I saw that Ryan North and Company were doing something with this in a newspost on Dinosaur Comics some time ago, but I just today looked at it.
What is it, you ask, faithful and often disappointed reader? It is the Death Machine. And this site describes the rules and soforth for submitting stories based on the premise of said machine.
Problem is, I just got around to reading the site today. Early submission deadline is March 31st. That's not long from here. But I'm going to try.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Belladonna (Revised)
I'm posting this new edited version of "Belladonna." I think most of the changes have been for the better. Mad props to Jennybean, who helped critique the original draft.
Story:
Avalon was not going to be happy about this.
Lotus swore again under his breath. This was not his lucky day. He was pinned down by mortals and the bastards were pretty ingenious. They all had iron spikes with them for hand-to-hand combat and horseshoes to hurt him from a distance. Judging from his interaction with them so far, Lotus would be willing to bet they won competitions.
First the Changeling fiasco, now mortals who knew fairies all too well. He was beginning to think that something more proactive than fate was involved in his current trouble. For starters, he wasn't sure how they had detected him in the first place. He looked like any other man, though he was a tad on the short side. Blond hair was common enough for people in this part of the world. A tattoo of a bright pink Indian Lotus on the back of his left hand was unusual, but certainly no giveaway. The pale pink eyes were problematic, but mirrored sunglasses took care of that.
Just when Lotus thought things could not get any worse, they did. As he peeked from behind the corner to try and get a look at their positions, an iron nail whizzed past his head.
Fuck.
Well apparently they didn't need him alive. This was somewhat comforting since it meant that he wouldn't need to feel so bad about what he was going to do next.
Lotus closed his eyes and reached into his coat. He let his fingers play along the entirety of his guns for a moment, forming a tactile mental image before he committed, firmly clutching the handgrips of the two handguns.
Iron may be a fairy's enemy, but Lotus was quite aware that blued steel could be a fairy's best friend. His pistols had gotten him out of worse scrapes than this. Well, maybe not. He wasn't sure exactly where this fell on the badness magnitude scale. But he was reasonably sure he had gotten out of something at least as bad, if not worse than, this current scrape, with the aid of said pistols.
He drew the guns and shut his eyes for a moment, focusing all the magic he could muster. The humans didn't know it, but the spell would make it so that time was going a bit faster for him than it was for them. Or maybe it would slow down time on their end. The specifics were unimportant; the end result was the same.
He came from around the corner, popping a round into the head of each mortal before the first horseshoe was even close to touching him. Which was fortunate, as he had just enough time to duck before the spell ran out and several nails and horseshoes flew through the space where his torso had been moments earlier.
Lotus stood up and examined each human. Dead, for sure. He shook his head. It was a pity. He could remember a time when the Fair Folk were afforded the respect they deserved. Now, it seemed, they had to fight for it.
He put the guns away and walked out of the building and into the twilight. He had a baby to find.
Lotus knew what he needed to do to get the child back. He was, however, a tad reluctant to do it. Tracking magic was not especially difficult but it was a rare gift. Not many fairies had the focus or the attention span required to learn it.
Lotus knew one of those rare fey who could track, and do it well. And the fairy in question would help him; he owed Lotus a favor. Among the Gentry, favors were as valid a currency as gold. He'd been hoping to save this favor for something a bit more dire, but he really didn't have any other options.
Lotus flipped open his cell phone and dialed. After three rings, the voice of an elderly-sounding man piped through it.
"Hello?" inquired the voice on the other end.
"Cú," said Lotus. "Good to hear from you, old friend."
The troll's voice brightened at the sound of his elfish friend's voice.
"Kamal? What a pleasant surprise. It's been far too long." Lotus had always wondered why Cú insisted on using his Hindi name, but the quirk was one he had come to appreciate.
"Listen, Cú, I need your help, and quickly. Can you meet me at the usual place within the hour?"
The troll coughed twice before answering. "Of course, Kamal. I'd be glad to." And the line was dead.
Lotus put the phone away and started walking. The "usual place" was an all-night diner a few blocks from his current location. He and Cú had met there several times over the years.
Cú was already there when Lotus arrived. This was surprising since Lotus was almost certain that he, Lotus, had been substantially closer to the restaurant when he called. Lotus had a brief conversation with the hostess on duty, which mostly consisted of pointing to a waving Cú, before walking over and having a seat across the table from his friend.
The troll produced a pack of cigarettes and proffered it to Lotus.
"No thanks, Cú. Human poisons aren't my scene."
Cú shrugged as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.
"Suit yourself," he said, exhaling smoke. "I trust you're going to be calling in that favor I owe you. Otherwise you would have chatted a bit more over the phone, I think."
Lotus was beginning to open his mouth to speak when Cú held up a hand for silence. "Do not answer yet, our waitress approaches."
Sure enough, the waitress walked over and greeted them, bestowing a glass of water and napkinful of silverware on each of them as she did. Each fairy ordered a coffee and they waited for her to walk away before they resumed speaking.
"Yes I need to call in my favor," said Lotus, a touch of regret in his voice. "And yes, it's urgent. I pulled a Changeling switch, but I've managed to lose the human infant now. If I don't get him back before sunup, I'm in trouble."
Cú nodded, and took another drag on the cigarette before speaking. "So you need me to track the child, right? Find out where whoever snatched your baby has taken it?"
"Yeah, something like that," Lotus confirmed. "I have the kid's blanket. I knew you needed a personal item of his." Lotus was reaching into his jacket when Cú raised his index finger in a near-universal "wait" gesture. Once again, the waitress was upon them. She set down their coffees, asked if she could get them anything else, was assured that she could not, and went on her way.
Lotus took the blanket from an inside pocket of his coat and handed it to Cú.
Cú sniffed the blanket, looked at it from all angles, ran a finger over it. Finally, he apparently decided that it passed inspection.
"I can use this," he said. "Good work. Now, Kamal, you'll be accompanying me while we track. This is your fight. I'll get you there, but you take over after that. Am I understood?"
Lotus nodded. "Sure thing, Cú. And I know being back by sunup is an even bigger issue for you than me, so I'll try not to slow you down too much."
The troll took another drag from the cigarette and grinned at the elf. "I expect that's true."
Lotus was cursing quietly but profusely. He was doing his absolute best to keep up with Cú, but it was getting difficult. Trudging through a wet forest at night, following nothing that even resembled a path, was not Lotus's idea of the perfect evening. He couldn't even do the minor magic it would take to traverse effortlessly and without trace through the forest. The time-manipulation had really taken it out of him. There was a reason that time flowed at a pretty consistent rate. The riverbed of time had definitely become a canyon by now and diverting its course, even for a few moments, was exceptionally difficult.
Lotus was shaken out of his reflection by Cú suddenly stopping.
"Tread carefully, Kamal," he breathed. "We're getting very close to your child. In fact, you should probably be able to see it if you look around. Your eyes are better than mine."
Lotus had taken off his sunglasses once they had started into the woods. Away from humans, there wasn't much point in them. Pale pink eyes scanned the wood ahead of him, the moonlight providing all the illumination he needed to see. He spotted something near the base of a large tree around 20 meters away. Undergrowth obscured the thing, but he pointed at it. Cú looked and focused his tracking magics for a moment, then nodded. Together, they began making their way towards the child.
There was a very small clear area when they got close to the tree. Sure enough, there was a basket with a sleeping human baby in it at the base.
Something is wrong here, thought Lotus. From across centuries, the voice of his sensei rang in the back of his mind. "Remember Lotus, you musn't mistake an object's reflection for the object itself."
Lotus was, to the best of his knowledge, the first and only Zen Buddhist fairy. He had traveled East many years ago and his sensei's teachings always seemed to help him when he least expected it.
Lotus held up a hand, stopping Cú from approaching the child further.
"That," he said. "Is not the child. It's a glamour."
There was laughter from the higher branches of the tree. Lotus looked up and saw exactly what he hoped he wouldn't. Standing on a branch, holding the basket with the real child, was another fairy. She was an elf like Lotus and he knew her well.
"Nightshade," he said, shaking his head. "I should have known." Lotus couldn't prevent a rueful smile from creeping onto his face.
Cú looked from Lotus back to Nightshade, surprise apparent on his face.
"This is Belladonna?" he asked in mild awe. "She is as beautiful as her name would imply."
"And as deadly," agreed Lotus. His voice suddenly took on a cold and impersonal aspect as he spoke again to Cú. "Cú, I thank you for your assistance. You have fulfilled your debt to me and your presence is no longer required."
Cú was transfixed. He had never seen the Unseelie Court's most deadly assassin and Lotus seemed to have prior dealings with her. This was about to get interesting; he had no intention of leaving.
"Actually, Kamal--"
"I said you can go now, Cú."
Something in Lotus's voice made Cú reluctant to press the issue. So he shrugged and cast a spell, fading from sight into the Otherworld.
Lotus looked up at Nightshade. "Now that we're alone, do you want to come down and discuss this like two mature fairies?"
Nightshade laughed maliciously. "If you'd like to pretend that's what we are then I'll humor you, Lotus."
Nightshade leapt from branch and landed effortlessly. Now that she was on the same level as he, Lotus could get his first good look at her in three years.
She hadn't changed much. She still had her long, shiny black hair; large eyes that were a deep purple shade most people mistook for black or dark brown. She was about Lotus's height, maybe a tad shorter. In short, she was still everything that Lotus dreamed about: Beautiful, sexy, and extremely deadly.
"Nightshade," he said. "I know why you're doing this. Can we perhaps come to an agreement?"
Nightshade sniffed contemptuously at Lotus. "Your precious baby boy will please my lords to no end. I see no reason for me to give him back to you."
Lotus was pretty sure he had a solution to this, but again, he was very reluctant to go through with it. The problem was largely in the origin of Nightshade's enmity. Three years ago, Lotus had come out on top in a conflict between the two of them. Long story short, he won her servitude. She was bound to his service for a year and a day. Nightshade was a very proud fairy, and she hated every single second of her subservience. In her opinion, no one was superior to her, and being forced to serve him was a blow from which her pride still had not fully recovered.
The elfs stared each other down for what seemed an eternity.
Lotus sighed. There was only one way to set this right. To win back Nightshade's favor. (And oh how very sweet her favor was, he thought, reflecting on their pre-conflict days.)
"Listen, Nightshade," he said. "Just let me take the babe back to Avalon. If you do, beginning tomorrow at sundown, I will be bound to your service."
Nightshade grinned wickedly; it made Lotus shudder, for a variety of reasons. "And how long shall this service last?"
Lotus sighed again. "The traditional span. A year and a day shall I be bound to your whim."
Nightshade was satisfied. "I have your word that if I let you take this babe back tonight, you will be mine starting tomorrow at sundown. For a year and a day?"
Lotus nodded. "To those terms, I pledge my word."
Nightshade's grin grew wider still. She handed him the babe. And then she did something she had not done in almost four years. She kissed Lotus, deeply and passionately. Then she winked at him and disappeared.
After recovering from that shock, Lotus looked down at the baby and shook his head. "You have no idea what I've gone through because of you tonight, little one."
