I'm sorry guys. But I can make the deadline. I hadn't time to write, because i had to do so much work for school. But I do have a proloque for you guys. If you're not in the proloque, don't worry, all the characters will be known after Episode 1. ;)
With a thundering sound a quite large privé jet lands on the mainland. The heavy sound of the noisy engines slowly fades out, a door emerges somewehere out of the middle of the jet, a young men with black hair and his eyes pinched against the fierce sun appears in the gaping sqaury-shape hole that the door left behind. As he looks around, he walks down the stairs. He sees a man with white hair, all dressed in black, standing about 10 meters from the jet, with behind him a whole bunch of people. Who seems to be a television crew, concluding to the camera's and microphones that they hold.
Behind him comes a other male trainer, the young looking men with brown hair and green eyes sniffs up some fresh air before he descends the staircase. One by one the candidates descend the stairs and set foot on Master Island. In a compact, but sloppy half cirkel they gather around the white hairy men.
'Welcome challengers,' the man says, 'My name is John Evans, and I'm the host of Amazing Masters.' Silence reigned, nervous glances go from John to the cameras and back. 'You just arrived on Master Island..and on this whole island you will undergo all sorts of tests and try too bring them to a good end.'
Evans isn't suprised that nobody reacts odd. This is old news for the candidates.
'On your way to this island you all received one cotton bracelet, and asked to put them on. As you may noticed there are 4 different colors: Blue, Red, Yellow and Gray. Ofcourse this is for a reason, because now you can tell in which Tribe you are. Form those Tribes please.'
Immediately people start walking disordely.
'In the order that I mentioned them, please. From left to right. So Blue, Red, Yellow, Gray.'
'I'm so excited,' squaks a girl with long blond hair, belonging to the Yellow tribe. It is Ishanti, the youngest contender.
'Please lass,' grumbles Wylde, a guy with light brown rasta hair, from the Red Tribe, 'keep that nonsense too yourself.'
'Come on,' says a male trainer with dark brown hair wearing a blue cotton bracelet, trying to soothe the situation 'don't get into a row already.'
It's Cedric, belonging to the Blue Tribe.
Soon, more and more candidates intervene in the conversation. The Red Tribe supports Wylde, the Blue Tribe takes Cedric's part, while the Yellow Tribe defends Ishanti. However, the Gray Tribe hold them aloof. And that's something Amythest doesn't mind at all. Amythest, a girl with long brown hair, got the feeling that all the members of the Gray Tribe are well attuned to each other.
'GUYS!' shouts a girl named Kyra. Immediately every stops arguing. Kyra is a girl with a brown skin and is quite saucy for her young age. 'Evans wants to say something.'
Now everyone stares at the host, waiting for him to speak.
'First of all..thank you Kyra! I think that was...ahum..needed. Well, on with the good stuf. In several minutes will arrive 2 limousines which will bring you to "The Villa". But before that happens..'
Evans quickly looks the contenders in the eye.
'Is there somebody, or several people, who already want to give up? If so, the remaining contenders in your Tribe are safe for eleminitation. So nobody of that Tribe can be send home. Anybody?'
Again, silence reigned, you only hear the wind softly blowing through the trees. Several contenders stare to the ground, maybe thinking about the option to leave. While others nervously look at fellow candidates, trying to spot a raising hand. Teodoro however, a brown haired trainer which wears a white-black checked sweater, headphones and a black cap, looks hard at Evans. He just wants to begin.
'Just as I expected,' chuckles the white hairy men, 'in that case..let the games begin!'
Hi. :3 I've had quite a few aspirations throughout life dealing with writing and the similar-such topics, and upon discovering this thread felt like perhaps sharing some things? I'd super appreciate any critique you guys could give. :)
1) I wrote this back in early December. It deals with a somewhat angry time I was going through concerning unrequited love and the state of humanity. It was great, in a catharsis sort of way. It's written in a older style because that tends to be the kind of poetry I appreciate the most. It flows in an alternation of 8 syllable / 6 syllable lines with an a/b/a/b c/d/c/d rhyme scheme.
The world doth see the fallen bird
Ripped wings, asunder, frail;
But do they know? The news, I've heard:
Our cruelty here is nailed
To ev'ry coffin door we meet
Upon this midnight clear!
And that's the taste of our defeat;
We suffer in our fear.
But do they know! These callous hands
Have wrought my fervid hate
For they are tools, at my demand,
Of I! Death; incarnate!
Destroyer of worlds? I am more.
You, too, will know one day!
For I will wreck the dying shores;
Fear me! Fear disarray!
Open your eyes! Open your heart.
Is it clouded? By ink?
Or does it journey! Disembark?
We are righteous. We think.
The pitiful do know your scorn.
The pitiless just die.
Both bodies, beaten by the storm--
Have suffered. As have I.
2) Another one of my poems written back in December, though this one closer to Christmas than the beginning of the month. Its theme concerns regret and the search for salvation. Same rhyme scheme as the first poem, but a rather quirky and undefined meter. Same style too, for the most part.
We launched a land into its past
By bringing about that ruler!
On time's great ship, he cut the mast!
Is there a fate much crueler?
The world did grieve the ruined land
Which had once been filled with promise;
I saw the power at my hands!
But... repentance set upon us.
I took to daily meditation
In effort to right my wrongs,
And give rise to my salvation;
To be one angel amongst the throngs.
I feel ensnared by a beast so foul
That no flame could free his icy soul,
Which is as chilling as his howl
To me, in this pit; his darkening shoal.
The growing gloom is detrimental
To my search for consecration;
And, while purely sentimental,
I need, rely on, illumination.
To disperse with my haunting shadows
I must traverse my own catacomb;
Wandering this forgotten burrow,
It is the only place I've ever known.
3) I wrote this one just a few days ago, actually. It's completely different from my other two pieces. It's much shorter, much more modern, and has little rhyming involved. However, I think it still has a lot of emotion in it. One of the driving forces behind the poetry I like is the emotion that's in it; not necessarily what the words mean but how they convey it. However, I get the strong feeling that this particular poem is unfinished in its current state and could be added to.
We've been tied to this rock for eons
Only wondering when and how it might end.
And when we go, leaving behind a mausoleum,
Will it hurt or is it a calm embrace from a friend?
Who can judge us? To leave us in the spoils
Or the spoiled mess with which we are broken.
We are our own arbiter.
4) This one, however, is a short prose piece rather than poetry. I really like this piece. It's probably my favorite thing I've written in the past year. Not much to say otherwise. Brownie points to those who catch the F. Scott Fitzgerald reference.
Vivian first realizes that Spencer’s butler is a little hard-of-hearing when she asks him for a crate, to gather the weeds and wilted vegetables and revitalize his garden, and instead he returns thirty minutes later with crepes. Reluctantly she eats two and then sends him off, with a thank, and scours the mansion for some type of box (she did not dare ask the butler for he may bring her a fox or some socks or maybe the roosters from the farmhouse) with which she can attempt to refresh the amount of green in the relative atmosphere.
Her journey takes her but two rooms, for she comes across the man of the household himself as he works his buttons up to his neck. Cigarette in mouth, she finds it ironic that he would have a vegetable garden. “Hey,” he releases hot air when he speaks, “you look frantic.”
Not pretty but frantic.
Outside, there’s a stone with a crevice in it caused by frozen water expanding on the inside. It has a mostly flat top, crevice excluding, and is in the shade so Vivian enjoys sitting on it to read in the afternoons when she wishes to be outside yet not in the heat. There’s a small beetle who has been making his home in the crevice for about four days now and it seems to be afraid of Vivian, so she leaves it a few tiny pieces of her apple to inform it that she is friendly.
It seems to “take the bait,” as Spencer says it, and Vivian is appalled that the man assumes she is merely tricking it into friendship before delivering the crushing blow.
Then she wonders if she is a beetle.
Once her daughter, “The Great” Pammy, climbed on to the roof for the first time, Vivian begged Spencer to install a lock on the window that she had used (for it was the only one close enough to the trees that grew tall enough to hit the roof) but the man merely laughed and said that Vivian needs to cut loose, so she cut the tree down herself and goes completely against the Green Maidens of South Dakota society that she joined a few weeks ago.
