The Smeargle's Studio Writing Thread

Raucous alarm tone: brap! Brap! Brap! Broken reams of dreams and sleep. Hand in darkness; whereabouts of clock? There, just nearly but the prison of sheets all around-my arms stuck! Thud, floor is cold against skin. Dull pain. Mind, a bleary fog. Head now at elevation, eyes to left, right. Desktop. Books. Radio. Lamp. There! "Click", the light! Clothes now in hand, feet on frigid floor. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen paces and a stop. Left. Clicklick!(light and water heater, respectively). Thump of door. Rustle of clothes on tiled ceramic and cold air on naked skin: brr! To hot water, quick! Tap to exactly eighty degrees from wall, result: water half that temperature. Bliss on skin! Newly fresh mind like so many now-smooth cogs, now verbular action and all ready for new day in the excited steamy half-light.

purrrrple prose, also no verb challenge.
This is my attempt at being funny.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present you the History of the Pokemon World.

Note: There is some rude language. You have been warned.

Creation Arc

An egg, made out of matter, is born out of total nothingness, making complete sense. Arceus the white mouthless llama (and hermaphrodite) god later hatches from it. She later gets bored at emptiness.exe and decides to use Microsoft Divine Creator to create the universe.

Dialga, who later turns evil and Palkia, the number two sexual innuendo Pokemon come into existence. Then Giratina the major dragon-centipede of antimatter appears. Five seconds later, Giratina breaks the tiny little rule of not being evil and Arceus sees this as serious business, so she permabans him to the Distortion World, where he stays until his ban is lifted.

Dialga and Palkia go “LOL BRB” after they stablilize time and space and they disappear into their own dimensions, completely hidden away from the world except for Arceus, who incestly masturbates to their manly dragon forms. Spear Pillar is created, its tip somehow not looking like a dick.

Arceus creates the three little bitches Uxie, Mesprit and Azelf. The gift of knowledge, emotion and willpower are given to the mortals. What were those gods thinking? Later the three bitches head on down to a bunch of lakes, their main intention to splash about in the water and learn pussy-ass water jutsu.

Kyorge and Groudon are formed by natural phenomena (pressure in trenches and hot magma), making perfect sense again. They break out their Lego sets and proceed to create the oceans and the earth, respectively. Then they get into a kiddy brawl about whose fort is better, slaughtering millions of Pokemon in the process. No-one cares.

Nanny Rayquaza descends from the heavens and gives them a smack around the ear, before ordering the two of them to apologize. Then she expels them out of the surface preschool and sends them home.
Later Kyorge and Groudon poop out the Red and Blue Orbs, causing mass chaos millions of years later. Mew decides that he wants to be a legendary Pokemon and kills off his brothers and sisters.

Regigigas is given the sucky job of cleaning up after the kids. He shoves the Lego pieces into one pile, creating Mount Coronet and Mt. Pyre. Regirock, Registeel and Regice are formed for no apparent reason. So is Heatran, who is quite possibly the ugliest looking legendary ever. Arceus poops out the Lustrous, Grisesous and Adamant orbs before heading off to bed.


Humans appear, proving the to be the cancer of /world/. Regigigas and the other golems try to do a Systematic Antivirus scan, but humans activate ‘Animator vs Animation’ mode and seal the monsters away. Genesect also appears around here, but who cares?

Writing is developed, allowing humans to use words such as ‘fuck’, ‘crap’ and ‘penis’. Farfetch’d, which is constantly mocked by the Smogon community, suddenly starts decreasing. Ancestor of admin Seven Deadly Sins is thought to be responsible. Magikarp also starts mutating, lowering its BST and forcing it to become the butt of many, many jokes.

Recent history

Bell Tower and Brass Tower are built in Ecruteak City. Ho-Oh and Lugia go, “Me Gusta” and perch on top of them. Spiritomb, made out of 108 souls that did not follow Buddhism, are sealed inside the Odd Keystone from mods of the world.

The move Toxic is invented, giving TM 06 a reason to exist. It also makes Chansey twice as annoying to kill.

Arceus goes, “OMGWTFBBQ” at the Brass Tower and uses Ember, reducing it to ashes. Arceus lols. The three legendary dogs ragequit life and die. Ho-OH revives them, then flies off in search for a human, proving to the whole world that he’s anidiot. The Pokemon League challenge starts, forcing Pokemon slavery into being. Arceus rages.

Humans land on the moon in 1969, but don’t find any Pokemon. Instead, they find a character from Portal 2.

S.S. Tidal, the boat with a very generic name, is built. Porygon the SeizureBot is also created by scientists, killing millions of Japanese children with random flashy attacks. Rotom inhabits a mansion in Sinnoh, scaring off the owners.

Before Red and Blue

Scientists talk Mew. Mew deals restraining order via a stand of his hair. Scientists play Arceus and create Mewtwo. Mewtwo finds out that he’s a clone and goes all, “FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUU—”, then blows up the lab.

Generation I

Red, an inspiration for all silent heroes everywhere, leaves on his journey. Gary motherfucking Oak challenges him along the way, but always loses. Not even Gary motherfucking Oak can beat the epicness that is Red.

Team Rocket tries to threadjack the whole of Kanto, but Red shouts (without using words), “STFU NOOB!”, then pwns their asses and sends them blasting off again.

The Sevii Islands open. Red finds more Team Rocket members. Words are exchanged, a hint of Giovanni’s son appears before Red pwns the members again. They really were doing it wrong.

Red decides to stand on top of a mountain for three years without food, clothing or shelter. No-one is worried, because they believes the kid knows exactly what he’s doing. Lance takes the spot of the champion in his place, prompting every single Trainer who attacks the Elite Four to include an Ice-type on their team.

Heatran yawns, causing Cinnabar Island to erupt. People die, nobody cares. Blair becomes a homeless man living in the side of a mountain, but later decides to spruce the place up by adding some random trainers and a few torches.

Lorelei and Agatha chicken out and retire from the Elite Four. Karen and Will take their places.

Generation II

Team Rocket returns. Ethan/Lyra/Kris goes “DO NOT WANT” and pwns their butts, unfortunately not as epic as Red’s way. He/she later climbs to the top of Mt. Silver and challenges Red to a fight. Cheat codes are activiated, due to the sheer power of Red’s Pokemon. Red later loses, and for some strange reason he doesn’t climb down the mountain and return to Pallet Town. Maybe it’s a hobby of his?

Generation III
Pokemon X begins, describing an epic journey between a pervert, the daughter of a scientist and a sickly sarcastic boy. Team Magma and Aqua try to break out Kyorge and Groudon’s Lego sets, but fail since they’re not gods. You’d think these things would be common sense.

Nanny Rayquaza descends from the heavens again to stop Kyorge and Groudon’s hissy fit. Apologies occur, and the two gods disappear. Then Brendan comes along and captures all three of them, as well as Regirock, Registeel and Regice. He later becomes the tyrant of all Hoenn.

Generation IV
Barry the hyperactive retard and his boyfriend/girlfriend leave from the nearby swimming pool. They get attacked by a little bird and fail to fight it off. Later they got Pokemon and go on their own private journey. Team Spandex—I mean Team Galatic try to take over the world. Apparently they didn’t learn from past teams’ mistakes and they get their butts pwned by Lucas/Dawn. Their ridiculous hairstyles contributed to 50% of their failure.

Cyrus the emotionless Nazi goes to not-Penis tower. He bondage slaves Dialga and Palkia and tries to take over the world. Giratina uses no clip and joins reality’s server. The laws of physics get pissed at him and send him back to hell, along with emo Nazi and the boy/girl.
Lucas/Dawn later captures Giratina, giving him/her power of antimatter. He then uses cheat codes to obtain the Azure Flute, and captures Arceus. He/she later becomes the supreme ruler of the universe.

Generation V

The events of Pokemon Black and White occur. Go and play it, if you haven’t done it already. It will not be written here due to spoilers If you’re a Pokemon fan and don’t own the game, then the author of this report is very disappointed in you.

Other History

1999—Serebii starts as a kickass Pokemon info site. The head admin disables right-clicks in order to prevent piracy. Too bad that print-screens are just as effective.

2004—Smogon is created, starting massive flamewars across the Internet as to why or why not Pokemon should be considered serious business. The Smogonites plug their ears and listen to the music. Latias later is nominated Uber, sparking gigantic rage from all Latias fans.

2005—Bulbapedia comes into being, yet another ripoff of Wikipedia. Unlike Wikipedia though, it is actually helpful.
EDIT: MThe first bit of my fanfiction ie. the introductory waffle. It's shit.

Legendary Journey

Nathan looked out of his classroom window and sighed. Rain was bucketing down, a rubbish bin had blown over to reveal very smelly contents, wind battered the school walls, and in the distance he could see a thunderbolt or two hitting earth. If only it was a Manectric or a Jolteon making those bolts, and not the weather. His town, Rawst, was quite bare of any native Pokemon. Pokemon never chose to inhabit the town of Rawst, due to an odd vibe that discouraged Pokemon from living in it. He had heard a faraway region had once had a worse kind of phenomenom called the Effect. There was a small area in the region of Sone that had this effect on Pokemon, and while it was nothing to be frightened of, no scientists had figured out why this happened. Pokemon with trainers were welcome to come to these towns and suffered little apart from slight dimming of senses, but between Rawst, Onino, and Fungsu, no wild Pokemon were found, except one lone old Parasect who had lived there for as long as anyone could remember. As Parasect exhibited negligible senescence, as Nathan recalled from Pokebiology lessons, it would not age, and therefore died only of physical causes. And as no wild Pokemon would stay in the area, Parasect was always safe and sound. But it posed the question, why had it come there in the first place?

“Nathan Lekis, can you answer my question???”

It was Mr. Monotong, the Battling teacher. He sucked all the fun out of Battling class, and nothing could get Nathan to remember what he taught. His monotone was probably to blame.

“Huh? Sorry, I didn't hear you, Sir.”

“Do you care, Mr. Lekis?”

Nathan was tired and frustrated.

“Not if it's you teaching!”

“That is it! Stay back after class finishes!”

Nathan grumbled. He was brilliant in every other class: Maths, Science, Pokebiology, Art, Pokespeech, Technique, Pokemon History and Geography, Friendship Studies and even Gadget Tech. But he always clashed with Mr. Monothong. Always!

