Jet's Short Story Challenge!

[Jet]

How about this; Armor (In reference to things such as armored vehicles like APCs/IFVs or tanks.)


I also might start up my own writing challenge thread- this was a great idea.

I decided to write something from my planned novel about Jet's story. So here, my story for Armor...


---The Prototype---

I raise my pistol and aim at the man’s neck. There are four of them. Four men walking down the road, their tails swishing side to side with each step. The thick jungle I am hiding in provides more than enough cover to take them all out without getting caught. Just as I am about to pull the trigger, I have a better idea. I open my back pouch and find a large disk. I look out at the men and smile. Time to have a little fun. I spring out of the trees and sprint across the street, tripping one of the men with my tail. I can hear the bullets chip away at the wood behind me. I push the button on top of my disk, place it on the ground, then continue a few more steps. I kneel and raise my pistol in the direction I came from. The disk is activated, setting off a huge explosion. I fire all sixteen bullets from my pistol into the dense jungle. After a swift reload, I listen. Nothing. All who followed me are now dead. I continue my path to the city. Once there, I see my objective. A large building, a factory manufacturing a prototype weapons system. I walk in through the front door. These places don’t usually house anyone. Everything runs on computerized robotics and conveyer belts. They should be in by the end of the day to check on the machines, but I will be well done by then. I move around the building setting charges on all the large support beams. I place one in the server room controlling the arms just to be safe. Before leaving, I take one of the prototype weapons. It’s sort of like a big ball, but with enough room to fit your whole hand inside. It covers down to my wrist, still allowing full movement of that joint. Inside there is a bar I can hold onto so it doesn’t fall off. Outside there is a small screen displaying an empty battery sign. A button that doesn’t do anything when I press it except flash the empty battery on the screen accompanies it. I pocket the device for now and exit the building.

 Outside I am greeted by a dozen men similar to the ones I killed earlier and four light armor anti-infantry tanks. They yell at me to raise my hands. I refuse and snarl at them. they move towards me, the tanks now aiming at me directly, and tell me again to drop the weapon and raise my hands. I growl deeply, my fists clenching in defiance. Then a blur on a two wheeled vehicle crashes through an abandoned building and shoots all the men, then continuing down the road. I dive forward to avoid the tank shells now pelting the door I exited. I run at the tank in front of me. The top swings open and another soldier climbs out to kill me. I lunge at the man, catching his face, I use one had to claw at his neck, and the other to press a small trigger on a small cube. The explosion goes off and I allow the force of the blast to throw me off the tank. I land on my feet and sprint away. Once I am a good distance away, I turn to watch the building collapse on the helpless tanks. “About time,” I say.

The voice returns into my ear via my earpiece, “You ain’t dead yet, Jet.”

“And why’d you bring that vehicle with you? This is supposed to be a stealth mission.”

“I think stealth went out the window with that building,” the voice answers. Another tank turns the corner and speeds down the road after the motorcycle.

“Jumper, what’s your parallel?” I say. After a moment a man respond that it is good enough. “Then what are you waiting for? I need retraction!” Just as I say it, a decent sized metal object flies past me trailing behind a long black wire.

It smashed into the speeding tank and the voice calls out, “It’s live, disconnecting!” I grab the wire and it drags me through the dirt towards the tank. The wire is sucked into the device, forcing me onto the vehicle it’s attached to. I stick several explosives on the light tank and jump off, making sure to grab the retractor off the back.



So there is a story inspired by Armor about Jet. There are I dont know how many people in his squad, but Jet naturally takes charge. And as shown a little here, they have their own way of talking, almost like their own language. And they sometimes call each other by nicknames not by their real name, such as "Jumper." he developed that name because he frequently jumps off buildings and high up places rather than climbing down them safely.

[Jet]

Excellent job as ever Jet.  I loved what you did with alone, the fact that you described in detail the consequences of being alone, the "want" for the people who are gone (and the simultaneous denial that they are truly gone).  That's one of my favourite themes in stories. 

Now for another word...how about...plot twist... Furtopia. XD

Ok the last story I wrote today, and I think I will leave you at this one. A did write about Furtopia in here, and its sort of...well...I think I will allow you to decide for yourselves.. So here is my story for Furtopia...