The babe slept on, content and oblivious. Lotus had a feeling it would be a long year.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Belladonna
UPDATE: I'll be going through the process of rewriting and revising this over the next few days. More than likely, I'll be cleaning up this site a little bit in the wake of this story's aftermath. I'll possibly be deleting the 3-post version of Lotus's tale right before I do the rewrite. I'm not sure whether I'll be replacing this post, deleting it and adding the revised version, or just letting both coexist on the site. I'll say more when I've decided.
CLARIFICATION: This is not a story snippet. This is the first story I've ever completely finished. This is a full-length, complete, self-contained short story.
I've decided to put the last three posts into one superpost, to show the story in its entirety. Enjoy!
Author's Note: Cú means "hound."
Also, from Wikipedia: "Kamal may refer to:. . .A Hindi name which means 'lotus'. . ."
Also Also from Wikipedia: Lotus and Nightshade.
CLARIFICATION: This is not a story snippet. This is the first story I've ever completely finished. This is a full-length, complete, self-contained short story.
I've decided to put the last three posts into one superpost, to show the story in its entirety. Enjoy!
Author's Note: Cú means "hound."
Also, from Wikipedia: "Kamal may refer to:. . .A Hindi name which means 'lotus'. . ."
Also Also from Wikipedia: Lotus and Nightshade.
Avalon was not going to be happy about this.
Lotus swore again under his breath. This was not his lucky day. He was pinned down by mortals, all armed with iron. The bastards were pretty ingenious with this. They all had iron spikes with them for hand-to-hand combat. Additionally, they each had quite a few horseshoes. Judging from his interaction with them so far, Lotus would be willing to bet that they won competitions.
First the Changeling fiasco, now mortals who knew fairies all too well. He was beginning to think that something more proactive than fate was involved in his current trouble. For starters, he wasn't sure how they had detected him in the first place. He looked like any other man, though he was a tad on the short side at 167 cm. Blond hair was common enough for people in this part of the world, and people in general. A tattoo of a bright pink Indian Lotus on the back of his left hand was unusual, but certainly no giveaway. The pale pink eyes were problematic, but his mirrored sunglasses took care of that.
Just when Lotus thought things could not get any worse, they did. As he peeked his head from behind the corner to try and get a look at their positions, an iron nail, propelled by some sort of nail gun, whizzed past his head.
Fuck.
Well apparently they didn't need him alive. That was a somewhat comforting fact, since it meant that he wouldn't need to feel so bad about what he was going to do next.
Lotus closed his eyes and reached into his coat. He let his fingers play along the entirety of his guns for a moment, feeling them, forming a tactile mental image before he committed, firmly clutching the handgrips of the two handguns.
Iron may be a fairy's enemy, but Lotus was quite aware that blued steel could be a fairy's best friend. His pistols had gotten him out of worse scrapes than this. Well, maybe not. He wasn't sure exactly where this fell on the badness magnitude scale. But he was reasonably sure he had gotten out of something at least as bad, if not worse than, this current scrape, with the aid of said pistols.
He drew the guns and shut his eyes for a moment, focusing all the magic he could muster. The humans didn't know it, but the spell would make it so that time was going a bit faster for him than it was for them. Or maybe it would slow down time on their end. The specifics were unimportant as the end result was the same.
He came from around the corner, popping a round into the head of each mortal before the first horseshoe was even close to touching him. Which was fortunate, as he had just enough time to duck before the spell ran out and several nails and horseshoes flew through the space where his torso had been moments earlier.
Lotus stood up and examined each human. Dead, for sure. He shook his head. It was a pity. He could remember a time when the Fair Folk were afforded the respect they deserved. Now, it seemed, they had to fight for it.
He put the guns away and walked out of the building and into the twilight. He had a baby to find.
***
Lotus knew what he needed to do to get the child back. He was, however, a tad reluctant to do it. Tracking magic was not especially difficult per sé, but it was. . .specific. Not many fairies had the focus or, frankly, the attention span required to learn it.
Lotus knew one of those rare fey who could track, and do it well. And the fairy in question would help him; he owed Lotus a favor. Among the Gentry, favors were as valid a currency as gold. He'd been hoping to save this favor for something a bit more dire, but he really didn't have any other options.
Lotus flipped open his cell phone and dialed. After three rings, the voice of an elderly-sounding man piped through it.
"Hello?" inquired the voice on the other end.
"Cú," said Lotus. "Good to hear from you, old friend."
The troll's voice brightened at the sound of his elfish friend's voice.
"Kamal? What a pleasant surprise. It's been far too long." Lotus had always wondered why Cú insisted on using his Hindi name, but the quirk was one he had come to appreciate.
"Listen, Cú, I need your help, and quickly. Can you meet me at the usual place within the hour?"
The troll coughed twice before answering. "Sure Kamal. No problem." And the line was dead.
Lotus put the phone away and started walking. The "usual place" was an all-night diner a few blocks from his current location. He and Cú had met there several times over the years. Lotus hoped he'd be able to get Cú back in his debt before Cú got Lotus back into his.
Cú was already there when Lotus arrived. This was surprising since Lotus was almost certain that he, Lotus, had been substantially closer to the restaurant when he called. Lotus had a brief conversation with the hostess on duty, which mostly consisted of pointing to a waving Cú, before walking over and having a seat across the table from his friend.
The troll produced a pack of cigarettes and proffered it to Lotus.
"No thanks, Cú. Human poisons aren't my scene."
Cú shrugged as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.
"Suit yourself," he said, exhaling the smoke from his first puff. "So, Kamal. I trust you're going to be calling in that favor I owe you, right? Otherwise you would have chatted a bit more over the phone, yes?"
Lotus was beginning to open his mouth to speak when Cú held up a hand for silence. "Do not answer that yet, our waitress approaches."
Sure enough, the waitress walked over and greeted them, bestowing a glass of water and napkinful of silverware on each of them as she did. They each ordered coffee, waited for her to walk away, then resumed speaking.
"Yes I need to call in my favor," said Lotus, with a touch of regret in his voice. "And yes, it's urgent. I pulled a Changeling switch, but I've managed to lose the human infant now. If I don't get him back before sunup, I'm in trouble."
Cú nodded in understanding, and took another drag on the cigarette before expressing his opinion. "So you need me to track the kid, yeah Kamal? Find out where whoever snatched your baby has taken it?"
"Yeah, something like that," Lotus confirmed. "I have the kid's blanket. I knew you needed a personal item of his." Lotus was reaching into his jacket when Cú raised his index finger in a near-universal "wait" gesture. Once again, the waitress was upon them. She set down their coffees, asked if she could get them anything else, was assured that she could not, and went on her way.
Lotus took the blanket from an inside pocket of his coat and handed it to Cú.
Cú sniffed the blanket, looked at it from all angles, ran a finger over it. Finally, he apparently decided that it passed inspection.
"I can use this," he said. "Good work. Now, Kamal, you'll be accompanying me while we track. This is your fight. I'll get you there, but you take over after that, you got it?"
Lotus nodded. "Sure thing, Cú. And I know being back by sunup is an even bigger issue for you than me, so I'll try not to slow you down too much."
The troll took another drag from the cigarette and grinned at the elf. "I expect that's true."
***
Lotus was cursing quietly but profusely. He was doing his absolute best to keep up with Cú, but it was getting difficult. Trudging through a wet forest at night, following nothing that even resembled a path, was not first on Lotus's list of things he would love to do. He couldn't even do the minor magic it would take to traverse effortlessly and without trace through the forest. The time-manipulation had really taken it out of him. There was a reason that time flowed at a pretty consistent rate. The riverbed of time had definitely become a canyon by now, and diverting its course, even for a few moments, was exceptionally difficult.
Lotus was shaken out of his reflection by Cú suddenly stopping.
"Tread carefully, Kamal," he breathed. "We're getting very close to your child. In fact, you should probably be able to see it if you look around. Your eyes are better than mine."
Lotus had taken off his sunglasses once they had started into the woods. Away from humans, there wasn't much point in them. Pale pink eyes scanned the wood ahead of him, the moonlight providing all the illumination he needed to see perfectly well. He spotted something near the base of a large tree around 20 meters away. Undergrowth obscured the thing though, but he pointed at it. Cú looked at the thing, focused his tracking magics for a moment, then nodded. Together, they began making their way towards the child.
There was a very small clear area when they got close enough to the tree. Sure enough, there was a basket with a sleeping human baby in it at the base.
Something is wrong here, thought Lotus. The voice of his sensei rang in the back of his mind.
Lotus was, fittingly, sitting in the lotus position as his sensei instructed him.
"Remember, Lotus," he said, pointing at a water lily floating on the pond's surface. "You must never mistake a thing's reflection for the thing itself."
Lotus was, to the best of his knowledge, the first and only Zen Buddhist fairy. He had traveled East many years ago, and his sensei's teachings always seemed to help him when he least expected it.
Lotus held up a hand, stopping Cú from approaching the child further.
"That," he said. "Is not the child. It's a glamour."
There was laughter from the higher branches of the tree. Lotus looked up and saw exactly what he hoped he wouldn't. Standing on a branch, holding the basket with the real child in it was another fairy. She was an elf like Lotus, and he knew her well.
"Nightshade," he said, shaking his head. "I should have known." Lotus couldn't prevent a rueful smile from creeping onto his face.
Cú looked from Lotus back to Nightshade, surprise apparent on his face.
"This is Belladonna?" he asked in mild awe. "She is as beautiful as her name would imply."
"And as deadly," agreed Lotus. His voice suddenly took on a cold and impersonal aspect as he spoke again to Cú. "Cú, I thank you for your assistance. You have fulfilled your debt to me and your presence is no longer required."
Cú was transfixed. He had never seen the Unseelie Court's most deadly assassin, and Lotus seemed to have prior dealings with her. This was about to get interesting and he had no intention of leaving.
"Actually, Kamal--"
"I said you can go now, Cú."
Something in Lotus's voice made Cú reluctant to press the issue. So he shrugged and cast a spell, fading from sight into the Otherworld.
Lotus looked Nightshade in the eye. "Now that we're alone, do you want to come down and discuss this like two mature fairies?"
Nightshade laughed maliciously. "If you'd like to pretend that's what we are, then I'll humor you, Lotus."
Nightshade leapt from the high branches of the tree and landed effortlessly. Now that she was on the same level as he, Lotus could get his first good look at her in two years.
She hadn't changed much. She still had her long, shiny black hair, large eyes that were a deep purple shade that most people mistook for black or dark brown. She was about Lotus's height, maybe a centimeter or two shorter. In short, she was still everything that Lotus dreamed about: Beautiful, sexy, and extremely deadly.
"Nightshade," said he. "I know why you're doing this. Can we perhaps come to an agreement?"
Nightshade sniffed contemptuously at Lotus. "Your precious baby boy will please my lords to no end. I see no reason for me to give him back to you."
Lotus was pretty sure he had a solution to this, but again, he was very reluctant to go through with it. The problem was largely in the origin of Nightshade's enmity. Three years ago, Lotus had come out on top in a conflict between the two of them. Long story short, he won her servitude. She was bound to his service for a year and a day. Nightshade was a very proud fairy, and she hated every single second of her subservience. In her opinion, no one was superior to her, and being forced to serve someone inferior was a blow that her pride still had not fully recovered from.
The elfs stared each other down for what seemed an eternity.
