So, I don't know if I told of one of my recent ideas. When I was younger, I wrote about two girls who one day, when they were playing their computer, were sucked into the game. Now, the story was never finished, and actually was quiet bad. (hey, I was young!)
The basic premise, though, wasn't that bad, so I thought I would rewrite. It's drastically different from the original, though it still contains two girls and one crazy computer.
I thought that I would post the first chapter here...
“Maeve!”
I winced as I heard my name, the intensity and proximity propelled me to groan, and I buried my head under my pillow.
“Maeve! I’m stuck!”
My covers were cruelly thrown off, and I curled up in a ball, protesting the sudden cold.
“Maeve, wake up already!”
Next to go was the pillow that was sheltering my eyes from the harsh light. It was torn away, and at this injustice I decided I had had enough.
“Kyla,” I growled, sitting up and glaring at my sister.
At this ungodly hour in the morning it was extremely disconcerting to glare at my sister; it was like glaring into a mirror.
“Kyla, what in the world could possess you to be so,” I struggled to find the word, my mind still muddled with sleep. “Awake!”
“Maeve, it’s nine o’clock,” she pointed out, her eyes wide.
“Kyla, it is Saturday,” I exclaimed, falling back on my bed, and covering my head with my arms.
“Come on, get up! I’m stuck-”
“What?” I peered up at her, confused.
“That game you introduced me to?” she said, tapping her foot.” Remember?”
“No,” I lied, closing my eyes again.
“I’m stuck, and you will get no sleep until you help me.” Kyla knew that she had won, and her tone held a victory ring.
“I hate you.” With as much dignity as I could possibly muster this early, I rose and with one last glare at my sister, I sat down at the computer desk.
“Well, thank you,” Kyla said, as if I had not been coerced but rather by my own free came to help her.
“Why did I ever give you this game?” I lamented, as I viewed the computer screen.
“Because you are my sister and you love me?” Kyla suggested, leaning over my shoulder to see the screen.
“Ha,” I said shortly. “Okay, what’s the problem?”
“Well, I’ve battled all through this temple thing, and now I ready to go into the boss of all bosses’ room and well, battle the boss, but the problem is-”
“The door is locked, and you have to solve the code to get in,” I finished her sentence, frowning as I considered the situation, absently clicking my fingernails against the mouse.
“I’ve completed half of the little riddle, but I can not get the second half-”
“And you found that more important than my sleep?” I irritably interrupted her.
“Maeve, I’ve been working on this for at least one hour-”
“Do you sleep?”
“Yes, I do, but I don’t waste the morning away like you,” she said curtly. “Can you finish it?”
“Well I don’t know, I just woke up,” I grumbled, my eyes scanning the screen, finding a way to solve the riddle. The riddle was not an overly hard one, but then again, I always had a knack for solving riddles, one particular trait that I did not share with my twin.
“It’s a really good game, I’m glad that your friend showed it to you,” Kyla said as I started the finish the riddle.
Aside from the lack of sleep issue, I was glad that my friend had pointed the game out. We were both in a store, and I was lamenting the fact that I had nothing to give to Kyla for her birthday-well technically for our birthday. The friend pointed to a popular fantasy video game, the type that my eyes had instinctively passed over. Lucky for me, it was a hit.
I opened my mouth to tell Kyla that I had almost finished the riddle, but my words were cut off by a large vibrating sound.
“What the crap is that?” I cried, annoyed.
“I don’t know,” Kyla replied evenly, as if the sound didn’t matter.
“Kyla, it sounds like it’s coming from the computer,” I told her, trying to get some sort of reaction from her. The vibrating sound increased in volume until the low buzz shook the desk.
“Zut, what is that?”
I rolled my eyes. Trust my sister to cuss in French.
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound good,” I said, slowly pushing the chair away from the desk. The brown wood bounced with the vibration. Pens fell off, clattering on the wooden floor.
“What did you do to it?” Kyla cried, as the image on the screen became distorted.
“I didn’t do anything!” I cried back. “I just woke up! Don’t blame me! I didn’t do anything to the stupid computer.”
The vibrating noise was starting to change frequency into a lower pitch, and the desk’s shaking slowed down.
“Good, it’s over.” Kyla breathed a sigh of relief.
Then, with one large ripping sound, everything went black.
********
“Maeve? Maeve, wake up.” Someone was shaking my shoulder, and for a minute I was confused.
It must have been a dream, I realized. Granted, a very vivid dream, but a dream nonetheless.
“What?” I mumbled, wanting to sleep for just a bit longer.
“Maeve, wake up.” My sister’s voice held a frantic note to it that I had never heard before.
“What, Kyla?” I asked bringing my head up to look at her.