---Furtopia---

The kid sits in the dark, the walls glowing softly in the blue light of his laptop. He has done nothing for days other than sit here on his bed and browse the ever expanding internet. The lack of social acceptance pulls on him harder now than ever. His eyes droop low from his sleep patterns. The clothes he wears are wrinkled and stuck to his skin though the sweat of sitting in a single room for too long without moving the solid air. His back aches, but he doesn’t dare move from his uncomfortable spot. To move is to live, and that dream is gone. The lights in the room don’t work anymore, being off for so long has rendered the bulbs unable to remember their primary function. The only source of light has come from the laptop that buzzes in hushed tones on the child’s lap. The computer is more alive than the life controlling it. The kid searches site after site. One day, this day, he finds a video. Nothing in it strikes entertainment in him. Nothing about the video seems to stir any form of life that the child seeks to acquire. His back continues to complain, but the boy ignores the pain because it means only what the child demands is no longer worth accepting. The video ends and the kid moves to the next video. Another pointless exhibit of someone else living while he lays dying. Nothing in this video draws any human emotions to surface from the boy. Video after video. A funny episode, and gory reenactment, a boring speech, a tedious project, a meticulous structure, a cruel act, a depressing story. Nothing being displayed before the eyes of this soul draw him closer to reality. He moves over to choose another video. His hand slips farther on the touch pad than he wanted to move. The sweat drags the pointer farther down and the child instinctually clicks on the video. Realizing what he has done was a mistake brought on by his own doing, the child curses his existence and goes to click the back button on his web browser.

The video starts and the music slowly seeps into the kid’s ears. He hesitates to click the button as a wolf howls into his mind. An image appears on the screen. A boy, not fully human, but rather intermixed with something animal. The music continues as more images of part man part animal creatures make their way into the child’s vision. The music forces his arms limp. The images force his mind to wander. His heart makes its first appearance and drops into his stomach. His crusted over eyes are cleansed by rivers of emotionally driven waterfalls. His voice crawls into existence with some garbled noises of self-pity and loathing. The video ends and the child swiftly refreshed the browser. The noises reenter his head and the images appear through the blurred coverage of his eyes. After several viewings of this video made by someone who has yet to know this child, and may never know him, the kid moves to another video. The video has reoccurring images similar to the previous one watched. One after another, the child watches more animal men and sad music, until one video suggests a place to go. The boy clicks the link and is redirected to a dark page of black and blue. The blue is soothing, and the black, and easy color for his red eyes. He moves around the site and spots several areas of interest. People who are different in every way, like those in reality. Unlike those in reality, the child takes note of, these people do not see their differences. A gay openly admits it, while in real life would never dare to exhibit that reality. Someone who draws these creatures displays his art with a smile and without fear of discrimination or judgment of their artistic talents and virtues. A writer displays his talents without others harassing his unique way of developing a story. Musicians, poets, performers. All gathered together for a simple love of art, rather than the cold bond of society. The child sits up, alleviating his ailment. His faith in humanity is bolstered through this site. I single space in all of the internet that has somehow managed to draw people together without anyone tearing down others for personal gain. The child looks to the top of the web page and sees its name. A perfect name for the perfect place. The name echoes inside the boy’s mind, dragging with it all the heartaches and tears that have rampaged the child for several weeks. The word makes its home within the child, exterminating all trespassing emotions of self-wallowing and despair. The word travels through the child’s voice, which until now has been assumed non-existent, and escaped his lips in a revived pattern of hopeful speech, “Furtopia.”




So, ya....I don't think I have much to say about this one really. Just...there... Also, one story that I posted today was posted in the second page, while the others made it on a third page here. Just incase you didn't know, the story for Fallen is back one page.

[Mylo]

Nice to see you picking up your writing thread again! 
So I shall give you another word...I liked that story for Furtopia...so my next word is: Love.  It might seem like a generic word, but I'm eager to see what you'll do with it...

[Leeseetsa]

Hm... If it hasn't been done, vanish? :0

[Jet]

Youre doing great Jet! Has anyone suggested "Jet" yet?

Whether you believe it or not, when I hear jet, the first thing in my head is not my character. Maybe it should be, but whatever. Actually, what comes into my head when I hear jet is a scene similar to this...


