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★ The Smeargle's Studio Writing Thread

I wrote this story a while back, Like wednesday.

Dreaming

Darkness. Nothing but darkness, albeit for just a bit. Images fly by

until one is reached, and becomes reality. Someone is walking around on a

high clifftop, with a relaxing felling all around. Grass stirs as winds pushes by.

A small bird flutters onto their shoulder, and starts to sing; it sounds odd

though. Oddly like a beeping sound...


Darkness again. More images sit on a metaphorical screen, each for just a

split second. one decides to settle for a while. Someone is in a forest, next a

cave. Their friend walks out of the cave, and beckons them to come. The two

walk in the cave, and get hit in the face with bats, but it's still good.


Fading into black, another reality sets in. It's dark, and there is an uneasy

feeling in the night of the desert. Someone is walking aimlessly under the light

of the crescent moon. The skeleton of a small animal lay at their feet.

Something is wrong, if it wasn't obvious already. Turning, they face a viper of

huge proportions. The person wants to move, to run, but they can't. The

snake strikes. The image disappears just as the fangs graze the face.

Someone is shaking a young boy's shoulder.


"Sam. Wake up, you missed your alarm!"

Crap.
 
*sighs*

Bumping a good thread back with an article I was gonna write for a contest. The contest is: Write an article for Bulbapedia. If it's good enough you will get prizes.
1st is preorders of Black and White in English (!!), a copy of Guardian Signs, and publication of your article. 2nd gets everything except for B/W copies. 3rd and honorable mentions get publications.

Anyways.....

Pokemon Black and Pokemon White have recently been released in Japan, while the Pokemon in them are starting to show up in the rest of the world. More Pokemon were introduced last September than ever before, at a whopping 155, more even than the original generation’s 151. Depending on who you ask, these Pokemon can be seen as cleverly designed or rehashes of characters past. Each of these have similarities with Pokemon from Generations 1 through 4, some moreso than others. Others are completely different from all forebearers in numerous ways.

When it comes to what is new in Pokemon this generation, an obvious point is the recurring themes of many of them. For example, the mascot trio represents Ying and Yang, a distinctly Chinese theme. The other dragon in the trio, much like Giratina last generation, represents a sort of midway of the duo, being wuji, or lack of Ying or Yang. This is similar to Giratina and its realm of antimatter, containing both time and space, though being quintissentially different from both. There are other distinctly Eastern or Japanese themes in the new games as well. The trio of Voltolos, Tornelos, and Landlos are influenced heavily by the Shinto belief in Kami - spirits and deities in the Shinto faith, the native religion of Japan.
There are some many other themes present that are not necessarily Eastern, and are indeed Western in origin. A good example of an American theme is the Yooterie line, evoking faithful hounds. Interestingly enough Babanira and its line are distinctly American in a different way, being the only one designed by an American thus far. They are also based on a treat often associated with America, the Ice Cream Cone. Besides this, there are also a group of Pokemon who are heavily influenced and based on Western European literature - specifically the tale of The Three Musketeers. This group is made up of Cobalon, Terakion, Virizion, and Keldeo. Besides having moves based on swordsmanship, they are each based on specific members of the trio, including the less-famous apprentice. Some slightly more mature themes could be seen as present in these games, such as genetics in the line of Rankurusu and the event Pokemon Genosekuto.

This new generation is similar to past generations in many ways, though some of those are not necessarily beneficial. Many have said some themes are recycled in this generation, especially with the new starter Enbuoh, who is the third in a line of Fire/Fighting starter Pokemon, but also lesser-known is that Enbuoh is the second Fire starter to be based off of the tale of Journey to the West. Basurao falls in the same category: it is third as well to take the role as ever-present fish-like Pokemon in every body of water. Indeed, many themes for common Pokemon who have been taken out have been replaced by characters who bare some resemblance. Also, take a look at Mamanbou - early on it was actually thought to be related to a member of Advance Generation, Luvdisc, though that is not the case. On a different note, Ishhu resembles Kanto in one somewhat obvious way: They both are “starts” to the franchise. Kanto was the original setting in the series while Ishhu is so far away and remote it almost seems like a completely different game setting-wise. Black and White also share similarities with Diamond and Pearl, in the sense that the first revealed Pokemon for each, Zoroark and Lucario respectively, are similar in their designs.

When it comes to differences, there is an obvious one that comes to mind: there are absolutely no old Pokemon in Black and White until after you defeat the Elite 4. Ironically, this makes the most common Pokemon in previous generations now some of the rarest. The designs of the new characters can also be looked at as slightly more mature, with darker colors and less child-oriented designs, such as Zoroark and Dasutodasu. Respectively, one is based of legends of malicious, shape shifting foxes (specifically, Kitsune, like Ninetales. However, it separates itself by having a quintissentially darker design), while the other is a grotesque vision of a garbage bag. Even the themes of some Pokemon can be seen as somewhat more mature, especially those that are personifications of certain topics. Take a look at Rankurusu and its line. The are based of cells and genetics, which can be seen as a hot-button issue throughout the world today, with the advent of cloning and stem cell research. The same can be said for the event Pokemon Genosekuto, who was created from DNA by Team Plasma before it got out of hand. Finally, on an artistic note, we turn to Babanira and its line: They are the only line of Pokemon so far that have been created by an American artist, James Turner. This is a big first, so we may have more non-Sugimori designed Pokemon in the future.

Like them or not, Nintendo probably put in a lot more effort than we think they did. These are the new faces of Pokemon, so they will have to sell to their main target, masses upon masses of young children, as well as the parents buying the games. The buying communnity includes the rest of us too however! When Reshiram and Zekrom were publicly announced, many fans were probably on their toes. As the flood of new Pokemon slowly changes current to the rest of the world, we will wait and see what Nintendo has for them, Just like Reshiram and Zekrom several months ago. Like them or not, they are here to stay!

Definitely looking for critique, since the deadline is in two weeks.
 
If the thread is still in existance, I have somthing too. It is here. It is a fanfic of a Nuzlocke, run... or the first chapter anyways. Before I go and write the other 37, I wanted a little input. Thanks in advance.
 