As Nathan listened tiredly to Mr. Monothong's lesson on recharge moves, he dreamt of the day he could go on his own Pokemon journey. He was nearly thirteen, but his parents needed him to get 85/100 for Battling, or he wasn't able to leave. They were so protective.

“...and so if my Tangrowth uses Hyper Beam on this Kadabra, the Kadabra will have a free turn to strike with its high Sp. Atk on Tangrowth's low Sp. Def. SO sometimes it is more important when using recharge moves, while strong and often readily available at Pokemarts, to consider which Pokemon to use them on. And that concludes our lesson.”

Everyone quickly jumped up and crammed their books into compression cases, then swiftly vacated. But Nathan just sat there, awaiting his punishment.

“Well, Mr. Lekis,” droned Mr. Monothong. “we need to discuss things. I know you are anxious to pass this subject to a B+ standard for your parents, but you cannot hope to achieve that if you are inattentive in class. I have heard your work in all other subjects is quite good, and I know you are smart, but I do notice you seem to lack a little in Technique...just achieved your parent's mark standard.”

“I'm top of class in Art, Pokespeech and Friendship Studies!” countered Nathan.

“If you ask me, they are the three least necessary subjects ever taught since the Compromise was formed. And only introduced five years ago, all of them! You have to know battling to be a Trainer. Now, I know I drone on a lot and I do disagree with you on many things, but this is vital! Study yourself at home, and do it hard! I may not be endeared to you, but to tell the truth...well I guess I just want you gone from my class!”

Nathan smiled thinly at the poor joke, but wondered if maybe studying his books more intensely would really help.

“Nathan, please do it for yourself! You may go.”

And he walked out into the bucketing rain.


When Nathan arrived home, he noticed his Mum and Dad were waiting at the door nervously for him.

“Hi, honey. How are you?” asked his Mum eagerly.

“Hiya, son!” greeted his laidback dad.

“Uhhhhh, I'm going upstairs to study for Battling exams.

“Huh? O-okay..” replied his confused Mum. Battling homework was usually the last thing Nathan wanted to do.

When Nathan arrived upstairs, he looked at his bookshelf. It was stacked with Pokemon volumes and children's fiction. He looked at the top shelf, where all his books on mythical and mysterious Pokemon were. Since he could read, Nathan had been fascinated by Pokemon shrouded in mystery. If they had secrets, Nathan liked them. His personal favourite Pokemon of all was the legendary Miraqi, seen by only three humans and covered in myths. He gazed at his wallpaper, adorned with multiple Miraqi. The loose aqua ribbons and the sparkling body, small cute arms and legs, four shiny wings, a blade-like tail, and most mysterious of all, the small gem on its head. It was said to grant any wish, like Jirachi, and would become one with its human friend's heart, like Manaphy. It was said to come from the beginning, with Mew and Arceus, creating all of the fabled legendaries: Celebi, Jirachi, Shaymin, Manaphy, Victini, Genosect, Meloetta, Artrystan, Wakaba, Apolyi and Derulisa. Shaking his head, he pulled out a thick dusty volume labelled BATTLING GRADE THREE. He absent-mindedly switched on his PokeGlobal PC and flicked to Pokemon News Channel, listening as he researched the mechanics behind the moves Wring Out and Crush Grip..

“...a thunder strike has occurred near the border of Pokephobia Triangle, comprising the three towns Rawst, Onino and Fungsu. The strike was attracted by a rare Rhyhorn, which wandered out on Route S1, or Sone-One amidst the storm. No Pokemon were harmed in the incident. An Eevee was sighted also on Route S2, a rare occurrence and a very rare Pokemon, and investigation is underway as to explaining Eevee's odd distribution. And finally in Cheri Local News, a wandering unidentified Pokemon was seen stumbling in the direction of Rawst Town, within the Pokephobia Triangle. It is revealed to be a rare Pokemon, but news reporters were bound by Compromise restrictions and could not get close to the Pokemon...”

Nathan jumped up with a start, closing his current page on damage-absorbing abilities. A rare Pokemon in Rawst??? He switched off the PGPC and hurried downstairs.

“Going for a run!” yelled Nathan, grabbing an umbrella and a raincoat and dashing out the door to see a small hobbling shape in the distance.
Ralts was a timid Pokemon whose mood differed based on its Trainer's feelings. They loved to evolve quickly as they coveted the ability to dance. And not much else was known about it, other than it could Teleport and was extremely rare, once believed extinct until specimens were found high in the Payapa Gullies.

“Are you okay?” asked Nathan worriedly.

“Raaaa....alts...” moaned the small Pokemon, its horn flashing.

Nathan remembered to listen to the Poke-speech properly.

“Sleepy...lost...Trainer mean...released...don't catch me yet...ohhhh...”

Nathan cradled Ralts in his arms and raced back home.

When he arrived, the sight of a Pokemon in Nathan's arms aroused some suspicion amongst his elders.

“Oh my goodness, it's a Pokemon! Where did you get it, Nathan?” asked his mum accusingly.

“Mum, it's the Pokemon from the Cheri News! The one that went unidentified. He's sick and needs rest. Look! For a Teleporting Psychic-type to be walking on foot to Rawst? He's obviously not well...”

“Well, we can let him sleep in your basket tonight, then. Oh, don't worry, it's fluffy with clothes and very warm.”

“Well, son,” said Nathan's dad, “we'll file a Missing Pokemon Paper. Until then, enjoy your time together!”

“Raaa...Hungry...”moaned Ralts.

“He's hungry...” translated Nathan to his perfectly comprehending parents.

“I'll bring up some miso soup in a second. For now I think Ralts needs rest. Go on, Nate.”


“Nathan, I have the soup. I'm coming up now, dear. Tell Ralts for me.”

“Ummmm, Ralts, Mum is coming up with miso now.”

“Huh???Raaaalll...Sorry, I was sleeping...” yawned Ralts.

Nathan's heart skipped a beat. He was actually talking to an (unofficially) wild Pokemon!

“I feel a little dizzy, but I'm much better now!” smiled Ralts.

The door opened and Nathan's mum placed the miso on the bed.

“Thanks, Mum!”

Ralts picked up its small mug of miso and took a sip.

“Mmmmm, tasty! I feel great now!” chirped the rapidly recovering Ralts.

“So, what were you doing walking in this direction, anyway?” asked Nathan curiously.

“Well, you see...I was captured four days ago after my first Teleport trip from Payapa Gully by a Pokemon Trainer who found the Psycho Ruins. But he discovered I could only use Growl and Teleport, so he ditched my Ball on Route S3 and ran away. A girl came by and set me free, but then she got a call on her Pokenav and hurried off, leaving me in the rain alone. Tired and drained of power, I was forced to walk in the direction of the nearest town, which was Rawst. And that's my story.”

“That's terrible. You aren't going to get much better here, though. This place repels Pokemon, you know.”

“I know. I felt the force as I got closer and closer to the city centre, too. It's weird, like someone wants us gone.” said the small Pokemon.

“Well, uh, I have to study, so......if you need something, just ask, OK?”

“Do you want help? I know quite a bit about how to battle. Master Gallade taught us.”

“Yes please!” rejoiced Nathan. A Pokemon helping with his work! Pretty cool!

And they studied long into the night, from Swift to Skull Bash, Poison to Paralysis, Supersonic to Sludge Wave, and Swift Swim to Synchronise. As Nathan finally drifted off to sleep, he wondered about becoming a trainer, and wondered if Ralts might...go with him...


The first thing Nathan thought when he woke up was: “Exams.” His friend Ralts was yawning in a washing basket beside his bed, fatigued by the mysterious effect that the town had on Pokemon.

“Morning...” groaned Ralts sleepily, but with an eager edge to its voice.

Nathan drowsily put on his clothes, stuffed his books into labelled compression packs, slung his bag over his shoulder and stumbled down the stairs in a shroud of exhaustion. But when he glanced at the clock, the exhaustion was replaced by terror as he noticed that the first exam, Pokebiology was in fifteen minutes. He had to leave now! School was ten minutes walk away, so he would have no time to register if he didn't arrive ASAP!

“Mum! Dad! Gotta run!” he yelled up to the master bedroom. How would he make it, Nathan wondered. But then he recalled something Ralts had said:

“I could only use Growl and Teleport at the time.” Ralts had confided while Nathan had been studying.

Growl and....Teleport! If Nathan could picture the exam hall, he could make it! He hurried up to his room to find Ralts, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Ralts? Ra-a-alts?” called Nathan anxiously.

“Yes?” giggled Ralts, teleporting to Nathan’s side.

“I have an exam in fifteen minutes! Is there any chance you could zap me to school??? Please???”

“Um…I suppose. But aren’t your parents filing a Missing Pokemon Report? If someone arrives to pick me up, I won’t be here! And I can’t get back to the Payapa Gully until I’m officially released!”

“You said you were allowed to leave the community! Ralts used to sneak around the world in search of adventure and trainers?”

“Well, yes, but…”
“Come on!”

“Oh, all right. Hold tight!”

When his head stopped spinning, Nathan was in a garbage bin outside the exam room, Ralts nowhere to be seen. He checked his Pokenav frantically: 4 minutes to get to registry! Knocking over the bin, Nathan rushed around the corner to the front office, rubbish all over his clothes.

“Nathanlekispokebiologyexamhomeroom25pleasegivemeagrimertabletimcoveredinrawsewageandIhavetogettomyexam,” panted Nathan urently without pausing for air. The Unusually Cool Office Lady, Ms. Moomilch, had never told a student off and was used to all sorts of strange occurences.

“Here’s your Grimer Tablet. The garbage should vaporise. You’re in Exam Room 7. down the corridor. Have a lovely day, Nathan!

“I won’t,” he muttered.


Fifty-five minutes later, Nathan was finishing his Pokebiology exam up, not even breaking a sweat as he stared at the considerably complex conundrums on the page.

“How does Flareon expel fire from its body, and what are the detailed functions of the organ it uses to do so?”

Flareon…fire sac! The modified salivary gland inside its throat was full of superheated steam that ignited when exposed to the sodium-laced mucus surrounding the sac. This increased Flareon’s body temperature dramatically and enabled it to breathe fire. The odd fur on Flareon’s body enabled it to withstand the heat, which was a result of Eevee’s fast adaptation to environments! Done!