---To The Last Man---

The charred lumps of broken concrete trip me in my pursuit for the next room. I make it unscathed and look around for my team. The two other men follow me in shortly after my entry. The room is silent again as the rubble settles down. I listen for the return. An engine revs as it nears closer to us. Slowly the sound rises into a loud scream. I motion to the next room and my team immediately dives in it. I run to them as well. The walls that we came from give way to the explosions entering from the windows. “Get out of the building!” I yell at my teammates. They pick up and run with me down the hallway. The engine roars again, this time from my left. The explosions pelt the building again and the floor gives out below us. I am picked up by my two friends and they half carry me for a ways before my feet regain their abilities. The door in front of us falls under its own weight at the machine passes over again. A member of my team makes a hole in the thin wall with his gun and we pass through it with ease. A quick survey of the field we now stand in tells me we are not in a good situation. Not much better than the collapsing building anyways. I sprint to the tree ahead of me, my team following close behind. When I hit the tree, I drop to the dirt as the engine blasts its way past us again. “Rodger, get the rockets,” I tell the man to my left. He siphons through the backpack he has on and finds some metal thing all folded into itself. He pulls it apart three times and locks the now tubular shape into position. He slides some other tubes out and connects them to the other one. Now a completed piece, he hands the device to me and sifts through his backpack some more. I do a quick check of his masterpiece. It seems workable. The sound returns. I duck my head. Dirt and chunks of wood stab at me open flesh. A scream tears out through the bullets. I raise my head to see the man who gave me this tube now laying on his back with several holes in his shirt. The holes rapidly pool over in blood as the man’s life dwindles. I turn to my right and motion for the remaining man to move. He does as commanded and I grab the dead man’s backpack, then chase after the man who left. I throw the pack to him, ordering him to search it for the warheads. He does so, responding that there are none contained in the pack. I look around in confusion to find the needed supplies nestled in the dead man’s hands. I run over to him and slide into the weapons.

Bullets chip away at the tree behind me. I duck my head, turn the direction I can tell they are coming from, and fire my rifle at the oncoming soldier. The bullets punch through his chest, forcing the lone shooter to fall to his knees, where more bullets knock him onto his back. I drop the rifle and jam the rockets into the tube. The screen attached to the weapon glows green, indicating that I have a go ahead for fire. The engine rumbles over the crumbling building. Bullets the size of fruit plummet to the Earth, forcing me to close my eyes. When they open again, the man who I gave the backpack to is in the same position as the one beside me. I run out into the field. The smoke from a burning building to the left obscures the image of a metal machine soaring through the air. As it makes a loop around to come back at me, in an attempt to finish its primary goal, I raise the weapon we had pieced together. The screen blinks for a while, locating the desired object, then glows red to signal a full lock. My fingers jolt away from the trigger as a sound rips into my chest and tears through the other side, leaving a whole to look through. I fall to my knees and four more punctures appear through my heart. I spin around to see the man nearing me, still firing aimlessly at the man with the rocket. My grip on reality loosens as the life sustaining fluids of my body make their desperate escape. I fall sideways, still seeing the red screen on the tube. I painfully force my fingers shut. The tube punches my stomach as the warhead leaves out the front. The rocket hits the man firing at me. His heart suffers my fate as the rockets ignite and the warhead tears past its obstacle and reaches for the skies. The engine pasts me, followed by the rocket bent on meeting with it. Through the black smoke, I see the warhead leave my sight. Before my eyes shut for the last time, the sky ignites in a blaze of red and orange that could only mean one thing.



So...ya..A story, strangle enough, about a jet. Meh. Also, I have been really lazy about this thread lately. I have been busy with other stuff, but that is no excuse to let the que build up. So I am going to at least try to write once a day..if not more. What's my next word now? hmm.........tenacity...interesting one....

[Old Rabbit]

Nicely written Jet. You hardly give the reader a chance to breath much less get bored. 

Keep up the nice work.

[Jet]

Jet, I wanted to wait until your queue depleted before giving you a word since I wanted to avoid overwhelming you with a large queue (particularly since you weren't out of school yet), but it seems that you aren't having that sort of reaction.  Since that is the case, I'll append a word to your queue now.

"Tenacity" is the word.  I hope you find it to be a good one.

