding smartphones went dark.
“Hey what gives?!” yelled an angry passerby on the sidewalk.
But the officers ignored them. Instead, an officer took out another black baton, stabbed it into the man with the pressure of a light punch, and instantly, the man fell to the ground incapacitated.
“Damn, I’m gonna have to recharge this thing now,” said the officer with the baton as he turned the man over to examine his face for injuries.
The people had paused as their phones were shut off, staring at the scene with empty and frustrated looks on their faces.
“I’m sorry, please, Merry Christmas everyone,” said the police officer as he put the baton back into his belt.
The man’s eyes were scanned as the people began to use the phones again, walking down the streets, focused on the near holiday.
April 2, 2020. Baltimore, Maryland.
I stayed in my room, alone, my back against the furthest wall from the window. I had never felt true fear in my short and safe life, but I heard the loud noises outside, and suddenly the walls around me did not feel safe as they once did. I heard glass breaking, some kind of explosion. Then quiet. Then shouting. All I could do was sit there paralyzed…a bullet had been shot through my wall and out the ceiling. I didn’t want to go out…I didn’t want to stay in.
The disease had killed so many people so mercilessly, and so many people couldn’t commit to their social services. All the television channels had a red bar on the bottom recommending everyone stay indoors as it was unknown just how contagious this disease was, considering it had such a long incubation period and the fact that at the moment, it could not be detected until minor symptoms occurred.
Every sneeze I had, every time my throat went dry, my stomach sank as the thoughts raced through my mind…could I have this disease already? Will I die tomorrow or today?
More shouting and a loudspeaker. Things seemed to be calling down from the morning.
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Though apocalypse is often thought as some approaching terrible
event. It also has the meaning to reveal or a discovery of knowledge.
Nicely written Mylo.
How about "cavern" :orbunny:
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missed your stuff mylo!
love the structure of how it's all set out, clean, crisp. makes it look very professional :D