*Switches on lights*

Wakey wakey, rise and shine. Page 5 eh? You people have been slacking while I've been away...

...slacking.

Anyway, flumping this to notify you all that I'm starting to post some newer things on my blog, some of which I might post here to save you searching through the trash (if you feel that way...).

Hello again, mr writing thread.

You know, when you really think about it, it isn’t really all that far from civilisation. All you have to do is drive down a dusty stone road for a few miles with the breeze in your hair and your tunes playing on the stereo and you’ll get there. It’s by the lake, the kind of lake that an artist might come and draw. He’s just got to set down his easel and slap some paint onto a canvas and even though it’s full of imperfections he’d still have a masterpiece. It looks quite nice at sunset too; you’ve got the little ripples glinting and the sand shining like broken glass.


It’s at the top of a little hill. You wouldn’t think that such a small hill would mean you could include “hill” in its name, but hey each to their own I guess. The path got worn away quite a while ago, people only ever drive in. Some people drive out, but not in a hurry. It’s the kind of place that’s really quite fascinating. Keeps you enthralled for hours, maybe longer. Maybe eternity, it really is that transfixing.


One Drop Hill is what they call it. I specifically requested it. If you’re going to die at least get it done efficiently. You don’t want to hang around for too long if you’ve got business to attend to in the netherworld.


So if you go in (make sure you ring the doorbell first, they get quite annoyed if you just saunter in) and then turn right you’ll see this sign which says “Cell Blocks A-E”. If you take a stroll down there past all the guys playing poker (one of them is called Steve, try and get my pen back will you? It was a nice pen) you’ll come to the “E” section. I’m in cell 26. The closer you get to F the closer you are to death. They tend to serve better meals in the latter sections though, so I suppose it’s about equal chances of survival.


“What you got there man?”
“Something to keep me occupied.”
“Lemme see.”


If you’re ever in here, be careful of your roommate. They might set your notebook on fire. Then you’ve got nothing to keep yourself occupied. Apart from your harmonica.


Never mind.


“So, ‘Jon’, how did you get in here?”


I suppose he’s some kind of spy out to get me again. Like the rest of them, always watching me. Well, thought I, I’m on the edge of Cell Block F so why not tell my story?
 
Oh hey, it got revived.

I haven't done any creative writing since fourth grade, and I haven't done it for fun since second, so I've been trying to write a short story from the point of view of one of my characters (at approximately age seven, so a more childish view is being attempted).
They were coming toward me. I was terrified. I couldn't tell how old they were--I assumed they were all high schoolers though, since that's who was usually hanging out around here this time of day.

I held my dear teddy bear tight to my chest as they walked closer. Some of them were laughing. Other ones looked very angry. I wasn't sure why though. One specific boy scowled and spat at me. "You're really not /stupid/ enough to think you're safe out here, are you?" He said the word 'stupid' like it was poison, something icky-tasting inside of his mouth that he had to get out. "And with a teddy bear for protection?"

I shook my head at him. I didn't think I was safe. I just didn't have anywhere else to stay. My parents didn't like me so they left me to live out here. I was just sneaky enough to get my teddy bear before I was gone for good though. I don't remember how long ago that was. It was probably a long time ago; the only reason I remember is because all the days since then have been the same. Getting laughed at, kicked, hit, whatever they wanted to do. It didn't really hurt anymore though. I was used to it. My thoughts were interrupted as my head was bent backward by the man's hand.

"Well, kid?!" He slapped me across the face, and I dropped my teddy bear. Naturally, I started to tear up. "Oh, you're crying? Maybe you should get your ass out of here. But since you seem to like it out here..." He looked away from me and down at my teddy bear instead, laughing. Oh, my dear Sekaki. He must have been so scared right then. I know I was.

The guy paused a few moments before pulling Sekaki away from my side. "You feeling safe now?!" I scooted myself a bit away from him and buried my face in my arms, crying.

"Give him back." That was all I could say, so I said it again. "Give him back..!"

I heard him laughing. "A strong boy like you living out here should be tough enough to get it back," he jeered. I wiped my tears and looked up, only to see him tossing the teddy bear--my best friend--into a dumpster. I cried even more. "Good God." He sighed and turned his back to me and the dumpster, walking back toward the crowd. "Come on, guys," I heard him say before they all left me alone.
Not anything great yet. I'm not good at wording things. >_> Not sure if I'll finish this up. Hoping I will though.
 
please
let go of my ears
i know what i'm doing
at least
enough to still my knocking knees
as i walk across the broad span
of water
 
hey
which structure is this
i ain't got a clue
oh well
i think that it is kind of cool
and that you should post more of these
in due course
 
Added a bit more to my story.

I plan on writing my best friend something for Valentine's, should it be a long poem or a short story? I have an idea for both but I'm wondering which would be better to do. Thinking a poem, since, well, Valentine's Day.
 
Suppose I'll jump on the bandwagon here for a bit.

While on the subject of Poetry, I'll just drop this off
I had a dream last night,
A dream where I flew through clouds
Of times long past and days soon to be,
And through it all, you where there with me,

Except I wasn't me, and you weren't you,
Instead you were her and I was him.
Strangers in our own bodies; two lost souls
Just looking for our way home.

I held your hand as we soared,
So that you would not fall,
And in return you held mine,
So that I would not float away.

We stopped to play in the soft white wisps
And you made me a small Sparrow
Whose body fluttered to life and asked
"How is it, that you can fly?"

Cradling my little bird I responded
"How is it, that you can talk?"
But without an answer he flew away
And became a cloud all his own.

I felt my heart begin to sink,
But you were there to pick me up,
And I soon forgot about my little Sparrow
Because I was with you, and you were with me.

You smiled at me and closed your eyes,
And in return I did the same,
But then I woke up, alone in my bed,
And all I could remember was that

I had a dream last night,
A dream where I flew through clouds
Of times long past and days soon to be,
And through it all, you where there with me.