Tenacity. I was thinking of doings something from Jet's novel, but then I started thinking about my other Anthro novel. The one about the marine who turned anthro. This is a scene a have been thinking about for some time now. The name is liable to change, I just came up with something for the sake of giving him a name for now. I toned it down some in description wise. I also removed the part where he killed his best friend, as that part is pretty bloody. It is important to the novel and the main character's development, but its too much for Furtopia. The whole scene will be in the final novel if and when I write it, but for now, here is my story for tenacity...


---Human to Anthro---

“Set it down right there,” the man tells the two guys holding me up. They drop me and I land on my hands and knees. Four guys hold me down while another man sticks things to me. He parts the fur on the areas he is trying to get to before pressing down small sticky pads on my skin. I feel the wires fall against my back after they are all in position. The men release me, joining the other man behind me. I move to stand up and one of them kicks the back of my head, sending me back to my hands. “Stay down now,” the man tells me. I remain where I am. I don’t know what they are going to do with me now. I see two boots move in under my muzzle. The voice belonging to the boots speaks again, “Now I am going to ask you some questions, and you will answer them. First question. What is your name?” That’s a ridiculous question. My name’s stayed the same since I was born. They all know my name, the man before me used to be my commanding officer. I raise my head to answer, only to be met with another kick to my head from the back behind me and another “stay in position” remark.

I shake my head clear of the pain and answer clearly and audibly, “James Slerrick.” My answer brings a vibration into my body unlike anything I have ever felt before. It burns the inside of my bones and I can feel my heart stop. My body goes limp and I fall to the floor, paralyzed. The electricity stops and I regain the ability to return to my kneeled position. I smell smoke now.

“That is not your name. That is the name of a person. Now, I ask again, what is your name?” the man asked me. I feel the rage building. My claws dig deeper into the carpet. My tail swishes angrily side to side. I snarl uncontrollably. “What is your name?!?”

I yell through bared teeth, “My name is James Slerrick!” The man lifts his boot into my nose, forcing my head back. I arc up and hold my muzzle, which throbs with pain. The kick comes again and my nose is driven into the ground. I assume my original position to avoid another kick to the head. The man repositions himself in front of me. I see red now dripping from the end of my nose and splashing onto the man’s boots. This is pointless. My name is James Slerrick. I am human. I was human. They aren’t going to let me out of here. These are my friends. People I knew. Men I fought for. This war was for them. For me. For humans! This has gone too far. Four weeks. I’ve been here four weeks and have been tortured too much for no reason. “You can’t treat me like this. I’m a human being!”

The man bends down so I can see him in full, “No, you’re not.” He points to my left. I turn to see a mirror with an image of a dog man kneeling before five men, with another standing in front of him. The blood coming from his nose traces the snarled expression he refuses to waver from. An Anthro. That’s all I am to them now. My fighting for the human race, all those years I risked my life for them, doesn’t mean anything when I am turning into the enemy. I am still me inside, I just have fur now. Why can’t they see that? My own friends. My fellow soldiers. Why can’t they see me? The man turn away and begins his next question. I don’t hesitate. My legs ache as I lift myself through the air at the man’s head. I catch him with my teeth, sending him into the wall. His falls to the floor, unconscious. I turn to the other men. One of them presses a button on a small circle. The burning rips my bones and eats at my flesh. My legs forget their motivation, sending me to the floor. The other men jump on me, kicking and punching, trying to subdue me. My resolve is set. I will not go down. I bite at one man’s legs to get him away, then move to the one with the button. He presses again, sending another shock into my back. I grab at the wire and manage to rip them off me. I regain full abilities with them off. I force my hand into another man’s face, allowing him to absorb the electricity. I grab the last man and through him at the one holding the device. Without hesitating, I run for the door.

