★ The Smeargle's Studio Writing Thread

[Alchemator]

-TLE-, one day I will write a song to those words.

I'm also planning some big things for the writing community (well not massive but still!) so keep your eyes on the right train of thought and your mind peeled!

 

[-TheLucarioEffect-]

-TLE-, one day I will write a song to those words.

possible audition for DM's Hokey Karoke 3? because that would kind of be awesome

 

[Morm]

No love for my EXCEPTIONALLY beginner/poorly executed idea? I'd LOVE feedback.

 

[Alchemator]

Ok I'm going to launch my super-dooper ideas, but first a bit of critique for yonder above poster!

First things first, though it's a bad habit to start on a sour note, I was slightly disappointed. I don't know if it's because I've been reading and analysing Jekyll and Hyde recently, but I feel that Frank could be so much more than a mere

Spoilers

zombie.

I believe that with the excellent background that you've given the situation Frank could instead be a subject of the narrator's mind. Is it his dangerous mind going outside because he can't because of <reason>? Is he crippled? Is he mentally deranged [I quite like the idea of this one]? I love how you write, and I love how you built up a sense of mystery and suspense towards the end, but the final punchline just didn't do it for me. Sorry if I sound harsh, this is probably more personal preference than anything!

RIGHT here we go!

-

Writing Reviews/Critique

I have noticed that the main problem of this threat is a lack of critique, so I had an idea: I'm going to force you! "Why not set up a scheme that makes sure a piece has at least two reviews?". Not only would this give valuable critique to the writer, but it helps the reader expand on their style - the more you read, the greater the register of vocabulary you possess for use in your own works, particularly characters.

I am going to start a separate review section at the bottom of the OP, and I encourage you to write tabloid-style comments (like the ones you'd see in books, here's an example: "Funny, delightfully inventive and refuses to lie down in its genre" - The Observer. Naturally it doesn't have to be all roses, though constructive criticism is a must. I hope that each piece in the OP will get at least two reviews. Ok next idea!

Writing Competitions

The best ways to improve your writing are to read a lot, and to write a lot. The former has been covered above, so logically I should force you all I should present the opportunity to write, but with a competitive twist! Unfortunately there will be no reward (I couldn't wangle a feature in The Smog) but I think it will be very interesting to see the different ways people interpret the given word. Yes, word. Here is how it would work:

- Occurs once a month.
- I generate a random word and post it here.
- The submission should be related to the word in some form, whether it be a character (though they must express the values of the word in some way) or whatever you can come up with.
- The submission can be verse or prose.
- At the end of the month, I choose the winner. No fancy judging system because it's pretty informal. The main reward is not winning, however, but seeing everybody else's entries!

---

So depending on what you guys think of these ideas, I could put them into effect immediately.

~Pers.

 

[Morm]

Hmm perhaps I'll retool the ending a bit. I was thinking that perhaps this person is intensely derranged, obsessed with Frank and that could turn into jealousy of Franks attributed perfection, ultimately leading to some hideously derranged ending.

 

[Adm. Empoleon]

ok, so i'm thinking of a story that will involve demons and shit that may be posted this thursday. just reserving this space to bump the thread and to write my story later.

 

[Alchemator]

Please do not just bump the thread.

Why not comment on my ideas instead?

Poetry has infected my head D:

 

[Morm]

I don't understand what poetry does other than self expression. I can get that it's extremely expressive, but when you write it for others with all that measure and care is it really that self expressive or is it a performance to get other people to clap politely? At least a story tells a complete story, not just something I don't understand.

Can you help me figure this out? I struggled through poetry in university but I admittedly spent my time hitting on a girl that I only now realize I should have made a move on...what am I missing?

 

[Alchemator]

Did Kitten Bukkake read my mind? It was National Poetry Day on thursday so I wrote some, and one of them was about poetry itself.

Hide

Apathy of Emotions

• It was a fire burning inside me,
• warm and soothing,
• envious and roaring,
• but you could not see it.

• It was an ocean moving inside me,
• cool and relaxing,
• vicious and crashing,
• but you could not feel it.

• It was the snow falling inside me,
• tranquil and beautiful,
• freezing and killing,
• but you could not imagine it.

• All these emotions were within me,
• but you did not understand.

Poemy Poetry done Poemily

• Poetry is a strange thing,
• to write it is easy,
• but it is difficult to sting
• or keep it from being dreary.

• Yet we still write them,
• I don’t know why,
• rhyming in tandem
• about the sky, or whatever.

• What do we gain?
• It’s a common thought of mine;
• to provide an audience for our pain,
• even if we’re feeling fine?

• Poetry is a strange thing,
• almost as strange as I.