Lotus sighed. There was only one way to set this right. To win back Nightshade's favor. (And oh how very sweet her favor was, he thought, reflecting on their pre-conflict days.)
"Listen, Nightshade," he said wearily. "Just let me take the babe back to Avalon. If you do, beginning tomorrow at sundown, I will be bound to your service."
Nightshade grinned wickedly; it made Lotus shudder, for a variety of reasons. "And how long shall this service last?"
Lotus sighed again. "The traditional span. A year and a day shall I be bound to your whim."
Nightshade was satisfied. "I have your word that if I let you take this babe back tonight, you will be mine starting tomorrow at sundown. For a year and a day?"
Lotus nodded. "To those terms, I pledge my word."
Nightshade's grin grew wider still. She handed him the babe. And then she did something she had not done in almost four years. She kissed Lotus, deeply and passionately. Then she winked at him and disappeared.
After recovering from that shock, Lotus looked down at the baby and shook his head, exasperated. "You have no idea what I've gone through because of you tonight, little one."
The babe slept on, content and oblivious. Lotus had a feeling it would be a very long year.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Things My Non-existant Readers Do Not Care About
. . .but that's fine with me, because they don't exist anyway.
First off, song list for Writer's Block III. Not sure why I do this. Maybe I hope if I die I'll be reincarnated and read this blog, picking up more or less where I leave off. Maybe I think someday I'll be famous and some kid will go back and try to emulate me in every way possible. Maybe I'm a creativity voyeur. Whatever. Song list time!
Songs are in the format "Song Time Artist"
Follow the Leader 2:18 Andrew Blatt
Follow the Leader ["Get to It!" Edit] 1:35 Andrew Blatt
Fun With Strums 2:03 Andrew Blatt
Instabilities 0:21 Andrew Blatt
Masked Madman 4:43 Andrew Blatt
Silas Denver [Dead or Alive Bounties Mix] 1:52 Andrew Blatt
Silas Denver [Reno Gun Control Mix] 1:16 Andrew Blatt
Softer 1:24 Andrew Blatt
Another Bag of Bricks 3:45 Flogging Molly
Broken (Featuring Amy Lee) 4:18 Seether & Amy Lee
Daisy 4:18 Switchfoot
DOA 4:12 Foo Fighters
Duel of the Fates 4:14 John Williams
Every Planet We Reach Is Dead 4:55 Gorillaz
Fall to Pieces 4:30 Velvet Revolver
Kremlin Dusk 5:13 Utada Hikaru
Pain 3:01 Jimmy Eat World
Pure 3:30 Superchick
Remedy 3:27 Seether
Sevens 3:49 Samuel R. Hazo
So On 4:16 Silers Bald
Sophmore Slump or Comeback of the Year 3:23 Fall Out Boy
Suddenly 3:35 Superchick
Sweetness 3:40 Jimmy Eat World
The Rare Ould Times 4:06 Flogging Molly
The Storm 3:02 The Procussions
Three Days Later 2:23 FM Static
Apocalypse Please 4:12 Muse
Time Is Running Out 3:56 Muse
Hysteria 3:47 Muse
Thoughts Of A Dying Atheist 3:11 Muse
Starlight 3:59 Muse
Supermassive Black Hole 3:29 Muse
Map Of The Problematique 4:18 Muse
Assassin 3:31 Muse
Bathroom Stall 2:45 Epoxies
Please Please 3:42 Epoxies
Radiation 2:13 Epoxies
Stop the Future 2:06 Epoxies
Struggle Like No Other 1:55 Epoxies
No Interest 3:05 Epoxies
Fly 4:52 Sugar Ray
Under the Sun 3:20 Sugar Ray
Every Morning 3:40 Sugar Ray
Waste 3:27 Smash Mouth
Then the Morning Comes 3:04 Smash Mouth
Defeat You 3:54 Smash Mouth
Home 3:12 Smash Mouth
That's 48 songs! That's 40 in a base 12 system!
I think I'll do a short story now. What to do it over. . .
The problem is that I'm being distracted by trying to pick out the next dozen songs to construct Writer's Block IV. . .
First off, song list for Writer's Block III. Not sure why I do this. Maybe I hope if I die I'll be reincarnated and read this blog, picking up more or less where I leave off. Maybe I think someday I'll be famous and some kid will go back and try to emulate me in every way possible. Maybe I'm a creativity voyeur. Whatever. Song list time!
Songs are in the format "Song Time Artist"
Follow the Leader 2:18 Andrew Blatt
Follow the Leader ["Get to It!" Edit] 1:35 Andrew Blatt
Fun With Strums 2:03 Andrew Blatt
Instabilities 0:21 Andrew Blatt
Masked Madman 4:43 Andrew Blatt
Silas Denver [Dead or Alive Bounties Mix] 1:52 Andrew Blatt
Silas Denver [Reno Gun Control Mix] 1:16 Andrew Blatt
Softer 1:24 Andrew Blatt
Another Bag of Bricks 3:45 Flogging Molly
Broken (Featuring Amy Lee) 4:18 Seether & Amy Lee
Daisy 4:18 Switchfoot
DOA 4:12 Foo Fighters
Duel of the Fates 4:14 John Williams
Every Planet We Reach Is Dead 4:55 Gorillaz
Fall to Pieces 4:30 Velvet Revolver
Kremlin Dusk 5:13 Utada Hikaru
Pain 3:01 Jimmy Eat World
Pure 3:30 Superchick
Remedy 3:27 Seether
Sevens 3:49 Samuel R. Hazo
So On 4:16 Silers Bald
Sophmore Slump or Comeback of the Year 3:23 Fall Out Boy
Suddenly 3:35 Superchick
Sweetness 3:40 Jimmy Eat World
The Rare Ould Times 4:06 Flogging Molly
The Storm 3:02 The Procussions
Three Days Later 2:23 FM Static
Apocalypse Please 4:12 Muse
Time Is Running Out 3:56 Muse
Hysteria 3:47 Muse
Thoughts Of A Dying Atheist 3:11 Muse
Starlight 3:59 Muse
Supermassive Black Hole 3:29 Muse
Map Of The Problematique 4:18 Muse
Assassin 3:31 Muse
Bathroom Stall 2:45 Epoxies
Please Please 3:42 Epoxies
Radiation 2:13 Epoxies
Stop the Future 2:06 Epoxies
Struggle Like No Other 1:55 Epoxies
No Interest 3:05 Epoxies
Fly 4:52 Sugar Ray
Under the Sun 3:20 Sugar Ray
Every Morning 3:40 Sugar Ray
Waste 3:27 Smash Mouth
Then the Morning Comes 3:04 Smash Mouth
Defeat You 3:54 Smash Mouth
Home 3:12 Smash Mouth
That's 48 songs! That's 40 in a base 12 system!
I think I'll do a short story now. What to do it over. . .
The problem is that I'm being distracted by trying to pick out the next dozen songs to construct Writer's Block IV. . .
Friday, February 02, 2007
Good News, Everyone
My new to-write-by playlist "Writer's Block III" is now finished. It has 48 songs, and I'll be posting it and a story sometime this weekend.
~The Drewcifer
~The Drewcifer
Monday, January 29, 2007
Joshua and Quentin
This excerpt covers how Joshua came by the facilities he's been using in previous posts, as well as introducing the minor character Quentin O'Riely. I don't like to use Quentin very often, because he's a very Deus Ex Machina character by virtue of how wealthy and, digitally, powerful he is. As I stated before, Quentin came from a story I started earlier, specifically my sophomore year of high school. His story, though very different, is the spiritual precursor to Joshua's. Anyway, on to Joshua and Quentin's meeting.
"Take this, Joshua. Do not lose it." Quentin handed him a small slip of paper. "That is who you are according to that bank. All of my dealings with them have been through the internet and representatives. If you lose that, you lose the money."
Joshua nodded and read the number to himself. He tucked the paper into his wallet, then looked at Quentin.
"But don't you have another copy somewhere?"
Quentin shook his head. "It's yours now, not mine. You know I don't keep redundant information. Besides," he grinned, tapping the side of his head. "It's all up here. If you lose that, I'll take it as my cue to resume control of those funds. Half a million dollars is not a small amount of money. I expect you to be responsible with it."
"I understand. Thank you for helping us out, Quent. I don't think I'll ever be able to make it up to you."
Quentin waved a hand dismissively. "It's no trouble. I've got the money to spare. 'A friend in need,' right? All I ask is that you don't involve me in this any more than you have to. You're in some pretty big stuff and I need to lay low for the time being. I did find a place for your little operation, as well."
Joshua looked at Quentin both puzzled and embarrassed. "You've already done so much, Quentin. You really don't have to get us a whole building as well."
Quentin shook his head. "It's fine. See, Tendall Corp. has just acquired a small internet venture called Falling Down Sober Industries that was based in the building that Tendall will be donating to your worthy cause, Cressman. And it's perfect, trust me."
Joshua looked at his friend uneasily. "What is so perfect about it?"
Quentin grinned again. "Well, for one, it's a modest office building. Perfect for the little business front you're running. But there's a bonus, too. In the early sixties, a man named Harold Baumrigger started a cult. He was ridiculously paranoid, convinced that nuclear holocaust was imminent. He built himself a huge multi-story fallout shelter. Harold taught his followers that only he could keep them safe from the rapidly approaching destruction of the Earth. After it was revealed he was involved in sexual harassment of some of his disciples, the operation was shut down. But the bunker is still there. Beneath that building."
Quentin looked at Joshua, who in turn nodded appreciatively. Quentin's characteristic grin returned. "A few years ago, just before Falling Down Sober invested in the building, someone went and deleted all mention of the bunker. I mean, no one had looked at the listing in years, so no one remembered any way. A certain hacker just made sure they stayed forgetful. I happen to have the last remaining blueprint of the fallout shelter."
Joshua was impressed, and it showed. A new thought occurred to him which prompted a question. "But if you bought it, does that mean you were going to--"
Quentin raised a hand, cutting him off. "Jesse and I occasionally used it for an office. And you don't get far in my profession without a little paranoia. What I mean is that if I think there's going to be a nuclear winter sometime soon, I'll be stopping by."
"Take this, Joshua. Do not lose it." Quentin handed him a small slip of paper. "That is who you are according to that bank. All of my dealings with them have been through the internet and representatives. If you lose that, you lose the money."
Joshua nodded and read the number to himself. He tucked the paper into his wallet, then looked at Quentin.
"But don't you have another copy somewhere?"
Quentin shook his head. "It's yours now, not mine. You know I don't keep redundant information. Besides," he grinned, tapping the side of his head. "It's all up here. If you lose that, I'll take it as my cue to resume control of those funds. Half a million dollars is not a small amount of money. I expect you to be responsible with it."
"I understand. Thank you for helping us out, Quent. I don't think I'll ever be able to make it up to you."
Quentin waved a hand dismissively. "It's no trouble. I've got the money to spare. 'A friend in need,' right? All I ask is that you don't involve me in this any more than you have to. You're in some pretty big stuff and I need to lay low for the time being. I did find a place for your little operation, as well."
Joshua looked at Quentin both puzzled and embarrassed. "You've already done so much, Quentin. You really don't have to get us a whole building as well."