Nathan cruised through Science relatively easily, faltering only on a couple of odd questions. He just couldn’t remember the chemical formula for ammonium! Maths also went quite well. Nathan was confident of an A. Pokespeech was so simple, Nathan was sure he got 100%! Ms. Moomilch’s Miltank was so much fun to talk to, but the questions and patterns he had to use were very boring. But he felt a chill as he realised what was next…the Battling exam!!! 85% was a tough goal to reach, and Nathan was famous for forgetting his awfully taught information.

Just as Nathan entered the Battling theory exam room, he heard Ralts’ soft voice whisper through his ears: “Battling is so much fun! Remember the theory, and we’ll be unstoppable! You have to do this!”

What? Ralts and him? But the Compromise stated that Ralts needed to be released first! And he’d only known Ralts one night…

“Lekis! Sit down!” warned Mr. Monotong, winking knowingly. Had he heard Ralts’ dulcet tones?

At first, Nathan had a blank, but soon the first question took shape. “List the Poison variant of Surf.” That was…Sludge Wave! “Is Ice/Dragon a beneficial typing defence-wise? How many weaknesses does it have?” Ice/Dragon was an awful defensive typing! Resistance to Grass, Electric and Water in exchange for weaknesses to Rock, Steel, Dragon, Fighting, and neutrality to so much! This isn’t too hard, thought Nathan! When he reached the 3-Star Difficulty, he nearly panicked seeing a chart with secondary effects and added move quirks. He faltered on Wring Out, but managed the rest fine.

When the exam was over, Nathan had been completely unable to answer 6% of the questions. That left him with 9% potential for wrong answers. Was it enough? But there was nothing to do but go forth to Art.

Art theory was really easy, and the five-minute sketch was actually enjoyable. Nathan portrayed Ralts using Magical Leaf. Gadget Tech was also easy theory-wise, but when the Pokenav Nathan was fixing broke down twice, he was sure that an A+ had been snatched from him. Technique was not too great, but it was all about battling style, so his parents only wanted an 80%. Nathan hoped he’d managed. History and Geography were drab and dull, but in Geography the bonus question was about the fauna of Payapa Gully! A silent whoop went through Nathan’s chest. The final exam, Friendship Studies, was really fun, as he scribed likes of Pokemon and how to behave, and perfectly satisfied an angry Buneary for his prac, avoiding every ear slam it threw. And finally at 8.00, Nathan Lekis stumbled out of school and straight into…a waiting Ralts.


“Ralts! What are you doing here?”

“I knew you wouldn’t want to walk home in the rain! And at this hour! The sun’s almost down! Besides, I need to ask you something! I…know I haven’t known you for long, but I vowed to discover the secret of the Pokephobia Triangle before my ex-Trainer caught me. And I’m sure you want to go exploring as well…so, once you leave, can I…be your partner?”

“What? Of…of…YAY!”

“Is that…a yes?”

Nathan was so ecstatic he could barely speak! He’d known Ralts one night and after being abandoned in the cold and taken from his home he wanted to be with Nathan!

“Of course!”

“Your parents said they don’t mind!”

“You asked them?”

“Ralts! Duhhh!”

When they stumbled throught the door a minute later, Nathan was greeted with ashen faces.

“What’s wrong?”

“The Pokephobia triangle has been revealed to be slowly expanding! Cheri News reports that it has been growing slowly ever since it appeared underneath Rawst’s foundations 150 years ago!”

“Isn’t there something they can do?”
“No, son,” replied his dad. “All they can do is wait for somebody to stumble across the answer. Anyway, nice to see you! Your exam results will be P-mailed tomorrow! Get some relaxation time in now before the big reveal! Ralts, stay here for a while. We need to talk.”

“Night then, Mum, Dad. Ralts, see you soon!”

And he bounded up the stairs, unwitting of what was to come.

”Ralts! Ralts! Get up. Sleepyhead! Your results are in! How could you sleep until 5.00???”

Nathan groggily rolled over to face Ralts.

“That late! Oh dear! MUM, DAD, I’M COMING!!!”

He threw on his clothes and hurtled down the stairs in nervous excitement.

“Morning, Nathan!” chirped his mother, holding a compression pack in her hands.

“Here’s your exam mail! We printed it out for you:”

Trainer+ level results:

ART Ms. Mercurio
96/100 ESSAY 49/50 SHORT ANSWER 23/25 SKETCH 24/25
A well-executed theory essay and intricate, detailed RALTS sketch. A near perfect score, Nathan! If only you remembered the creator of the Cherrim Chapel! Continue to excel! A level suitable for a Pokemon archaeologist or curator!

POKEBIOLOGY Mr. Offenflooph
Congratulations on your prodigious level of achievement to take home the best mark in 10 years! Your detailed descriptions and meticulous methological memory have led you to answer every short answer question correctly! Top job!
87/100 PRACTICAL WORK 38/50 THEORY 49/50
Well done on a good mark for this year! While your theory was impeccable, your Pokenav broke down twice. However, you clearly knew how to fix it and pulled through for a good mark! Continue your Gadgetry, young Chillarmy!

SCIENCE Mr. Shibishira
93/100 MULTIPLE CHOICE 29/30 SHORT ANSWERS 38/40 PRAC. 26/30
A fairly good prac mark, good multiple choice and good short answers for a good overall “A” performance. Ammonium!!! Important!!! Do more work! Well done, though you’re not as good as me!!!

MATHS Ms. Fleating
Great work Nathan! A solid coverage of every topic, even Porygon’s Laws! This amazing mark is only to be expected from such a star pupil! Continue to consolidate your knowledge and a strong future of Pokemechanics waits!

Fairly good work, though some of your answers were very vague. I know you detest the conformity of certain styles, but you don’t need to support the subject to open up opportunities. You will appreciate the stuff you’ve learned. I did like the personal piece on your prefence and reasons, but the theory needed polishing and the prac with the E-Board as well. Overall, a good mark, and nurture your love of small Pokemon!

94/100 HISTORY/ 100/100 GEOGRAPHY
AVERAGE 97/100
Good stuff, Nathan! Full marks on Geography and the only one to know the answer to the Payapa Gully question! History was also exceptional but a couple of questions on famous Pokemon battlers and the one on marine biologist Freida Jip needed some further revision. I won’t fault you though: for such an eccentric hasty person to love these topics so much is a true achievement. From Miltank and I, go forth and conquer!

105/100 PRAC 40/40 SHORT ANSWER 50/50 TABLE 15/10
Wow! You blew me away, dearie! You know exactly what to do regarding every Pokemon, person, condition…wow~! The table was so exceptionally splendiferous I had to give you those extra marks! And Miltank loves the way you treat her! You’ll make a compassionate Trainer, my friend!

100/100 PRAC 60/60 TABLE 10/10 SHORT ANSWER 30/30
Always perfect, Nathan! Your grasp of the basic Pokespeech patterns is astounding and the affection you show touches my heart, despite my technical exterior! The table linked each point to another with panache. Good job! No Pokemon will lose you for words at this rate!

BATTLING Mr. Monotong
85/100 MULTIPLE CHOICE 27/30 THEORY 39/50 TABLE 8/10 BONUS 1/3
Well, it seems you made it! Don’t think this makes you a good battler! Many people surpassed you yesterday! An overall (but surprising) score of 84/100 was boosted by your bonus credit for explaining in much detail the drawbacks of Shell Break. Your theory was patchy and your multiple choices need a tad more attention. And FYI, dumpy mushroom, Wring Out does not remove Water-typing!!! Anyway, hope you stay alive through your childhood! Bye!

Nathan read through with anticipation. Everything was great except Technique, but that was still above the standard. And Battling…a B+!!! Hooray! That meant…Ralts and he were a team!!!


Nathan leapt around the room, crashing into the lounge and knocking it over.

“You deserve this, then! Your compression pack full of what you need, and a starting fund!

“Raal! Congrats!”

And after giving his parents a massive hug and an artwork to remember him by, he raced upstairs to get ready.


“Goodbye, honey!” wailed Nathan’s mum, while his dad looked at the ground sadly and wiped away a concealed tear.


As Nathan walked along Route R1, Ralts silently bouncing beside him, he wondered what awaited him up the road. To enter the League Championships was one thing, but discovering the cause of the Pokephobia triangle would be something.


Alerted by Ralts, Nathan looked up to see a large cloud drifting towards the Shuca Sandpits in the distance.

‘Was that…?’


Nathan peeked around the corner to see a lightly dressed girl around 13 years old gazing up at the sky in awe.

‘Um…hi!’ he blurted awkwardly.

‘Oh, hi! I’m Autumn! I’ve come on the ship from Unova. You know, the Royal Isshu?’

‘But it doesn’t come in for two days!’

‘I got some help at the last minute from my Pokemon. I couldn’t wait to get here. My parents just…left me a couple of weeks ago, so I thought I’d scoop up their drinking money stash and get a ticket here. One-way, of course. Oh, is that a Ralts? I heard they’re really scarce!’

‘Raalts! Actually, we just come from a remote location. Nice to meet you!’ chirped Ralts, before using its telepathy to warn Nathan she had every intention of joining up with him.

‘It’s okay, Ralts. She can tag along with us. We have no clue what we’re doing anyway!’

‘Huh? How did you…Well, thanks! I’m quite the strategic expert, so I’ll be of help. Besides, you owe me for confirming your Legend sighting.’

Not really, thought Nathan. For someone as hasty as this girl, she sure had a harsh decisiveness about her.

‘So, what’s this mystery Pokemon’s identity, then? Your friend from Unova?’

‘Oh, right. Come on out, Woobat!’

A small bundle of fur with a heart-shaped nose in the middle emerged from her Pokeball and fluttered around Nathan eagerly.
‘He smells nice! Yummy!’

‘I just caught him! I got a Trainer Card from a strange frazzled woman in glasses as I was poking around my village. She had a Mincinno with her. But the best part is, she gave me…a Pokedex!!!’

Professor Juniper, Nathan reasoned. She was known for her kindly offers to bereaved children, as a result of her Purrloin’s attachement to sad feelings allowing her to detect them. And a new Pokedex 3.2, with all new cruelty-free functions allowing data transfer upon wild sighting and Trainer matches.

‘I’ve got all that too!’

‘Hi? Let’s go already! Nothing to see here!’

Well, apart from Landorus, anyway. This was a phenomenal sighting, but as he had nothing to think about further than this, Nathan pulled up his pack and began to walk stiffly next to his new ‘companion’, psychic Pokemon trailing behind.


‘So this is Onino City? Smells like onions, too!’ smirked Autumn as they passed a greengrocer.