Malcolm

• “Hey Malcolm, you look ill.”
• “That’s because I’m dying.”
• “Hey man, just chill.”
• “Why aren’t you crying?”

• “I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?”
• “You don’t care about me.”
• “Now, now, Malcolm, don’t lie.”
• “I’m dying, can’t you see?”

• “Here, have a cup of tea.”
• “When I die, you’ll be found guilty.”
• “I’ll see you tomorrow at quarter past three.”
• “They’ll call you rotten, horrid, filthy!”

• He went outside and broke the news to Jill,
• Malcolm can’t recover, and he never will.

E: I rewrote ch5!

Hide

Chapter 5: Justice and Punishment
The account of Mr.Sight Snr

He unbuckled it, and sauntered around the edge of the room, occasionally twirling it in contemplation. From time to time he’d feint an attack, smiling sadistically as I winced back in fear.
“You know, Howard, I’ve been wondering recently, something has been on my mind.”

I didn’t dare to look away, that was when he’d strike.

“I’ve been mulling it over in my mind; it’s been keeping me awake at night, just thinking.”

He stopped for a fraction of a second, before continuing his irregular gait.

“Whenever I see you, which is – unfortunately – a lot of the time, the question just pops into my mind. Do you know what the question is Howard?”

He stared directly at me, with a cold, penetrating gaze.

“Well, do you?”
“No.”
“No sir!”

Another dramatic lunge, accompanied by a deep chuckle. He was enjoying this. He always enjoyed it. He enjoyed it so much that he set aside the entire garage for it. It was certainly in his style: dark and unkempt, yet open enough to make me turn as he circled his prey – me.

“The question, my dear Howard, has only been reinforced by your not knowing what it is. Would you like to take another guess?”
“No sir.”
“Very good, you learn.”

He began to wind it around his hand, as if in deep thought.

“The question, Howard, is this: Why do I have a son like you?”

Crack.

The belt uncoiled like a snake and caught me on the arm. I knew that it had cut through the skin, but I couldn’t show pain. That made him hit me more. I forced a smile, but only received a dark glare in return.

“Quite frankly, Howard, you embarrass me. I educated you, and you threw it back in my face. I cared for you, but you didn’t appreciate it. You have amounted to nothing, Howard. You have become nothing, and for that you must be punished. I don’t like to do it, Howard, but justice must be done.”

Crack.

This time it bit into my cheek, taking away drops of red as it fell. I spun around, only just managing to remain on my feet. I wasn’t crying; I couldn’t cry. I was almost used to the beatings. They started the day as a taste of the inevitable later punishment. What had I done wrong? According to him, my wrong was that I hadn’t done right, but I had tried. I really did, but he still beat me. Again and again, night after night, bruise after bruise, cut after cut. The concrete floor chronicled the beatings of the past, stained and worn where he had circled.

The belt hissed through the air again, but I was ready. I ducked and charged forward in frenzy, pounding him and shouting. There isn’t much a young boy can do to an adult man. He was initially pushed back, but recovered and pushed me away as he brought down his fist in one, swift movement. The ceiling began to distort, but I could still faintly hear voices as the blood moved slowly down my face.

“What are you doing? He’s just a boy!”

There was a hissing intake of breath, before he began to exude his sneering coolness again.

“Victoria my love, you agree with me that the boy must be punished for when he has done wrong. He has failed me, he has failed us both, and justice must be done. You agree with me.”
“But you shouldn’t-”
“You agree with me.”
“Can’t you punish him in some other way?”

I rolled onto my side. He calmly raised his hand and firmly clasped it around her neck. His voice was merely a whisper, but every syllable was delivered with perfect pronunciation.

“My darling, I hope you understand the expectations that I have of you as my wife.”
“Yes, yes, oh lord please let go!”
“I expect you to stand by me when I administer punishment to the boy. I expect you to obey me.”

He sneered in a way that implied he was about to say something amusing. At least, something amusing to himself.

“And I expect you to fulfil the role of a woman.”

He left her massaging the marks on her neck as he glided out of the room. The world fell sideways, and I drifted into darkness.

 

[Zari]

If anyone was planning on reviewing Floralis TG--I am rewriting most of the second half and condensing it down chapter-wise. If you could hold off from reviewing until I have that finished, that would be best :)

 

[-TheLucarioEffect-]

both those ideas sound great persistence. looking forward to the contests for sure

 

[Alchemator]

Ok I've implemented the ideas. The word for this competition is Dependence - I think that can be interpreted in quite a few different ways. Good luck!

 

[Smith]

Hey I've been going through this thread for a while, so I finally decided to contribute something! This would be for the monthly contest, on Dependence.
__________

The Wall

He sighed. Class was boring. He hated school, and frankly didn't understand the point of it. We get good grades, and for what? To get into more schools, to get a job. He didn't want a job- his Dad had one and he hated it. So why bother? But that was how it all worked; everybody had a job, doing one thing or another, that was just how life was.