Quentin shook his head. "It's fine. See, Tendall Corp. has just acquired a small internet venture called Falling Down Sober Industries that was based in the building that Tendall will be donating to your worthy cause, Cressman. And it's perfect, trust me."
Joshua looked at his friend uneasily. "What is so perfect about it?"
Quentin grinned again. "Well, for one, it's a modest office building. Perfect for the little business front you're running. But there's a bonus, too. In the early sixties, a man named Harold Baumrigger started a cult. He was ridiculously paranoid, convinced that nuclear holocaust was imminent. He built himself a huge multi-story fallout shelter. Harold taught his followers that only he could keep them safe from the rapidly approaching destruction of the Earth. After it was revealed he was involved in sexual harassment of some of his disciples, the operation was shut down. But the bunker is still there. Beneath that building."
Quentin looked at Joshua, who in turn nodded appreciatively. Quentin's characteristic grin returned. "A few years ago, just before Falling Down Sober invested in the building, someone went and deleted all mention of the bunker. I mean, no one had looked at the listing in years, so no one remembered any way. A certain hacker just made sure they stayed forgetful. I happen to have the last remaining blueprint of the fallout shelter."
Joshua was impressed, and it showed. A new thought occurred to him which prompted a question. "But if you bought it, does that mean you were going to--"
Quentin raised a hand, cutting him off. "Jesse and I occasionally used it for an office. And you don't get far in my profession without a little paranoia. What I mean is that if I think there's going to be a nuclear winter sometime soon, I'll be stopping by."
Preparations
I don't normally do this, but I'm just going to type a little background about a character who is going to be appearing in the next post I do. His name is subject to various spellings, but for now call him Quentin O'Riely. He is the twin brother of the previously encountered Brigit and best friend of Jesse Rasnick. Quentin is the main character of the story I started involving those three characters. Okay, here's a pseudo-encyclopedic listing of Quentin.
Quentin O'Riely: Male, mortal. No supernatural powers. Instinctive expert on computers and related systems. More famous for his exploits as the hacker known as Imhotep. Does most of his hacking in the true sense, only occasionally participating in the "phreaking" that has made Imhotep famous. Always attempts to create a sort of "Robin Hood" image for Imhotep, robbing only large corporations that he, Quentin, views as corrupt. Normally does very hard-to-catch items, such as siphoning off a portion of a target company's revenue into an overseas bank account of his own. A huge fan of the proverbial Swiss bank account, Quentin has quite a few and is a multi-millionaire, though he does not make that known. At all. He also runs several legitimate online businesses, contributing to his income. Part of his success as Imhotep comes from the fact that he has custom programmed every piece of software he uses. This includes his operating system, which he continually tweaks and upgrades. He went to high school with Joshua Cressman, who eventually became trusted enough to learn some of Quentin's secrets, including the fact that he had much more money than anyone knew, but not including how he got it or who, as a hacker, he is.
There we go, now you know the scoop on Quentin. I'll keep a few secrets to myself though.
Preview time!
The following is somehow related to Joshua (props if you figure out what it is. You have to click to see it because of the transparency.):
Added a second, non-transparent, bigger version:
Frustration! The bigger version does not have all of the information! Curses! No matter, I will get this fixed. Accept this temporary solution for now.
Update: It doesn't look like I'm going to get the full string at a readable size, so please accept the above as a minor preview of what it would look like at a readable size.
Quentin O'Riely: Male, mortal. No supernatural powers. Instinctive expert on computers and related systems. More famous for his exploits as the hacker known as Imhotep. Does most of his hacking in the true sense, only occasionally participating in the "phreaking" that has made Imhotep famous. Always attempts to create a sort of "Robin Hood" image for Imhotep, robbing only large corporations that he, Quentin, views as corrupt. Normally does very hard-to-catch items, such as siphoning off a portion of a target company's revenue into an overseas bank account of his own. A huge fan of the proverbial Swiss bank account, Quentin has quite a few and is a multi-millionaire, though he does not make that known. At all. He also runs several legitimate online businesses, contributing to his income. Part of his success as Imhotep comes from the fact that he has custom programmed every piece of software he uses. This includes his operating system, which he continually tweaks and upgrades. He went to high school with Joshua Cressman, who eventually became trusted enough to learn some of Quentin's secrets, including the fact that he had much more money than anyone knew, but not including how he got it or who, as a hacker, he is.
There we go, now you know the scoop on Quentin. I'll keep a few secrets to myself though.
Preview time!
The following is somehow related to Joshua (props if you figure out what it is. You have to click to see it because of the transparency.):
Added a second, non-transparent, bigger version:
Frustration! The bigger version does not have all of the information! Curses! No matter, I will get this fixed. Accept this temporary solution for now.
Update: It doesn't look like I'm going to get the full string at a readable size, so please accept the above as a minor preview of what it would look like at a readable size.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Say It With Me: "Intrigue"
POSTS YOU NEED TO HAVE READ BEFORE YOU READ THIS:
Joshua Cressman
Sleep Deprivation
Joshua, Meet Chris
(In that order, probably.)
This is a fun little event that I dreamed up over the last few days. The nice part about it is that that it 1)reveals a little bit more about the differences between Iris and Chris and 2)will enable me to do another scene later without having to answer some awkward questions. I haven't gotten up the nerve to write aforementioned later scene yet. There will still be awkward questions when I post it, just not "WTF is going on and why is Chris where she is?" Anyway, on to what I actually have written.
Current Music: Utada Hikaru selected songs:
1. About Me
2. Devil Inside
3. Fly Me to the Moon (In Other Words)
4. Exodus
5. Usomitaina I Love You
6. The Workout
7. Simple and Clean
8. Kremlin Dusk
9. Easy Breezy
10. Animato
11. Let Me Give You My Love
12. Simple and Clean [Planet 9 Remix]
This playlist is on random and repeat, so the order of these songs is constantly shifting, but these are the songs.
-The Drewcifer
Joshua finished up the last of his desk work for the day. In the two weeks since Chris had shown up, she had proven just as useful as her twin, if not moreso. Joshua walked and was met by Adam at the door to his office. They had important matters to discuss, but not just yet. They struck up a conversation typical of best friends. It wound from topic to topic, sometimes a logical progression, sometimes flowing from one idea to the next, usually jumping unpredictably. As they turned a corner and were just settling into serious discussion, Chris was there.
"Hello!" she said, energetically. Her voice still had the lilting quality that had caught Joshua's attention in the first place. She stared blankly at the air for a moment, the spoke again. "Mind if I walk with you?"
Joshua shrugged. "I don't see why not, but the conversation is about to get pretty boring."
"That's okay, I just want to be with people right now," explained Chris.
Joshua almost asked what she meant, then thought better of it. Chris was just a little more like Iris than he had originally thought upon first meeting her.
So the three of them walked, Joshua and Adam discussing a range of rather boring, if vital, logistics topics, Chris trailing a few steps behind them.
Suddenly, Chris snatched Adam's gun from its holster, spun around very quickly, and put three holes into the ceiling. As she was squeezing the trigger on the second shot, her free hand shot out to the side, catching Joshua's wrist, preventing he progress of his knife to her shoulder.
"What the Hell are you--" Joshua began yelling but stopped when blood began to drip from the holes in the ceiling.
Adam spoke up, somewhat perturbed. "As the only normal mortal currently present, I'd like to know what, exactly, just happened." He paused for a beat, then held out his hand to Chris. "Furthermore, being a lowly mortal, I'd like my gun back."
Chris nodded at Adam and returned the firearm. She looked at Joshua and spoke.
"I'm going to let go of your wrist and you're going to put that away," she said, gesturing towards the knife held in his currently trapped hand. "Nothing needs to be cut right now, Nemesis. Next, I'm going to explain. Understood?" The lilting quality was completely gone from her voice, in fact, it had an almost icy quality to it now. The complete split-second transformation caught Joshua off-guard. He nodded dumbly and Chris let go of his wrist. He put the knife away and fought the urge to rub his wrist. The girl had quite a grip.
Chris was satisfied, so she nodded as if she was agreeing with herself. The motion reminded Joshua of Iris. Not surprising, he supposed. After all, they were twins.
Chris began to explain. "The men in the vents were spies from Shane Gaspar. They were recruited from one of the street gangs in the area that are under Shane's control. It's one you've had previous run-ins with, so you should be able to recognize the tattoos that mark them. The first one has his mark on his back, the second's is on his arm, the third's is on his chest. I suggest you go retrieve and dispose of those bodies now." Chris turned and walked away.
Joshua looked at Adam, sighed, and got on the intercom. "I'm going to need a few boys for some rather unpleasant duct work," he said over the loudspeaker.
*******
Chris walked into the broom closet just as the man was replacing the cover on the vent. "Well done," she said quietly. The man started, then turned around, fumbling for his weapon.
"You won't need that, Nate. Don't make me regret letting you live back there."
The man stopped trying to get his gun into his hands and left it as it was. He stared at Chris, thoughts racing through his head at a rapid pace. How does she know my name? Is hers the voice that told me to go, how to get here right before the others were shot? She's definitely the one who shot them, I know that. But how? How did she do it and why am I so sure it was her?
The man stared down Chris for a few moments, then found his voice. "Why?" he inquired weakly.
Chris shook her head. "I had to. You idiots tattoo everyone and their markings were far too obvious. I'd almost lost hope but then I realized that they were at least smart enough to have you grow your hair out before they sent you. That means the tattoo on your scalp wasn't going to be recognized, at least not easily. Now listen, in order to avoid interpreter detection, you're going to need my help."
Nate looked at her, still visibly shaken. How did she know so much? "What do you want?" he stammered.
Chris smiled. It was a predatory thing, with none of the music and grace she had displayed when Joshua first met her. "Tell me where to find Shane Gaspar."
Footnote: Shane Gaspar is the main bad guy. He's the man in the red suit Joshua fought in the dream in the post "Joshua Cressman." And yes, Chris is basically agreeing to help and enemy spy. Funny that. I think this maybe the longest bit of literature I've managed to write set in this world. I hope you enjoyed it.
Joshua Cressman
Sleep Deprivation
Joshua, Meet Chris
(In that order, probably.)
This is a fun little event that I dreamed up over the last few days. The nice part about it is that that it 1)reveals a little bit more about the differences between Iris and Chris and 2)will enable me to do another scene later without having to answer some awkward questions. I haven't gotten up the nerve to write aforementioned later scene yet. There will still be awkward questions when I post it, just not "WTF is going on and why is Chris where she is?" Anyway, on to what I actually have written.
Current Music: Utada Hikaru selected songs:
1. About Me
2. Devil Inside
3. Fly Me to the Moon (In Other Words)
4. Exodus
5. Usomitaina I Love You
6. The Workout
7. Simple and Clean
8. Kremlin Dusk
9. Easy Breezy
10. Animato
11. Let Me Give You My Love
12. Simple and Clean [Planet 9 Remix]
This playlist is on random and repeat, so the order of these songs is constantly shifting, but these are the songs.
-The Drewcifer
Joshua finished up the last of his desk work for the day. In the two weeks since Chris had shown up, she had proven just as useful as her twin, if not moreso. Joshua walked and was met by Adam at the door to his office. They had important matters to discuss, but not just yet. They struck up a conversation typical of best friends. It wound from topic to topic, sometimes a logical progression, sometimes flowing from one idea to the next, usually jumping unpredictably. As they turned a corner and were just settling into serious discussion, Chris was there.