Neatly stacked condominiums lined the verdant streets as stall vendors politely advertised tasty wares. To the far right, Nathan could see the Pokemon Gym shrouded in dark cloth to represent the theme.

How can a place this verdant house such a forbidding place? thought Nathan to himself.

To the left was a Pokemart, which they would need to visit and to the near right was a…Pokemon Center! It was every bit as awesome-looking and inviting as on the television!

‘Um, don’t you need to get your official registration sorted out?’ reminded a previously quiet Ralts.

‘Oh, yeah! Hey, where’s Autumn?’

But of course, she’d already rushed off to do the practical thing.

When he got inside, Nathan was amazed. He could see public PCs, phones, a café, tables, bookshelves, and the emergency room: everything was here! He also saw a stunning Nurse Joy registering Autumn at the Trainer Hotspot with her Chansey. Woobat flew over to meet them.

‘Um..hey! Autumn’s registered, and the Nurse wants to see you now, so you can get Ralts officially transferred to your account!’

Ralts, you told her about me, didn’t you?
Might’ve! Hee-hee!

Thoughtspeak was all well and good, but it wouldn’t get his registration over and done with, so he walked over to the nurse.

‘Good morning, young man! Now, cani have your blank Trainer Card?’

She printed on the basic electronic data, then asked for his age.



‘10th March!’

‘OK, thanks! Now, I’ll just input your legal records, score, money, Pokedex count and basic info, then we’ll take a look-see at this Ralts!’

As it turned out, Ralts had been legally released already, so all Joy had to do was input his Capture function and inspect his C-Gear, and they were off to have a look around before dusk.

‘And here we are! Noir Glade! If we go through the Carbonite Woods we can get to the next town! We should be passing through here again tomorrow. Just inside the woods is a great lake that always has water shining like crystals. They say the cavern in the middle is home to Mesprit, but nobody’s ever seen it come out for years!’

‘It’s beautiful!’ exclaimed Nathan in delight. ‘But Ralts, how did you know all that?’

‘Ralts! Because I trained as an explorer in Payapa Gully, remember? But…it’s nothing really…’

‘Don’t be so modest!’

‘Well, he does have a Modest nature!’ replied Autumn. ‘It should suit a Gardevoir, with extra Special Attack and less physical strength.’

How does she know so much? he thought to himself.

‘Watch out!’ yelled a mysterious voice all of a sudden.

Then a Murkrow swooped out of the trees towards him.

‘Go, Ralts!’ said Nathan, to which Ralts teleported in front of him to defend against Murkrow.

But Murkrow looks like a Dark-type, and Ralts only has Confusion, so…

‘For goodness sakes!’ yelled the voice again, as a boy about Nathan’s age charged out with a Clefairy.

‘Clefairy, use Pound!’

The small pink fairy leapt at the Murkrow mid-flight and hit it to the ground. It lay there, dazed for a second and then hopped up again, Pecking its foe in retaliation.

‘Mimic, Clefairy!’

This time, the Clefairy absorbed light from the Murkrow, and then shaped its claws into a beak.

‘Peck, then Pound!’

Before the Murkrow could even take off, it was struck by Clefairy’s beak-mimic and then smacked to the ground. This time it simply formed a black mist and slunk off into the trees.

‘A Level 5 Clefairy with Pound, Growl, Mimic and Wish? You must have bred for a Cleffa, then?’ asked Autumn.

‘Huh? Oh, yeah.’

‘Uh, thanks for helping my Ralts out there! What’s your name?’

‘Luneth. I come from a breeding ranch. I also collect Pokemon, because the PC sends them straight to the ranch, so they’re cared for and raised while I journey. But I just started. I only have 3 Pokemon, one back at home. Not that I care. Clefairy and Meditite are pretty useful, though.’

The usually quiet Woobat remarked ‘He acts cold and compassionless but his Cleffa evolved through friendship, so don’t take it at face value.’

Ralts added in thought-speak: ‘And he wants to come with us! He also wants his aunts to now he has friends, so he’d like it if you sent your extra Pokemon there!’

‘Hey, I know you have no direction and don’t know what’s happening, so you can come with us! In return for us helping you get started out with us, you can let us use your ranch. I’m sure it’s big enough. I know most Pokemon join trainers to get stronger, but I don’t want my friends to fester while I journey.’

‘Um…Okay, then…’

When they neared the Pokemon Center, Luneth a little awkward after the abrupt invitation, Autumn heard a faint shout for help.

‘Woobat, Miracle Eye!’
Woobat suddenly turned purple and sent a beam of light straight through the multitude of buildings in the direction that was obviously towards the scene.

‘This way!’ said Autumn anxiously.

Nathan had heard the shout too, and followed Autumn, Ralts asleep on his shoulder. Luneth brought out Clefairy, who enveloped him in blue light and sped down the road next to Nathan and Autumn.

If only Ralts could be woken, wished Nathan, craving Teleport, but remembering Autumn telling him once a Ralts slept, it could not be woken for three hours.

As they got closer, a faint blue glow began to appear in the air over the tops of condominiums, and more shouting could be heard.

And then something swooped into the air and shrieked.

Legendary Whirlwind

‘What’s that?!?’ yelled Luneth in shock.

A huge blue genie on a cloud was bearing down upon the city, sending gales of wind in every imaginable direction.

‘It must be Tornadus!’ Nathan replied over the gale of wind. People began streaming out of their houses in fright and surprise, running down the street away from the building tornado.

Ralts, wake up! We need your Teleport now!

Muun…yaahn…huh? What?

Autumn screamed as a huge steel bolt was ripped from a building and flew towards her, jumping just in time, while Luneth ordered Clefairy to psychically move the flying objects.

‘That’s it!’ yelped Autumn in surprise. ‘We all have psychically gifted Pokemon! Use them to divert the flying objects!’

But Ralts still hadn’t fully awoken, and Nathan was left hiding behind Luneth.

‘Here! Take Meditite!’

Nathan was surprised to hear Luneth talking so frantically, but released the Meditite from its ball immediately. It flew through the air and landed with a thump on the ground.

‘Um…uh…’ What moves did Meditite know at a low level?

‘Uh…Confusion?’ stuttered Nathan as an apple hit him on the head.

Meditite just sat and stared into space vacantly, though oddly was not being blown away.
Suddenly, a bolt of purple energy was loosed from its eyes and flung all the surrounding objects back into the sky, one hitting the distant, high genie. It yelled in rage and threw a bolt of thunder down at the earth.

‘It’s no use! We’re the only ones left here! We have to run!’ argued Nathan.

‘If we don’t, we’ll be smooshed!’ roared Luneth.

‘But it’s destroying the city!’ argued Autumn. ‘And what’s a legendary Pokemon doing h…’

Her words stopped as a brick rammed into her chest.

Ralts, wake up! We need a Teleport now!

Ralts floated into the air, still asleep, and transported the three of them and their Pokemon to the PokeCenter.

‘Autumn! Ralts! Answer me!’ cried Nathan, but neither answered.

‘Out of the way, young man! We have an emergency situation here! Hundreds of residents and Pokemon are swarming to our top-security basement as I talk and we don’t have time! If they’re hurt, get Chansey to take them to Emergency! We can’t do everything at once!’

‘Excuse me, Chansey? We’d like a stretcher for these patients! They need urgent medical assistance!’

At Luneth’s behest, the Chansey raced to a stretcher, leapt over to Autumn and Ralts and quickly lifted Autumn onto her back while Nathan put Ralts down softly behind her. Chansey then immediately rushed into the Emergency Room, uttering quick cries of worry.

‘You can always count on Chansey, huh?’ asked Luneth meekly.

‘Thanks!’ replied Nathan.

But outside, the storm still raged, and as Nathan went down into the basement he wasn’t sure if the city would be there to greet him the next day.

Aftermath and Aftermath

After a long and troubling night in the crowded PokeCenter basement, Nathan awoke to a sharp pain in his face.

‘Uwah?’ gurgled Nathan sleepily.

As his sight came into focus, he could see a Chansey Doubleslapping his left cheek vigorously.

‘What is it?’ he yelped, jumping rapidly off the futon and dodging Chansey’s final slap.

‘Chansey! This way!’ she smiled innocently. He quickly flung on some clothes from his pack, making sure to keep his undergarments on, then rushed after Chansey, weaving between the bustling crowd who were packing up and returning to what was left of their homes. When they reached the top of the stairs, a relieving sight came into view. Autumn was smiling thinly at him and Ralts was snoring loudly on her lap. Woobat fluttered nervously around the room.

‘Well, hi!’ said Autumn in a small voice.

‘You sound awful!’

It was Luneth, also ready to go and grinning nervously with Clefairy smacking his legs.

‘Clef! I need food to work, so get me some, you jerk!’ she sang rudely, taunting him.

‘How are you? You really seem sick!’ fretted Nathan.

‘Oh, I’m fine. Just a bit dazed and tired. But that’s no excuse to slack off training! Next stop, Noir Glade! That beautifully clear lake might be good for a swim!’

‘Uh, you realise the city could be chewed up and the glade with it? Shouldn’t we be lending a hand?’

‘Look, Mummy! The Noir Glade’s repairing itself by magic!’

A small child had spotted the far-off Glade, and as the trio stepped outside (Ralts in his PokeBall, Nathan could see it was true. The trees were righting themselves and clouds cleared, winds ceased and boulders rolled as the forest returned to normal.

How is this happening? thought Nathan curiously.

‘Look! It’s…it’s…Celebi!’ yelled the small boy in excitement.

‘Don’t be silly!’ scolded his mother, amongst an eager crowd now as they swarmed through the doors. But while it seemed the boy was the sole member of the group to see it, from the corner of his vision a small green shine flew off into the distance.

As they walked through the partly ruined city, Ralts now awake, Autumn and Luneth discussed the damage to the buildings, a few of which no longer existed at all, but oddly, the storm seemed to have ravaged only one third of the city, part of the residential area.

‘Looks like Tornadus got bored, then!’ remarked Ralts, who had, of course, slept through the whole ordeal before sleep-teleporting the group to safety..

‘Oh yeah! How did you get us out of here while you were asleep?’ queried Nathan.

‘I am a Psychic-type. We Ralts can sense when our Trainer is in mortal peril and escape to safety. It’s a great mechanism. Trainers are there to make us strong, and preserving them for further training is a good idea. That’s how it works, anyway. The Longevitis Principle. I actually like you a lot, so don’t worry about me being emotionless. My Pokedex entry even says I have highly developed emotions. Besides, we would all have died out there.’