I enter the hallway and take off right. There’s some stair back there. As I approach the staircase, though, more men run up it. They shoot down the hall at me, forcing me to dive into the next hallway on my left. I sprint down it full speed. There’s nothing here but more cells locked tight and a window at the end. I charge for the window. A bullet catches my arm. Another grabs at me side. I slow only for a second, then push myself harder for the window. I see a man exit a cell and step in front of the window. He pulls his knife and readies himself for me. I run faster. I grit my teeth at another bullet hitting my leg. I can’t stop. Must get to the window. Must get away. I smash into the man holding the knife. He stabs at my left shoulder. I don’t slow down. He clings to me and continues to stab, missing my neck only because of my bobbing with the speed I am traveling. He reaches over and stabs at my back. I growl at him, but do nothing that could possibly slow myself. I turn slightly sideways as I come in contact with the window. It gives way, and I fly out it with the man still attached. I drag him in front of me. He glares up at me. I look out and see we are well above the tree line. How high up was that window? Four, five stories? I get myself in an upright position and prepare for the landing. As the ground approaches, I place my feet on the man’s face and stomach. We hit the ground hard, sending pain all through my body. The bullet holes seep more now that the blood has been shaken. The man I used to break my fall is obviously dead. I take off for the trees and disappear into their thick cover, bullets still chasing me. I keep running. There’s an Anthro settlement a good distance this way. Maybe I can get help there. If not, I can still kill every last one of them. They deserve it for starting this war and somehow changing me into one of them. Those sick monsters.



There you have it. Of course, there is more to the whole story. The character has been changing into an Anthro for some time now. His transformation is the sole reason for his imprisonment and torture by his own fellow soldiers. This is why he resolves to escape and join the Anthros against the cruel humans.

[Kek]

pretty good, i really liked that one!

[typingwithpaws]

i love that one!!
might have hit a winner in story originality there 

would love to read the whole novel when you someday complete it 

[Jet]

ferocious is my word

Wow, I haven't posted here in what seems like forever. Argh, too much arts. Well I sat down here and did this little bit for you all. The character here is a little different. Lately I have been going through a bit of a Fursona crisis. I eventually decided upon removing Jet's second personality, and instead implanting it into a new character entirely. I am working on a visual reference of this new being now. He is still unnamed, and yet to be fully thought through. He will also be replacing Jet in Jet's Story, for those who know about that novel idea. Also, that novel will change some to accommodate the new being. Go ahead and read my story for Ferocious!



---Utter Defiance---

“Don’t do it!” I clear the dirt from my eyes and stare at this kid. He stands in front of me, blocking the door, refusing to allow my through. “Stay here, don’t do it!” the child repeats. Stubborn little cheetah. He should know by now the war is inevitable. There’s nothing anyone can do about it. I wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t a war. I tower over the child, but the small animal stands tall. The kid must only be about ten or so, but has the will of a full grown soldier. “Don’t go out there. War is wrong, don’t kill!” I pull out my pistol and aim at the kid. I motion the pistol towards his left, signaling him to move out of my way. He shakes his head, once again reiterating his rant about the war. My finger forces the metal trigger against its neighboring metal. I walk over the cheetah corpse and see the world outside the small building. Metal and shrapnel scatter the building debris on the ground. To my right, militia. Animals of all kinds, charging in with their guns and swords. A desperate attempt to save their lands. To my left, soldiers. Marching in the militia’s direction, wielding advanced machinery and weaponry. I advance towards the oncoming soldiers. The cries and screams of the militia coming from behind me propel me faster towards the army.

I collide with the soldiers, one of them addressing me as, “Sir.” I stand high, looking at the man dead in the eyes. “Welcome back, Sir. We have a unit waiting for you.” The Panther motions for something to come to us. On arrival I see my unit, filled by some bird creature. The animal steps out from my suit and I climb in. I sit in the metal seat, pressing a button near my midsection. A large metal dome encases me, blocking all vision of the outside world. Two tubes dangle from under my arm, just in front of the elbow. I attach the tubs to a metal device on either side of me. The tubes are long enough to allow full motion within my confinement. I press a button on the board in front of me. Immediately, I see the world outside though one of my eyes. The tubes connecting to my eye are linked to my arms, sending the video feed from the cameras attached to outer shell of my unit. The soldiers in front of me move aside, and I walk forward. The machine stands, then follows my leg motions. I run at the enemies. All of them deserve their fate. None should stand against us. Resistance is unnecessary. We mean the world good. The enemy militia collide into my unit. I let out with punches and kicks, crushing the bones of my enemy under the tons of metal I possess.