"Hello!" she said, energetically. Her voice still had the lilting quality that had caught Joshua's attention in the first place. She stared blankly at the air for a moment, the spoke again. "Mind if I walk with you?"
Joshua shrugged. "I don't see why not, but the conversation is about to get pretty boring."
"That's okay, I just want to be with people right now," explained Chris.
Joshua almost asked what she meant, then thought better of it. Chris was just a little more like Iris than he had originally thought upon first meeting her.
So the three of them walked, Joshua and Adam discussing a range of rather boring, if vital, logistics topics, Chris trailing a few steps behind them.
Suddenly, Chris snatched Adam's gun from its holster, spun around very quickly, and put three holes into the ceiling. As she was squeezing the trigger on the second shot, her free hand shot out to the side, catching Joshua's wrist, preventing he progress of his knife to her shoulder.
"What the Hell are you--" Joshua began yelling but stopped when blood began to drip from the holes in the ceiling.
Adam spoke up, somewhat perturbed. "As the only normal mortal currently present, I'd like to know what, exactly, just happened." He paused for a beat, then held out his hand to Chris. "Furthermore, being a lowly mortal, I'd like my gun back."
Chris nodded at Adam and returned the firearm. She looked at Joshua and spoke.
"I'm going to let go of your wrist and you're going to put that away," she said, gesturing towards the knife held in his currently trapped hand. "Nothing needs to be cut right now, Nemesis. Next, I'm going to explain. Understood?" The lilting quality was completely gone from her voice, in fact, it had an almost icy quality to it now. The complete split-second transformation caught Joshua off-guard. He nodded dumbly and Chris let go of his wrist. He put the knife away and fought the urge to rub his wrist. The girl had quite a grip.
Chris was satisfied, so she nodded as if she was agreeing with herself. The motion reminded Joshua of Iris. Not surprising, he supposed. After all, they were twins.
Chris began to explain. "The men in the vents were spies from Shane Gaspar. They were recruited from one of the street gangs in the area that are under Shane's control. It's one you've had previous run-ins with, so you should be able to recognize the tattoos that mark them. The first one has his mark on his back, the second's is on his arm, the third's is on his chest. I suggest you go retrieve and dispose of those bodies now." Chris turned and walked away.
Joshua looked at Adam, sighed, and got on the intercom. "I'm going to need a few boys for some rather unpleasant duct work," he said over the loudspeaker.
*******
Chris walked into the broom closet just as the man was replacing the cover on the vent. "Well done," she said quietly. The man started, then turned around, fumbling for his weapon.
"You won't need that, Nate. Don't make me regret letting you live back there."
The man stopped trying to get his gun into his hands and left it as it was. He stared at Chris, thoughts racing through his head at a rapid pace. How does she know my name? Is hers the voice that told me to go, how to get here right before the others were shot? She's definitely the one who shot them, I know that. But how? How did she do it and why am I so sure it was her?
The man stared down Chris for a few moments, then found his voice. "Why?" he inquired weakly.
Chris shook her head. "I had to. You idiots tattoo everyone and their markings were far too obvious. I'd almost lost hope but then I realized that they were at least smart enough to have you grow your hair out before they sent you. That means the tattoo on your scalp wasn't going to be recognized, at least not easily. Now listen, in order to avoid interpreter detection, you're going to need my help."
Nate looked at her, still visibly shaken. How did she know so much? "What do you want?" he stammered.
Chris smiled. It was a predatory thing, with none of the music and grace she had displayed when Joshua first met her. "Tell me where to find Shane Gaspar."
Footnote: Shane Gaspar is the main bad guy. He's the man in the red suit Joshua fought in the dream in the post "Joshua Cressman." And yes, Chris is basically agreeing to help and enemy spy. Funny that. I think this maybe the longest bit of literature I've managed to write set in this world. I hope you enjoyed it.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Story for Morgan
This one is for Morgan. She's a friend of mine whom I love very dearly. Okay, here's to hoping it doesn't suck.
-The Drewcifer
Melissa splashed cold water on her face and looked up to view herself in the mirror. Pull it together, Mel. You're gonna be fine. She tried on a smile, but it looked somewhat strained an awkward on her face at the moment, so she decided to go back to a more neutral expression. It's just a boy. Just a date. Calm down. Consciously, she slowed her breathing and kept that constant until her heart rate settled down to a much more normal range.
Much better, she thought, a smile coming unbidden to her face. When natural and smooth, it looked fantastic on her. Don't force the smile, she said to herself. But don't hold it back either. Okay. Good advice from me to me.
Melissa exited the bathroom and set about getting herself for this evening. Her date was arriving in half an hour and she wanted to look good.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. When she opened the door, her date's face told her that she had succeeded in her efforts earlier. Damn, she thought. Judging from that expression, must be lookin' fine.
Her date stuttered for a second after she opened the door. And who wouldn't? It was a slinky black dress, showing not a small amount of cleavage. Bright blue eyes looked out at him, framed by beautiful, wavy red hair.
Finally, he found his voice. "Um," he coughed. "So, are you ready to go?"
Melissa grinned. "Absolutely."
As they walked to the car, the boy knew that this was one girl he was going to be glad to be seen with tonight.
-The Drewcifer
Melissa splashed cold water on her face and looked up to view herself in the mirror. Pull it together, Mel. You're gonna be fine. She tried on a smile, but it looked somewhat strained an awkward on her face at the moment, so she decided to go back to a more neutral expression. It's just a boy. Just a date. Calm down. Consciously, she slowed her breathing and kept that constant until her heart rate settled down to a much more normal range.
Much better, she thought, a smile coming unbidden to her face. When natural and smooth, it looked fantastic on her. Don't force the smile, she said to herself. But don't hold it back either. Okay. Good advice from me to me.
Melissa exited the bathroom and set about getting herself for this evening. Her date was arriving in half an hour and she wanted to look good.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. When she opened the door, her date's face told her that she had succeeded in her efforts earlier. Damn, she thought. Judging from that expression, must be lookin' fine.
Her date stuttered for a second after she opened the door. And who wouldn't? It was a slinky black dress, showing not a small amount of cleavage. Bright blue eyes looked out at him, framed by beautiful, wavy red hair.
Finally, he found his voice. "Um," he coughed. "So, are you ready to go?"
Melissa grinned. "Absolutely."
As they walked to the car, the boy knew that this was one girl he was going to be glad to be seen with tonight.
"Write me a story involving a blanket, a tiara, and a picture frame. Go!"
This story is dedicated to Jennybean.
You can learn a lot about a person from the things they treasure. In Iris Christine Wynter's bedroom, there are three treasures. Said treasures are a blanket, a tiara, and a picture frame. Let us start with the last and work our way back to the first.
The picture frame.
The picture frame holds in it a picture of a man that few, if any of Iris's current friends would recognize if they saw. This man was, at one point, Iris Wynter's fiancé. She loved him, or at least thought she did. Who can say for sure? But when the Seer awakened, when Christine became more than just a second name, Iris could no longer stay with him. The heartache has yet to completely abate, but Iris both knew that she was destined for other things, and feared for the safety of this man. His name is Anthony Joseph Fiocco. He and Iris were together for four years. They were three months from their wedding when Iris called it off and vanished.
The tiara.
The tiara is a gift from Gideon Irby, the Sage. It she values for a very practical reason. The tiara blocks out her second sight when she wears it. Sometimes, even the Seer needs a break. Even the Seer must restrict herself to this reality. And during those few brief intervals that she can afford to wear the tiara, Iris Wynter knows peace that has been all too rare since she Woke.
The blanket.
The blanket is the last of the treasures. It is also the most treasured. The blanket is technically a quilt. It was made by Iris's mother. The scent of her father's pipe tobacco permeates it, mingled with the soft smell of her mother's perfume. It brings comfort to Iris whenever she is near it. Her father died when she was midway through college, just after she met Anthony. Her mother she has not contacted since she Woke, since she broke ties with Anthony. It is the last piece of Home that she has left.
You can learn a lot about a person from the things they treasure. In Iris Christine Wynter's bedroom, there are three treasures. Said treasures are a blanket, a tiara, and a picture frame. Let us start with the last and work our way back to the first.
The picture frame.
The picture frame holds in it a picture of a man that few, if any of Iris's current friends would recognize if they saw. This man was, at one point, Iris Wynter's fiancé. She loved him, or at least thought she did. Who can say for sure? But when the Seer awakened, when Christine became more than just a second name, Iris could no longer stay with him. The heartache has yet to completely abate, but Iris both knew that she was destined for other things, and feared for the safety of this man. His name is Anthony Joseph Fiocco. He and Iris were together for four years. They were three months from their wedding when Iris called it off and vanished.
The tiara.
The tiara is a gift from Gideon Irby, the Sage. It she values for a very practical reason. The tiara blocks out her second sight when she wears it. Sometimes, even the Seer needs a break. Even the Seer must restrict herself to this reality. And during those few brief intervals that she can afford to wear the tiara, Iris Wynter knows peace that has been all too rare since she Woke.
The blanket.
The blanket is the last of the treasures. It is also the most treasured. The blanket is technically a quilt. It was made by Iris's mother. The scent of her father's pipe tobacco permeates it, mingled with the soft smell of her mother's perfume. It brings comfort to Iris whenever she is near it. Her father died when she was midway through college, just after she met Anthony. Her mother she has not contacted since she Woke, since she broke ties with Anthony. It is the last piece of Home that she has left.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Let's Have a Break from Narcom, Shall We?
Okay, so yeah. I've had this kinda romance-novel type scene in my head since early last semester. It comes back to me every time a girl I care about talks about how she's chasing a boy who doesn't even seem to care about her. I've resisted putting it into words, but I think I need to. As I write this, Christian Rap is blasting in my ears. Blame TobyMac for anything strange that happens in this little snippet. Also, these names are pretty much meaningless. Any gender-appropriate name can be substituted for another. The names are not the important part of this.
"It's not fair!" exclaimed Bethany. There were tears in her eyes, her head rested on Mark's chest. It was a warm spring night and her tears were hot as they bled through his shirt after escaping her eyes. Awkwardly, he moved a hand up to stroke her hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.
"Why? Why?" she continued, sniffing to mark her punctuation. "I mean, no matter how much I tried, I wasn't good enough for him. All he could do was compare me to that tramp, even when we were dating."
Mark thought for a moment. Apprehension gripped him down to the very bone. Was he really about to speak his mind to this girl? It seemed so, because his mouth was moving before his brain could say "Hey, wait! The committee does not have a quorum, we can't even vote yet!"
But speaking he was, and the words flowed out before he could even think of what he was saying. "Maybe the problem is this. You've been focused on someone who can't stop talking about how beautiful his ex is. Someone who can't stop thinking about what he had long enough to see what he has. What you need is not someone who compares you to someone else, but someone who doesn't just think, but knows that you are the most precious and beautiful person he's ever seen."
Suddenly, both of them became very aware of the manner in which they were standing. Bethany had pressed herself into Mark. Mark, in turn, had his arms around Bethany, for his embrace had always comforted her. She looked up into his eyes, astonished. After three and a half seconds that seemed like three and a half eternities, she spoke to him in a whisper.