So Pokemon DO want Trainers just to get strong. Ralts can’t just be here to get pumped. He said so himself…worried Nathan anxiously.

‘Well, it looks like everything can be rebuilt in one week! Would you believe? They’ve hired Haunter, Kadabra, Machoke and Graveler to help move things around!’ chirped Woobat, who had used its sonar to pick up a policeman’s report.

‘Great! Does that mean we’re OK to train? We’ve got supplies and all!’

‘Maybe we’ll see Celebi, too!’ remarked Luneth excitedly, having overheard the little boy’s outburst.

‘Don’t be stupid!’ laughed Autumn.

But I saw Celebi, and we’ve already seen two enraged genies…Nathan thought to Ralts.

I believe you. I sensed it in the air. And something isn’t right. Celebi protects the forest, but the genies are out of control. replied Ralts.

‘Here we are again! Noir Glade!’ announced Autumn.

‘Let’s train!’




‘Ewww! What is that otherworldly perfume I smell?’ grimaced Nathan jokingly.

‘Your fart, you stinky Stunky!’ laughed Autumn.

‘No, it’s just a Stunky, actually!’ yelped Nathan in reply as a small black skunk-like Pokemon leapt out of the bushes, spraying Clefairy with ‘juices’.

‘Clefclefclef! Waah!!’ yelled the outraged fairy, countering with a quick Pound.

‘Hey, Clefairy! Wait! I want that Stunky!’ said Luneth gently, but it was too late. Clefairy had already knocked out the skunk before it could so much as Scratch.

‘Well, I guess that’s done. Clefairy’s a little stronger now.’

But before it crawled into the bushes, the Stunky exploded with a terrible burst of fumes that completely overwhelmed the pink fairy and sent it reeling into the tall grass.

‘Clefairy!’ yelled Luneth.

‘That was Aftermath. When the foe faints, it gets a last-minute retaliation in through a spontaneous reaction like exploding before running off. Stunky and Drifloon are two users of the ability.’ Stated Autumn as she read her Pokedex. Meanwhile Luneth treated Clefairy with an Antidote and sprayed on some Potion to heal its wounds.

‘Can we go inside, now, please? We’ve got data for Stunky and Dark-types are useless for Ralts, who can’t even touch them,’ pleaded Nathan.

And so they finally began their training proper.

Took us time, didn’t it Ralts? thought Nathan as he smiled at the fact he was finally a real Trainer.

Second to One

‘There are seven confirmed Pokemon species in the immediate area on the field terrain,’ announced Autumn as they looked around at the near-empty field, the occasional Trainer dotted here and there, and one lone figure swimming in the lake.

‘Seven? I see none!’

In the hills of Russia, the people may come and go with the clouds, and shift with the phases of the werewolf moon. But tales stay the same, passing from mouth to ear, from the linen-padded lap of old babushka to the stone grey floors where children stared, starry-eyed in rapture as the woven tapestry of collective lore was spun from old women's lips. And iit was from one such old woman, with the face of an aged sage and the hands of a pianist, that I heard this one.

Once upon a time, there was a tailor of well-repute, who resided in a cottage some distance from the town square. He was known to be the best at his art, and his fingers moved like rippling water, manipulating even the finest of fibre and thread into intricate lines of motion that, so the story goes, could bring tapestry to life. Now, we know little truth in that fact. but the thing everyone agrees on is that one day, the tailor sighed.

For he had grown old over the years, and his hands were no longer the systematic swift swirling of small ripples, but the choppy churning of deep lakes. As always, his finshed products were magnificent in detail and his commissions rolled in, but there lacked the spark, the swift preciseness that was his hallmark and pride and joy in his early days.

So the master tailor decided to search for an apprentice. Notices were put up, word was spread, and soon hopeful pupils by the coachload were hiking up the path to the master tailor's cottage, which was secluded so as to aid his concentration on his work. But the tailor welcomed his candidates with open arms, and directed them each to a private room where they were shown a needle and as much as they required of the tailor's finest thread, thinner than a horsehair and flimsier than rotten flax but shining silver and seemed to animate in the cold winter light. The task was to weave a single sheet of shimmering, moving silver, which could not be broken by human means. The tailor could accomplish this with ease, and even demonstrated it in front of the rapt students-to-be.

Naturally, many forfeited after testing the thread, and though there were some who came close, with a twist and a snap, their hard work would come undone by the stern-faced tailor. You have failed, he would say for the hundredth time that day, and the candidate would sigh, pack up and go.

Now this continued for a week, but among the many hopefuls, none were able to replicate what the tailor had taken years to learn and even longer to master. As he showed another dejected candidate through the door, he thought to himself. "I can weave shimmering dragons, flying through the moving tapestry sky; I can weave live fire-flies with their glowing dances onto impossible textures of coats. If I cannot find a man worthy enough to be my student, I shall weave one myself! For nothing knows the fine flow of needle and thread better than one made of needle and thread himself."

The next day, the tailor locked his gate and blocked out his windows. Taking a bundle of fine white cotton, he began to weave. In and out, through holes imposible to find and even harder to thread, into three dimensions he constructed a matrix of interwoven thread, and with a final tuck completed a solid bone out of impossibly locked cotton. More and more he sewed, until a complete man's frame was formed. Then he bounded to the frame, by way of hooks and needles, countless numbers of springy red fibres, dyed with the blood of goats and bewitched by an old gypsy he once met in his earlier days. Slowly, the woven muscles twisted and snaked round one another until they stretched taut on the white cotton bone, and twitched with excited tension. But the tailor pressed his hand to the jumpy threads and said, "Lie still. It's not time yet."

With thin catgut he sewed infitissemal compartments, until the structure resembled a human lung, and he placed it in the open quivering ribcage. In several swift movements of his needle he connected dripping red thread to fleshy catgut and woven bone, and painfully but surely the muscles contracted. His creation took a shuddering, shallow first breath.

For the veins and arteries he threaded numerous hollow yarns through the strands of interwoven red tendons, into linen bone and within breathing chest, and at the center of it all placed a little sewing-machine mechanism, driven by clockwork held fast with craftsman's glue and a live starpiece. Feeding silk through the heart, he wound up the pulsing starpiece, starting off the mechanism with a muted titter-tatter. Through the hollow veins life's silk coursed, bringing movement and vigour to the limbs. But there was yet no mind to control it, and the creation did not rise.

Using a sheet of smooth pink silk, he stitched skin to muscle, covering the exposed rawness with a layer of thread so warm and smooth to the touch one could have mistaken it for a real person. With embellishements crafted from marble he slid fingernails into raw pulsing nailbeds, and teeth into dry gums. The hair was spun with the finest gold thread the tailor could afford, falling over clear glass eyes filled with bella-donna dew for sight. He left a small opening at the base of the skull, for he had not yet thought of how to weave a sentient soul.

Finally, among his vaults of disused material he discovered a strange colourless spool of thread which somehow shmmered with light more than even his most delicate silver. It was fine, but somehow not too thin, and so strong that he needed a carving-knife to sever it, but felt in his hands and needle that in all his years of practice and self-training, this thread was spun for his talented fingers alone.

In the pale moonlight he began to cast the thread into a single piece of textile. But the more he spun, the more he deviated and the needle twisted and turned. forwards and backwards into ways not even he could comprehend. It was as if the thread was compelling him, forcing his fingers into complex loops and maneuvres until he lost track of everything and all that remained was an indeterminate bundle in his hands, chaotic yet somehow orderly, which seemed to change its shape depending on from which angle he looked at it. His needle was also warped and bent double into a smooth curve, although he could not remember it doing so while he was sewing.

Carefully, gingerly, he lowered the strange dreamy bundle into the cavity of the skull, and stitched up the hole with a single movement. The glass eyes grew a little less opaque, and the tick-tick-tick of the clockwork heart quickened, and the woven man came to life.

That was the story he told the townsfolk, as he brought the woven man to the market the next day. Silk pulsing through threaded veins, it spoke and breathed and acted like a human being. In fact, so engrossed was the master tailor at his project that he did not realise he had created the woven man entirely in his own image. The townsfolk were amazed, and expressed joy at the tailor having another hand to help about in the never-ending work and commisions.

The days went by, and soon enough the woven man grew to be as proficient as the master tailor was in his prime. The master tailor, on the other hand, slowed and declined, and instead preferred to spend his evenings at the local barhouse with a few friends, a deck of cards and a mug of vodka while his creation toiled away and practiced. One night in a drunken rage, he threw down his cards and exclaimed, "I should never have made that blasted woven monster in the first place! Why, I would have trained a respectable born-and-bred man instead, one smart enough not to overtake his master at hs own art!"

Late in the night, the town sentry recalled hearing a scuffle in the tailor's cottage. By the next morning, only one man was seen at the market, carrying his own wares. "What happened to the woven man?" they asked.

"He tried to kill me in my bed with a pair of sewing scissors," replied the master tailor.

"Where is he now?".

The tailor turned to them. "I killed him. Torn him apart. Strung his sinews into a bonfire, then set him alight with his burning bones."

The townsfolk asked little about that fateful night. The master tailor was apparently driven by the death of his doppelganger, and proceeded to generate tapestries the likes of which no one had ever seen before.

But no man is immortal, and even the master tailor's rippling fingers could not save him from Death. Now this is where the story gets strange, for when they cremated his body in the town square, his body burned like dry cotton on a summer day, and at the bottom of his ashes was a single clockwork sewing-machine mechanism, winding down to the tune of a dead starpiece.

After I wrote it I think this is FUCKING AWESOME.
Yes, min min, that is actually very damn AWESOME. Especially the ending. Rrrrrrr...
EDIT: I just realised my story got reformatted. Those bold bits aren't actually bold.
Min min, I really like the story.

Anyway, haven't visited this thread in a while. Here's something I wrote for history and I'm a bit angry that it wasn't picked to go to the school magazine. (maybe my grammer, or that its depressing) Also under the second tab is a crap ton of symbolism and stuffs.

Gray World

There is no doubt in my mind that there is a difference being brave or courageous as much as there is between walking towards death and waiting for it, although both paths lead to the same destination and judge in the end. When someone is brave, they blindly ignore fear and when someone is courageous, they have to overcome it. I wish I was blind. That way I wouldn’t need to be brave or courageous, I would be dead.