A rocket comes in from my right, reflecting off the armor and redirecting itself into the crowd on militia. I turn to see a man, dressed in plain clothing, standing on a rooftop. He stares down at me, flabbergasted his attempt failed. He begins to load another rocket. I get angry. How dare he, such a simple man. I am here to assist these people, give them food, shelter, structure. Yet they repay us with violence and resistance. This man looks as though he could be helped by our government, yet he refuses to sit idly by and allow us into his city. High up on his building, he fires another rocket down at me. It reflects off again, this time colliding with his building. The structure gives out, and he falls into the rubble. I catch him, pulling the feline out of the mess falling around him. He scratches at my unti’s fingers. I see his snarl in the camera. I glare back at him. He still defies us, even in death. I raise my arm up, letting the machine do the same. Bringing my arm down to the ground, I release my clutch and he slams down hard. Without hesitation, I crush the animal under my metal fist. Raising my head up again, I face thousands of militia resistance. I stand at full height, walking into the crowd of disobedient men and women.



Yes, he has two tubes coming from each arm, and two more coming from one of his eyes. I haven't decided if its the left or right eye, and I may add more tubes to his legs later. The animal here is part African Wild Dog and part Shadow (Can I mix a real animal with an animal I created for a whole different novel! Doesn't matter, I did it anyways ) I am still attempting to mix a furry, strangely spotted dog and a leather-skinned, pretzel-spine, dog-like creature. He is plantigrade, and will act very similar to this way. One goal in mind, nothing stands in his way. Shoot those who resist, even friendlies. The army he fights for is VERY similar to the Nazi Third Reich during Hitler controlled WW2 Germany, minus the mass genocide of course. their methods are swift, brutal, and questionably inhumane. I have always been fascinated with that type of warfare and now I have something to channel it through. 

[Mylo]

What a cold character!  
And an interesting one at that...I'm eager to see more about what he looks like (in your coming drawing) and how he, I guess, "works" (with the tubes and all).
It reminded me of the Terminator, only this was a person and not a robot (although he is treading along that line).  

Keep it up Jet!  I much enjoy the way you go about writing war stories (it's like a trademark of sorts ).  It'll be interesting to see what you do with Paradox as well (that's a word I'd like to write about sometime).  

[typingwithpaws]

i feel guilty for not reading all of these...or mylo's. but when i do find time i am ALWAYS impressed!!

My finger forces the metal trigger against its neighboring metal

Neighbouring....the way you worded that is AWESOME. really creative and it struck me and made me smile when i read that sentence  

[Jet]

i feel guilty for not reading all of these...or mylo's. but when i do find time i am ALWAYS impressed!!

My finger forces the metal trigger against its neighboring metal

Neighbouring....the way you worded that is AWESOME. really creative and it struck me and made me smile when i read that sentence  

Thanks Typing! I liked that one too. Yay for creative wording!

[The Wise one]

Great job. I have a word for you.... Insanity.

[Jet]

Hey,nice stories. Kinda remindes me of The dark Tower books. More so at the end. My word is Paradox.

I checked out some Paradoxes for this one, and I think I like this one. It is about religion, a slightly touchy subject, but I think this is a good story anyhow. So here is my story on paradox.



---The Problem of Evil---

The blood drains into the sewers in front of me. The rain makes the road I kneel on slick and hard to keep my balance. I use his hand as a stabilizer. The blood that painted his hand has been washed away by the thick rain already. The whole scene feels unreal. Like I have been sleeping all day and this is just the last of a series of vivid visions. I know this one is real though because I hurt. I hurt so bad. But my pain is nothing in comparison to what I imagine my friend feels. He doesn’t look at me, although I stare at him. He is staring blankly up, into the stars of dusk. I feel like I should say something, although there really isn’t much I can say. The only thing that comes to my mind is God, so I say it, “Maybe God will help you through this?” It’s more than meaningless, I know that already. Josh has never been much of a religious person. He never participated in any of my discussions on the subject of God. He tilts his head towards me, an effort that expenses a large quantity of bodily fluids from his side. That too is swiftly washed under the streets.