"Know anyone like that, Mark?"
"I might," he replied, equally soft in tone.
And then they kissed.
And that was that.
"It's not fair!" exclaimed Bethany. There were tears in her eyes, her head rested on Mark's chest. It was a warm spring night and her tears were hot as they bled through his shirt after escaping her eyes. Awkwardly, he moved a hand up to stroke her hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.
"Why? Why?" she continued, sniffing to mark her punctuation. "I mean, no matter how much I tried, I wasn't good enough for him. All he could do was compare me to that tramp, even when we were dating."
Mark thought for a moment. Apprehension gripped him down to the very bone. Was he really about to speak his mind to this girl? It seemed so, because his mouth was moving before his brain could say "Hey, wait! The committee does not have a quorum, we can't even vote yet!"
But speaking he was, and the words flowed out before he could even think of what he was saying. "Maybe the problem is this. You've been focused on someone who can't stop talking about how beautiful his ex is. Someone who can't stop thinking about what he had long enough to see what he has. What you need is not someone who compares you to someone else, but someone who doesn't just think, but knows that you are the most precious and beautiful person he's ever seen."
Suddenly, both of them became very aware of the manner in which they were standing. Bethany had pressed herself into Mark. Mark, in turn, had his arms around Bethany, for his embrace had always comforted her. She looked up into his eyes, astonished. After three and a half seconds that seemed like three and a half eternities, she spoke to him in a whisper.
"Know anyone like that, Mark?"
"I might," he replied, equally soft in tone.
And then they kissed.
And that was that.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Narcom Locke's Monologue
Narcom Locke: Generic Sci-Fi character. Narcom has been and done so many things over the years. Now he's a MACRA pilot. What's a MACRA, you ask. Read and find out.
The joysticks feel good in my hands, even after all these years. I run my hands over the controls, checking each dial. There have been some changes made to a cockpit during my hiatus. The one big improvement I see is a clear plastic sleeve, just about the right size for a picture. And that's what it's for, a picture. That way, the pilot can stick a picture of his girl or his family or his dog or whatever he's got to come home to there instead of covering up one of the more important meters, indicators, or dials. That's a damned good idea. I once had a friend die because his overheat indicator was obscured by the picture of his grandma he kept clipped to his control panel.
As for me, I leave the sleeve empty.
My name is Narcom Locke. I'm a MACRA pilot. That's Mechanized Anthropoid Combat Resolution Apparatus. It's mecha, for you Japanophiles out there. And no one's bothered to capitalize the letters in macra in about ten years. That's who I am, or was, at least. I got out two years ago. Honorable discharge from the Army of Independent Peoples. Valor and Bravery in the Face of Almost Certain Death. I got three medals, and accepted five more on behalf of fallen comrades. I was, and still am, one of the best. But I wanted out.
The problem was, I no longer cared about what I was fighting for. The Independents' Army had been a dream come true for me at first. I helped develop most of the technology current macras use. My father had even been on the committee that had come up with that ridiculous name. Conflict Resolution Apparatus. That sounds so much more peaceable, so much more comforting than Death Machine, Massacre Engine, Child Slayer. My personal macra, Avalon, had been, to me, as beautiful as her namesake. By the end of my tour, between repairs and upgrades, none of her original parts were still with her. But she was still the same machine. Still my Avalon.
My call sign was--is--"Brightghost." I never was quite clear on where it came from, but I wore it proudly nonetheless.
I lost a lot of good friends over the course of the war. Especially after the Hegemony started producing their own macras. Suddenly, everyone had the same maneuverability that we had. Our edge was lost, and their numbers began to have a more pronounced effect on us. Oh we still had far superior macras, but when they had the material and the manpower to field four macras to our every one, the balance tipped their way quite a bit.
I saw things on the frontline. Things I will never forget no matter how much I want to. Somewhere along the line, I lost my purpose. I lost the burning passion that said "Never! You cannot ever take my freedom! Not while I still draw breath!" That fire was doused by the blood of many friends and more enemies. So two years ago, after I realized I was becoming a soulless shell of a man, I told Command I couldn't handle it anymore. They tried to talk me out of it, but in the end they gave me my pat on the back and sent me on my way. The war was still raging, but I moved away from the battlegrounds. Moved inward, where the fighting hadn't come yet. I swore never to fight again.
Yet here I am, in the cockpit of Avalon II, one of the finest pieces of equipment I've ever touched. Here I am, about to go out and kill again. Where the Hell did this all go wrong?
There's more to Narcom's tale. I'm just really tired, so it's not getting told tonight!
The joysticks feel good in my hands, even after all these years. I run my hands over the controls, checking each dial. There have been some changes made to a cockpit during my hiatus. The one big improvement I see is a clear plastic sleeve, just about the right size for a picture. And that's what it's for, a picture. That way, the pilot can stick a picture of his girl or his family or his dog or whatever he's got to come home to there instead of covering up one of the more important meters, indicators, or dials. That's a damned good idea. I once had a friend die because his overheat indicator was obscured by the picture of his grandma he kept clipped to his control panel.
As for me, I leave the sleeve empty.
My name is Narcom Locke. I'm a MACRA pilot. That's Mechanized Anthropoid Combat Resolution Apparatus. It's mecha, for you Japanophiles out there. And no one's bothered to capitalize the letters in macra in about ten years. That's who I am, or was, at least. I got out two years ago. Honorable discharge from the Army of Independent Peoples. Valor and Bravery in the Face of Almost Certain Death. I got three medals, and accepted five more on behalf of fallen comrades. I was, and still am, one of the best. But I wanted out.
The problem was, I no longer cared about what I was fighting for. The Independents' Army had been a dream come true for me at first. I helped develop most of the technology current macras use. My father had even been on the committee that had come up with that ridiculous name. Conflict Resolution Apparatus. That sounds so much more peaceable, so much more comforting than Death Machine, Massacre Engine, Child Slayer. My personal macra, Avalon, had been, to me, as beautiful as her namesake. By the end of my tour, between repairs and upgrades, none of her original parts were still with her. But she was still the same machine. Still my Avalon.
My call sign was--is--"Brightghost." I never was quite clear on where it came from, but I wore it proudly nonetheless.
I lost a lot of good friends over the course of the war. Especially after the Hegemony started producing their own macras. Suddenly, everyone had the same maneuverability that we had. Our edge was lost, and their numbers began to have a more pronounced effect on us. Oh we still had far superior macras, but when they had the material and the manpower to field four macras to our every one, the balance tipped their way quite a bit.
I saw things on the frontline. Things I will never forget no matter how much I want to. Somewhere along the line, I lost my purpose. I lost the burning passion that said "Never! You cannot ever take my freedom! Not while I still draw breath!" That fire was doused by the blood of many friends and more enemies. So two years ago, after I realized I was becoming a soulless shell of a man, I told Command I couldn't handle it anymore. They tried to talk me out of it, but in the end they gave me my pat on the back and sent me on my way. The war was still raging, but I moved away from the battlegrounds. Moved inward, where the fighting hadn't come yet. I swore never to fight again.
Yet here I am, in the cockpit of Avalon II, one of the finest pieces of equipment I've ever touched. Here I am, about to go out and kill again. Where the Hell did this all go wrong?
There's more to Narcom's tale. I'm just really tired, so it's not getting told tonight!
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Mixed Nuts
I break my silence not with words, but with sounds and pictures. Only there is a catch. I provide the raw material, you must process it. Ready? Okay, let us begin.
* * *
You can feel it. A place just out of reach. Somewhere you long to be, yet suspect you will never see. Heaven is a place of dreams, but dreams can become nightmares oh so easily. Don't trip, you might Fall. It's very, very bad to Fall.
Speak not to me of things Heaven-sent. For they have sent me and have sent to me. Neither do I much care for. But that is not true. This is what I do. This is who I am. I enjoy my task as I am hating it.
My name is Quintus. From the Latin meaning "fifth." I am named such because I am the fifth to fill my position. If I have my way, there will never be a Sextus. Quartus was utterly useless, his tenure being the shortest of any of my antecedents.
What is my work, you might ask. It's simple enough. Demon-hunting. Upstairs thinks that a few too many of them are straying from their designated stomping grounds. Hell, that is. Being the non-confrontational folk they are, the angels prefer to have a mortal to do their dirty work. Or at least my patron does. There are other hunters, with different angels sponsoring them. Mine's alright. Sent down a half-decent trainer to me, taught me enough not to get myself killed. It's not a bad time. You get to meet new and interesting people, then kill them. Also, if you avoid being killed, you'll live forever. But you will get killed. That's the rub of it, eh?
My weapon is a pitchfork; black, sharp, sleek, and surprisingly concealable. The whole apparatus extends from a handle and folds out at my whim. I took it from the first demon I killed. I thought him carrying it a bit cliché, but for me, with my line of work, I find the irony quite to my liking.
I've been to Hell, on Heaven's behalf. Certain power-hungry demon got the idea that if he kept mucking about in Earth business without coming to Earth, he'd be safe. Wrong idea. I brought the fight to him, that's how I got these horns. Bihuanel, Lord of Biunallum. Well, former Lord. That title actually belongs to me now. He left these horns on me as a mark. A dying "gift." No matter what I do, I'll never be fully rid of his presence, though his soul is gone and beyond repair.
One would think after what I've been through, Heaven would welcome me home with open arms, right? Wrong.
*
The last strains of the doxology ring out as the doors begin to slowly swing closed. Huge doors. Each one is easily six times my height and three times my width. The Gates of Heaven are nothing compared to the Doors to Heaven.
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
Amen.
I almost turn and walk away, but I decide otherwise.
My hand snaps out and catches the door as it is about to close.
I say one word. Not loudly, not quietly. Just ordinary, as if I were talking to you right now. One word.
"No."
* * *
You can feel it. A place just out of reach. Somewhere you long to be, yet suspect you will never see. Heaven is a place of dreams, but dreams can become nightmares oh so easily. Don't trip, you might Fall. It's very, very bad to Fall.
Speak not to me of things Heaven-sent. For they have sent me and have sent to me. Neither do I much care for. But that is not true. This is what I do. This is who I am. I enjoy my task as I am hating it.
My name is Quintus. From the Latin meaning "fifth." I am named such because I am the fifth to fill my position. If I have my way, there will never be a Sextus. Quartus was utterly useless, his tenure being the shortest of any of my antecedents.
What is my work, you might ask. It's simple enough. Demon-hunting. Upstairs thinks that a few too many of them are straying from their designated stomping grounds. Hell, that is. Being the non-confrontational folk they are, the angels prefer to have a mortal to do their dirty work. Or at least my patron does. There are other hunters, with different angels sponsoring them. Mine's alright. Sent down a half-decent trainer to me, taught me enough not to get myself killed. It's not a bad time. You get to meet new and interesting people, then kill them. Also, if you avoid being killed, you'll live forever. But you will get killed. That's the rub of it, eh?
My weapon is a pitchfork; black, sharp, sleek, and surprisingly concealable. The whole apparatus extends from a handle and folds out at my whim. I took it from the first demon I killed. I thought him carrying it a bit cliché, but for me, with my line of work, I find the irony quite to my liking.