“What the-” I was unable to find a fitting word, though my mind did run through a good many four letter ones to fill in the blank. My eyes scanned the large room, getting wider, as if to help me process what I was seeing. The floor that I stood on was stone, or at least, it appeared to be stone, the rough material inlaid with some swirling pattern. My eyes slowly pulled up from the floor, viewing the wide chamber. In the middle was a perfectly circular pool, and the water in it was still, reflecting the darkness above like a mirror. The room itself was circular as well, and the little lighting hid the ceiling from view. Little lantern type devices were attached everything three or four feet along the wall, which confirmed my suspicion that the room was circular. Along the pool, acting like some sort of barrier, were columns, majestically rising their dark fingers dissolving into the black above us.
“Kyla, what in the world-”
“I didn’t do anything,” she broke in before I could formally accuse her.
“You didn’t? Then who did?” I exclaimed.
“I don’t know! If I was immature, I would throw your comment back, and proclaim foolishly that you did it. That is pointless though, as if you did,” she paused, throwing her hands out for emphasis, “this, I think that you would not be here.”
Her implied insult, the insinuation that I was being immature in accusing her, was enough to add fuel to my anger, but I bit back my snappy reply. Hard as it was, I didn’t think that fighting would help anything.
“Okay, so, let’s start at the beginning,” I said, taking a deep breath before coughing from the smoke. Glaring at the lantern that was fixed to the wall next to me, my concentration was broken when I realized that I felt heavier than normal. Looking down, I let out a startled yelp. Gone were my fuzzy pajama bottoms, replaced by some dark pants. The fabric, which felt thicker than blue jeans, was fit tight against my upper legs, and disappeared into my dark brown boots. On my left side hung a sword, the hilt protruding from a brown scabbard that was covering with abstract blue designs. The sword hung on a leather belt of sorts. Along the leather belt, which was a few inches wide, hung various pouches, making me feel more like a carpenter than a swordsman. Pushing my arms out in front of me, I saw that I was wearing a dark brown tunic, which was tucked into my belt. The tunic’s sleeves were cut off at the shoulders, and under it I was wearing a black long sleeved shirt.
My eyes jumped to my sister, and saw that she wore an identical outfit.
Oh boy, I thought sourly. Perfect. My identical twin and I are wearing the exact same thing. This was exactly what I avoided ever since I was little. A lot of twins like to dress alike, but I was not one of them.
“Oh, that makes sense.” My sister’s voice was pleasantly surprised, and her emotion was so different from mine that for a second I was at a loss for words.
“What the heck are you talking about? How could you sound so, so-” I exclaimed, trying to think of the right word. “Not panicking! We are in different freaking clothes! I have a, a sword on my side. Doesn’t that creep you out in the least?”
Her green eyes stared back at me, wide and unassuming, a quizzical look in them as if wondering what my sudden outburst was about.
“Well yes, it is a bit disturbing,” she said evenly. “But it’s only logical.”
“Logical?” I echoed, not believing my hearing.
She rolled her eyes, impatient that I didn’t understand. “Maeve, look around. Ring a bell?”
I slowly viewed the chamber again. There was one thing that I had missed in my initial shock. On the opposite side of the pool lit by two torches on either side was a large, circular inset, the stone a light grey. My eyes flittered over the other small details. Leading down to the pool, on all sides, were grey stone steps, with black designs painted upon them. The columns were a dark, dark red. The ceiling was still clouded in darkness. The lantern next to me was hissing. There was nothing that I could see that explained where we were.
“Sorry Kyla, but there are no bells ringing,” I said. My anger and disbelief were beginning to dissipate, and I felt a little shell shocked. It was just so real; I could feel the stone beneath my boots, I could feel the heat coming from the lantern to my right. I knew if I reached out, I could run my hand over the rough stone of the column.
“Well, it makes sense. After all, you did not play that often,” Kyla mused.
“Explain yourself,” I said shortly. If I didn’t, she could go on for hours, her runic and cryptic sentences doing nothing but making me angry.
“Maeve, this, well this is,” her hands wind milled about as searched for the right words. “This is, Haven.”
“Haven?” I repeated dumbly, wondering briefly if Kyla had hit her head.
“Yes, you know-”
“No.” My voice was soft, but it was enough to stop my sister. I thought back to that day in the store. There had been so many computer games; I was at a loss to find one that she would like. I never was one for fantasy games, not like Kyla. I was contemplating just picking up a gift card, until my friend pointed to one. It looked just like the next one, a glossy cover showing some young man dressed oddly with a sword in one hand. Its’ name had been in raised, white large print, spelling out the name of this particular fantasy game.
The name had been Haven.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Prompt: It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between. (12/21/08)
My response is not really related to the prompt, not like the rest are. It's not as good as yesterdays, I did not enjoy writing it as much. I did get more words though.
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(December 21, 2008)
Prompt: It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.
Time: 15 min.