He stared out the window. Outside he saw the line of the street, going almost infinitely out to the horizon. Houses lined up, and stores, and restaurants, and all the other facilities people needed. That people worked at. The people didn't enjoy it there, working at shops or restaurants, but somebody had to do it, and as jobs go, they weren't awful. But it was a job, and nobody enjoyed that. Out beyond this, was the wall. Grey, monotone in structure, as ancient as civilization, expanding in all directions and upwards into the sky, almost blocking out the sun in the evening hours. The sun was beyond the wall. It was outside the wall- otherwise it wouldn't cast a shadow- his teacher told him that. Other things were outside that wall, too. New things, things he hadn't seen before. He wished he could see it.

But the wall was a protector.

Something BAD was outside the wall. Savages were outside the wall, as they learned in history. The wall was the divider, between the primitive brutes and the civilized. And to cross it simply wouldn't do. It was impenetrable, unscalable- which was for the best. He didn't like the prospect of a job, but without jobs, he was a savage- and that was certainly far, far worse. He shuddered at the thought of the savages loose, those without even the most simple tools, like writing, or agriculture. He wondered what it was like on the other side, the land inhabited by these wild "people". He shuddered involuntarily.

Thankfully, he thought, I'm on the right side of the wall.
________________
He sat in the grass, thinking. His stomach full on wild berries, he enjoyed to relax after a meal. Which came frequently- there were always enough berries, or fruit, or mushrooms around, and it only took him a quarter movement of the sun every day to gather his food for the day and eat.

Belching, he stood up and looked at the horizon. Foliage as far as he could see, and the sun low in the sky, blocked by the wall. He smiled. He knew about the wall, about the savages on the other side. His parents had told him long the story of the people outside the wall- a sad tale. These people gave up their freedom, for reasons not even his parents understood. They were dependent on each other to provide for one another, and lacked any sense of individual. They had what the called "government", which was a group of people that controlled the freedoms of other- they made them do whatever they wanted, and the people responded willingly. They had to toil, up to a whole rotation of the sun, to fulfill their many tasks. With all this time for tasks, what time was left for being?

He shook his head. They were all slaves for each other, and he shuddered to think what that must be like- to devote all of one's day, doing one task, when you couldn't even use what you had made yourself. But the wall was high, and not even the eagles crossed it. And that was good- he didn't want other people telling him what to do. He provided for himself, and that was good enough for him. The wall protected him, and for that he was grateful. The wall kept out the ignorant, the mindless, the savages.

Thankfully, he thought, I'm on the right side of the wall.

 

[Alchemator]

Smith, to be blunt, that was awesome. I loved the concept and you've certainly taken the given word in a way which I hadn't even thought of, and I believe will be unique. Maybe elaborate further on what exactly [the view of] the narrator is, as it is currently ambiguous, though I think I have the right idea.

You just set the bar, and I think it's pretty darn high!

 

[Smith]

Thanks, I was worried that people wouldn't understand the concept entirely or how it relates to Dependence. I read, "Smith, to be blunt..." and was expecting some real nasties. However if you want me to spell out the themes/inspiration of the piece, I'll do so here in a spoiler box (because I certainly see how just having the themes right in front of you would sort of ruin it).

Key themes and ideas of "The Wall"-what was going through my mind, and the ideas I wanted to convey to the reader

Basically, I'm taking World History this year (I'm a sophmore) and we were discussing the move from a hunter gather live style to civilization, and was shocked to discover some key points. I had always seen Civilization as progress, but in turns out that it really isn't that much better. You see, hunter-gatherers spent about 5 hours a day getting the resources they need. The invention of agriculture revolutionized the way humans lived on the planet, and obviously lay the building blocks for civilization, but agriculturists had to work 10 hours a day to get the food they needed! In turn, since agriculture was what started civilization (explaining it would take a while, so just trust me), it also had many adverse side effects. First was the inception of social classes- since not everybody needed to make food, other people could do other things, and basically a lot of shit happens and suddenly some people are inferior to others. They have less rights than others and less opportunities, including women, who were dominated in a patriarchal world that still lingers today. The second was government. You know how I said some people had less rights? Thats because now, everyone was oppressed, just to differing degrees. The government took money and rights from people by definition. In this sense, people back in hunter-gatherer times had a better quality of life than those today, because they had absolute freedom.

So you might ask yourself, well, screw civilization, why don't we just burn our cities and become hunter gatherers? The fact is- WE'RE TRAPPED. You know how agriculture causes civilization? We're caught on a feedback loop. Agriculture produces more food, so population can increase. Well that's cool, but population growth means that we need more agriculture. The only way we could get out of this would be to mill over 90% of the population. So we keep spiraling and spiraling upwards until- what? Until the environment can no longer sustain our growing population. Until civilization ENDS. And the only way this works is if a lot of people die.