I've been to Hell, on Heaven's behalf. Certain power-hungry demon got the idea that if he kept mucking about in Earth business without coming to Earth, he'd be safe. Wrong idea. I brought the fight to him, that's how I got these horns. Bihuanel, Lord of Biunallum. Well, former Lord. That title actually belongs to me now. He left these horns on me as a mark. A dying "gift." No matter what I do, I'll never be fully rid of his presence, though his soul is gone and beyond repair.
One would think after what I've been through, Heaven would welcome me home with open arms, right? Wrong.
*
The last strains of the doxology ring out as the doors begin to slowly swing closed. Huge doors. Each one is easily six times my height and three times my width. The Gates of Heaven are nothing compared to the Doors to Heaven.
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
Amen.
I almost turn and walk away, but I decide otherwise.
My hand snaps out and catches the door as it is about to close.
I say one word. Not loudly, not quietly. Just ordinary, as if I were talking to you right now. One word.
"No."
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Joshua's Monologue
I haven't slept in three days.
Six months ago, I started having the most vivid dreams imaginable. After every dream, I'd wake up briefly and be able to remember both that dream, and all the dreams that had come before. I'd fall asleep and forget it all by morning.
Three days ago, the nightmare came rushing into my life. Everything, every single one of those vivid dreams, dreams which make one truly understand what a prophet says when he describes a vision, came back to me. Suddenly I could remember them all with perfect clarity. I realized that they were, to some degree, real.
I haven't slept in three days.
Six months ago, I started having the most vivid dreams imaginable. After every dream, I'd wake up briefly and be able to remember both that dream, and all the dreams that had come before. I'd fall asleep and forget it all by morning.
Three days ago, the nightmare came rushing into my life. Everything, every single one of those vivid dreams, dreams which make one truly understand what a prophet says when he describes a vision, came back to me. Suddenly I could remember them all with perfect clarity. I realized that they were, to some degree, real.
I haven't slept in three days.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Joshua, meet Chris
This story follows after the one from yesterday. Both of them would make a little more sense if you knew what events had occurred before them. Oh well. You're getting free stories, man! Don't whine to me that they don't make any sense due to their lack of context!
Anyway, comment telling me what you think.
-The Drewcifer
Joshua was busy reading over some important documents when he heard a knock on his office door. "Come on in!" When Joshua said it, it was not so much permission as it was a command. Without looking up, he began speaking, thinking he already knew who had entered.
"Listen, Adam, can you try and track down Iris for me? She hasn't checked in in three days, and I need her to interview some of the new recruits. . ." Joshua trailed off as he looked up, and was momentarily stunned. The person standing in front of him was not Adam. It was a girl. A very pretty girl. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else," said Joshua, sincerely apologetic.
The girl laughed, and to Joshua, her voice sounded like a sonnet. "It's quite alright. You must be the great Joshua Cressman, yes?" She laughed again, her emerald green eyes sparkling with mystery and promises of secrets to be told.
Joshua stood. "The one and only," he said with a slight bow. "I don't believe we've met Ms. . . ?"
"Wynter. Christine Wynter," Chris took Joshua's outstretched hand and shook. "But you can call me Chris."
Joshua was still somewhat awestruck by the musical quality of her voice. But he did raise an eyebrow as he disengaged the handshake. "Wynter? Are you related to Iris at all?"
Chris laughed again. "I'm her twin sister. Iris wanted you to know that she won't be able to come in for quite some time. She's taking a hiatus. I'm here to take over her duties until she gets back."
Joshua frowned. "I'm afraid it's not that simple," he explained. "Even if you two were identical twins, which you don't seem to be, the abilities Iris has are spiritual, rather than genetic in origin. There's only one Seer on Earth at a time."
Chris just grinned at him. "Well maybe there are two this time. Things change. You can't know for sure yet, can you? But trust me, anything Iris could do, I can do. If you want, I'll head over to your team of psychics and let them subject me to some test so you can know for sure. Sound good to you, boss?"
Joshua couldn't help but smile a little as she spoke. Again, it just seemed more like singing. Every sound she made was music. Joshua was completely unaware of the fact that he was rapidly falling in love with this girl. "Fine," he acceded, with a grin. "Go let the Interpreters do a couple of scans on you. Have them report back to me on their opinion of your authenticity. And if you are a bona-fide Seer, you're going to have to start on some work we've got for you right away. Iris's little stunt has put me behind somewhat."
Chris smiled warmly, winked, spun on her heel, and left the room, sashaying perhaps a little more than was strictly necessary. Joshua, being a man, couldn't help but watch her go. He sat down and smiled to himself as he leaned back in his chair. Today wasn't shaping up to be so bad after all.
Anyway, comment telling me what you think.
-The Drewcifer
Joshua was busy reading over some important documents when he heard a knock on his office door. "Come on in!" When Joshua said it, it was not so much permission as it was a command. Without looking up, he began speaking, thinking he already knew who had entered.
"Listen, Adam, can you try and track down Iris for me? She hasn't checked in in three days, and I need her to interview some of the new recruits. . ." Joshua trailed off as he looked up, and was momentarily stunned. The person standing in front of him was not Adam. It was a girl. A very pretty girl. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else," said Joshua, sincerely apologetic.
The girl laughed, and to Joshua, her voice sounded like a sonnet. "It's quite alright. You must be the great Joshua Cressman, yes?" She laughed again, her emerald green eyes sparkling with mystery and promises of secrets to be told.
Joshua stood. "The one and only," he said with a slight bow. "I don't believe we've met Ms. . . ?"
"Wynter. Christine Wynter," Chris took Joshua's outstretched hand and shook. "But you can call me Chris."
Joshua was still somewhat awestruck by the musical quality of her voice. But he did raise an eyebrow as he disengaged the handshake. "Wynter? Are you related to Iris at all?"
Chris laughed again. "I'm her twin sister. Iris wanted you to know that she won't be able to come in for quite some time. She's taking a hiatus. I'm here to take over her duties until she gets back."
Joshua frowned. "I'm afraid it's not that simple," he explained. "Even if you two were identical twins, which you don't seem to be, the abilities Iris has are spiritual, rather than genetic in origin. There's only one Seer on Earth at a time."
Chris just grinned at him. "Well maybe there are two this time. Things change. You can't know for sure yet, can you? But trust me, anything Iris could do, I can do. If you want, I'll head over to your team of psychics and let them subject me to some test so you can know for sure. Sound good to you, boss?"
Joshua couldn't help but smile a little as she spoke. Again, it just seemed more like singing. Every sound she made was music. Joshua was completely unaware of the fact that he was rapidly falling in love with this girl. "Fine," he acceded, with a grin. "Go let the Interpreters do a couple of scans on you. Have them report back to me on their opinion of your authenticity. And if you are a bona-fide Seer, you're going to have to start on some work we've got for you right away. Iris's little stunt has put me behind somewhat."
Chris smiled warmly, winked, spun on her heel, and left the room, sashaying perhaps a little more than was strictly necessary. Joshua, being a man, couldn't help but watch her go. He sat down and smiled to himself as he leaned back in his chair. Today wasn't shaping up to be so bad after all.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Sleep Deprivation
I want to be sleeping right now. But, as some of you may have already guessed, I'm actually not asleep. Let's see what The Drewcifer can drag out of his writer's block?
"Christine! I need your help!" Iris ran through the forest, branches moving of their own accord out of her way. She kept yelling for Christine, doing it very loudly.
"Christine! Where are you? You said you'd be here for me when I needed you!" Iris was on the verge of tears. Then again, Iris was often on the verge of tears. She stopped running and stood, panting. Just when she was about to give up, a blonde girl about her height stepped out from behind a tree.
"Iris what seems to be the trouble? How can I help you?" The girl's voice was such that she didn't so much ask as she nearly sang her inquiries. There was a lilting quality to her voice, something that could brighten even the gloomiest day when heard. As she heard that voice, Iris reflected that maybe things weren't quite so bad after all.
"Christine--" she began, but was cut off by the other girl.
"Chris. Please, Iris, call me Chris. We've been over this."
"Right sorry," said Iris apologetically. "Anyway," she said, looking emphatically at Chris. "I need you to help me out. There's a boy."
Chris laughed her melodious laugh. "Boy trouble, sis? You have come to the right girl for this one."
Iris frowned a little as she pressed on. "Yes well, just because you're better at it doesn't mean you have to rub it in my face." She nodded, as if agreeing with herself. "I don't think he even likes me, but. . .I love him, Chris. And I want him to love me."
Chris smiled at Iris, once again warming the other girl's heart. "Don't you worry about a thing, sis. Just relax and let me take care of it. Close your eyes now."
Iris closed her eyes and Chris reached out a hand, resting it on Iris's forehead. "Just let Chris take care of it for you, Iris," she whispered. "Let me take your burden for a while."
Iris opened her eyes, and sat up in her bed. She walked over to the mirror and smiled. "Looking good Christine," she said, in a lilting, melodious voice. She ran a brush through the blonde hair that had been jet black when she had laid down. Chris smiled at her reflection and muttered "That's right sis. I'll get this all taken care of."
"Christine! I need your help!" Iris ran through the forest, branches moving of their own accord out of her way. She kept yelling for Christine, doing it very loudly.
"Christine! Where are you? You said you'd be here for me when I needed you!" Iris was on the verge of tears. Then again, Iris was often on the verge of tears. She stopped running and stood, panting. Just when she was about to give up, a blonde girl about her height stepped out from behind a tree.
"Iris what seems to be the trouble? How can I help you?" The girl's voice was such that she didn't so much ask as she nearly sang her inquiries. There was a lilting quality to her voice, something that could brighten even the gloomiest day when heard. As she heard that voice, Iris reflected that maybe things weren't quite so bad after all.
"Christine--" she began, but was cut off by the other girl.
"Chris. Please, Iris, call me Chris. We've been over this."
"Right sorry," said Iris apologetically. "Anyway," she said, looking emphatically at Chris. "I need you to help me out. There's a boy."
Chris laughed her melodious laugh. "Boy trouble, sis? You have come to the right girl for this one."
Iris frowned a little as she pressed on. "Yes well, just because you're better at it doesn't mean you have to rub it in my face." She nodded, as if agreeing with herself. "I don't think he even likes me, but. . .I love him, Chris. And I want him to love me."
Chris smiled at Iris, once again warming the other girl's heart. "Don't you worry about a thing, sis. Just relax and let me take care of it. Close your eyes now."
Iris closed her eyes and Chris reached out a hand, resting it on Iris's forehead. "Just let Chris take care of it for you, Iris," she whispered. "Let me take your burden for a while."
Iris opened her eyes, and sat up in her bed. She walked over to the mirror and smiled. "Looking good Christine," she said, in a lilting, melodious voice. She ran a brush through the blonde hair that had been jet black when she had laid down. Chris smiled at her reflection and muttered "That's right sis. I'll get this all taken care of."