I tread in rags, in a string of people all in the same attire I was in. Wealthy, or destitute, refined or vulgar before, we had all wound up as wild beasts now. We might have been different people, but we varied little as monsters. Those that once had glowing eyes, in intelligence, for hope, in innocence, now possessed cunning, cold glinting spheres or dull, sightless eyes that were only capable of following the group.

My eyes were not sightless, not yet anyways. I observed for the last time the place that would set me free, Auschwitz. There was no distinction between the gray buildings, the guard’s gray uniforms, and our gray, skeletal skin. Everything was a variation of gray."Too much of one thing and you start to become it," I thought, staring at my open palms. I wondered if my heart was turning gray too.

Up ahead I could discern the coiling smoke being released from the furnaces into the air. I tried to imagine that they were floating to heaven, but it was cloudy today. Whips of smoke glanced off the gray, storm clouds that strained under the burden of rain, tainted from the pollution of the factory. Before the torrent would be freed, I knew more of the only more water would be contaminated.

Slowing to a stop, we were told to wait in a long line that stretched several fields long leading to one small compartment that mirrored all the others.
However we all knew it was different, it was made to be different.

People looked in dismay at their fate, yet we knew there was no escaping. Encompassing in all directions, stood soldiers at attention. However, once people entered Auschwitz, we were all enclosed in by three old, nearby guard towers and a fence that resembled a thread's durability and thinness.
While I was waiting in line, examining the camp as a painter would with a landscape, I spotted a guard striding over to me. "You are wanted by the captain of the guards. Come with me." I didn't bother to fight as an iron-clasp enclosed around my wrist. I could hear whistles as I was lead inside a small apartment and left alone.

Right away on entering the room, my eyes swiveled to food on a china plate. Ignoring everything else, I pounced on it with an animal's ferocity, shoveling as much food as I could fit into my mouth. As soon as it had vanished, I surveyed the room, scanning for any other signs of water or food. I blinked several times, growing accustomed to the solid colors. I had been used to the mix of black and white and this new world baffled me. The colors reminded me of home, a place I had long forgotten. I found elaborately coated, crimson walls with several portraits of rigid-colored men. Nailed above a roaring fire lay a plain, brown cedar mantle and next to that adjacent to the hearth, stood a man.

Forgetting where I was and who I was, I sprinted into his arms, wrapped my arms around his neck, and lost myself in tears. "Elizabeth, please stop," he murmured after a few moments. Shocked at the formality in his tone, I began to realize that his arms were stiff and at his side so I released my hold. "You've always called me Liz and what are you doing here?" I asked, perplexed. "I know, I'll answer the question later, but please sit down, you look tired," he stated, indifferently.

I took a step back and examined looked at him for the first time in several years. Some sandy hair dangled over the side of his face, but a star-studded hat fitted securely on his head restricted any more hair from peeping out. There was not a blotch or stain on the black uniform, but the pins and metals that flickered, emblazoned on the it, drew the eye rather than the uniform. His clothes was not excessively tight, but a swastika enfolded, constricting around his arm was. There was still a faint, red hue in his checks, but his eyes were sheer blue and dull. I remembered what the guard said about meeting a captain. I put together the puzzle and the pieces fell into place one by one until they transformed into a mangled portrait. Something clicked in my head.

My fists curled into bony fists, and my blood boiled. With hot, streaming tears I shrieked, "D*mn right I'm tired, but you don't really care do you? Have you watched our friends and me waste away? We aged too quickly, while you are still young. You were lured by Hitler's temptation, watching us from behind a curtain in this secluded room, avoiding me, your fiance. You could have shown yourself before this, helped me, saved me, but now I'm going to die. What do you really want because I know you don't care if I am tired or not. Ben, look at me!"

Rounding on me with glaring eyes he shouted, "Do you think I don't care when I look through the windows and see you dying? I do, but if showed I cared about a Jew, than I would be dead too. I had to join the Hitler Youth like everyone else, otherwise I would be discriminated and beaten and their theories make some sense. Only the fit can strong can survive in this world. So don't say I don't have a good reason for not talking to you."

"Your just repeating what Hitler has brain washed you into thinking. Those lines sound familiar of his book, the devil's book. The ideas make sense to you because the feeling of superiority is luring. Please don't become like them, if you are not already," I pleaded.

"Then what am I suppose to become? Like you? An uncivilized beast?" Ben yelled.

I opened my mouth ready to scream, but I hesitated, thinking. Looking towards the window were the gray was concealed behind drawn blinds, I focused on the real world, the world that integrated black and white together.

Finally I calmly stated, "I am not the beast and neither are you, the theories and beliefs are. What we believe in, is what we become." I stopped and held my breath, listening as the storm had begun. Continuing I explained, " I think I know why you wanted to see me. You wanted to confirm your idea that I had become the monster people had described the Jewish race to be so you wouldn't feel guilty that you had sent an innocent person to their death. Maybe I have become a monster, but not because I'm Jewish and I hope you realize that someday. Have a good life and maybe we will meet again."

Not waiting for his reaction, I escaped out into the open air and fled only into the arms of the guards. I didn't resist and was shoved into the thinning line.
I slipped, fully drenching myself in a pool of water which oddly enough, was clear and clean instead of the polluted liquid I expected it to be. Maybe not all of it had gotten tainted by the factories. There was no use in wiping it off, seeing that I would be soaked by the storm no matter what I did. Instead I spread my arms wide and embraced the onslaught of rain.

Our turn had finally come and we moved we herded into the buildings, sneered at like animals. Tilting my head towards the clouds, I caught my last glimpse of the world before I walked in. Sent from the heavens, a flood of rain poured down in the shape of a teardrop, and in the color of gray.

Symbolism due to OCD of not not being able to put in symbolism:

-clouds = lack of faith due to the hatred and bad done to her
-clouds dissipate when she forgives. Hatred absorbed from her surroundings blocks faith. To let go she needs to either have pity, forgive, move on, remember the good in the world, and offer remorse in return. (harry potter ftw!)
-colors= perspectives, solid is one. Gray is several. People are one-sided when they only have one perspective. Gray is 2 because it is not white, but not black.
-enclosing fences: the moirai's thread fate. her fate and the guard's are drawing nearer.
-3 towers: the moirai or 3 fates
-the gray (ashuwitz) makes her think at 2 perspectives. She had originally come from idk, can't think of word

- rain is gray, and she likes it. although its polluted she knows that it will evaporate and lose its toxins as it makes its way back up to become pure again.

- tale of 2 cites thing: a contrast between the good and the bad that resided in him and the objects/people that influenced/controlled him. good stated first, followed by the bad. Shows that there is good, but it is counterbalanced by the bad and that the bad is in control.
-hat=ideas and thoughts they fitted to tightly into his head so he can barely think for himself.
-uniform= his personality, without a stain. but he has pride (pins) that show through rather than his personality.
-idk about everything else, whatever.

Religous allusions:

-slipping into the water= baptizing, turning pure.
-flood and herded like animals= the ark, being saved (spiritually, obviously not physically)

Other Allusion:
-mangled portrait, hitler's(devil's) temptation, everyone but him grows older while he grows indifferent and stays younger= dorian gray


-elizabeth sees herself as one and others because of the way they act and how uncivilized they have become
however, she sees that in Ben, he is also a monster, no matter how civilized he may appear.



-block faith/hope forgive and move on, etc.

-evil exists in every person, (she takes it in and lets it fester), yet there is also good to counterbalance the bad. idk

went a little to quickly, esp. dialouge
I dunno it's something I wrote.

I'm angry.

Oh, sure, Rudolph went down in history. Shiny red nose, like a cherry, that one. I mean, at first they laughed at him, but then he proved useful to Santa, thereby avoiding becoming a can of Antarctican Spam.

How useful is three extra legs?

That's right. Johnny, the Reindeer Who Resembles A Spider. You probably haven't heard of me. That's because my song never caught on, like, again, Mister Rudolph's. It went something like this..

"Johhny, The Reindeer Who Resembles A Spider
Had too many freakin' legs
And if you ever were him
You' d commit suicide"

... Fills you with Christmas spirit, eh? Wasn't worth the five bucks I gave to that tipsy elf to write. Sheesh.

And, you know, I pulled Santa's sleigh once too. "Once" being the operative word. My multitude of legs tripped up "All of the other reindeer".. In midair. That's quite a feat.

Life just isn't fair. Thank goodness I have two extra arms to write this with.


(Wildfire, your character dialogue feels very stiff and unnatural..)
...what the shit. Okay, that made me chuckle. Great that you liked my story, the further I bring it from my Facebook notes, the more approval it seems to get!
Poetry, but writing nonetheless!
Autumn; just a word
Yet with the wind, it travels
through time with meaning.​

Beauty; not needed
when she's simply amazing,
yet she still has it.​

The moon continues
To wait for his rising sun
Until she returns​

While she hides her smile
As if it were her hostage,
He still finds it cute.​

Quietly they sit
While no words need to be said
To explain their thoughts.​

She sits like the moon
Shining and laughng above
While on the same plane.​

You say what you say
About the feelings you have
While I have them too.​

Life was quite dark
Until the sun rose again
The day I met you.​

You say such nice things
But then from my point of view
I could say the same.​

He speaks in haikus,
and when love sits in his heart
It seems natural.​

The prince shall await
For his princess to resume
Her place on the throne.​


C&C would be nice, as I'm actually a bit new to poetry. :)​
Awesome. Only read your first post (so far) and it's great. However, I don't (like Josh) understand why she's crying (he's dying?), why the lights dimmed (he commited suicide and decided to go green before dying?), or why the chimenypot (is that british?) fell off the roof at that exact moment. Im just a noob though, so what do I know? But all that aside, it's awesom. Here's my review:

The Alchemator makes his compelling debut with his first work, The Adventures of Propalom. A touching story about a boy and his Grandpa, it is sure to be a masterpiece after completion. Despite a few plot hole that may or may not be covered in the future, The Alchemator shows some true writing prowess.

I actually don't talk like that. I'm just American (and Asian, but I don't... nevermind). You might have continsed the story, I just haven't checked it out yet, been busy. Which brings me to my next point (that might not belong here). I am going to recommend a book to all you nice people (and everyone else): Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt. I've only read a microscopic part of this book, but it seems really good. This book has a personal connection in that the preacher at my freind's dad's memorial service (R.I.P Iku Kosaka (who lost his battle to heart cancer on 5/19(._.))) said it was a wonderful representation of his life, so it must be great, as Iku was a great person.
Well, I still have time before my speech. So I might as well tell you a story now, Lieutenant.