Something of note here is that, 95% of our time on this planet as humans has been spent as hunter-gatherers. It works, bitches. We were successful, but modest. This whole civilization thing? It's a little experiment the human race if having, and it's pretty new wave and all. But the experiment is going to be a failure. This is and will be the very thing that destroys us. Our civilizations will collapse, and we will be far fewer in numbers. But with low competition for resources, new civilizations will develop. And it just keeps going and going.

 

[Exarius]

A few things:

Smith, that was awesome. I need to read it a few more times (damn the school), but from first read, it was awesome. Won't spoil the fun though (yet) by reading the Key themes.

Alch, change your name back you noob. Right now.

I might also write something for this, it's quite interesting, especially with the feedback stuff you try to get in. Would also fit in for some school shit I gotta do, so it would be a win-win for me.

Third: what discrimination is this, I am the only one unbolded in the OP after the story names D:

And is there a deadline? End of the month or do you give us a specific one?

 

[Morm]

to write a poem about poetry honestly seems a bit up its own ass. It's like speaking in double metaphor or something, which only confounds me even more because I don't care for your single metaphor! What does it accomplish, anyways?

 

[Kier]

I don't understand what poetry does other than self expression. I can get that it's extremely expressive, but when you write it for others with all that measure and care is it really that self expressive or is it a performance to get other people to clap politely? At least a story tells a complete story, not just something I don't understand.

Can you help me figure this out? I struggled through poetry in university but I admittedly spent my time hitting on a girl that I only now realize I should have made a move on...what am I missing?

i feel silly defending 'poetry' because i feel it is not a medium that needs to be defended (you either get it or you don't), but i'll ask you this: when you look at art from, say, magritte, do you deny the fact that 'the rape' is not high art even if you can't exactly pinpoint authorial intention?

the problem i've found with a lot of poetry readers is that they approach it like prose, which is ostensibly what you are doing. poetry is not necessarily written to be understood. if the poet was writing to necessarily be understood, he would write prose. it can be a frustrating thing to try to analyze poetry in terms of semantic meaning -- a 'point,' so to speak -- in the same way you would prose. there is so much more than semantic sense at work in poetry -- form, meter, 'the goat's foot' (that being rhythm in terms of the drum beat, though i forget which poet actually coined the phrase), the line break, sound, sound, sound, sound. the poem is a place where these things have the freedom to dominate writing in a way that isn't possible in conventional prosaic form.

poetry (writing) is self-expression to be sure, but it is also an implicit assertion that language itself is an inadequate mode of self-expression. i tell people when i'm talking about poetry that 'if the poet could say what he wanted to in words he wouldn't be writing poetry.' so yes, it's self-expression to an extent, and it definitely can be masturbatory, but you can usually tell that on a case-by-case basis.

and of course poetry doesn't feed like you like prose does. you have to dig, though in a lot of cases (like ezra pound's the cantos) you'd be fucked if asked where you're meant to dig. and that's the beauty of it! you don't have to understand poetry to get poetry, you don't have to even 'get' poetry to get poetry -- but surely you've read a poem in which something, a line, something resonates with you? that's really all there is to get. though no one can make you care about something.

of course some people just don't have the mind for it, and that sucks for them.

 

[Kier]

guys, hello, i love writing and i'm happy to have found this thread!

i've read through a few pieces so far and i think that it might be helpful if you included somewhere in your post the project of your piece. what i mean to say is that you should tell the reader, briefly, what you are trying to accomplish with your submission. generally i would frown on that because it should be fairly clear in the writing what you are going for... but that doesn't always happen.

just a short little blurb like 'unreality of interaction, casual absence of the ethical, disappointment' (this was for one of my own stories) or like, 'trying to show the reader that my best friend is a zombie without actually saying it outright.' do you get me? let me know if you think this is a good idea.


ps here is a thread i made, somewhat narcissistically, a while ago in firebot. i've posted a fair bit of writing in there. here is my most recent post: http://www.smogon.com/forums/showpost.php?p=3056102&postcount=22

 

[undisputed]

Ok I was inspired and gave it a shot. If it's bad, don't ridicule me please. The quotes are mini flash backs except for the one in the first paragraph. I hope I did a good enough job hinting at what happened by the end of the story!

Hide

16 years. Big day in everyone's life. He could already see it. Hungry? Hell, he can get pizza whenever he wants. He would finally be free. Freedom. That's a word he hardly ever used to talk about himself. It was always, "Hey Mom can I go get a Call of Duty?" with the inevitable, "later." Now he wouldn't have to ask. He could do whatever he wanted when he wanted. Freedom. Ah, yes, it felt good. Just the ring of the word. Crisp, fulfilling.