Josh looks me in the eyes and responds, “Don’t kid yourself, Derek.” I ask him what he means. I admit I ask him more because I know that speech is a sign he is alive still. He changes his view to the oncoming stars in the sky, “He doesn’t exist.” I know he is distraught to some extent, but he says this so sincere and calm. I know Josh hasn’t been the most religious person on Earth, but he was always content with life. I for one am very religious. I attend church every Sunday. I know people who are Atheist, but they seem unhappy. I never took Josh to be one of them because he has always been happy. I just don’t believe him. I ask him to reiterate. Josh asks, “Have you ever heard of The Problem of Evil?” I say I haven’t. “It’s a paradox of life. God is omnipotent, right?” I confirm. “God is omniscient, yes?” Again I say it is so. “And God is perfectly good?” I tell him he is. “The Paradox runs on that very belief that make you so faithful. A God that is perfectly good would want to stop any evils. An omniscient God would know all of evil’s forms. And an omnipotent God would then prevent the existence of evil, since he knows how it starts. There is evil in the world, so therefore, a God of your faith does not exist. There is evil in the world. Lots of it. Even here now, I am subject to that very evil.”

I squeeze his hand tighter, feeling it slip out of my grasp, and say, “No. No, you…this was just a misfortunate accident. Nothing more. Just the wrong place at the wrong time, Josh. There’s no evil, it’s just an accident.”

He shakes his head, “Come on! Derek, look at me. Look at my body.” I do so, although I have already seen it. His chest is covered by a heavy jacket with several wholes torn into it. Blood rises and falls in the wholes with his speech. Upon examination of his lower half, it’s no longer there. His pants dangle off his waist, tattered, but the legs that gave the jeans shape are no longer within view. “This isn’t evil? A man ran me over with his car.”

“It was an acci…”

“He shot me, Derek! Shot me!” Josh interrupted me midsentence. “He ran me over and shot my while I already lay dead in the road. He took off without looking back. That is not evil?” Josh’s voice begins to flutter the longer he drains. I know he is in a tough spot. I know I probably won’t see him again. But when someone is in this situation, they turn to God for help. If not to help them live, then to help them cope with death. Josh has no one. Nothing but impending stars and the clammy hold of our hands. He turns his head away from me and mutters, “God doesn’t exist. There is evil in the world.”

I siren finally sounds far off, slowly approaching us. I don’t do anything more than stare at the back of Josh’s head as he mutters his Problem of Evil Paradox over and over again. His speech stumbles into a slur, and soon a mad man’s rant. His thoughts blend together into one camouflaged net of incoherent, half thought through ideas. The medical people come in and tear Josh from my grip, getting what’s left of him in the truck. They leave as soon as they came. I am left in the rain to wave goodbye for the last time to my best friend, accompanied only by the blood stains slowly washing away, and the thought of God’s existence in my mind.




There you go. Obviously this one is about The Problem of Evil Paradox. Took me a little while to figure out how to write about this from the right perspective. I felt it best that the main character not be the one defending the Paradox, but rather listening to it. Tell me what you think though. I always like critique.    A wiki page for it can be found here - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Problem_of_evil

[Mylo]

That's a very depressing way to die, accepting the evils of the world and dwelling upon them.  And it's very interesting to see this debate, complete with ignorance from both sides, play out.  I like the way you dealt with paradox. 

[Jet]

That's a very depressing way to die, accepting the evils of the world and dwelling upon them.  And it's very interesting to see this debate, complete with ignorance from both sides, play out.  I like the way you dealt with paradox. 

I have had this debate many times, from both sides. Back when I considered myself Christian, I defended it against an Atheist friend (stupid thing to argue about in retrospect). And I have had the debate of how the Christian God as we know him cannot exist. I have come to the conclusion that unless the opposing side already had doubts their God was real, there is no way you will convince them He isnt. People believe what they want to believe. I dont mind religion, its really good, especially for people in this person's situation. Meh, the argument is like the game Tic Tac Toe....the only way to win is not to play.

[DarkDemon]

That was very good. Except, I wasn't too fond of the begining. It was a little out of place, like you started off unsure of what you were writing, maybe? But I like how it picked up and the ending was my favorite part. :3 Hope I helped... And don't feel offended, I've always gotta put that

[Jet]

That was very good. Except, I wasn't too fond of the begining. It was a little out of place, like you started off unsure of what you were writing, maybe? But I like how it picked up and the ending was my favorite part. :3 Hope I helped... And don't feel offended, I've always gotta put that

Thank you thank you! I am not offended at all. I had an idea when I started. I person who was going to die, and them coming into this conversation. I wasnt really confused, but I did force myself to start writing. After a while I started really getting into the groove and it ended well. Maybe that is what is showing, but forced writing as compared to the eventual fluid thinking I enter after starting. This is some good critique, and I will make sure to work on that "rocky start" stuff.