Words: 834
The books were too heavy for me, and my arms burned with the energy I used simply to hold them, but my pride forbade me to release them. I took large, leaping steps with every intention to reach my destination within the shortest amount of time. My steps were too large for carefulness, and I misstep landing on a fallen book. The leg was torn out from under me, yet somehow I managed to grasp my balance and hold it, balancing on one leg only, until I regained use of the errant leg. Shaking my head, I swung my sweaty hair out of my face. It was hot up here, as hot air always rose, in this attic study. I made no complainants, for who was to hear me? Could I complain to the very person that I kept the study a secret from?
I reached my destination at least, my arms trembling before giving out, and not a moment too soon. The books crashed upon my desk, spreading out in a messy pile. The crash was not a silent one, loud and obnoxious as most crashes tend to be, and for a second my breath caught in my throat, and I cast a worried glance at the door, as if expecting Uncle to tear it open any second. But Uncle was gone, and I was all alone, for the moment at least. Taking a deep breath, I turned my back to my desk, surveying my messy attic.
It was not pretty, not by any standards. What little space there was, was covered in something, be it books, paper, clothes, perhaps a cot to sleep on-there was not empty space, and not a glimpse of the wooden floor was to be seen. Absently, I made my way to the only window there was, my feet automatically falling a tricky path, the only safe passage from one wall to another. On instinct, without my thoughts, my feet passed over things that would trip them up, choosing a path that allowed me to reach the window safe. Leaning my elbows on the dusty, paint splattered table, I pressed my face close to the window, peering out. The window was spotless, one of the few things in the room that could boast that. I had taken special care in it, as it was precious, allowing my a glimpse of the beauty of the outdoors.
I didn’t know much about the wilderness outside the house. What I did know of it was locked away in dusty, decaying memories that were discolored with time. If Uncle knew of this window…
If Uncle knew of this study, I reminded myself, forcing my thoughts into a more pleasant realm. Dancing away from the window, I lightly jumped, my arms flowing out in what I assumed to be artistic and light hearted. In reality, I had only read of dancing, and had never seen any type of ballet. Even so, I was sure that I rivaled the best as I twisted and twirled, my feet deftly landing softly, never tripping up over anything. I reached my destination, the left wall, and absently ran my finger over the books that were housed in the shelf. There was dust on a few-evidence of a hobby that I had discarded-but most was fresh, and looked as good as new.
At least I hoped. The ones I were done with would make the dangerous journey from my study to Uncle’s library. Uncle was rarely in the library, a rare blessing for me. The blessing allowed me to journey to and from his library with just a little less danger than every other trip. Even so, the journey to the library was not without danger. If I was caught…
Stop that, I told myself, moving away from the shelf to flop down on the pile of blankets I had amassed and laid on top of the cot I had nicked from maids. The maids like me, or they took pity on me, and often risked facing Uncle’s wrath by smuggling things to me, such as the cot, and the blankets.
I lay on top the blankets, my eyes open, but my mind not seeing the ceiling. Instead, I was running through a meadow, with the honey colored grass, and the wind that blows so softly against my hair. I was feeling the golden blessing of the sun, and dancing and twirling about, as deft as a nature spirit.
Suddenly, I jumped up, anger replacing the joy I had. Why were all my dreams built form books, rather then memories? Why did I have to imagine what walking through a meadow would be like? Why was I forced inside? Why….
My anger was crumbling against the well of despair that always appeared when I was angry at my Uncle. Why couldn’t I see the sky? Why couldn’t I know the pleasures of laying out in the sun for hours? Why couldn’t I see what I’ve always read about?
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
(December 21, 2008)
Prompt: It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.
Time: 15 min.
Words: 834
The books were too heavy for me, and my arms burned with the energy I used simply to hold them, but my pride forbade me to release them. I took large, leaping steps with every intention to reach my destination within the shortest amount of time. My steps were too large for carefulness, and I misstep landing on a fallen book. The leg was torn out from under me, yet somehow I managed to grasp my balance and hold it, balancing on one leg only, until I regained use of the errant leg. Shaking my head, I swung my sweaty hair out of my face. It was hot up here, as hot air always rose, in this attic study. I made no complainants, for who was to hear me? Could I complain to the very person that I kept the study a secret from?
I reached my destination at least, my arms trembling before giving out, and not a moment too soon. The books crashed upon my desk, spreading out in a messy pile. The crash was not a silent one, loud and obnoxious as most crashes tend to be, and for a second my breath caught in my throat, and I cast a worried glance at the door, as if expecting Uncle to tear it open any second. But Uncle was gone, and I was all alone, for the moment at least. Taking a deep breath, I turned my back to my desk, surveying my messy attic.