They were an intrepid bunch of men and women, intelligent and savvy, from all walks of life. My father was their leader, naturally. He told me at first they were merely united through a common ideal, to free the people, throw down the shackles of oppresion--well, you know that all too well, my companion. Gradually, ideas were formed, people were recruited, and one summer's night in Old Nimbasa Town, we drafted what was to become the touchstone of our grand movement. The manifesto was our blood, our guide...our guide even until now.

You know well of that, but the events following that are...not what everyone wants to hear. It was a bloodless and miraculous coup, with peaceful protests, mass demonstrations, and the cowardly imperialists eventually step down to the cheering masses, and my father ascended to his glorious throne without violence or bloodshed. Just as the people wanted.

The truth however, is rarely what I tell the Ministry of Media to show. You thought some swollen, capitalist queen of this vast expanse of country would relinquish power to unarmed delinquents bearing signs? No, I can see from your eyes. Knowing you, you'd be the one who'd want the truth.

Peaceful demonstrations failed. The Old Government cracked down hard, with tear gas and batons, and when that failed, live fire and tanks. Something drastic had to be done. So something drastic, my father did. Taking the palace was one thing. Not that covert, black ops thing you'd expect, just a massive storming of the compound, killing everyone inside and displaying the bodies of fresh innocents at the door each morning. Much of the Cabinet stepped down after that, of course. Many wondered where we procured all those weapons. The enemies across the Strait? They weren't all that bad. Trust them to break alliances when you display even the smallest of military dominance...well, that was a long time ago.

The President stayed on, in various fortified compounds both on or below the ground, and at one time above it. Oh, that giant airship was really the beauty. Pity we had to shoot it down--men, women, children and all. It's not something the people like to hear.

When my father eventually took power, he chose his new name. And when he bestowed the throne upon me, so did I. Why the letter 'N', you ask?

Lieutenant, as you might have guessed, people change. And so do regimes. My father idealised an equal society, one where there would be no poor, no rich, only uniform shades of equality. But in their passionate fevour, the original Party members failed to take note of the lessons of old; one tyranny merely replaces another. There are no shades of grey in this world, only black and white. The rich and the poor. The good and the bad. The deceived...and the deceivers.

He came to realise that when I was soon of age. One night, he confessed to me. Confessed that everything he had strived for had fallen apart. People were still poor. Power, however justly he tried to wield it, eventually corrupted. There would be no equal blended society. One distinct regime had toppled another.

I took his words in mind. The letter N, you see, is clearly asymmetrical. One side will always be more than the other, no matter if you turn it upside down. There is no dispute, no shades of grey. But it stays upright and straight. No slouching S or sideways Z. I will have order in my kingdom, even with its flaws, even with its bloody past, even if I have to pull the wool over everyone's eyes. I had it from father, see. And I will uphold my responsibility. Because only God knows how bad things would be if chaos reigned supreme again. Chaos means anarchy, and anarchy means no order. Order is distinct, like black and white. Like the letter 'N'. Even if the manifesto my father drafted has failed, I will continue to maintain his name, his order and his kingdom.

I might have told you too much. It might have been irrelevant to your question. But now you know, and that is good. Better than being ignorant, my father always told me.

Now prepare my robes. The speech will soon begin.



my god if you don't have an iced tea for me when i
is a Forum Moderator Alumnusis a Smogon Media Contributor Alumnus
Hi, I'll just drop this here.

Looking around, it’s the kind of room that’s really poorly designed. Its target audience never pays attention to the décor, the reason that they’re there in the first place tends to pre-occupy them. Combine with that the patronising leer of various savannah animals somehow getting stuck into some terribly-painted grass, and you just disillusioned everyone in the range of three to fourteen years old.

Oh and don’t get me started on the staff. Well you just did I guess, and I started so I’ll finish. This guy-

“Hm, J. Canuck. What’s your first name Master Canuck?”

In case you’re wondering, that wasn’t him attempting to big me up and make me feel better, I could tell that it was just him being fusty from the way he twiddled his pen between two fingers. Anyway, this guy-

“Stop daydreaming Master Canuck, I have many other patients to which I must attend.”

Oh the impatience card eh? Nice public relations going on there. I guess I better oblige though, I don’t want to add this into Mum’s already-huge list of troubles.

“I’m Jay.”
“No, Master Canuck. What is your full first name?”

The doctor looked up from his clipboard, and peered down through some distinctly seventies spectacles at me. I wonder why they employed this guy anyway, especially for this job. I guess he’s a believer in bluntness, though unfortunately I’m not.

“Master Canuck, this is not the time to be playing games. I will simply refer to you under that aforementioned title. Now…”

The old man gestured to two tiny chairs in the middle of the room. They were far too small for both of us anyway, so we had to squat awkwardly and give some kind of illusion of sitting. Thinking more about it, this room was exactly like those interrogation rooms on police shows – there was even a little yellow tape recorder, though I was undecided on whether it was a toy or not. The strategies of these places are so transparent, I wonder why they bother.

“Now, Master Canuck, mummy says you’ve been feeling really downhearted recently. Would you like to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Talking about one’s troubles really helps deal with things. For example, when my dog Abraham…”

Do I really need to elaborate on that?

“…died, it felt really good to just talk about it with my wife. It isn’t good to try to deal with these things on your own, and it’s my job to make you feel happy.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’ve been in this job for many years now, and I’ve managed to coax a smile out of everyone sooner or later…”
“Probably the terrible choice of tie.”
“So just tell me what’s worrying you, and I’ll try to help.”
“You’re completely ignoring everything I say.”

He seemed quite taken aback by this, and slightly hurt. I felt a slight pang of pity for him, but that was quickly replaced. This emotion slid off his face as a skater slips on an ice-rink, however, and then returned the attempt at a comforting smile. In all honesty, it looked more like he had sat on a cactus. I wish he had.

“Now, now, Master Canuck. I know you’re very angry about this, but we have to work through this together.”
“We bloody well don’t.”
“Language like that isn’t accepted here in the Happy Room, please try to express yourself with less vulgar language please, Master Canuck!”

I stood up violently. It would have knocked over my chair had I been sitting on it in the first place.

“I’ll express myself however I like, old man. You can’t help me by shoving me in a room with giraffes on the wall and tooth-marked toys in a rainbow-coloured box. There’s only one thing that can help me, and it’s not going to happen. That’s an end to it. See ya!”
I stalked off to the door and tried to push my way out of it dramatically, but only succeeded after moving a strategically-placed, cuddly elephant. I quickened my pace to a run through the cold, white corridors. I hurtled around a corner, forcing a woman to jump out of my way.

The nurse sighed under her breath, and continued into the Happy Room. Dr. Roberts was still squatting there, but was now resting his chin on his hand, and slowly stroking his measly attempt at a beard. He continued to face the wall even as the nurse spoke to him.

“Dr. Roberts?”
“Don’t fret nurse, what I expect you just witnessed is always the result of a preliminary session. It’s always a challenge for them to deal with such events as these, but by becoming angry they can form their thoughts clearly and ultimately combat them. Are you taking this down?”

She blinked. You couldn’t get away with daydreaming around Dr. Roberts. She scribbled some unreadable squiggles down in her notebook so it would look like she had written something, before looking up at Dr. Roberts, who was now standing just in front of her.

“Oh, and I think we need to change the look of this room.”
“Indeed, I don’t think it’s inviting enough.”

He paused momentarily, weighing up the options in a way that only a psychiatrist can.

“We probably need another lion over there. Good day.”

And with that insight, he ambled out of the room with a grave expression.


However much it tried, the lobby wasn’t all that different to the rest of the hospital. It was still a headache-inducing white, but at least they had attempted to spice things up with a sprinkling of red cushions. Unfortunately they had long since faded to a pale pink. I guess it’s a pretty difficult place for a cushion to be. I slowed to a stroll, though a smashing of test tubes was enough to herald my entrance. Mum was sitting by the window, reading one of those trashy magazines that most men mistake for a comedy almanac. From an objective point of view, she was a pretty woman. Since it happened though, her eyes had been ringed with purple and her skin had grown whiter. Nevertheless, she was still my mother and attempted a motherly smile in true motherly fashion. Time for my amateur dramatics to come into play – I didn’t not take those lessons for nothing.

“How did it go?”
“I feel completely rejuvenated – the staff here are so understanding and helpful!”

She frowned. I guess my habitual sarcasm had slipped its way into the script.

“They’re only trying to help you, and I know it can be hard but you have to deal with it. Do it for him.”
“I’ll try.”

The attempted motherly smile returned, but with more vigour.

“Good. Now let’s go get some food shall we?”

I slipped my hand into hers, and we shook our way out of the hospital. On another note, you can always count on automatic doors to block angry managers wanting to know your insurance company.

A prologue which so far hasn't gone anywhere.
y u no sticky this :(

Day is the end of night. The absence of the moon's light gives way to the numerous signs of day: street lights flicker off like resting fireflies, their tired sodium glare retiring into shades of peaceful gray. Bells toll: alarm bells, school bells. Church bells, mosque bells--all a united call to prayer to celebrate the leaving of darkness, the end of hopeless shadow. Birds rouse from their roosts in celebration, and even in the deepest concrete and steel abodes of man, car horns chase away the last vestiges of starlight in a worldwide celebration that transcends all of nature.

Or is night the end of day? Winding down like well-worn clockwork, the mechanical activity and bustle of day slows to the undertones of the night. The day ends, with all of nature returning to their dwellings, from the untamed bears to the metallic facades of trucks into garages. Only the brave few venture out at this hour, stemming from days of old where men huddled in the half light of caves, guarded against the night chill, and the beasts bold enough to brave it.
But ends can also signal new beginnings. When men hurry homeward for shelter, another part of nature awakes. The primal beasts of shadow roam the lands, from bats to barn mice to jungle cats with glowing eyes. Modern man can also embrace the night, with strips of neon and sound that come to life when the sun sets.

In the day, the nocturnal bustle will die down like the daylight died hours before, and the rousing birds make way for roosting bats. The strips of neon and sound will calm. Maybe all of nature is just a cycle, and there are no ends. Only new beginnings.
the only reason alch stickied it in the first place was so that it didnt get deleted by aragornbird -_-

so yeah we both agreed to unsticky it to reduce the amount of stickies in this forum
Sorry, I apologise for pasting directly. I forgot about the weird font thing...-_-*bows head in shame*

The microcosm of the asylum reveals deeper truths about the world as Nowra sees it. Discuss.
Nowra’s views and perspective of the world’s social conventions are clearly represented through the asylum and the way it highlights the primary values shared by ordinary Australians in the 1970s.