"Hey come over on Sunday night. I might have a few friends over."


Gosh. It had been what he had dreamed about for years. Would his parents get him one? What kind would it be? Oh, red, he hopes. Yeah, a red one would be nice. Then everyone would know who he is. Ride downtown, and everyone would know his name just by seeing a streak of red fly by. Freeeeeedom.

"Huh, how many people are here?"

He had gone over it a million times in his head. Had to know what he would say when the moment finally came. If he didn't prepare, he'd be at a loss for words, and he wanted to express his gratitude. Gratitude for freedom. What can he say if he's never had it?

​

"Well, just a couple", came the answer, "a couple friends invited their friends. It'll be chill." His eyes dart to the back of the room. These weren't his friends.

He had played the situation over with his friends every day for the past week. They could go wherever they wanted! And, he'd be in control. He'd be the coolest kid in school. And the moment was coming nearer and nearer. Freedom. Nearer and nearer.

​

"Hey you!" said one of the boys in the back. He recognized him as one of the 'popular kids' who got all the babes. Soon, it was apparent why he got all the babes. He knew how to have a good time, and everyone laughed the night away.

2 days until freedom. No one could take it way now! It was his. Freedom was all his.

​

"You know how to drive right?" came a laughing, uncertain voice. Almost slurred, but probably unnoticed. "Give me a lift home, will ya?"

"Yeah." After all, he couldn't say no. He couldn't wait to be free.

It was here. It was finally here. The moment he had been waiting for. Everything passed in slow motion. Like a slow movie, where you are anticipating action at any minute. Freedom he thought. It is mine! And it was just like he planned in his dreams. He was glad it was red. He felt overjoyed as his Dad lifted him out of the hospital bed and into his new crimson wheelchair. Thanks, Mom. Can we get some pizza now?​

​

 

[Alchemator]

undisputed, I read it and I had a combination of these two expressions:

1. :D
2. D:

1 is because it's brilliant, 2 because I don't like sad stories! xD

Anyway here's some abstract thing I'm "entering" though I'm not picking mine regardless. It's also very short.

The Starti

The voices in my mind flicker into life, and though I cannot see, I can see everything. The scraping noise echoes through my mind again, and though I cannot feel, I know everything. I know the future, a fictitious past and what goes on outside my world. I am the most powerful creation known to the human race and beyond, yet still I am bound.

I am bound by the Starti.

I live in a world of new beginnings, and of swift and gruesome ends. I am prepared for any occurrence that could be imagined, yet I have no control over myself. I leap, I dive, I run. I dodge, I fight with a gun. I laugh, I cry until I have won – and even then I do not rest.

I defy time, as do those that are etched into life around me. I have no fixed nationality, yet it is always that of the Starti. The Starti imposes its rules upon me, its expectations, and its needs. I can learn to survive an explosion at the pulse of a thought; I can learn to fight within a second. I am the perfect being, yet I am still bound.

I am bound by the Starti.

And now my world is crushed and crumpled, thrown away and left to rot, the perfect being to be reborn in another. I will never die.

I will never die as long as the Artist lives.

 

[Arcticblast]

This was somewhat twisted by requirements for school, but meh, I'll post it anyway.

The Journal of a Host

August 20th, 2004

I have decided to start writing a journal about my life. Not so I can reminisce about my past life, but so I can hopefully avert the fate of a select few others. But first, let me tell you something about myself. My name is Parker. I grew up (and still live) in a small town in Ohio. The name isn’t important. I’ve always loved the paranormal. It started when I was a child… but that isn’t important. What is important is my predicament. But… I can’t bring myself to write about it. I just can’t. Maybe tomorrow.

August 21st, 2004

Another day of fear. I really hate this, I really do… I think I have to write it down.
What you are about to read may be difficult to believe. I am being tormented by… something. I hear a voice in my head. It doesn’t sound too attractive to me. It’s been coming to me for about two months. It seems like a… separate being, almost. At first it started small, but it’s growing. I can’t disregard it, so I carry on conversations with it. These are rather… er… moody discussions. Recently, it’s been absorbing all of my attention, and I just don’t know what to do.