The moment Spencer stays out until one in the morning, Vivian realizes with an uncanny sureness that he has been seeing another woman for the past three years. Not that this is technically anything she can complain of, for she and Spencer are not dating let alone married. It rubs a vicious flaw in her character, though, and she ties an iron weight to the leg of his favorite chanticleer and lets its drowning caws wake up everyone.
Oh, a story thread! I just happen to have written a story. It's a little long-winded, still not finished (but working on the final chapter now!), and the wording and grammar as as you'd expect from a non-native speaker of English, but I'm quite satisfied with the premise of the story. It's written out in its entirety here. Please forgive what a forum reboot did to some letters, most notably the "é"s. Grammar and spelling should improve from chapter six on.
For the sweetest songs,
and the most perilous pieces,
a simple line can change a mood.
From melodic to disharmonic
with powerful dissonance
and consonant crescendo
till the voice cracks and falls!
Slowing then with evermore resolve,
soft and strong, almost inaudible.
When the hero dies, still never seen,
when the images fade,
and the music come to an end.
The director bows
It has been exactly two months since the Great War of Nations ended. Two months of slowly rebuilding broken trust and destroyed cities. Two months of repairing devastated castles and wiped out economies. Two months of dealing with the loss of family and the horror of the War. Two months of witnessing the massive amounts of damage done to the land, two months of desperately trying to heal the wounded. Two of the longest months in history. The War was devastating, hundreds of thousands of casualties. The Nations don't want this to happen. Not again. So, many, but not all of the Nations sign a peace treaty, swearing this would never happen again. But that was a promise as empty as a desert. Because tensions have been building for two months. And there are larger forces at work. Some Nations prepare for war. Others ignore these facts, a blind, stupid hope. But none can truly deny this. There is a storm brewing. A storm like no other nation nor being has ever seen. And nations can sense it. Some are preparing, others ignore it. But one thing is sure. These events being recorded changed the history and the future of Relium. For better or for worse... well, I'll leave that up for you to decide and discover.
This is kind of lyrical so it doesn't really read like a normal poem might.
The stars aligned in cloudy skies
and you're setting me up for a fall
You're on cloud nine but love is blind
and the curtains will never call
I'm a smallish fish in a smallish pond,
You're the devil in the deep blue sea
That ship is gone, it's sailed beyond
It was never you and it wasn't me
Ok yeah I only said I would get off irc !_!
Updates to this post happening tonight !_!
Summer, all afternoon
It was at the sea, that one summer
none of that slipping, slapping the ice rink
she clasped the bamboo stalk, tip humming
I was directing strumming a ukulele
The tip quivered through the air
The waves quietly lapped at gold
A quaint figure dressed in a dress approached
Like the solemn march of a typewriter
Her name, lost in the sand
Holding back herself, I think
A breath of life
Mistaken for a glass of lemonade
We breathed together
If together means our eyes accidentally meeting
That magic spark behind the pupils was there though
So somehow we breathed together
Like that time we were drinking
Normal stuff, no jelly
Armed with glasses of lemonade
Lulling the light of lucid life
In the form of some perspiration on the glass
We didn't know if it was a dove or a glove or one of those above*
The fluff of clouds, like ice cream on the rocks froth
Is easy to mistake
A simple red cherry bobbed in the glass of lemonade
We shared a glass, almost a straw
One stalk with crimson rollercoasters
Two, to be exact
Settling behind the desk, he prepared to make his betrayal. It wasn't the first of his career, and he doubted it would be his last. But betrayal is the same, every time.
When he had got the role, he hadn't really counted on life being like this. He thought this life only happened in the movies. And he didn't feel like a movie star. But he was doing what he had been brought up to do: look after número uno. They had no idea what life was like, making the decisions for them. As a result, assorted contracts littered the desk: for building
developments; shops; stadiums; prisons; schools. All things the people wanted.
Being a middle-aged, son of a banker, he had no real idea of what they wanted. They tried to tell him, through countless rallies, protests and demonstrations, but, as his father had said: 'If you give into one, you give in to them all. And then, the whole country is fucked.' Either way, he thought the shopping centre was a good idea, it created jobs, supported business, and got rid of the park that was such as hotspot for crime. And, if he signed with this company, landed him a large sum of money.
When he had stood for election, he had been a straight edge kind of guy, always on the right side of the law, expect the points for speeding. Now, he wasn't so sure, but the money he was being offered made him think about it. He knew it was the right thing to do anyway, but when somebody waves big money under your nose, you sit and listen.
A lot of fuss had kicked up over the last few years, due to the recession. People were losing the jobs, they said. People were losing possessions, cars, homes. But what was he supposed to do? Hundreds of the fat cats were taking millions of bonuses, but also made the country a fortune. And his party had said no to regulating them before, they could hardly change their minds. That would be weak, and that wasn't allowed. There were only the strong and the stronger in this game.
Still leafing through the pages, his eyes were drawn to the sum he would get for signing this. Fifty thousand. Enough to get the new car he wanted. Though he could get that on expenses. It was rare he really paid for anything now that he thought of it. He didn't need to, not when the tax payers could. They had paid for his suit, his phone, even the office chair he sat in.
He had reached the final page of the contracts, and, checking the small print one last time, reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his pen. The betrayal was over.
He still felt bad about missing his son's seventh birthday, but he really couldn't have made it, he was at a conference in Italy. He tried to make up for it, buying him a new games console, and a balloon. He remembered that it was the balloon that his son had smiled more at. His son didn't care about money.
His wife, however, did care about money. The money from the deal would go toward her operation, to fix her bad back. He hoped she would still be well enough to go for dinner that night, he felt the need to spoil her. They were lucky their eldest daughter had agreed to babysit. He smirked. He knew he had a good family. He couldn't betray them, he felt bad even thinking about it.
As he arrived at the base of the steps, his hand groped around in his pocket for his keys. Finding them, he hit the unlock button, and his black Jaguar blinked in greeting. He knew it wasn't his car, but the publics', but the numberplate still read M4RK D4VI3, and the air freshener had a photo of his wife, her arms around the two children, as they tucked into ice creams. He had taken it on one of their holidays, even though there was no proof of him being there. He felt he has missed too much time, time he couldn't get back. The job required a lot of time, and that meant less with the people he cared about.
He climbed into the car, and closed the door. He glanced in the mirror as he got in the car. Maybe he could get another balloon for his son on the weekend. The last thing he saw was his own eyes, staring back at him. He turned the key. Click.
His wife heard the story of the exploding car on the news from her hospital bed. She knew why he was late.
I don't usually write things, But, I had an idea in my head about three deity talking bout there greatness, so I sat down, and wrote this;
The Three Existences
The First The Second The Third
I am thou who has Ascended Godhood and become more than a Simple God. I am a Legend, an echo to be heard forever in time. While your god will simply fade, my name shall always be whispered.
Alas My Friend, As your echo fades with each passing moment, Thou shall be within the memory of all who follow, For i am The Creator, The Maker, The Cursed Memory.
Truth that may be, But, As time passes, faith shall be forgotten, and the creator's power shalt dwindle. As the sands of time drip, the cursed memory will be nothing but a fleeting moment, while a legend shall return with a booming applaud and that which no longer exists, can stay no more
Indeed, But you have forgotten, As remembrance of the Legend returns to the people, The Deeds And Sins, in which the legend has passed on to his people, Forsaken them with the shame of there ancestor. As Godhood is forever, Forever atoning the sins in which thou has done upon his people.
I am The Architect , beyond even the greatest mortal god, I am a god among immortals. I am eternal and have existed always. I have created many like your ilk, and your kind who still remember my face and my name tremble at mere fragments of my title and go mad at the sight of me. Your pitiful three-dimensional existences cannot even contain all of my majesty and grace.
So I got bored a while back. I apparently like writing description scenes!