As for short stories I shall leave this one in your care as well
Drops of rain pounded my shoulders as I crept slowly out the door. It was a quarter past eleven yet the storm which had begun earlier this afternoon continued to rage. The streets lay barren before me; a ghost town in the midst of a lively city. A street lamp flickered in the distance, it's bulb reaching the end of its' lifespan. Aside from the pitter patter of water on metal, the world had grown silent. No stars blanketed the sky tonight; only bleak darkness lay dormant above. I stood for what felt like hours, staring up into space letting the rain soak my face and body. Streaming down my cheeks, tears became indistinguishable from the rain. I was finally free.

Ensnared by the house, I had been locked inside it's torn and tattered walls for days which had stretched to years. Time flowed differently there, minutes to hours and hours to weeks. Accustomed to the strange oddities that populated the mansion, it was uncomfortable at first to be returned to sanity. My clothes were humbled remains of what they had once been and my clean shaven face now riddled with a tangled net of hair. The outside of the home was a modest understatement of the vast entrenching maze that was the interior. Each room had housed a different universe. A deserted beach complete with an eerie lighthouse overlooking the ravaging ocean. A desolate and bleak star station, orbiting above the very planet. A rustic town, filled with the strangest of people. A blazing desert, dead to the bone. A dense jungle of unimaginable terror…

In the brush, I had become lost for the longest time. My days focused on hunting and exploring, my nights plagued with fear and anxiety. There were creatures unlike those in our science books which only came out after nightfall. Large winged insects with leathery scales and horrible teeth, small nimble mammals with bright blue fur and the sharpest of claws, strange primate Cyclopes' who lingered around in the trees. Bright, piercing golden eyes sat in each of their faces. It was if someone had taken our world and twisted it to fit some strange fantasy.

Worse than the insects, the animals and monkeys, a shadow beast lurked. It was a ghastly apparition of humanoid shape with large black claws. Unlike the others, it's eyes were a bloody red and it's body like a television who had lost it's picture. It would stalk me at night, yet never threaten me. Still, it's presence alone was enough to upset me. I would awake in a fever to see it's eyes staring at me, peering into my soul. It's eyes laughed at me, a whimsical look as if it were watching a lower specimen like a common house pet. It would follow me, inspecting me, practically teasing me as I struggled to fight off the birds. I could never forget it's quizzical stare at my misery.

The rain began to slow as I put distance between the house and I. The wet grass beneath my feet was a welcome change from the dry dirt of the forest. Shaking my head, I forced the thoughts and memories of the house as far back as they could go. Hoping I could forget, hoping I could move on, I tried to tell myself it had never happened. I stopped at a nearby park and plopped myself down into the grass. My back fell to the ground as I reveled in the fact that I had become free at last. I felt safe, and oddly warm in the cold rain. Closing my eyes, I felt myself drift into sleep. It was a nightmare, one which had returned me to the jungles of the mansion. I bolted awake to see the swing set in the distance, creaking in the wind. I breathed a sigh of relief and began to laugh out of glee. That glee soon turned to horror however, as another voice joined me. It was a mocking laugh, and a sick grin accompanied by a pair of red eyes, swinging on the swing.
 
I'm glad you stick to your word Vex (some kind of discreet pun in there).

I'm loving the poem, though I think it would be more effective if it was more concise. I think the "I held your hand" and "You smiled at me" verses could be omitted. I'm loving the sparrow though, nice dialogue well-woven into the poem.

In terms of the short story, I also feel that you could cut down slightly. Describing the different universes within the mansion (which would be nice to get some background on) was always accompanied with an adjective when it doesn't really need to be. Listing with adjectives, while it adds to the pace, can make the story seem more mechanical. There's a good sense of mystery created, but I think a bit more information would be good (unless you're planning to write more for it, in which case you can disregard that comment). There are also a couple of grammar points: mainly involving "its".

On the whole though they're really good, and I hope you post here more often!
 
cool kid said:
hey
which structure is this
i ain't got a clue
oh well
i think that it is kind of cool
and that you should post more of these
in due course
Click to expand...

was this directed towards me? its the format i use when im writing songs, the odd page breaks help it flow more because i suck at remembering harmonys, so i use odd page breaks and copious amounts of /forwardslashes/

i wrote another last night ill have it posted, along with a short story im writing for english class

edit:
as promised one story and 2 poems

I watched, as they walked by, as they always do, the rain inquisitively trying to catch up to them, tapping on their stooped shoulders, silently asking for answers they could never have, for how does one answer a question that is not inquired?
Bah. I'm getting garrulous in my old age, romantically describing the subtle scenes around me. Not much else to do for a man like me.
As I watched them flow and ebb as they went about their chores in the sallow monotony of the day. It seemed as of late, more and more of these dreary occupants of The City were being pressed out of some material my a great homogenous mold, popping out spry and dapper, ready to make a name for themselves. The dark, craggy, sky showed no suggestions of clearer whether. Not that it mattered much to me, stooped underneath a storefront awning, wrapped tightly in some scrap of fabric. As I tracked them with my expert eyes, they tried ineffectively to dash in between the raindrops as they fell.
“Hey Mister, Spare a quarter?” I implored. He strode on, speeding up as he passed by me, feigning ignorance to my beseeching. His redolence was piercing, even through the rain I could smell the sickly sweet stench of the sample bottles of cologne he stole from his work, and dabbed behind his ears. In a veiled attempt to keep enough rancor out of my voice, but enough to convey the innuendo I called out after him, venturing tentatively onto the taught tightrope.
“You know” I hollered “it’s now well known, but not all of us homeless are stung out junkies.”
He turned around and intoned, in a strident and uninflected voice
“You know, not all of us notice you bums” as he suddenly flicked a handful of change onto the wet ground, as if sowing seeds, Spreading them out just enough so I would have to brave the veritable deluge to collect the meager capitol. I was seething at this vacuous euphemism and felt my fists ball, my long, unkempt nails sinking slightly into the wool of my tatty gloves, but I needed the money, and thus was the life of a beggar. I hastily fixed the mask of indifference that was slipping off my face, turning my cheek as to not show him my perturbance. As I squatted down to pry today’s pay off of the wet asphalt, I turned around and jumped out at the man, wiping the sneer off his face, showing just enough crazy to make him think I was indeed a formidable foe. As he sped off, I counted the coins I held in my hand, enjoying the feeling of the rain cooling my fevered brow. I peered down trying to decipher the pieces I worked so hard to attain. My orbs searching, attempting to read through the dim light and around the steam that was emitted by my palm. I counted eight Abrahams and three larger Jeffersons, one Roosevelt, whose rough edges were slightly smaller than that of Abraham’s, and a weighty Washington, larger than all the others. And a bus token. I bit my lip at the emotions that consumed me, having sold my dignity to a man I did not even know for a mere fifty eight cents and one bus token.