August 23rd, 2004

Sorry I didn’t write yesterday. I was a bit busy. I was investigating what this thing is doing to me. So far… it’s been absorbing my everyday thoughts. I can’t take my mind off of it. I have noticed a few things about it, though. First of all, it can’t be with me when I sleep – or so I think. Secondly, it seems to leave me for a short time every day. I have a feeling that I’ll need this time more and more…

August 24th, 2004

Something incredibly odd happened today… I was sitting around (pretty much the only thing I do these days) and suddenly felt sick. I doubled over, then lost all control of my actions… but still moved. I, as in my own consciousness, was just sitting there, and my body was a puppet to the thing… It was horrible. It ran me around the house, heedless of walls, tables, and the like. I almost killed my cat, Felix. Now I have too many bruises to count (I’m up to thirteen) and am sore all over, not to mention seven cuts. But there is something worse… something it “said.”
“That was just a demonstration.”

August 25th, 2004

This is just beginning to get out of hand. I haven’t been to work in days, haven’t talked to anyone except the thing, and I barely have any time at all to myself now. The thing took control of me again, while I was making lunch earlier. I now have mustard on my white shirt.
You know how I told you about my interests a few days ago? One was the paranormal? I’ve tried to figure out what this thing is. I’ve had some luck. It seems to be a malevolent spirit of sorts. These usually have some sort of ultimate motive behind their deeds. Have I found one? No. Is what little knowledge I have useful? Oh yes. I am trying to stop its advance into my mind with various methods. These are long and boring, but the overall gist is to try to lure it out of me… I think. I have no idea how I’ll be able to do this, though. It’s in my head, literally.

August 27th, 2004

Didn’t write yesterday… this is getting to be too much… I had an actual conversation with it yesterday… it went like this, if I can recall:
“What are you?” I asked.
“Well, why should I tell you, mortal?” it replied. There was a bit of bite in that comment, hidden under the usual malevolence. Did I press a button?
“…Well, you have a point.”
“Thank you… see, we share something. A goal. Not a mutual one though. Yours, obviously, is to get rid of me. That’s happened before. Many have tried, few have succeeded. I have a goal as well,” it said.
“What kind of goal?”
“Why would I tell you that… weakling?” This hurt. A lot. He (I’m sure it’s a he now) had used some sort of power – not like a superpower or whatever, but a normal ability, like a really, really good public speaker. Or the evil villain stereotype. I personally think it’s the latter. Public speakers normally don’t invade people’s minds and drive them mad. Hitler and the Nazis were an exception, because they brainwashed people, basically. Long story… wait, did I just go THAT off topic? Oh no, this is in pen… If I scratch it out, it’ll look conspicuous, and I can’t use white-out because this is yellow paper. Oh, by the way, that’s my thought process. Now then, back to the conversation… where was I? Oh, yes:
“…If I tell you, I end up losing this little battle. That isn’t something I can do.” His voice was growing in volume in my head. “I am Ahriman, lord of the… wait, I said too much now, didn’t I?” Score. I have his name. It’s a pretty typical one, as far as evil spirits go. It literally means “evil spirit.” Anyway, I laughed. He said a few choice words that I will not disclose for decency, and then shut up for the moment. I had to inquire further.
“So you can’t tell me your name?” I asked. Then it hit me. It was like a wave, no, a tsunami, of pain. I fell out of my seat, writhing on the ground. Ahriman took control once again, and went to the kitchen. He picked up a knife and brought it to my other arm.
Needless to say, I need to wash that knife off and make sure my arm isn’t infected.

August 28th, 2004

Hello, mortals. I am Ahriman, as this foolish host revealed among other secrets. He has become problematic. It is my duty now to prevent further “mishaps.” On my part, anyways. I will not inscribe my messages here, as he is doing it adequately enough. -Ahriman

August 31st, 2004

…He took me over again. AGAIN. I am getting tired of this. I now have five scars from his blade-happy moments. It hurts, to say the least. I can barely take this anymore. I’m deteriorating. I can barely keep this journal.
Somehow, my cat’s still alive and well. Either there’s a connection between Ahriman and my Felix, or I will never again have a mouse problem. What this really means, I don’t know.

September 2nd, 2004

Ahriman is trying to kill me. I am sure of it. But I won’t let him win. He can’t break me, no matter how hard he tries. NO MATTER HOW. I will be the victor… I hope.

September 5th, 2004

I can’t take it anymore. He won’t go away. I haven’t left my house in two weeks or so. I can barely remember the date. I’m slowly dying. I can’t keep going. I’m going to kill myself. It’s all I can do. Goodbye, everyone, and remember that it’s never too early or late to do that thing you wanted to do. Watch out for evil spirits. Goodbye, world. Goodbye.