Louis Nowra's farcical yet confronting 1992 play Cosi clearly represents his views and perspective of the world's social conventions and primary values through the intensified symbol of the asylum. Nowra uses the institutionalised inpatients to shed light on specific aspects on the darker, crueller side of the superior, self-centred everyman's moral compass. For example, Roy's major social vice is his befuddling and grating flamboyance, which is shared with Nick, but only he is dismissively labelled and thrown aside for lacking the regularity of a normal citizen. Nick and Lucy are employed by Nowra to place emphasis on his notion that love is an essential and fulfilling component of life, and their insubordinate contumacity is openly shunned. Through the eyes of Lewis the audience is presented with a veritable smorgasbord of Nowra's ideals as the imperfect residents of the 'mad house' mirror the imperfection of the external macrocosm.
Nowra demonstrates his belief that sanity and insanity are nothing more than contrived notions from the outside through the hyperbolic actions of the asylum residents. Each individual is clearly personalised to exhibit certain flaws that are directly linked to Nowra's understanding of society's truths. Roy's erratic, bipolar and constantly antagonistic dialogue, like 'He couldn't direct a poofter to a man's dunny,' constantly belittles the people around him as he remains in his self-centred bubble. The use of Roy's mannerisms in this way gives the audience a feeling of revulsion as they are positioned to harbour mistrust and active dislike towards him, and apply this to the greater picture. Moodiness and egocentrism are natural traits, but ones that are better off kept in the dark. Roy's infuriating bossiness and treatment of others as inferior, mindless servants is atrributed to his mental disorder, however, and the audience comes to realise that regular peers do not have this same excuse. Nowra cleverly emulates this situation using the character of Nick. Nick is considered by the audience to be a mentally healthy individual, yet he shares many common aspects of his personality with Roy, symbolising the similarity between 'sane' and 'insane' and further impressing Nowra's belief that these concepts are nothing more than contrived theories. There is no excuse for Nick's exsufflicated verbosity and the crude, rude way in which he treats even Lewis. 'That's it, I'm not putting up with this right wing crap' is how he responds to Henry's patriotic outburst, who he considers as nothing more than a stupid 'right-wing nut'. Nowra's extensive comparison and exposition demonstrates how similar a 'regular' and mentally ill person can be and uncovers the selfish and haughty way in which general society regards its 'not quite normal' members.

While Nowra utilises his characters to show the ugly bare bones of society's unsound and revolting attitudes towards those they consider as 'less', he also forwards his own set of personal and emotional values to the audience. The themes of love and fidelity are ubiquitous markers throughout the course of Cosi's progression. Nowra clearly imparts their worth through Lewis' rite of passage into manhood. Lewis begins his time at the asylum surrounded by burnt-out darkness, symbolic of a blank slate in a confusing and uncertain world. He starts out by believing that 'love is not so important nowadays', but as he spends more time around the inpatients and the story of Cosi fan Tutte, his true feelings take over and as the lights switch meaningfully on after his kiss with Julie, he is awakened to the fact that love and faith really DO matter. He quickly changes his philosophy, reasoning that 'without love, the world wouldn't mean much,', and leaves his old life with the unpossessive and heartless Lucy and Nick behind. The inpatients are the primary catalysts in speeding up this reaction, with Nowra using them to flesh out Lewis' heartstrings, each operating at different level. Cherry's desire of Lewis and wish to be faithful towards him, Julie's mild, affectionate and laughing character, and even Doug's awkward space-invading reckless sex questions contribute to his understanding of what love and fidelity are. But it is the convention of the play-within-a-play that is truly responsible for the broadcast of Nowra's own views. Through the words of the play the audience are positioned to understand and take a more meaningful approach to love and constancy. The lines 'Women's constancy is like an Arabian Phoenix: everyone says it exists, but no one has ever seen it' (Lewis) and 'Happy is the man who calmly takes his life as he finds it, and...despite the tempests of life he will find serenity and peace,' both use the realm of the play to explore Nowra's true opinions on how love should be treated: as a pleasure AND an essential, not just as a meaningless 'luxury'. It is the powerful words of the inner play and the chronological maturation of Lewis that allows Nowra's ideals to culminate and convulve in the minds of the audience to form a clear view of what is right, and to show that the frivolous one-night stands of today are very, very wrong.
In Nowra's eyes, the asylum is not truly a place of healing, but a huge prison cell where the scraps and remnants of the outer world are left to fester. But despite this, each metaphorical 'prisoner' seems to fit into their own little niche in the miniature 'society' they have created for themselves, regardless of the unimportance of their lives in the bigger picture. For instance, Julie takes the role of a calm and collected businesswoman of sorts, pragmatic amongst the chaos unfurling around her, and Zac represents the artistic and creative component of the population. Nowra uses this sense of familiarity to dealienate the audience, which helps to break down the barriers between the confusing realm of the asylum and the well-known outer environment. Nowra's main truth is placed deliberately at the very end of Cosi, where he employs an address to the audience from Lewis. Lewis says in a sad tone 'There was no next year. This theatre mysteriously burnt down...They had a minor hit. A few years later I heard he had started a polka band which was very big in the Melbourne German and Austrian club circuit. [A beat] Time to turn out the lights'. This address breaks down the fourth wall and presents the simple truth (As Nowra sees it) to the audience, who after tracking the lives of all the inpatients for so long, have to accept that not many things have happy 'Hollywood' endings (even Ruth and Zac simply blend in to society), and that the world will go on without a couple of mentally ill people.
Nowra guides his audience through his own set of personal values and the real demeanour of the wide world with the microcosm of the asylum, meshing together an ensaring web of truth by combining the negative, positive and simply tragic parts of Lewis' time playing Cosi, the experiences of the patients and a first-person epilogue. Through Nowra's extensive use of emotional symbols and illuminating metaphors, the audience comes to realise in full certainty the clarity of Nowra's outlook on society as we know it while sitting in the tiny little snowglobe of the 'madhouse.'
No, it's not for literature. ^_^ Just 'English' as in regualr ENglish; we have some weird style called an 'analytic' text response essay (the Internet has no accurate info on it at all which leads me to believe it was designed by a teacher at my school or someone similarly minor...) Literature has no fixed essay structure apparently.
It Is a Human Number

Following some odd events at my office this past week, I have discovered that the Number of the Beast is not six hundred and sixty-six, as it is commonly assumed, but in fact 45789211990-57668390112i. (For safety reasons I have had to change one digit, which I shall not reveal, from its real value.) This is a discovery with deep theological implications, since it clearly demonstrates the existence of a physical devil and hell, as well as providing a clear instance of the Bible in its current form being wrong. The full reach of this discovery’s significance is yet unknown.

As related to me by a coworker who witnessed the event, an engineer by the name of Roland Berkeley produced the number at 3:45 P.M. on July 29, 2011, in his office in Beaverton, Oregon. The number, which apparently had never been used in any sort of calculation before, was the result of two errors. First, Berkeley, who was tired and inattentive after a day of determining the sizes of components in a new soap dispenser he was designing, entered a list of data into a polynomial-solving program rather than the calculus program he had intended to use. Then, instead of clearing the results as he was trying to do, he accidentally clicked on the button to input the results back in. If the witness is correct, the result from this second mistake was the Number of the Beast.

The coworker, an engineer by the name of John Alberton, cannot provide a very detailed account of what happened next, as the entire area surrounding Berkeley’s cubicle was covered by a thick blackness. The witness claims he saw a red hole open up in Berkeley’s computer, from which the devil emerged, horns first.

According to the witness, the devil was about six feet tall and in the form of a man, except bright red and with horns. The witness could not get a good enough view of the devil to tell whether he had hooves or a tail. Alberton claims the devil was wearing a beige suit with an off-white tie, and was carrying a pitchfork in one hand and a briefcase in the other. In seconds, Berkeley was pushed with the pitchfork into the red hole, presumably into hell. Satan, the hole, and the black cloud disappeared moments later.

On the screen of the computer, the witness could see that most of the pixels had broken and were no longer displaying anything, a result I have confirmed myself. From the remaining pixels, we were able to piece together the first ten digits of the Number of the Beast. To find the rest, we took the previous inputs from the computer and calculated the resulting number by hand. We were careful not to produce the number in its entirety, which is why we did the calculations by hand rather than on a calculator or computer. It is possible that the actual value of the Number of the Beast has a slightly more negative imaginary component, but the result above is the more likely answer.

My discovery of the true Number of the Beast, and the proof of the existence of hell and the devil, is a momentous discovery not only for theologians, but for mankind in general. It is important, though, that when writing about it one must never change any digit of the number from the 45789211990-57668390112i I provided above. To do so might reproduce the real value of the number and consign the writer of the number to the same fate as Berkeley. But Alberton and I are sure that this discovery will lead to the salvation of countless numbers of people for the rest of history, and are proud to share my news with the world.
Wrote these about someonewho just came into my life.

Through the sad mistake
Life rises to once again
Make me whole once more

In the darkness of
the storm of the Lady Luck
You force your way out

When in despair of
Life's cruelest adversaries
I turn to you now
Hey all, first time posting here. I'm not much of a poet but I woke up with the third stanza of this poem in my head. I knew that it wouldn't leave me alone if I didn't get it out so you get to read my rambling thoughts about life and the world!

They said “you workin this summer?
whadya doin after highschool then?
obviously not college,
college takes money.
life takes money, kid!

listen to reason,
listen to the world!

we’ll hold you,
teach you,
catch you,
keep you.”

Father said “you listened to that?
well I’ll tell ya what, follow your heart
follow your dreams
follow the stars
create your own schemes!

listen to love
listen to the soul!

when you struggle, They hold you
you think, They teach you
you run, They catch you
you stay, They keep you

you resist, and They eat you.

if you struggle, I’ll free you
you think, I’ll let you
you run, I’ll see you
you stay, and I’ll keep you.”
Excerpt from my 2336-word literature paper that I wrote while half-awake and took out later:
Lastly, fate is a common theme in both tragedies. Like the Chorus sings in Oedipus Rex, no “armour be defended/From God’s sharp wrath”, and the hand of fate falls heavy and unavoidable on both characters like a rain-boosted Water Spout from a Specs Kyogre hitting both enemies in a double battle.