super sappy poem one
i am but a shadow found in tides of noon
let me take the weights off your mind
because my back is getting broken
from holding up the moon
you should take a little snooze
i will take the problems
far away
and place them deep inside a jar
and them
when you wake we will dissipate
and leave them all far behind

super sappy poem 2
let me get my needles
and stitch you back together
lets get closer
to whisper and murmur the day away
give me some more ammo to fight the night terrors
and keep them at bay
ill unwind the fabric
from my camera strap
your scent hits me like a train
but i would never jump back
as i smell that pink bandanna
the thin reminder of you
that once bound your heather hair
nothing else to wonder upon but your musk on the air
 
Well, I looked at Alchy's avatar, and that got me thinking.

The lid of the muffin canister popped audibly as a pudgy white figure came out. He was small and doughy, not even 2 inches tall, and completely white, from his skin tone to his comically large toque to his scarf. He did, however, have blue eyes and a Pilsbury logo on the rim of his hat. He also had a small bit of yellowish tan dough on his shoulder. He frowned, and pulled it off, shoving it on the mass of dough in the canister, which was still cold from the freezer.
The old lady forgot to put the dough back in the freezer when she left, apparently. She was making muffins for her grandson’s visit. She had put the muffins in the oven, feeling proud that she put all of the dough in the tins. Sadly, she forgot to put the canister up, as well as shut the fridge door. No one else knew about her Alzheimer’s yet, since she had been doing a wonderful job of keeping it secret, with those flashcards in her purse and all. Wonder she even remembers those.
Doughboy realized that the grandma would not be back for some time, so he decided to take some action. He shut the canister, and rolled it onto the floor. He jumped down and rolled it to the door. It was massive, but with enough force it would move. He managed to find a doorstop, which he used as a ramp for the canister onto the bottom part of the fridge. Realizing that was all he could do for now, he slid the doorstop away, and heaved at the door for a few seconds before it finally gave way, and shut with a thud.
Using the knobs on the drawers, he hauled himself back onto the top of the counter, and looked around. He was bored, and there wasn’t much fun in the kitchen. Then he spotted it. It was a mixer, plain as any, with a reserve battery in case something gout unplugged or if you wanted extra mobility. Doughboy pulled a fiendish grin. He ran on to the top of the mixer, and pushed it up to high.
The mixers started to spin and make a high pitch sound as they rotated along their axis. It was a bumpy ride since the metal was constantly banging the counter. As it started to get louder and faster, the mixer started to move around, though it was restrained by the plug. It started going in every direction, whirring and bumping at a phenomenal pace along the countertop. Doughboy’s fiendish grin turned into a slightly crazed smile of sheer delight as he was tossed around on the mixer, hanging on for dear life, lest he fall.
Then the plug came out. It started to travel all along the counter. As it fell to the ground, Doughboy yelled triumphantly.

“YEE-HAW!”

It crashed to the ground, still going. It would still for quite some time, until the battery died about half an hour later. Doughboy then shoved the mixer to below the counter, and, using the last of his strength, hauled himself onto the counter, hid behind the roll of paper towels, and fell asleep.

I think he'll like it.
 
Doughbake approves of such a tale.

In terms of actual criticism (though I don't think it's a serious piece :P) when describing something it's more effective to describe something through it doing something. Something something something For example:

The leaves on the trees were green.
Not very good.

The green leaves of the trees swayed in the wind.
Using this kind of structure takes emphasis away from the adjective itself (you don't want it to be really in your face) and makes the sentence generally flow more nicely.

Also YEE-HAW
 
Yeah, it was just something i whipped up in 10 minutes with no real thought involved.
Knew doughBAKE would approve, though he is called Doughboy in my book.
 
Please be patient with criticism guys, I do notice everything that gets posted here, but I'm pretty busy.

Bombiron!

I like the short story, though it doesn't really go much further than that. I think its main problem is that there is very little focus on him hitting the man - it's really lightly passed over. It makes the build up seem kind of anti-climatic. I really do like the general idea though.

However, I love the poems. They're solid enough to be easy to understand and yet abstract enough to be exciting and original. Probably some of the better poems that I've read (certainly the best on Smogon at the moment!).
 
i didnt have a lot of space to finish the story alch. i was running the upper limit of the assignment (2 pages 12 pt double spaced)
your cc means a lot to me

i guess all the sundance fims ive been watching (cough cough inland cough empire cough cough) have trained me to take forever getting to a blunt point

just remembered i have another poem i wrote a while ago.
its slam poetry (think ani difranco's parameters) ill post it in a min

edit
you start to feel the doubt shedding, you stand paralyzed at this new sensation/ feeling sick as if watching a beheading, but instead, your letting the feeling flow through you/ in you/ out/ you try not to let it consume you. you hear the crick crack of the muscles popping and feel the bottle shudder and the cork popping. as you stand there hypnotized
you realize
your creativity shocks you with the barriers swept away. you think you might actually feel good today. aint no prozac peters or adderall abbeys that can hold you back throwin words at you just to bounce off your taught eardrums/ cant take this shit/ hold on a bit.

you try to cut through all the blab/no bullshit. you say fuck today and as all the notions of the politically correct fly out/ they were trapped behind your eyes. you realize you can sympathize/ strategize/ hypothesize/ on the very meaning of what it is to be alive. you criticize and control your life and you step outta someone elses shoes and outta thier eyesight. you step back into you. in throught the mouth you pull your skin on/ correct your slouch. your alter ego flushed away/ down the drain/ all this fucking pain is back to haunt me.
get back to work screams fucking Lurch your asshole boss. he catches himself wishing he knew the taste of your lip gloss/
and i thought this might be a good day
you snap back hear the click clack of the keyboards/ clear away the brick-a-brac, and drone on like the worker bee/ working for the queen/ the good little brainless fucking worker bee. you cannot decide you you want to be/ your identity crisis overwhelming/ the thought you have no say in where your going.
start to cry/psyche broken, cycle broken! snap out don't you dare call out just drone on
my little bumblebee
 