A couple on the beach seems pretty stereotypical at first - there’s a million others at least on this beach alone, what with being within 20 miles of pretty much every major city in the area. Like the grains of sand on the beach themselves, the couple looked identical to the many other pairs. You have to remember though that each on of them has a story of their own, just like each grain of sand being unique in its individual texture or color.
Our first character - the boy, we will call him James - he was out on his first real date in quite some time. Was it a year? Two? He couldn’t remember, and he probably didnt’ want to considering that would also bring up memories of the breakup he had had with his previous trophy some time before. She was a person with more than just looks - she had emotions to bak it up, and quite frankly James didn’t expect that in a woman any more than he did the fact that he wouldn’t be the one making the phone call. Having thought of all this in a split second (or rather the emotions and physical sensations that come with them), he quickly put that thought in the back of his head, instead focusing more on the more pleasurable sensations around him. The warmth of the sun on his skin, the coolness on his legs as seawater evaporated off. The gritty feeling of salt after the seawater made it way off of him. And lastly, he decided to focus on his right hand, gently holding his lover’s left, fingers entwined. It was a nice day overall.
His girlfriend - the girl, we shall call her Olivia - was feeling good as well. She was napping on a brightly colored beach towel, keeping her skin as far off the sand as possible, both to keep herself relatively clean of it and to keep it soft (this made any caresses during their stay that much nicer for the James). Olivia had been waiting for this for a while; he had just asked her out two weeks ago, and although they talked a lot in school to keep Chemistry from getting too boring, they really hadn’t been out together outside of school. She felt on top of the world, almost cocky - she was right beside the boy she had wanted since her sophomore year, her grades were going well, and she was popular. What else could a woman ask for?
As for the August day the couple was enjoying, James and Olivia were both napping. Not like it wasn’t a bad idea; the place they were at was well known for being one of the safest in the area. The side of the city facing the beach was known for this as well, while the opposite was true for the slums on the outskirts. It was common knowledge that they didn’t have the time or the money to spend a day out here, though.
This is a fanifiction I'm making about a 12 year old boy on a quest in the unova region. Its about 2 years before the events in Black and White.
I was lost. It was a dark night. It was raining. I was by myself until i saw it.
It was a fox like pokemon. It was black and had a red marking on it.
It looked like a nice pokemon. I thought it could help me come home. However, when i tried, it attempted to bite me. I cowered in fear. A cowered was what I was before i met it. I was frightened. The pokemon sensed it and immediately punished iteslf. It was already injured. I approched it once more. This time it willingly came. I pet it. It felt like home.
Thats where i wanted to go. But it was dark out. I don't think I could make it. But this pokemon is with me. Maybe it lost its way home to?
"Are you lost as well?" "...Zo..." "Your name is Zo?" For some reason, I knew what it was saying. My family is gone. I lost them a long time ago. Please help me. Take me somwhere warm.
We worked together getting home. My mom couldn't have been happier. We took care of it. The best next 7 years of my life. And it got even better during those years.
Any spelling/grammer mistakes please tell me. I'll fix them. If its good, then I'll put the next chapter. If you like it, I'll continue making the series.
So yeah, i was told to move this story here. So thats what I did. I'll put the next chapter and if people have any ideas about the story its fine.
Creative critisism. And if I should stop this or not.
Chapter 1 (Sneak Peek)
A boy with black hair just walked out of Professer Junipers lab. He wore a black hoddie and some blue jeans. He had a zorua following him.
"Zo!" said the zorua.
"I know, I'm excited too that we get to take the grad exam but you can stop pestering me about it." replied the boy. The boys name was John.
The Zorua's name was Zo. Zo was a level 5 pokemon with 21 HP (Health Points).
Nuvema Town. It was a peaceful town. It didn't have a trainer school so Professer Juniper taught the kids.
As John and Zo were walking, something caught their eyes. It was a patrat.
John thought this was strange. Patrats aren't normally in this area. They live up in route one. Why would they be here?
He then saw that the watchog running up to someone. He relized the patrat was under ownership of the school bully, Eliot.
"Look at your wimpy pokemon john!" yelled Eliot laughing. "That thing couldn't even neat a Lilipup!"
Now, John didn't like talking much. But he knew a challenge when he saw it. That, and the fact that Elitos spit was washing all over him.
Sorry for such an old bump but this is a great thread and should get more appreciation! Here's a short story I did for my GCSE coursework last year. The story came into my head because one day I saw a pretty horific accident where a girl was hit by a car as she ran across the road. I thought of a bit of back story to her life and wrote this. Any criticism is great!
‘Man endures pain as an undeserved punishment; woman accepts it as a natural heritage.’
I know he didn’t mean to. You’d have to be pretty messed up to want to do that to a stranger. I saw him though. He looked so panicked. His phone fell out of his hand and I guess he was hitting the brakes. It doesn’t really make any difference now does it? I sort of felt sorry for him in a way. Having something like that on you for the rest of your life can’t be easy.
‘Hey!’ Shrill of the alarm. “7.30” states the display. ‘Hey, come on!’ Shower, get dried. Get dressed. ‘Come here!’ Two toast. Low-fat yogurt. ‘I’m talking to you!’
That was the first time it happened. ‘Oh, you’ll get used to it. If you pretend not to mind they’ll get bored.’
Every day I walked past them. You know that story? The French one by Alphonse Daudet? Well it’s about this little goat, and one day she goes into the mountains ‘cause she’s bored. So she’s in the mountains but then a wolf says he’s going to eat her. She can’t run away because the wolf is so fast so she decides to fight. She knows she’s going to lose, though, but she looks at the stars and thinks to herself ‘Oh! If only I can last till morning’. She knows she has no chance of killing the wolf. Goats do not kill wolves. Well, that’s how I felt every morning. I need to last till school.
That afternoon I went to speak to the principal about it. He was this wannabe big shot who was so proud of how he had turned around this ‘once crime-ridden school’ and made it the ‘best of its kind in the state’. My friend Sharon got expelled last week. I think it was something about her ‘continuous attempts at upsetting the boys scholastic ability; extensively dressing in a provocative and suggestive manner.’
‘Did they ever harm you?’ No. ‘Well then, what kind of things have they said to you?’ I wasn’t really sure what to say. ‘Yes, I can see why you would find that annoying. Look, don’t worry. We’re behind you one hundred percent. If they ever lay a finger on you.’ If. That’s nice to know. ‘All you have to do is ignore it. You’re a thick skinned girl, aren’t you? Come on! I’m sure it’s not that bad. They’re only words after all.’
When I was walking home that day I saw this spaniel just lying there on the side of the road. It was in the gutter, lying in a puddle. Everyone just walked past it. It wasn’t dead or anything, you could tell cause it was breathing and everything, but no one moved to help it. I know it was just a dog but it still made me sad. You know when you see something and you don’t really know why but you feel sad and like you wish that didn’t happen? I’m not talking about the big stuff like murder and wars, but those things that happen every day that no one cares about. Like when you see a kid and their mum or dad is on the phone and the kid really wants to show them something but they just ignore them. It’s even worse when they pretend they care. Oh that’s lovely darling! That’s how I felt about this spaniel. I was walking back down the road when I saw these people in the car and they drove as close as they could to the spaniel and splashed it with the water to try and scare it. I could kill them. The spaniel didn’t even move, though. It just lay there, still.
I didn’t really know what to do that day when I got home.
When I went to sleep that night I had a dream. I was in a room and they were all there. But they were sitting down. They couldn’t move. I wanted to hurt them for what they did. It was so incredible being in that position. I could feel it. I didn’t even need to do it right away. I could hear them crying, shouting at me. I left them there a little longer.
If only I can last till morning.
‘I said come here.’ You’re a thick skinned girl, aren’t you? ‘Hey guys I don’t think the broad heard me.’ Then they just went crazy. They were all around me. Pushing me, taunting me. I felt something on my leg. I saw people walk past. Oh, good. Something’s finally happening around here. I tried to get away but they kept on pulling me. One snatched my bag and emptied it all over the pavement. Books and folders flew everywhere. Papers scattered the pavement. I kept trying to pick what I could salvage up off the pavement but my hands were being slapped out the way. Every time I tried to get up they pushed me back down. I could hear them laughing at me. I threw what my bag at them, screaming. ‘Fuck you!’ I ran. They didn’t bother chasing me. Why would they? They knew I’d only be back again for more tomorrow.