Thursday, December 14, 2006
OneWord.com
Okay, so it's a pretty good idea. I'm starting to get a feel for Christine's character, since that seems to be the mode I'm in whenever these little 60 second writing prompts come up. All two times I've done it. Anyway, while I like the idea, I don't like that the site changes one's writing to all lowercase. For one, I like proper capitalization. A word of warning to you, English speakers: Not all languages have capital and lowercase letters. Cherish yours and use them properly. Also, this really just disrupts a lot of the potential power of a person's writing. I mean, it's fine (actually it's pretentious and stupid) if you want to write in all lowercase letters. That can be powerful and poetic (but, generally speaking, you aren't up the challenge, trust me), and that's fine. But proper and unusual capitalisation can also be a powerful prosetry (pronounced "prose-a-tree," a portmanteau that yours truly made up on the spot) tool. Taking that control away from an author can really rape an individual's writing style. (I also don't like how Blogger won't freaking preserve my indents, but that's a whole different story.) Anyway, on to my little bit of writing.
Alone and homeless. That's how Chris felt. Everyone she'd known had now left her. First Iris, then Joshua. Now, finally, even Adam was gone. Fuck. What on Earth was she supposed to do now? She sighed and slumped against the wall.
Alone and homeless. That's how Chris felt. Everyone she'd known had now left her. First Iris, then Joshua. Now, finally, even Adam was gone. Fuck. What on Earth was she supposed to do now? She sighed and slumped against the wall.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Chris Panics
Hmmm. So I'm not sure what this one's about. I was on a website Jennybean sent me where it gives you one word and you write about it. "Panic" was my word. Yeah. w00t.
I need to calm down, Chris thought to herself. Panicking is going to get me nowhere. She forced herself to take a deep breath, then stood up. She wobbled on her legs, gripping the counter to steady herself. The vision had really taken it out of her. Don't get worked up about what you saw, she urged herself. Just do something about it.
After a few moments of hesitation, Chris picked up the phone and started dailing. . .
I need to calm down, Chris thought to herself. Panicking is going to get me nowhere. She forced herself to take a deep breath, then stood up. She wobbled on her legs, gripping the counter to steady herself. The vision had really taken it out of her. Don't get worked up about what you saw, she urged herself. Just do something about it.
After a few moments of hesitation, Chris picked up the phone and started dailing. . .
Friday, December 08, 2006
Joshua Cressman
This is the first thing I ever wrote featuring the heroic Joshua Cressman. Don't worry: it's a dream. He's not really dead. ;) There are no paragraphs because I transferred it from notebook to computer really, really quickly.
Rain poured from the night sky, droplets pattering on Joshua Cressman’s black leather longcoat on their way to the ground. His hair was flat, black, and matted from the rain. Water collected on his eyebrows, ran down his face in small rivers. Intelligent blue eyes scanned the area as he walked up the street of the city. Black boots scattered the water, sending droplets flying with every step. Suddenly Joshua became aware of something behind him. He spun around to see a man in a bloodred business suit walking towards him. His light red hair was slicked back; a friendly smile was framed by a neatly trimmed goatee of a red-gold color slightly lighter than the hair on his head. His eyes were much like Joshua’s: a light, crystal blue, amicable and bright. Strangely, he seemed completely dry despite the heavy rain. His arms were spread in front of him, friendly, welcoming, non-threateningly. Joshua frowned, confused; he knew his enemy was here somewhere, but he saw only this man. He looked straight into the man’s eyes, searching. There! Behind the outward appearance one could see the man’s true self in his eyes. It flickered continuously, like a spiteful flame. Hatred, malice, and hostility lurked just out of sight. Joshua’s frown turned into a smile. The man in red had been advancing on him the whole time and was almost within arm’s length. In one fluid motion, Joshua threw open his coat, drew a long knife, and leapt at the man in red. The man dropped his façade, his face hardening into a scowl as he sidestepped Joshua’s weapon while drawing his own: An impossibly large handgun emerged from the red stranger’s suit coat. Joshua dove for the ground, madly trying to put distance between the gun and his body. The stranger fired three shots; Joshua hit the ground rolling. One of the bullets clipped Joshua’s shoulder, slicing through his leather coat and causing him to wince in pain. Still moving, Joshua twisted and ducked to avoid two more shots from the man in red before once more reaching into his coat. With his other hand, Joshua grabbed a throwing knife and hurled it at the man in red while tightening his grip on the knife and running past the man, intending to cut from the side. The red man shot the knife out of the air. Just as Joshua’s blade was about to make contact with the stranger, the barrel of the gun knocked it aside, sending a shockwave up Joshua’s arm and causing the cut on his shoulder to throb with pain. Joshua spun, ready to face the man, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out. When he looked up, however, he was staring straight down the barrel of the red man’s gun. The man in red’s scowl had turned into a maniacal, evil grin.
“Say hello to the Devil for me, lad.”
I mustn’t be afraid.
Rain poured from the night sky, droplets pattering on Joshua Cressman’s black leather longcoat on their way to the ground. His hair was flat, black, and matted from the rain. Water collected on his eyebrows, ran down his face in small rivers. Intelligent blue eyes scanned the area as he walked up the street of the city. Black boots scattered the water, sending droplets flying with every step. Suddenly Joshua became aware of something behind him. He spun around to see a man in a bloodred business suit walking towards him. His light red hair was slicked back; a friendly smile was framed by a neatly trimmed goatee of a red-gold color slightly lighter than the hair on his head. His eyes were much like Joshua’s: a light, crystal blue, amicable and bright. Strangely, he seemed completely dry despite the heavy rain. His arms were spread in front of him, friendly, welcoming, non-threateningly. Joshua frowned, confused; he knew his enemy was here somewhere, but he saw only this man. He looked straight into the man’s eyes, searching. There! Behind the outward appearance one could see the man’s true self in his eyes. It flickered continuously, like a spiteful flame. Hatred, malice, and hostility lurked just out of sight. Joshua’s frown turned into a smile. The man in red had been advancing on him the whole time and was almost within arm’s length. In one fluid motion, Joshua threw open his coat, drew a long knife, and leapt at the man in red. The man dropped his façade, his face hardening into a scowl as he sidestepped Joshua’s weapon while drawing his own: An impossibly large handgun emerged from the red stranger’s suit coat. Joshua dove for the ground, madly trying to put distance between the gun and his body. The stranger fired three shots; Joshua hit the ground rolling. One of the bullets clipped Joshua’s shoulder, slicing through his leather coat and causing him to wince in pain. Still moving, Joshua twisted and ducked to avoid two more shots from the man in red before once more reaching into his coat. With his other hand, Joshua grabbed a throwing knife and hurled it at the man in red while tightening his grip on the knife and running past the man, intending to cut from the side. The red man shot the knife out of the air. Just as Joshua’s blade was about to make contact with the stranger, the barrel of the gun knocked it aside, sending a shockwave up Joshua’s arm and causing the cut on his shoulder to throb with pain. Joshua spun, ready to face the man, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out. When he looked up, however, he was staring straight down the barrel of the red man’s gun. The man in red’s scowl had turned into a maniacal, evil grin.
“Say hello to the Devil for me, lad.”
I mustn’t be afraid.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Jesse and Brigit
Jesse Rasnick and Brigit O'Riely. They're quite the characters. Their story is also part of something much, much bigger. Maybe you'll see more of them from time to time. They don't usually have many problems, but no one has a perfect relationship.
Jesse slammed the phone down. Damn that girl! How on Earth could she do that? Make him feel so happy and so. . .so angry all at the same time? It wasn't really Brigit's fault, he reasoned. But somehow, that didn't make him feel any better.
He kept mentally replaying the night in his head, like his relationship was some sort of morbid sporting event.
"I know you wanted to see me tonight, but it doesn't look like it's going to happen, I'm sorry Brigit. You know I'd rather be with you."
He heard her sigh through the phone. "I know. I know it's not your fault, Jesse. That doesn't mean that I have to like it. Are you sure you can't cancel?"
"Look, this is the last time Blake's gonna be on this continent for a good three months. You have to understand that I need to go to his sending-off party!"
"I guess I just don't get why you don't want to take me with you." Another sigh. Damn! Brigit was not making this any easier on him. The real reason he couldn't take her with him was simply this: Blake hated Brigit. He had no idea why, but he'd come to terms with that. But he couldn't very well tell his girlfriend that one of his closest friends couldn't stand her. That would not be good.
Instead he went with "It's an invitation only thing. There's limited space and it was pretty clear that no one was allowed to bring a 'Plus One,' including me. I think it's silly, but I'm not the one headed to New Zealand. When I am, you'll be there for sure." Actually Blake's words had been something along the lines of "That fucking bitch better not show up at my party." He'd taken the hint.
After wrapping it up with Brigit, he'd gone to the party. Everything had gone great until right near the end. He'd left his phone on the table and it rang. Jesse hadn't been around, Blake had. He'd seen it was Brigit, answered, and really layed into her. Jesse hadn't even found out until he got home and Brigit called him at his house, sobbing hysterically and truly hurt from the things Blake had said. The more Jesse tried to console her, the more inconsolabe she became. Hurt gave way to frustration, gave way to anger. Both of them had angrily said goodnight and hung up. Which brought him to now.
Jesse knew they'd make it through this, but the thing that was really upsetting him was how Blake had acted. He had been a bit tipsy, but that was no excuse for the way he'd treated Brigit. He hadn't told her this, but when Blake got back to America, Jesse fully intended to punch him.
Jesse slammed the phone down. Damn that girl! How on Earth could she do that? Make him feel so happy and so. . .so angry all at the same time? It wasn't really Brigit's fault, he reasoned. But somehow, that didn't make him feel any better.
He kept mentally replaying the night in his head, like his relationship was some sort of morbid sporting event.
"I know you wanted to see me tonight, but it doesn't look like it's going to happen, I'm sorry Brigit. You know I'd rather be with you."
He heard her sigh through the phone. "I know. I know it's not your fault, Jesse. That doesn't mean that I have to like it. Are you sure you can't cancel?"
"Look, this is the last time Blake's gonna be on this continent for a good three months. You have to understand that I need to go to his sending-off party!"
"I guess I just don't get why you don't want to take me with you." Another sigh. Damn! Brigit was not making this any easier on him. The real reason he couldn't take her with him was simply this: Blake hated Brigit. He had no idea why, but he'd come to terms with that. But he couldn't very well tell his girlfriend that one of his closest friends couldn't stand her. That would not be good.
Instead he went with "It's an invitation only thing. There's limited space and it was pretty clear that no one was allowed to bring a 'Plus One,' including me. I think it's silly, but I'm not the one headed to New Zealand. When I am, you'll be there for sure." Actually Blake's words had been something along the lines of "That fucking bitch better not show up at my party." He'd taken the hint.
After wrapping it up with Brigit, he'd gone to the party. Everything had gone great until right near the end. He'd left his phone on the table and it rang. Jesse hadn't been around, Blake had. He'd seen it was Brigit, answered, and really layed into her. Jesse hadn't even found out until he got home and Brigit called him at his house, sobbing hysterically and truly hurt from the things Blake had said. The more Jesse tried to console her, the more inconsolabe she became. Hurt gave way to frustration, gave way to anger. Both of them had angrily said goodnight and hung up. Which brought him to now.
Jesse knew they'd make it through this, but the thing that was really upsetting him was how Blake had acted. He had been a bit tipsy, but that was no excuse for the way he'd treated Brigit. He hadn't told her this, but when Blake got back to America, Jesse fully intended to punch him.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)