It's really really bad, but this is a story I wrote for part iof my Creative Writing School Anthology last year. I have another few stories I want to post but they're way too long to fit (at least 25,000 words). Anyways, here's my sub-par story:


She walked along the street, her shoulder bag cradled in her arms. Where was she? After getting off at the wrong tram stop, May had become enveloped in a swarm of busy commuters. By the time she had found her daydreaming mind amongst the bustle of the crowd, the tram had left, depositing her in the middle of Melbourne city. So much for a birthday surprise. It was definitely too late for her to get to the movie now. And her parents would be so worried....Sighing, she trudged onwards across the road, looking for nonexistent road signs that marked her placement in the city. If she could just grow wings and fly away, above the clouds. What would she find up there? If life was really unsustainable up so high, nothing but rolling mountains of white, pinpoint of sun glaring through the fleecy layers........May shook her head and tried to focus. “Let’s go left!” she said to herself with exaggerated determination, before turning the corner and laughing to the smoggy sky.
She trundled leisurely down the footpath, stopping occasionally to peer at interesting window displays and buy tasty snacks. This gelato tastes so delicious, it must have come from Mt. Everest itself..... Abruptly, a passing stranger stopped in front of her. “What are you doing here on Elizabeth Street alone in the evening? Are you lost? I can ring your parents, if you’d like. That okay?”​
1.​
May wasn’t too sure about what to do, so she nodded her head and sat down on a nearby café chair.​
“Number?”​
“9439 2237. And my name is May.” she said tentatively as she watched the hatted gentleman produce an iPhone from his coat pocket .​
“Hello, are you the parents of Miss May?” asked the man. “You are? I see. She is lost on Elizabeth Street. Shall I walk her to the car park under Myers? Yes? Okay. Thank you.”​
“I see. It’s your birthday today, is it? Why, how unfortunate! Of all the places to be lost! I know, I’ll give you this to ease your suffering.” Said the man gently, procuring a small box wrapped in a shiny, psychedelic foil. Just as brilliant as iridium. From the beginning of the universe......May snapped back to the real world and politely took the curious package.​
They made their way further up the street, May handling the small box that the man had given to her. What was it? Chocolate? A toy? Old men didn’t go for those things, though....Maybe some old, cheesy socks......​
A pair of adults appeared in front of her face as she exited her daydream/​
“Mum and Dad!” cried May happily.​
“You noticed?” strained her mum, before attacking her with a hug. A boa constrictor, forcing the air out of her lungs.....Her mum would never do that! Would she?...​
“Thank you for the help!” said May politely, before dashing over to her parents with relief, the small package clasped in her hand, shoulder bag flailing in the air.​
“So long, Miss May!” waved the gentleman with a knowing smile on his face.​


As they drove back across Elizabeth Street in the choking traffic, May saw a small, dilapidated store, the words “Incomprehensible Magic” painted across its window. May loved magic stores. Shiny, gIittering sparks, batons, cards covered in shapes, plain green cloths that hid secret beneath their fabric....If she hadn’t stopped with that man, she could have gone in…the box! What was in it??? Cheesy socks????? Cologne????? Chocolates????? A sucker punch?????​
She opened it eagerly, only to see a blinding flash as a small creature unlike anything she could even begin to understand burst out, uttering a strange noise before erupting in a puff of smoke and​


showering her with silver sparkles. From beyond the clouds??? An alien planet full of iridium and maybe even those cheesy socks..............ha ha!​
“What was that!?!?!?!?” screeched her Mum and Dad simultaneously.​
The cute creature nuzzled May fondly, as though she was its mother. Imprint learning......So adorable, even if it defied physics.....wow!​
Dad, fortunately in the passenger seat, had fainted from confusion. As tingles coursed through her body, she could only think of one word to describe it in the English language.​
“Nonsense” said May as she held the alien tight, before fainting herself to dream of the world beyond the clouds as a man on the path saluted oddly and darted inside a dilapidated magic shop.​
2.​
May was a bit too reluctant to receive help from a stranger, so she kindly refused his offer to phone their parents. Strange old man from the planet Neptune......But men came from Mars, didn’t they?​
“No thank you, sir. My parents are just up the road. We’ll be fine” lied May. Maybe they were.......They couldn’t be too far away, not in the steamy jungles of Brazil or in the alien craters of Gallifrey.......​
“Okay then, young lady, if you wish” replied the man, obviously not buying the transparent shield of words.​
Impulsively, May hurtled down the street in an attempt to get away from the old man. Something was drawing her closer to him every second she hung back......something impossible......that old man with his cologne and cheesy socks? May ground to a halt as soon as she lost sight of the man, once again absorbed in the industrial wonders of the city. Food from Heaven.......litter from Hell.....to fly away and find her family.....but it was so fun to be lost in a whirlpool of shops and people, the orange sun sinking beneath the horizon like a rotten orange.....​
As she walked further down the street, a shop caught May’s eye.​
“A magic shop!” cried May joyously. Her favourite! Oh, to be lost in otherworldly wonders for a while......cards, batons, splitting balls and shiny sparkles of light....the closest thing to the heavens she could think of as they broke all the rules of Earth..........​
May was daydreaming even more than usual. Was she on Earth at all?​
The faded sign read “Incomprehensible Magic” and was ignored by every passerby who stumbled blindly across the city in search of a tram, bus, taxi or car to go home. But may noticed this not as she opened the door and floated inside.​
It was like stepping into nothing. All around her was just black and cold with a prick of light taunting from the distance. May couldn’t breathe for wonder. Was this the space she had always dreamed of, a place that overturned the world’s conventions. Then cool lights came on.​
Strange blurs of colour swam in the air around her, indescribable yet beautiful. What seemed equivalent to shelves floated to the sides, brimming with strange objects that defied physics completely. May had to struggle to keep her eyes open as her brain overloaded with impossible images. Awesome, terrifying, and wonderful......better than the clouds, space, Brazil, everything.......​
Was she going loopy? May laughed loudly as her brain popped and tingled with the impossibility of the place.​
“Welcome, May.” said a voice.​
“Huh…who’s there?” whispered an awestruck May.​
“I am the man from the street before,” replied the voice.​