Down the street. across the road.
‘Hey!’ I heard someone shout.
In the end, I guess, I got what I wanted. Those men would never forget this. I smiled and closed my eyes.
I walked into the mask shop and was bombarded with a massive amount of masks. Happy, outgoing, comical, uplifting, there were hundreds. I spotted a tall, thin fellow, quite the opposite of myself, I'm rather short and bulky, leaning over a counter, talking on the phone. Naturally, I assumed he was an employee, so I approached him.
"Oh my. I'm sorry to hear that. Yes ma'am. Yes ma'am, we've been looking into it for quite some time. Yes, we'll do whatever we can. Yes ma'am. We'll notify you if we have a breakthrough. You and your husband have a great day. Mhm. Goodbye." He hung up, and realizing there was someone behind him, turned around. His face was completely contrary to his body. It was a joyful, round face, bright cheeks, and lively eyes.
"Welcome, one and all, to the Happy Happy Mask Shop! And how can I help you?"
"Uh, yeah, I'm looking for a mask that gives off a depressing look." I answered
"Depressing? Why would you want such a mask? Here, this a joyous one, everyone likes them."
"But, I don't want a joyous one, I want one that translates my emotions."
"But people don't want to see THOSE emotions. How about a outgoing mask?"
"But, I'm not outgoing, I'm shy!"
"People love outgoing people though. They're the top of the crowd, the ones we adore!"
"But, but that'd be lying! I'm not joyous or outgoing!"
"Then you sir, are missing the point of masks. Masks aren't used to repeat the ugly truth, they're used to conceal it, and cover it with pretty lies that everyone can gaze upon! People don't like the truth, not when it hurts." he placed a bony hand on my should, grinning ear to ear. I tried to shake it off, but his grip was one of iron. "The only disadvantage of our wonderful masks is that you can't take them off after extended use... but that's a minor setback to complete popularity. Say, why don't you work for us, we could use another hand around here!" He pulled out a mask from a drawer, one identical to his face.
"N-NO!" I yelled, struggling. He was incerdibly strong for a man of his physique. He placed the mask on my face, and that's when everything went black.
I walked into the mask shop and saw a short, bulky man leaning over a counter, talking with a man who was in tears. The short man was grinning, his face lively, with bright cheeks and gleaming eyes, and as I neared, I glimpsed the end of their conversation.
"I'm so sorry. Yes, SOME of our masks do change over time. There's not much we can do about it, you'll have to wait until we can uncover how to take them off. I'm truly sorry about your wife sir. Have a good day." He comforted, then turned his gaze to me. "Hello sir, welcome, one and all, to the the Happy Happy Mask shop, and how can I be of assistance to you today?""
"Do you have any masks that emit depression? All I see are positive emotions."
Nice story! It had a simple but effective twist ending, and didn't explain the story directly to the reader, which is something that is absent in a lot of modern writing. I think you could have put a little more detail in here and there, but otherwise that was a great short story!
"The sun is shining, the breeze is gentle, it's the heartbeat of summer and the height of one's youth!"
And there he goes, dancing off, leaping around the courtyard as if it were his own personal dance space. No care for the presence of others, not bothered by any judgments made on his person. I'll be honest, I envy Tom a great deal. To be able to completely disregard the rules and do whatever you want when you want is something I've not really ever been able to do. Of course, it's exactly as he says. The sunlight and feeling of revival give a certain invigoration to one's self.
"Well, perhaps today will be the day then?"
Giving myself a chuckle, I hop over to rejoin the group.
I can't even begin to recall the past year. It has been a journey, that much I can say. To start from exactly a year ago, I was in the deepest of ruts. It wasn't so bad that suicide was a legitimate consideration, but honestly, it was one of the lowest points of my life. Thus far. I don't want to start going into details, but damned if everything wasn't going wrong. As if feeling abandoned by everyone wasn't enough, bad news upon bad news rained down on me relentlessly. I genuinely thought that the story was over. Of course, I am here talking to you know, so obviously it isn't all bad, but believe me when I say, I cried myself to sleep more nights than I care to remember.
The road to recovery is not one without its speed bumps, and boy did I hit a few. But I didn't care; I was on the road to recovery. That alone was enough of a mood lifter to set me right. I told myself "You know where you're going now, just keep at it." I've been listening to myself even up to this point. It's helped, that's for sure. I stopped letting things get in the way, and I took control. It was the first time I've ever taken a major active part in my own life. The changes weren't even radical. They were gradual. Bit by bit, I'd try new things, explore new horizons. I wasn't going to jump in and change who I was immediately, but I would try. I would creep out of my shell, step by step, at my own pace. I daresay it marked me being alive again. It was as if I was a new person, new sparks appearing here and there, little things would make me smile. Boy does it feel good to smile. I don't think I've ever felt genuine pure happiness until that point.
Heh, then again. Life isn't all rainbows, butterflies, and sugarcubes. I had a few dark moments. But these weren't the depressed angst as of before. It was more sort of sheer anger. I suppose by learning to embrace a more... concupiscent outlook on life I opened myself up to allowing myself to respond with the same bravado I took to the more positive things with. I suppose the simple way to put it was I found myself getting more provoked; whether or not I brought that on myself is something I still ponder, but I managed through. Whether it was feeling unaccepted by the likes of Archie and Patrick, or just feeling bored with hanging out with Clegg and Kinny all the time, I kind of yearned for more.
Lo and behold, as the nature of relationships proved, specifically, the law of maintenance, as continued my "quest" to improve myself, I forgot and left behind more and more things. A few of them I'm revisiting, and a few of them I've left behind altogether. I still regret that. But it wasn't something I could run away from; my interests were changing, and I became preoccupied with various other things. Some good, some bad. You could describe it as a situation wherein I disliked where I was moving, but the fact that I was moving somewhere else was enough to keep me in. I regret making some of the choices I made, and taking some of the routes I took, but I'm here now. Like I said earlier, not letting anything get to me was important; I fear things could've turned out for the worse if I had responded any differently.
And so, we continue this idea of improvement, dislike of "improvement", decline, and repeat for a few more months. And now we're here. I don't know where I am anymore. If I had to pinpoint, I would say decline, although the rate of decline isn't static or as steep. I think I'm still in control. I don't like some of the things that are happening, but I like some of the others. I worry about what will happen next, but I'm also confident and striving. It's weird, I guess. Perhaps this is "growing up"? But in any case, I'm tired of looking at the future. It saddens me a bit, I guess, knowing that I'll never be in full control, and never be totally content, but that's life. After all, I never wanted all of my days to be saccharine and bright, but just to get by. I suppose "get by" means something else.
But it's not all bad. I don't know how to describe it, but I guess you could say I'm okay with the world. Well, as much as one can be, anyway. Sure, there's still hard work to be done. Sure, there's still problems to overcome. Sure, there are still going to be times when I will have a maelstrom of emotions raging inside me. Yet on the flipside, there will be times I can relax and enjoy everything. There will be times when I can have support and not panic. There will be times when I am indeed happy and content and all is well in the world. It may only be a fleeting moment, but it's those fleeting moments that I think show that I'm truly alive.
It's all about keeping the momentum and the initiative, I suppose. So I'm not like Finn who's overtly intelligent and can do whatever he puts his mind do. So I'm not the social joker who can always make friends like Lowell. So I'm not the carefree guy who lives his life to the full like Tom. But I like where I am and what I can do. So I guess it's just a balancing act of "keep on going" and pushing myself bit by bit. I think I'm happy.
why did nobody fucking tell me this existed. Jesus I was talking in IRC for like a hour about doing storywriting and nobody told me this existed. bah whatever. here's my first submission to you internet savages - a short story
Genre: Fantasy, Fiction
I have always trusted my prince. All my life I have served him, protecting him from the world. He is so sweet, so charming, he knows what's best for the country...but he's so weak. Always so trusting, never knowing the darkness that resides within the heart of men. He has always been this way.