September 6th, 2004

…Wow. Last night was a night I will never, ever forget. You know how I said - er, wrote - I was going to kill myself? Well, I was. Let me explain.
All the lights were off in my room except a candle. It set a really eerie mood, believe me. Looking back, it was incredibly clichéd (I mean, seriously? Candles? What am I, a sacrifice?) It was a little tough to actually do it. It took me a while to bring the knife to my throat. But that’s nothing. What happened next will haunt me for a very long time. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move. It was Ahriman. He wasn’t exactly human. He had long, dark blue hair that trailed behind him like he was underwater. He was also dark blue, with splotches of black. Not like a cow, like a pool of energy. I’m sure that’s what he was. He had eyes – two ovals of white light. His mouth was really, really big – almost comically so, in hindsight. I didn’t think that then, though – I was terrified. He opened his mouth. He had huge teeth. They probably couldn’t have fit in his mouth, were he mortal. Sort of like a saber-tooth tiger. Anyway, Ahriman lunged at me. I was scared (hey, you would be too, of a psychotic shadow beast was after you!) and didn’t know what to do. I did the only thing I could – I stabbed him. The knife did nothing, but what did was something else. I had cut my arm earlier, and it was still bleeding. My blood turned him red. It burned a hole through his left lung… area… thing. Anyway, it seemed to help. He put a shadowy hand on the hole – a bad idea. Next thing I knew, his hand was gone. He seemed to boil… and then he fell over. I felt like the world had been lifted off of my shoulders. It was great… but I held it in. I kicked the dead… frame of the spirit. It instantly vanished.
Behind the door, my cat meowed. I opened it and heard Ahriman.
“You have defeated me once, but I will return! …Well, maybe not to you, but someone else!” I said the magical two words that gets everyone mad. He screamed, probably in anger, and I never heard from him again. Felix meowed again and gave me the “cute eyes.” It was time to eat.

September 7th, 2004

I have pretty much everything worked out now. I’ll have to explain a few things and pay some fines, but otherwise I’m in the clear. My injuries are minor, and I’m sleeping better.
I have the feeling there is a moral to this story. It there is, please let me know. I don’t have a chance of finding it.
Bye.

 

[Brambane]

I wrote a story too!

The Rabbit and the Stoat

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The rabbit hopped out of its burrow. He sat up, watching sun as it slowly disappeared beneath the horizon. The sky was rich lavender color with streaks of orange crossing the sky. The rabbit's ears twitched, picking up every rustle of the leaves and every whisper of the wind. A grass snake slithered quietly past the rabbit, dipping into a cool pond. The rabbit heard the fluttering wings of a moth as the insect rode the winds that swept across the rabbits woodland home. The rabbit quickly scanned the area with his large black eyes, focusing on anything that he heard or saw. When he finally felt safe, he slowly began inching his way deeper into the forest, getting faster as confidence began to surge through his small frame.

He stopped at a small patch where bright green weeds and grass shot up from the earth. He scanned the area again. A robin chirped overhead as she settled down in her nest, warming her eggs with her body. The rabbit looked up nervously at a sleeping red squirrel in the deciduous tree above him. The squirrel snored loudly, her tail twitching in her sleep. The rabbit continued to scan the area with his senses. He smelt the presence of another rabbit a few meters away. He rose on his hind legs slightly, trying to see if he could spot her.

Suddenly, he heard a rustling in the nearby brush. The rabbit turned around nervously, muscles tense just in case he needed to flee. A long figure almost slithered out of the brush. She was covered in auburn fur with a white underbelly. Her pink paws made little sound as she approached him. The tip of her fur-covered tail was black and bushy. The rabbit sniffed her. She didn't smell like anything he ever encountered before. He was just about to flee when a smooth, elegant and seductive voice cane from the creature. "Why do you run?"

The rabbit froze. His predators have never spoken to him before. Hell, most animals haven't. Conversation isn't common in the forest, where predators lurk around every corner. The creature stared at him with large, curious eyes. Her pink lips formed a small smile, showing no teeth. The rabbit remained tense, but stammered an answer. "I don't know who or what you are." He began to shake as the creature inspected him.

She tilted her head to the side as she spoke, her voice flowing and lucid as a the creek he drank from. "And I don't know who you are, yet I didn't flee from you."

The rabbit blinked. The creature showed no fear. She exhibited confidence and trust. "Aren't you scared of predators?" The rabbit felt his muscles relax as he spoke to the creature.

The creature looked at him with the bright black gems that were her eyes. "The stoat fears no creature. Not the fox, not the falcon, not the man." The stoat's long body seemed to sway side to side as she spoke.

A red flag popped up in the rabbit's mind. If she feared no one, that means she was the most dangerous! But his curiosity took hold of him. His body wanted to flee, but his mind wouldn't let them. "Why aren't you scared?"

The stoat inched closer to him. He inched slowly away. She stopped moving and said, "Not all creatures mean harm. Not all creatures are predators and prey. I heard that some work together, like the aphid and the ant."

The rabbit tilted his head. "The ant? The aphid?"

The stoat giggled softly. "The ant protects to aphid since the aphid provides food for the ant. They are dependent on one another for survival."