“Wait one moment, my friend. I will come out and see you in person.”​
The man suddenly appeared from nowhere, hovering amidst the dim but colour-rich background.​
“It’s impossible stuff, isn’t it?”​
“It’s impossible…” said May, but she felt more relaxed now. “My brain hurts…And I love it!!!!!!!!!”​
“That is because this defies all your science, your beliefs, your sense” replied the man.​
“Then why is it here? Why are you here?”​
“I have no explanation for either of those questions. But why should anything have to make sense? Many things in this world do not. Science cannot account for everything, my dear. Oh yes, why not buy something while you are here?”​
An inexplicable calm had taken over May, who swam carelessly over to a shelf and began fingering the strange products. The clouds above......these things could have been made out of clouds for all she knew, or something unknown to science......​
“I’d like three of these and a few of everything on this shelf!” cried May happily.​
“As you wish. That’ll be three minutes of your life for stopping by, then.”​
“Really? Thanks!” cried May.​
“Remember, not everything needs to have an explanation in life, dear. And take care of yourself. Your imagination is something very, very rare. Treasure it well. The exit will appear when you want it to.”​
Giggling softly, and slightly insanely, May wrapped her arms around him, and then swam over to the exit with her otherworldly purchases stuffed in her bag.​
“Goodbye” said the man as May vanished from the space, before exploding with a multicoloured bang.​
Three and a half hours later, May tumbled off the tram in front of the movie theatre, to see their sobbing parents on a bench a few metres away.​
“Mum, Dad, I made it! This has been the best birthday ever!” yelled May.​
“May!” wept their mother, rushing over to embrace them happily in her arms.​
“So, was your birthday ruined, then?? But I’m so glad you’re all right, May. Sorry you had a bad birthday...”​
“Me? Have a bad birthday?” chuckled May. “Nonsense!”​
 
Yay, this got stickied! ./obvious aside, I've got news in terms of my story in the OP.

----

As some of you may or may not know, I rewrote Floralis (dropped "the game") for Nanowrimo last year. Well, as the new version is often filled with grammar errors and the like, I'm currently (when I find the time) working on yet another rewrite--which I'll be posting in this thread as I complete chapters (and if it ever gets to the length of the current version, there'll be a ton of them; just ask alch >_>)

Looking forward to kicking off the dust and getting to work!
 
poems poems poems
wrote in 6 minuets via facebook chat
im thinking before i go to sleep
missing you in bed
maybe in just knee deep
thoughts of you running through my mind
blowing shit up
but nothing of the important kind
lying here my head is in the sheets
trying to hold down my wheaties
while thinking of you
girl
you control what im saying
sometimes what i do
like a Jewish puppeteer sniggering in between
the pews
i cant cry
because ive run dry
sitting here
tasting raspberries
and
looking at the sky
through this ceiling
i imagine
is twenty feet thik
its sometimes hard to see
what isnt laid out in front of me
so spell it out
dont leave me with these doubts
becasue i cant think
i'm being pulled
draining down the kitchen sink
 
More stuff!


In this world we see a lot
Of boring nouns like house,
Which rhyme with lots
Of other nouns like mouse and blouse and louse.
Our adjectives are glamorous,
Our verbs all like to twitch.
Expletives, never amorous,
Are wont to scream and bitch.
Conjunctions take the boring path,
But for other kindly words,
Bounce then collapse or explode and laugh,
They fly as if they’re birds.
Which brings us to contractions,
Which are shortened by a midge.
These strange words love detractions,
Like shouldn’t, wouldn’t, ‘fridge!
But to be fair our good friend ‘fridge,
Is an abbreviation.
To have the letters reduced a smidge,
Is quite an alleviation.
Pronouns such as he and she,
Him and her or it.
Significantly reduce the agony,
Of saying full names bit by bit.
Mira Alakweskipa,
Odin Tepidpits.
Snooty J. Merukimar,
Charlie Cloud St. Twits.
There are so many different ways,
To sprinkle round your thoughts,
Like adverbs, or in phrases, similes and metaphors.
There’s no way I could list them all,
I’m not even going to try.
But perhaps my favourite word of all,
Is the innocent, querulous “Why?”
Click to expand...
If you go to the house on the hill for a dare,
Remember my words and make sure to beware.

As you enter the house and turn on the light,
The spiders that follow will kiss you good-night.

If you pause to recline on the old-rocking chair,
Its thin wooden fingers will choke you of air.

Don't enter the kitchen if you value your lives,
Or else be prepared for a barrage of knives.

The bedroom closet will do you no harm,
Except to snap shut, and twist off your arm.

The attic room houses a deadly surprise,
A very hungry vampire and all of his wives.

If you take a nap in the baby's old bed,
You'll wake up just fine...except for being dead.

The balcony will crumble...., and then, you will tumble...
A great way to make yourself permanently humbled.

Even more horrors to give you a chill,
Wait if you visit the house on the hill...

If you go to the house on the hill for a dare,
Simply remember I told you:
BEWARE​
[/QUOTE]
He thought he saw a Water Rat​
Upon the mantelpiece.​
He looked again, and saw it was​
His Brother’s Little Brat.​
“If you do not leave,” he said​
“I’ll feed you to the cat!”​
He thought he saw a Deadly Snake​
That spoke to him in Greek.​
He looked again and saw it was​
A Heavily Armoured Sheep.​
“A pet like this,” the man remarked​
“Is one I’d like to keep!”​
He thought he saw an Orange Bug​
Disturbing passengers on the bus.​
He blinked his eyes and saw it was​
A Boil Filled With Pus.​
“It really isn’t nice,” he said.​
“To kick up such a fuss!”​
He thought he saw an Ugly Duck​
Squatting in the sink.​
He rubbed his face and saw it was​
The Rabid Missing Link.​
“Preposterous!” he yelled, upset​
“This horror makes a stink!”​
He thought he saw a Maltese Cat​
That lay down on the rug.​
He shook his head and saw it was​
A tiny purple Pug.​
“My God!” he cried in his dismay​
“I feel that I’ve been drugged!”​
Click to expand...
Please like! There's another story coming tomorrow, but I didn't save it to my USB so I can't transfer it.
EDIT TWO: Tags fixed.
 