So I must guard him. Keep him from knowing pain. At first it was easy, I just had to keep him away from those pesky stories of war in countries afar, take care of those nasty little boys and girls who had harm and deceit in their eyes, it was easy. Sure, it could be difficult at times, but as a servant, it was my duty.
As he grew older, it got harder. Ruin and decay were all that were in those troublesome history books...snip snip, and the pages were replaced, can't let him doubt his ideals. It didn't work for those in the past, but they weren't him. My prince can do it! Oh, but then there were the skanks and whores, I couldn't keep him from the perversions of the mind. But I could make sure they were good perversions he indulged in, as difficult as it was to fix my gown to match his ideal visage...
And fix I did. It hurt, but I was fixed from my old self. Snip snip, tuck, and a new me was made. One that pleased him, I think. He didn't look at the sluts so often...I made sure of that. And those other boys that wanted to battle with him didn't want to battle with all of their precious fighters disabled, now did they?
With everything in place, my prince was able to focus, and study, and study, learning politics and history, everything that he needed to take the world center stage. I was so proud of him. But there were still obstacles, of course, always with the obstacles. So I had to handle those as well. A proper servant made sure her prince had everything he needed.
Sure, he wasn't the best with speeches, but negotiating with scriptwriters gave him great material to use! And he was so charming, but his opponents kept trying to slander him, keep him from his rightful throne. Filthy lies about how he was naive, too optimistic, unrealistic... I had to fix them too. Until at last he "won" his throne, such a unnecessary fuss. He was the only one deserving enough to sit on it!
My hands stained red with success, I took the throne with my prince, pulling more strings, making sure that he would stay in office. Those foolish idiots who thought they could upstage or remove him were easy to deal with. Bribery, intimidation, leverage, blackmail...sometimes I had to get my hands dirty, but the stains always washed off in the end, just in time to return home to my prince and ensure he relaxed after his long days of work.
Ruling is such a stressful job. Every prince needs proper servants, or else he will fail in his duties. It doesn't mater that the countryside burns with the flames of hate, I will keep my prince protected. It doesn't matter that knives seek to plunge into his back, I'll make those knives plunge into the hands that would attempt to do such a thing to MY prince. It doesn't matter that whores and sluts don't even see me when they try and seduce him, dumpster bins hide their ugly faces quite well from his face. Even if he can't understand what I say, even if he isn't aware of what I do to protect him, I am a servant to my prince, from now until the end of time.
Hi there, patriots of the Smeargle's Studio Writing Thread! As you can tell from the state of inactivity of this thread (the first post on this page is from January 11th, which is before I even joined...), this Writing thread hasn't exactly been the most popular of endeavors in Smeargle's Studio. However, Alchemator and I would really like to see that change.
That's why this thread is now going to be the (possibly temporary!) headquarters for the Occasional Writing Prompt Challenge! The goal of this contest flows in the same vein as the Monthly Art Contest and the Weekly Spriting Contest. Every so often (I've decided to let this first prompt run for a week because that sounded like a good amount of time in which we could judge activity), I'll be changing around a writing prompt for the denizen writers of Smeargle's Studio to respond to!
>Please note that this doesn't mean that you can't post whatever you'd like to in this thread. Not all posts in this thread must be entries for the OWPC, but Alch deigned it a good idea to start this project in the Megathread before moving it to its own thread if it garnered enough support. Please continue to post any of your ideas here!<
So. What are the guidelines for submissions into the OPWC? Well, have a look at some things that we came up with!
* Fan-fiction works of all sorts (not just Pokemon) are allowed as entries into this thread. On the same note, original work/content is also allowed as an entry into this thread. This is to showcase the talents of anyone here who likes to write, not just the talents of people who sometimes write something about Pokemon.
* We would like the length of your story to be an external factor that doesn't affect opinions when it comes to the OWPC. With that in mind, all entries to the OWPC should be ~around 1000 words. If you can only write your story in 800, that's fine. If you need to hit 1250 in order to get everything you wanted to say in there, that's also fine. The idea is for the stories to have a uniformity to them so that we can more accurately critique stories on content, plot, and prose rather than having to find great things to say about someone's six-word memoir.
* As Smogon is a site that requires its members to be 13+ before joining, stories with themes that are appropriate for more mature audiences are indeed welcome, but if you're not sure about just how heavy something you've written is, please leave something along the lines of "Warning: extensive character death / torture" at the top of your submission so that people who don't want to read such a thing don't have to. Thank you!
* If you're writing a fanfic and your story contains spoilers that rival the magnitude of "Snape kills Dumbledore," please do the Writing thread a favor and make note that you're putting "spoilers concerning <x character> for <y fandom>" because we really don't want to ruin stuff for people.
Unlike the WSC, there will be no polls or "Most <x>" awards given out, simply because we aren't sure of the amount of activity the Writing thread will generate. YOU can help change this! Please submit something! If this contest kicks the Writing thread off the ground, then Alch and I have additional ideas on how to vastly improve the state of writing involvement in Smeargle's Studio.
But there's a bit of additional incentive, of course. One of the biggest problems with the activity in this thread is that feedback is not always given. Some people try, and I really thank their efforts, but the Writing thread suffers from an extremely low level of feedback because it's a thread dedicated to multiple authors, not set up in the same way that one art thread is dedicated to one person. As such, people come in here to post, not to look at other people's works (at least, not all the time).
So the incentive is this: I will be giving extensive critiques on every single piece posted here from now on (when I can, give me time) whether it be for the OWPC or not. I'm no English teacher, so take my words with a grain of salt, but hopefully having at least one person who can be dedicated to feedback will improve the Writing thread tenfold. Please, if you see something you like, also provide feedback! When it comes to the OWPC, I won't be delivering feedback until the prompt's deadline has come in, so don't be upset if I don't respond right away (though if you really want to hear my thoughts asap, shoot me a PM). Please don't worry about fandoms when it comes to putting things up here; I'll read Wikipedia articles to make sure I understand your story. I want writing to happen here, and I want people to get the feeling that this thread is a place where you can actually put your writing and get noticed.
If you're interested in participating in the first Occasional Writing Prompt Challenge, here's the theme and deadline!
[Theme One] -- "This is the last of Earth! I am content!"
The famous last words of John Quincy Adams. You are prompted to write a reflection on someone's final moments. Be as detailed as you wish, but be mindful of the rating reminder in the guidelines above.
[Deadline] -- 7:00 PM EST on Thursday, August 16th. (AKA midnight GMT between Thursday and Friday, if I've done my math right.)
EDIT: You guys are lame! This is staying open for anyone who wants it.
Please direct all questions concerning this project to me in a PM! Thanks guys, get writing!
Bored Jazz. The following are a few things I wrote for a past life. The first is a year or two old, the second two I wrote spontaneously a few days ago. Not exactly my best work :s
A bit to explain: Phoenix is a character I play on Storm Nexus, a roleplay server for Neverwinter Nights. A Vulpe is a race of fox like humanoids on that server. Even with that, there's a high chance most of this won't make sense.
A small red Vulpe with sapphire blue eyes.
"What have we here? A little puppy. Oh, and look! She's near bursting for pups! Don't do too much damage, she's worth a lot more to us alive then dead"
"Those Foxes were far more fierce then we anticipated. How many did we lose?"
"Half the party sir. Most of the merchants escaped while the foxes picked us off. We only managed to capture a few."
"Let's get a look at them then... Oh delightful, this one looks like she'll definitely be worth the trouble of ambushing them"
"Do we plan to sell the cubs when they're born sir?"
"Oh no. Those little cubs, boys, will replace those we've lost today. Take the female, chain her up so she can't cause any harm to herself and keep her well fed."
"Didn't I tell you to keep her well fed? Damnit! Did any of them survive?"
"Just the one sir, a female."