The rabbit was intrigued by this creature. "Why did you approach me?" he asked.

The stoat looked down at the ground. Her voice was laced with sorrow. "I was lonely," she said. "The animals of the forest don't trust each other like the aphid and the ant. They cower at the sight of one another." Her gazed returned to him, her eyes glinting. "Do you trust me?"

The rabbit's red flag lowered in his head. He felt relaxed for the first time in his life. He felt like he didn't have to worry about the fox, the falcon or the man. When he spoke to the stoat, he felt all his fears and worries go away. He felt like he never felt before, even though he just met her. The rabbit smiled. "I trust you."

The stoat's grin widened, but she still showed no teeth. He inched closer to him, and this time he didn't inch away. She whispered in his ear, "Dance with me." She bounded around him, doing flips and rolls.

The rabbit stared at her, entranced. He watched every roll, every twist and ever flip. The stoat danced around him, slowly getting closer. The rabbit felt his foot begin to thump the ground out of excitement. The stoat's white underbelly was exposed to the rabbit. The rabbit began to mimic her movements. He started to roll and hop. The stoat's eyes glinted as she watched the rabbit dance, as he flipped and leaped in a frenzy of joy. They watched each other as they danced and moon illuminated the patch of grass. The red squirrel woke up and she gave a shriek when she saw the stoat. She quickly leaped to another tree and then to another until she was out of sight.

But the rabbit didn't hear the squirrel. He was having to much fun with the stoat. He closed his eyes as he continued his dance. The stoat's dancing began to slow, but he didn't notice. He did a roll, kicking the air with his hind legs. The stoat's leaping and bounding ceased as she watched the rabbit. Her upper lip curled, revealing a row of sharp teeth. She crouched as she watched every movement on the rabbit. Her muscles tensed and her tail began to twitch.

The rabbit opened his eyes and screamed. The stoat was charging him, fangs exposed. He quickly turned to run away, but the stoat was on top of him. She held onto him like a leech, her claws digging into his sides. Thought was replaced with instinct and adrenaline in the rabbit. He began to flail, trying to shake off the stoat. He attempted to kick her with his hind legs. He rolled quickly, and managed to knock off the stoat. But she was determined. The hair on her back rose as she lunged at the rabbit once more. Her eyes danced with blood lust as she wrapped her long body around the rabbit. The rabbit bit at her with his large teeth, but it was all for naught. The stoat's teeth glinted in the night as the stoat dug them into the rabbits jugular. The rabbit gasped for breath as blood spurted out of the wound. His flailing ended, his legs stopped kicking. His body began to grow cold as he collapsed on the ground. He looked at the stoat standing over him.

The stoat licked her pink lips as she looked at the rabbit. "We all depend on each other." She crouched down and whispered into his ear, "And I depend on your for my survival." She rose on her hind legs and tore open the rabbit's gut.

The rabbit gave one final gasp as his once cautious eyes dimmed. His body twitched slightly as his muscles began to fail. He felt something leave him. And, with one final blink of his eyes, he died.

In a brush not to far away, the female rabbit he had caught the scent of smelled the distinct odor of rabbit's blood. She began to flee, but stopped in her tracks. Standing in front of her was a auburn creature with a white underbelly. He smiled softly at her, his pink lips covering his teeth. "Hello, miss," he said smoothly. "Why do you run?"

 

[jumpluff]

Sorry, I'm not posting any writing, but for any of you who are interested, I am participating in something very awesome for the third time in four years, and I plan to win it for the third time too. It's not a competition; it's a challenge, which you may have heard of, called NaNoWriMo. The goal is to write a novel(la) in November, and it's both surprisingly hard and surprisingly easy, depending on your inhibitions. I've had a lot of fun; the two years I did it before I found myself writing crack fanfiction that wasn't remotely meant to be serious, and if anyone else here is going to try their hand, please let me know, since I'd love a Pokémon-playing NaNoWriMo friend.

 

[Sarenji]

Sorry, I'm not posting any writing, but for any of you who are interested, I am participating in something very awesome for the third time in four years, and I plan to win it for the third time too. It's not a competition; it's a challenge, which you may have heard of, called NaNoWriMo. The goal is to write a novel(la) in November, and it's both surprisingly hard and surprisingly easy, depending on your inhibitions. I've had a lot of fun; the two years I did it before I found myself writing crack fanfiction that wasn't remotely meant to be serious, and if anyone else here is going to try their hand, please let me know, since I'd love a Pokémon-playing NaNoWriMo friend.

I think you forgot me. Anyone joining is also welcome to add me.

Since doing this contest, my writing has improved considerably. I highly recommend it if you want to improve. Nanowrimo has always been hard for me -- I try to write seriously. But no matter how seriously you take it, you will improve.