3 new poems

mostly written when i was a bit pissed so dont expect much

the air through here
is stale and fake
gone the chilly breezes that
kept me awake
lying here
sweating through the mattress
saturating
this conversation isnt what i thought it would be
as i gimp along
i exclaim
we dont even make three-quarters of one
the shit that is forced is not longer fun
the words you speak
drowned out by my old bones creak
and the disco beats humming
the bass thumping
this isnt what i remembered it to be
im feeling a bit claustrophobic
pressed in by
unfamiliar skin
sweat lubricates bare skin
as alcohol does tongues
this just isnt enjoyable to me
i sit down and order a drink
hear the records spinning
the deejay think
this dream aint no omen
i think as i wake
more boring than i thought it could be
this shit is unappealing to me

hung up by the bootlace
stranded in this latitude
nothing to preoccupy the
mind
cannot get what is behind
its already fallen
you walked away and left it forgotten
as you walk this dusty road
wondering where your head is at
you may have found it
but it changes in a snap
just as you were thinking
over a box of cracker jacks
should have spent your two cents
on something low fat
but it gives you something
to gnaw on
chomping on the gristle
trudging slowly
through the rainy
drizzle
ive had a fucking bad day
mind is cemented
thats where its at

circle
the strangest of shapes
wondering if it has an end
it goes round round round
thinking silly
two dots and a line
this shit just turned into a frown
or is it a smile?
just one big pile
of jumbled up lines
like a coke fiend desperate
for a good time
what are they?
shapes i mean
stuck in a world where nothing is as it seems
aint got no spot to gleam
laying there on my page
perfectly round
bought from the doggie pound
should i return it to the
dog house?
get a triangle
sharp on the outside
dont care about no feelings
on my insides
was that a stretch?
perhaps i should take a rest.
 
NatGeo said:
Ok so I wrote this a while back but I just found this thread. :/
Anyways:
This is the proposed first chapter of a book I might or might not post, depends on feedback.

The Future Awaits


Chapter 1



Sometime in the future, New York City, former United States

Calendar date: Day 216, 102025 A.D (for those old records that use that, I don‘t even know what it means)​