"Give her here. Now"
What am I? My hair grows longer... it covers my body. My head feels different to how it should... and my legs... my hands. AH! No! I... I have to pay attention, they hurt... I wave my arms like this and... yes, a light forms. I wave my arm like that and... a small fire. Why can I do this when others only swing swords? Is it why I'm different? No... my teacher is like them. Fire... oh gods save me! No! I didn't mean to do that! I-
Oh... this feeling. They've hit me again... Where are they moving me? Eyes open... please! Open.... No, I understand... I'm not really awake, am I? I must be in my cage, that's where they put me when I fail them. I wish there was someone like me... no. They'd hit me too... I wish there was... someone nice. The pain is coming... I must be waking up. A-AH! T-... c-can't think. Please kill me!
My head... I... what happened? Is that... a master? Why is he sleeping... what is the red...? Blood... is it mine? Did he beat me and get blood on him? It is his! Who... who attacked? Wait... this is... this is not my home! Who are these people? M-master! He... I can see him now! He is smiling! Did... did I do this? Did I make him proud? Master! No, why are you frowning? I did we-AAH! M-my arm... w-what is this? An... an arrow... m-master! No, I-
Who are you? You are just like me, hair all over your body! I'm... I'm not alone! We can't talk... but I know what we would say! Your arms... your body. I feel so warm held here. W-what is that noise? I... I must wake? I am asleep? No! NO! Let me stay! She was just like me! She held me safe! No! PLEASE! Ah! I... I am sorry masters. Ah! W-what is this!? You... no! This is just like last time! M-my body... I... It will not listen to me! What am I doing!? M-my mind... I... AAH! I... I c-cannot... think. I... darkness. Someone... please kill me...
Blood again... Who have I killed? That one... no, I have scolded away his skin... I cannot read that. Him! He is... I do not know him. Master, you're there again, aren't you? You're about to approach... you're smiling, but not at me. You smile at them... the dead. You are proud of them for dying. I... I mean nothing.
I am so alone...
Surprise note the second: The above story was Phoenix's introduction as a character. Between that and the ones below, Phoenix learned that she wasn't human, but rather a Vulpe, and had been accepted in to a college, run by her race. Dusty is the Vulpe leader, and the one that discovered her. The more I explain things, the more I think posting this is a bad idea. OH WELL!
"How's the taming of the vulpe we acquired going?"
"Badly... she has no talent at all. The girl can't string a bow, can barely lift even our smallest daggers and her aptitude for magic is limited to weak fire spells."
"Hn, a waste of food then...?"
"Not quite sir... there's one thing we haven't tried with her yet. She does have some talent for magic, but she seems to be stopping herself. With your permission, I'd like to try drugging her until she will do as I say. She may die if we get the dose wr-"
"Do it. If she can't be of use, she's a waste of food and better off dead."
"Here lass, take this"
Charred remains lay at her feet where some of the humans had dared try to stop her. Arrows flew towards her, but even the kurge tips evaporated before reaching her. The blaze that engulfed her grew more ferocious as she glared around her. She would see this place burn, nobody would ever know it was even inhabited. As the tents and huts gave way to the raging inferno, she felt herself growing tired. A stumble forward... a flicker in her incendiary barrier, it was all they needed. A heavy bolt, fired from a great ballista, struck the vulpe, still but a child. Flung from the realms of consciousness, her fires died.
When the timid girl awoke, the first thing she noticed was that her arms and legs were chained together. Crying out for help from her precious mentors, all she received in response was a laugh and a shout "Hey, our little Phoenix is awake!"
Phoenix... was that her name? Yes... that must be it. Still tired despite her sleep, the girl slumped in her chains, returning to the realm of dreams.
Phoenix awoke in the PhD hall... another nightmare. Her instincts told her to ignore them, ignore the human's evil tendencies. There was money to be made. As she rose from what remained of the bed she had learned to set aside for herself, shaking the ashes from her body, the girl spoke aloud.
"The past is past... I'm a Vulpe... that never happened, life started with Dusty..."
Phoenix sat in the PhD hall, shivering. She had been alone... with a HUMAN. She reached for the book her master had left her feverishly. Swiftly, she opened it to the pages she had read over and over... knowing exactly which paragraph to read at which entry.
"My observation of the vulpe has finally paid off, a young girl has finally accepted my offer of shelter. She says her name is Phoenix, and that she is a Vulpe... she says this quite a lot actually, like a child who has suddenly discovered they're a whole 5 years old and that the world must know. Hiding her from father and my sisters will be difficult, but I've confidence in the wards I set. For now at least, my new... companion... will be safe from those prying eyes.
"I decided to see what Phoenix could do today; if she is to be the mother of my generation of Vulpe, I intend for them to be strong... and strong they will be. The girl claims she can cast only the simplest of spells, but even with those, I can almost taste the raw magical power the girl wields. Yet more living proof that no single race is greater then another... but this girl will take some work.
"Phoenix still seems unable to cast anything significant. Not through lack of trying however... indeed she is trying as hard as she can to simply shoot a ray of frost at me. If it weren't for my own considerable knowledge in these things, I'd think her a waste of time... but the power hiding just beneath the surface, feeding her feeble attempts at magic, it is something truly spectacular. I've a talent for magical amnesia, perhaps I could apply that here...
"Phoenix thought it would be funny to jump on me when I slipped in to my room today. It was fortunate my cloak was on, else we both would have been impaled! I would have berated her for such an action, but she simply giggled and jumped on to my bed, watching me expectantly. I am fond of the girl, I will admit. She is lively, inquisitive and seems to understand much of what I tell her, even though she can't apply it herself. At least not yet. I have most of what I need to investigate her mind, I am simply hesitant. Mind magic is a tricky thing... I use my Amnesia spell to trigger a personality change... if I step wrong with this girl, the bubbly thing she is may end up an emotional wreck, or a raging sociopath. I don't think Dusty would approve if I did that.
Dusty. I really must hurry with this girl, or he will grow suspicious. Planting her back in his care is important if I'm to have a say in where the Vulpe's loyalties lie. I'd probably do it anyway, my bedroom is not the place for a vulpe as lively as her to stay for too long...
"Did I do the right thing? Today I took a look in Phoenix's mind... I've no talent for sifting through memories, but hers thrust themselves at me. They weren't the memories of a cheerful vulpe even... or indeed a vulpe at all. If I were to make an educated guess... I'd say it was her magical essence. I witnessed its birth as an entity, its various conquests, its claim to freedom, snatched away by the little girl, Phoenix. I asked her if she had ever heard voices, experienced visions that were not her own... but she seemed oblivious to what I asked. I contemplated killing her and destroying this destructive creature, lest it be used against me... but instead I found myself pouring my own magic against it. I would have the girl freed from its clutches... I was successful, of course, else I wouldn't be writing this. I set up a link between the girl and this... essence, so she will at least be able to use magic now without the effort she had to force through before. There's still a risk it will claim her, but I've set up a sleep spell to trigger if it tries... that should at least give her some peace in her life. I'll send her to Dusty tomorrow... I think he's the only one I can trust to not abuse her and let the essence tempt her."
Phoenix breathed out as she closed the book. She was safe from it, her master had made sure of that... She tried to create a small fireball to calm her... but nothing came. She went through the motions for every spell she knew, but nothing worked. Then she heard it...
"Hm hm hm. You think you're safe...? You think you're doing this all on your own? Silly child, you are still mine..."
Okay, so this may have been for an assignment, but 1) I had a lot of fun writing it and 2) it's a god damn Creative Writing class. This is about 6 pages long by the way.
I assume you’ve been on the internet, right? Most of us have. Well, maybe not most of us – 37% of people worldwide use the Internet. Yes, this statistic includes Asia, where about one out of every three people uses the Internet. Remember that there are almost four billion people in Asia. Anyway, chances are high that you’ve been on the internet if you’re reading this. A lot of people have an internet story to tell – whether that story is an epic fight over Facebook, getting the high score on some game, or dealings with Anonymous, there’s a story for everyone. Me? Well, I can top all of these stories.
You see, I’ve been inside the Internet.