[DarkDemon]

Okee! :3 Well, good luck! And here's a word: Antique

[Kek]

Banished sounds like it would interesting!

[Jet]

Very well done on "emotion"  Jet.. emotions and
war are a dangerous mix. Sometimes they can
give a warrior uncommon bravery too..

The next word is "Fodder"  It's the same
as the one I last gave Mylo.. I am curious
how you both write a story using it.

I was unsure if I wanted to write this or think of something else. I decided why not just write this anyways. So here is the story for the word Fodder...



---Devotion to the Cause---

By breathing apparatus fits snuggly on my mouth. I strap the tank onto my back, making sure the straps are locked into place. The planet we are going to doesn’t contain any methane in its atmosphere. Once I have the machine secured on my back, I flip the mask’s switches. The fresh air fills my mask, and I breathe once more. I walk over and get my gun. Standard issue for all of us, the same weapon. Most around here say it’s the weakest thing in existence, but the humans have nothing against this weapon. Single fire plasma rounds. Charged electromagnetic pulse fire. I can kill the enemy and their vehicles with this versatile handgun. A member of my squad passes by without his mask on. I ask him what he thinks he is doing. “I’m gonna die anyways,” he wines back.
“What do you mean?” I ask quickly. There isn’t much time to talk before our landing.

“We are nothing more than bullet sponges. Life shields. Cannon fodder. Suicide squadrons,” he replies. How could he say that? He answers my internal question with, “We go out there for the sole purpose of being shot. So the enemy has less bullets for our masters.”

“No. We fight to the death for our lands. As long as our master is with us, there is no way we can die. That’s why the humans call him an ‘Elite.’ Because he is the most elite thing they have fought. They are scared of him! We can take back our planet and secure the artifacts.”

“What of the demon? He tears through the masters like a crimcon plant. And he kills us with ease. No way can we survive this. Just yesterday, sixty four squadrons of our best were lost in action while moving the human prisoners. And now that one of our masters has betrayed our cause, we are even more dead. That Arbiter possess the same devotion as our masters, but fights for the wrong side now.”

I hadn’t thought about the betrayer. He left the path of the Gods. He is not one of us. “The Arbiter is nothing anymore. Without his faith, he has no power. We will teach that traitor a thing or two. And the demon will be no problem. He shouldn’t even be here. His electronic counterpart has been stolen from him by the diseased ones. The demon will be hunting for his friend in the infection. There is no hope for him in there. The Flood consumes all.”

He waves me off and walks into position. I follow of course. A towering figure in blue armor positions behind me. A blue energy forms around the master, then turns to his colors and becomes invisible. A large arch in front of us glows blue and purple. The master gives the signal and I charge into the beams. My eyes are blinded for a few seconds, then a world of greenery forms around me. I drop to the ground. The master and the rest of our squad land around me. I see before us a tall human, dressed from head to toe in light green armor. His body is covered in the same shields around my master. His visor gleams yellow at us. He runs at faster than any human I have ever encountered. Our master is shot immediately by this man, sending our squad into a panicked dash for cover. I reach into my back pouch and find the two grenades I stored there earlier. The bright blue orbs fit in my palms without space for anything else. I hold the red button, turning the outside of them into a thick jelly. I hold them for too long on purpose, allowing them to stick to me. The plasma charge sounds off, building up the energy needed for the explosion. I run towards the creature who killed my master, “DEMON!”



If it wasn't obvious, this is a Halo story, from the perspective of a Grunt. When you say Fodder, I think Cannon Fodder. A cannon fodder is someone usually in a military that is deemed readily available and thus replaceable. This means you are just a meat shield for others. Completely expendable. A Grunt in the Halo universe is used for the purpose of wasting the enemy's ammunition. They hold no purpose but are given the false thought of being useful. Silly Grunts.   But ya, this is my story I guess.

[Mylo]

Once again, how depressing.  How much will power does it take to be a grunt, knowing that you are essentially dead at first sight?  Knowing that you can't win...curse protagonist shielding. 

But anyways, great job on that word.    I guess fodder does have some variety, eh?

[Metalhead_Mockingbird]

I have to say, I've really noticed alot of improvement over the course of this thread, so I'll give you another word.

Prototype.

[Kaloth]

Here's a word: Dissociative Fugue