Dear Journal,​

Well, to say the least, today was average and not so average.
I went to school around an hour after dawn. Dad had a chauffeur take me to the school building, which is about 10 miles away. Not to far on an aero. Once I was dropped off on the 20th floor lobby, I had to get with all of my classmates to class. Fist we had to copy down all the stuff we had learned yesterday as punishment for yesterday (well at least two thirds). You see, remember yesterday in class, when…. Oh, right. Well I’ll say it again. The guy who has to sit next to me in class (like I would ever get near him besides then) decided to bring an animal to school. The place is dead serious when it comes to stuff like that. Who wouldn’t when you have genetic testing on the human genome 2 doors down? Some genetic freak could come out of the embryonic chambers…. Yuk. I don’t wanna think about it.
Anyways, when they got wind of the animal, they locked down our floor and 2 floors down as well as above, not to mention the elevators. They took the squirrel where it was SUPPOSED to be (the Zoology Department) until Marc got out of detention. At least I don’t have to sit by him for a week.
After we got done copying, those who didn’t left to study hall for an hour and we started learning about the history of where we were standing - New York City. We had started a month ago, and we were already about 20,000 years after 9/11 (which is funny since the calendars put that date on as 47,999 B.S.E.). Apparently The USA had fallen about 3,000 years prior in favor of a corporate government, which ruled as the new C-C (Corporate Confederation) gained more and more territory until it controlled all of the Americas and the British Isles 200 years after its formation.
This reminds me, oddly enough, of something that happened a while prior. Apparently in the 1700s A.D. there was a company called the British East India Company that gained so much control while looking for spices, that when it dissolved several decades later, its home country got all of the Indian subcontinent, until it was liberated 100-something years afterwards.
Well, once we got done with our history seminar, we moved on to our math lessons, which didn’t take very long, since we were being fed simple algebra by our spoiled parents since we were 9 years of age. Our teacher bragged that her kids were the smartest within 1000 klicks of the school. I wanna say she was right, but Miss Solms is pretty darn cocky. We got some free time afterwards, but it was so boring that I think I took a catnap.
Then I went to my favorite time of the day - music class!! Since there are only three other people in this elective class, we did whatever we had in mind. Swift played on the guitar, Ling played on the flute, I messed with a drum (with an ocarina in my pocket), and Todd found a trumpet in the closet that he always used. It actually sounded pretty well. Then our teacher, Mr. Broburn, showed us how it was done when it came to a Tenor Saxophone. Man, I wish I had a recorder to catch it. That thing could lull me to sleep and wake me up it was so nice.
After we said our goodbyes for the day it was time to go to lunch. About a hundred other people came down to the 5th floor cafeteria. It’s hard to believe STAIRS go down there, but they do. I use them, but only because I’m a health nut due to my mom. I make a sweat, and pretty good time I had the local mush along with some fried.. ummm… tofu. Had some artificial orange juice to wash it down, though I think the manufacturers will never get all the chemicals of real oranges into a cup.
Then it was of to science class, where we did the same thing we had been doing for four weeks: Figuring out the genome of a chicken all by ourselves. To say the least I was just halfway done. No wonder I felt like napping half the time, even though our teacher is the most perky and peppy man I know. He’s probably sucking all our energy to stay that energetic.
When that ordeal was over, we went to fitness class, where some odd, buff holographic projection motivated us to work our bodies. Well, it was actually it was two. Both had no shirts to reveal a worked body. One spoke with a heavy German tongue, the other with a hint of Cantonese hidden in his harsh words. I remember asking the one with the black hair what his name was. He said it was Lee Jun-fan. No idea what that’s supposed to mean. Must have been some cultural icon from ages ago. They do that in all the public schools, since they can’t afford to pay for an actual teacher year-round, nor ones this customized. Most of the time it’s just a basic human shape projected to look like it’s there. Oh well. I guess I consider myself lucky for that.
Everyone has to shower before they leave for the day, myself included. Who wants to be sweaty in an aero that cost as much as a few small houses?! Though I must say the air vents will make you feel as if it never happened in 2 minutes.
Finally I thanked the chauffeur for the ride, and walked into my living quarters.
I had to some homework. Look up the date in which New York City was handed over to the largest corporation at the time, and convert it to standard dating for a free perfect grade. I had to compete with about fifteen other students, some fairly menacing. The chase was on.
Come to think of it, I had the advantage since we had to look in the Archives, and I knew this place like the back of my hand. Some were faster, stronger and bigger, but in this case I was smarter. Come to think of it, isn’t that how humanity got it’s start? Oh well.
I was sprinting down to section of the archives where I knew the records of NYC were kept. Then the largest guy in our class came barreling in my direction. He was Six feet tall with a sturdy build, with legs that could crush a back, and I would know because he will do that in self-defense. He was stomping in my direction at about half again the speed I was at. A small crowd was running behind him, eager to collect the spoils. I muttered some words that I shouldn’t repeat here. Dad checks these regularly, you know.
I threw some tacks down, since I knew something like this would happen. My pursuiters stopped for a few seconds, which was all I needed to get to the archives around the time that NYC was. If they didn’t pick it up, the cleaner droid will. Then I found a document that said something about NYC being handed over to Lancaster Moon and Space. I grabbed it, and hid in my own little place.
You see there are little chambers all over the archives that can be used to read in peace, and I knew where a fair few were. This is one of those times where they come in handy. I got the date (Christmas Day 26582 B.S.E.) and left the document where it was. Might as well give myself a chance. I then snuck out to my living quarters.
This only happened an hour ago, so I think I would remember.
It’s been like this ever since my parents made me go into school four years ago. You already know this, but I might as well tell it again.
For my entire life I have been tutored by my dad, who is the keeper of archives for one of the largest companies on Earth (In other words, the head librarian). Sound boring? Well the company has records going back millennia from around the world. Why else would they have an Archeology division? It’s Dad’s job to take care of all materials - digital or otherwise. Well, I take that back. There really haven’t been enough trees to make paper for about 20,000 years according to some records way in the back. Though we have records going back 103 millennia. Yeah. Apparently they bought these things called “the Dead Sea Scrolls”, if that is anything. Apparently it’s like some really old religious text about how an all-powerful deity gave his words to some guy named Isaiah. Oh well. Its in tight casing in a big vault SOMEWHERE in the archives.
The archives are too big for you to find your way around easily, which is why even at my age, I’m only allowed in about a third of the archives - which is still enough that it takes me a good 5 minutes to walk to the other side
I feel really primitive writing in this. I mean, come on, it’s PAPER. Everybody keeps there records on holovid recorder, with all their fanciness. The only reason I’m not doing that (Not that I don’t want to - I’m a typical teenager after all.) is that my father is the librarian is where they don’t just keep audio recordings but - you guessed it - paper books. Not that everyone is an illiterate slumdog (only a good quarter of us) - most of us can. We just are too lazy. Which brings me to another topic which I only know since my dad is the tutor to the CEO in charge of the whole thing.
Humanity is leaving this Earth of ours in 5 years.
Yes, in the 300,000 years we have spent on this Earth of ours, we have single-handedly trashed it. We’ve been at it for some time now - and I should know because my living area is in the back of the library where all of the oldest documents (or things containing them) are. Apparently since the 1850s to boot. Actually, it would be around 48150 Before Solar Expansion, but whatever. We have gradually grown lazier until we can’t even be bothered to use our own bodies, so the rich people replace a leg or and an arm with a piece of metal made to look nice and pretty. I hate to sound snobby, but I just had the hand I don’t write with replaced 2 years ago. Hey, at least I punch better. But back to the subject.
Apparently the CEO of the Brokers (that’s what they’re called - they are really Solar Enterprises Inc.) has collaborated with the Board of Colonization and decided with a few “very startling words from your daddy and the scientists” that the Earth would be far better if we packed up and left. Apparently at one point, the Earth was a lush green paradise in many parts of the world. Now a good two thirds of the Earth is metro area. This has caused companies like the Brokers to become so profitable - we need minerals and other vital materials from off of this planet, which is very pitiful. But hey, how else are you going to feed the materialistic lifestyles of 15 billion people packed into every nook and cranny possible, including as far underwater as we can go, not to mention 3 billion in orbit?
The Brokers plan to reveal their idea to all of the major space faring companies tomorrow. I personally wish them luck, which they have. More like influence. They control 3 quarters of all traffic in and out of Earth, not to mention half of all goods on Earth. I think their plan will go through.​

I’m looking back at all that I’ve written and thought “Ugh, I sound so much like Dad!” That’s probably because, well, he’s my dad. But that’s just an observation. I spent so much time tugging at his pants when I was much younger I daresay I believe half the stuff he says. I mean come on, the Rich living in STONE houses? No plumbing? Please. That could never happen. I tell my friends some of the “heritage” my dad says he found that day in the archives, and they just laugh it off. Oh well. If only Dad knew.
Dad says we started building cities of stone 210,000 years ago, and went from there, going through several periods of darkness, followed by a “renaissance”, whatever that means. Dad says it means rebirth in a really old language called Latin that was used by the greatest civilizations to ever exist in the early days of civilization. He says they were the best because they thought about life much, much more than we do today.
As a parting note, the CEO said I’ll be on the first and best ship, which has all the coolest people on it. That’s nice and all, but I want to stay with my friends. Oh well. Maybe I’ll actually get a holovid thing.
Now Good Night.
Aristotle Cahill
Age 17 as of day 53 of year 52025​

​
​
Click to expand...


Can I have some critique for this? I'm thinking about expanding on the story, but I don't exactly know where to start.
​
 
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