No, I’m not kidding about this. I really have been in the Internet. I know you don’t believe me. Heck, I barely believe it myself. But I swear to God it happened. I was just sucked into the Internet one day. If you want to hear my story, keep reading. If you don’t, stop reading this right now and go get some coffee or something. Make it worth your time. If you’re still here, thanks for staying. So here’s my story – the story of how I was sucked into the World Wide Web and the events inside of it.
So there I was, sitting in front of my computer hammering away at the keyboard. It was about 4:30 and my parents were away visiting my older brother at college. I wasn’t doing anything really important. I don’t quite remember what I was doing. I’m one of those people who spends more time on the Internet than off of it. Sad, I know. Anyway, I stopped typing and sent whatever message I was making and started browsing through the website I was on. Suddenly the screen reloaded. I guess I accidentally clicked on an advertisement. But when it finished loading, it didn’t look like any webpage I’d ever seen. Apart from the normal window with my tabs and everything, it was all a mass of purple. Was it a bad webpage? I thought it was a glitch, but it didn’t go away. The purple mass started to swirl. Slowly at first, then faster. I noticed that the room was getting brighter, and soon the monitor was glowing so brightly I had to turn away from it. Then there was a bright blue flash of light, and I felt like I was being pulled off my chair, flying head over heels into some unknown world. I had no sense of direction until I slammed into what I assumed was the ground and blacked out. I woke up some time later to see a bearded face peering down at me, looking concerned but nonetheless happy.
“Dude, that was a nasty fall; are you all right?” the face asked in a surprisingly light tone of voice. I sat up and looked at it. The face belonged to a man in his mid-30s or so, tall and a little on the heavy side. He was wearing a yellow shirt, blue jeans and old tennis shoes, and had some sort of backpack on. I didn’t really want to know what was inside.
“I guess so,” I replied, still somewhat dazed. “What just happened to me?”
“Well, kid, you’ve entered the Internet!” He laughed, as if I should have known what happened to me. Unbelieving, I looked at my surroundings. Wherever I was, it looked a bit like a normal home eaten by cyberspace. The floor could have passed for any old floor, with a worn-out brown carpet. At least it was relatively soft. The ceiling and walls could be made out easily, but they gave off a faint purple light, with green strings of numbers floating continuously through them. The walls had what appeared to be doors as well as openings with light shining through them. The ceiling had plain old light fixtures on it, but in the center was a swirling mass of purple not unlike what I saw just as my computer had me for breakfast. I was at a loss for words.
“Don’t worry, man, time’s not passing on the other side. Once you get out, you’ll be exactly where you were in space and time before,” he explained. “The way out is through that blue door to your left. But now that you’re here, why not take a look around? The Internet’s way cooler inside than out.” I nodded in agreement, still not believing that any of this was real.
“Well then, welcome to the Internet. I’ll be your guide!” With that, he smiled and turned towards a light blue door, beckoning me to follow. Through the door was a small walkway passing over a sprawling yet highly organized plaza. People congregated in its various sections, which all seemed different in some way. The man spoke again to me.
“This, my friend, is an Internet forum,” he explained. “Everyone here is finding the specific section they’re looking for and discussing relevant topics there.” I already knew what a forum was, but this insider’s view was amazing to behold.
A thought struck me, and I posed a question. “So, um, Mister…”
“Call me Gerald.”
“Okay, Gerald, well… are all of the people down there in the same predicament as I am?”
“Nonsense!” Gerald laughed. “Those aren’t actually people down there. It’s sort of like a digital image of the person. You could walk right through one and they wouldn’t notice. I’m not one of them though – a couple years ago I got sucked in and didn’t care to leave.”
“So… where are we in the forum?”
“We’re in the admin control panel! When you’re inside the internet, most things aren’t hard to get through. But aren’t forums wonderful to behold?” I didn’t answer. From what I could hear, we were next to a sports forum, and beyond that was a political section where a nasty debate seemed to be going on. One of the users, presumably a moderator, walked over and simply ended the debate. Continuing to look around, something in the upper corner of the vast room caught my eye – a small, pulsing mass of black. Gerald apparently saw it too, and hurried us out of the room through another door, and into a smaller, less organized room. Groups of people were talking about various things, and a large sign proclaimed that the topic was something about video games. It looked like a chatroom. One particular user caught my eye – a short guy with a heavy accent, saying that he was new and wanted help. People mostly ignored him, but a couple offered a few pointers. He began to walk away, but then stopped and turned around. Throwing up his arms, his eyes turned black and he began to shoot a strange, dark-colored light from his hands with binary zooming through. People nearby began clutching their sides and turning away in fright. One person who strayed too close was caught in the light and dissolved. Almost as if out of nowhere, a huge hammer was brought down onto the strange man, crushing him. With this crushing, most of the light actually appeared to shatter, as if it was cracked glass. A loud voice spoke out.
“Don’t go near the pockets of light!” The owner of the voice revealed himself to be a tall man in his early twenties or so, as well as the wielder of the hammer. Looking around, he took a swing at a leftover spot of the strange light, shattering it with the hammer. Then he noticed Gerald.
“Hey Gerald, what’s up?”
“Sorry, man, I’m a bit busy. Got some things to do.” With that, we hurried out of the room and back into the hallway I originally saw when I landed. I noticed a nook that I hadn’t before, and there was a man sitting behind a desk. It appeared to be a service counter. Behind it were rows of bookshelves so long that I couldn’t see the end - and they were well lit, too. It took me a while to notice the huge Google logo for some reason or other. Gerald murmured something to the attendant, who nodded and moved towards the bookshelves. He took a key from his hand and pressed a button, and the floor began to move at a remarkable pace with a slight hum. The man walked along with it out of sight. Gerald turned to me.
“Okay, listen up. I shouldn’t been keeping this from you for so long, but we have a bit of a problem. There’s this virus that’s been spreading faster than anything I’ve ever seen. That was the dark spot in the forum, and the attacker in the chatroom. Now that you’re here, I’m going to need you to help me get rid of it. Sorry, this wasn’t the plan when I invited you to look around here, but it’s the plan now,” he explained, noting my scorn near the end. “I am led to believe that the man behind the desk has some information on this particular virus. Once he comes back, I’ll figure something out.” Almost as if on cue, the humming came to a stop. It resumed a minute or so later, after a sound like that of a shelf collapsing and a muffled curse word. I took a moment to think about the situation, weighing my options a couple times over. Eventually, remembering that time isn’t really passing back home, I made up my mind.
“So where do you think we can find this thing?” I asked. I was at least glad he finally told me everything, and maybe even a bit impatient to find this thing. The Google man came back, almost as if on cue, muttering something about e-termites, and handed a small book to Gerald. Gerald thanked the man and began flipping through the book. About a minute later, while I pondered what to have for dinner that night, he closed the book and handed it back to the Google man.
“I hope that didn’t take too long, I couldn’t find a tl;dr note. Okay, so we have a couple hours before this thing gets too big to handle, but for now we have a chance. We have to completely destroy it – a banhammer won’t affect it, and it’s good at getting past firewalls. I know a place where we can get something to destroy it, but it’s a bit risky.” He paused.
About twenty minutes later – at least it seemed like twenty minutes – we were in front of a dark red rectangle in the wall. My head was spinning from the “safety” lecture Gerald had just given me, and the faint sound of gunfire through the hole didn’t help. Regardless of my state of confusion, we stepped into the rectangle and emerged in a WWII-era battleground. The ground was splattered with blood, covered in footsteps, and punctuated by debris. It looked like the spot we came in on was once a house, but I couldn’t really tell.
“Quietly now, we don’t want to attract attention,” Gerald warned, “The weapons will be here somewhere.” I didn’t understand what kind of ‘40s weapon could help us against an advanced computer virus, but I figured I should wait until we found what we were looking for to express that. After a lot of crawling and a near miss from a stray hand grenade, we arrived in a small nook in a sheer cliff. Crawling into the rock, we eventually came to a space tall enough to stand in, lit by a faint light from farther back in the cliff. Farther back, we found a glowing crystal shining on two small metal objects, roughly cylindrical in shape. Gerald, motioning for me to stand back, went over to the objects and picked one up. Looking at it more intensely – but at a distance – he seemed to find something, and orienting the object differently, pressed a button. A long shaft of green light erupted from the object. Swinging it like a sword, he attacked a nearby boulder, slicing it cleanly in two. What do you know? It was a lightsaber.
“I didn’t know they had lightsabers in World War II…” I said.
“They didn’t. But this is the internet. Pretty much anything is possible.” Gerald turned off the lightsaber and pulled a small box from his backpack. The inside appeared to be padded, with two small chambers. He placed one weapon in each chamber, then closed the box and stowed it back in his backpack. As we headed back, I noticed a weapon lying on the ground in what seemed like pretty good condition. As I went to grab it, Gerald apparently noticed.
“Kid, get bac-” Well, that’s all I remember. I completely blacked out and woke up somewhere I hadn’t seen before. What’s even weirder is that the various cuts and scrapes from crawling around were all gone. I couldn’t see or hear Gerald anywhere. Looking around, I saw a few flashes from guns, but nothing I could recognize - just more rubble and whatnot. I did find the cliff though, so I started crawling towards it. Narrowly avoiding gunfire, I slowly made it closer and closer to the cliff. Suddenly, a sheer drop opened up in front of me. That’s just great, I thought. Of course, I felt like I’d make it there in decent time, and suddenly there’s this huge cliff right in front of me. Kind of like trying to eat ice cream and dropping it three stories into a fireplace. Not a life-threatening thing, but pretty darn disappointing. So anyway, there’s this huge drop in front of me and I have no idea how to get around it. Out of nowhere, I felt this tap on my left shoulder. I turned around nervously, but breathed a sigh of relief when I realized it was only Gerald.
“Come on, the way out is over there, we need to get out,” he wispered. We hurried over to the portal (which I seem to have missed before) and hopped out.
“Kid, are you okay?”
“Yeah, um, I think so. I just remember blacking out.”
“Okay, just making sure. So... What the HELL were you thinking?! Wandering off in a shooting game with no helmet? That’s like asking to get shot full of holes! And what did you do? You took a bullet to the head! If we weren’t online, you would be dead! DEAD! Why did you ever do that?! Don’t do stupid things like that!” It took me this long to realize that the blackout was caused by me being shot. The full reality of that hit me a few minutes after he stopped yelling. Once my head stopped spinning, we set off again in search of the virus.
At length I started hearing strange noises. Some sounded like angry voices, some like laughter, and some just completely unidentifiable. We were in a hallway back in the complex I landed in. I eventually looked off to my left and saw a door, slightly ajar at the end of a different hall, with a big CAUTION sign over it. An ugly green light was streaming out of the opening.
“Hey Gerald, wha-?” “That’s 4chan, kid. And if possible, we are avoiding that awful place. Awful users, awful content, awful layout... It’s everything bad about the Internet in one big, ugly package. The thing is, a place like that would be-” Suddenly, a piercing scream cut Gerald off. The light from 4chan turned red and black, and a shadow began to creep from the opening.
“Kid, it’s the virus! Look!” The shadow began to take on a humanoid shape, growing larger and larger until it seemed to stretch from the floor to the ceiling. Zeroes and ones zoomed through its skin, giving off an evil glow. Two bright red eyes opened up on what could only be its head, and began to glare at the two of us like we were two foxes in a trap. But it wasn’t done. Reaching a shadowy arm back into 4chan, it pulled out a pulsing mass of gray, which it smashed between its hands. The impact released a massive burst of sound, which I will try to recount here. Profanity will be starred out for your convenience. (Seriously, why is 4chan so horrible?)
LOL U SUCK I HERD U LIKE MEMES ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE SKY DO IT ****** tl;dr NOPE **** THE WORLD DON’T YOU RUSTLE MY JIMMIES BOY Redundant Phrase is Redundant O RLY? FAKE AND GAY WE ARE LEGION 9GAG SUCKS …
Yeah, that’s not even half of the garbage the depths of the internet have to offer. Trust me, that blast was easily the worst moment of my life up to that and probably for a very long time after. By the time Gerald and I could stand (it was that bad), the virus was rounding the corner at the far end of the hall.
“After that thing!” The chase wasn’t that interesting, so there’s no need to recount it. What happened afterwards is more important anyway. Finally we caught up to the virus as it entered an empty chatroom. Gerald tossed me a lightsaber, and together we charged the thing. It was stronger than either of us would ever have thought possible, to be honest. After one particularly strong blast that knocked all three of us back, I took another good look at the thing. It looked pretty much the same, but it now had a mouth. It was full of gleaming white teeth that came to a wicked point. And it was smiling. It reared back and opened its hideous mouth, and a ball of energy formed in its throat. It whipped its head forward, turning the ball into an intense beam of energy that Gerald’s lightsaber couldn’t block. The blast sent him back several feet into a wall, which he hit with tremendous force and slumped against. While the virus was weakened from firing off the blast, I... sat there. This thing was so freaking terrifying at this point that I couldn’t move. Apparently thinking it wouldn’t need that energy beam to finish me off, it broke out in a run towards me, intending to finish me off by hand. I did the first thing that came to mind, and ran like hell. Of course though, it was between me and the door, and I ended up cornered. I could hear the hiss of its breath. It lunged at me, and I did the only thing I could think of doing. I swung at it. The shadowy hand I feared fell to the ground, and the monster shrieked in pain. Feeling oddly empowered, I jumped forward and began hacking at its legs. Bits of shadow were cast aside from the lightsaber, disintegrating on contact with the ground. Its legs destroyed, it collapsed. I made one last stroke. With a flash of blue, its horrible head was cleaved off, the wicked smile banished for good. What was left of the virus crumbled to dust and disappeared.
Gerald finally came to about an hour later. He didn’t believe me at all when I told him what happened, but didn’t seem to be in the mood to argue. I handed over the lightsaber, the blade at an angle from the sheer force of the virus. We left the chatroom, talking about the experience along the way and quietly closing the 4chan door when we came to it. Eventually we came to the swirling purple door I recognized so well.
“Well, kid, I guess this is goodbye. Have fun back out there.”
“Good luck in the Internet, Gerald.” With that, I closed my eyes and stepped into the vortex. I landed somewhere and opened my eyes. It was the same room I was in when this experience started. I looked at my computer screen. The strange purple mass was dissipating, and in its place was the regular old Internet startup page. It was a pretty awesome experience, looking back, but there was one thing that suddenly came to mind.
When every day is the same as the last/ and every week is a repeat of the past/ and life just becomes the same old shit/ you get so mad you throw a fit/ You tell life to go fuck off/ life looks back at you and scoffs/ "You think you're the only one in hell?/ You think you're the only one who fell?/ Well why dont you stand up and look,/ get your head outta that book/ of fantasies and imagination/ and look at the status out our lost nation/ a land that was once filled with hope,/ with god, with love, enough to cope/ with each passing day that came,/ but in the end we went down in flame./ You think that you're the victim here?"/ life said with a laugh and a sarcastic sneer/ "You simply have not paid your dues,/ and yet you think you get to choose/ when and how and why you died,/ but my question is if you tried/ to help us get to our salvation/ or indulged yourself in your masturbation/ when selfless men fight and fight/ just so you can have the right/ to live your life as you so choose/ and yet you choose to only lose/ because you say 'Oh, not today'/ yet you feel the only way/ you can ever be yourself/ is to live through someone else,/ And yet just when love has come/ and yourself find a chum/ you go and throw it all away/ and sit back and just think 'hey,/ I'll meet another down the road'/ and bitch and moan to others 'woe'd/ is me who'll never find a girl/ one whos as pretty as pearl/ and smart and funny and confident'/ when you know your perspective's bent/ so grossly out of line/ and you know that it's not fine/ because the days begin to spin/ into that maelstrom powerfull wind/ and every days just like the last/ and every week repeats the past/ and life becomes the same old shit/ what right have you to throw a fit?"