It was not pretty, not by any standards. What little space there was, was covered in something, be it books, paper, clothes, perhaps a cot to sleep on-there was not empty space, and not a glimpse of the wooden floor was to be seen. Absently, I made my way to the only window there was, my feet automatically falling a tricky path, the only safe passage from one wall to another. On instinct, without my thoughts, my feet passed over things that would trip them up, choosing a path that allowed me to reach the window safe. Leaning my elbows on the dusty, paint splattered table, I pressed my face close to the window, peering out. The window was spotless, one of the few things in the room that could boast that. I had taken special care in it, as it was precious, allowing my a glimpse of the beauty of the outdoors.
I didn’t know much about the wilderness outside the house. What I did know of it was locked away in dusty, decaying memories that were discolored with time. If Uncle knew of this window…
If Uncle knew of this study, I reminded myself, forcing my thoughts into a more pleasant realm. Dancing away from the window, I lightly jumped, my arms flowing out in what I assumed to be artistic and light hearted. In reality, I had only read of dancing, and had never seen any type of ballet. Even so, I was sure that I rivaled the best as I twisted and twirled, my feet deftly landing softly, never tripping up over anything. I reached my destination, the left wall, and absently ran my finger over the books that were housed in the shelf. There was dust on a few-evidence of a hobby that I had discarded-but most was fresh, and looked as good as new.
At least I hoped. The ones I were done with would make the dangerous journey from my study to Uncle’s library. Uncle was rarely in the library, a rare blessing for me. The blessing allowed me to journey to and from his library with just a little less danger than every other trip. Even so, the journey to the library was not without danger. If I was caught…
Stop that, I told myself, moving away from the shelf to flop down on the pile of blankets I had amassed and laid on top of the cot I had nicked from maids. The maids like me, or they took pity on me, and often risked facing Uncle’s wrath by smuggling things to me, such as the cot, and the blankets.
I lay on top the blankets, my eyes open, but my mind not seeing the ceiling. Instead, I was running through a meadow, with the honey colored grass, and the wind that blows so softly against my hair. I was feeling the golden blessing of the sun, and dancing and twirling about, as deft as a nature spirit.
Suddenly, I jumped up, anger replacing the joy I had. Why were all my dreams built form books, rather then memories? Why did I have to imagine what walking through a meadow would be like? Why was I forced inside? Why….
My anger was crumbling against the well of despair that always appeared when I was angry at my Uncle. Why couldn’t I see the sky? Why couldn’t I know the pleasures of laying out in the sun for hours? Why couldn’t I see what I’ve always read about?
Friday, December 19, 2008
Prompt: He who pursues fame at the risk of losing his self is not a scholar. (12/18/08)
I know, a prompt! It has been so long-I've been so busy. Basically, I tried to continue writing on the story that I mentioned in my last post but I just couldn't get over the self-doubt. So I decided to do a prompt. I tried to get some from NaNo but I could not find a relatively clean one so I ended up searching for a quote's website, and found-
"He who pursues fame at the risk of losing his self is not a scholar." Which was said by some guy who by the name looks Chinese. Anyway! As I wrote the story unraveled and I remembered the sheer joy of writing. I knew what the next sentence was, but in the beginning I had no idea what they were talking about. As I wrote, it came to me, bit by bit. It's one of the only stories that I don't have a good ending sentence, I wrote one, but since I had a minute or so left, I decided to continue.
What's interesting about this prompt is that it is not really relatable to the actually prompt. The prompt gave me a setting, and a vague idea, but my characters sort of took over and took it in a different direction.
EDIT: Haha! You know what? I actually misread the quote completely! In my mind, for some reason 'fame' was replaced with knowledge...I'm glad I did misread it; reading over, I would not have chosen it (and thus would not have written what I did) if I had correctly read the quote.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
(December 18, 2008)
Prompt: He who pursues fame at the risk of losing his self is not a scholar.
Time: 15 min.
Words: 774
He doesn’t see me, not yet at least. His head is bent downwards and for a second my heart skips a beat, fearing that my dream had been realized. My breath came back when I was close enough to realize that the angle it was bent at was natural.
“Zack? Zack?” I called out, threading my way through the books. The room was covered with shelves upon shelves of books. Briefly, my eye was caught on the bookshelf that lined the wall to my right.
“Ancient Greek Literature,” I read out loud, one finger running through the dust that had accumulated upon the surface.
“Zack, where are you?” I called out, stretching up, trying to catch a glimpse of his brown hair.
“Over here,” he responded, his soft voice nearly lost in the dusty tomes.
I slowly made my way through the books, following the sound of his voice.
“Listen to this, Erin. ‘For all things were given to me, but not all things shall be given unto you. He who asks receives, he who wants gets.’”
“Sounds like the Bible,” I muttered, turning a corner and seeing him once again. He was sitting, his back up against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. His eyes flickered from me back to the book.
“No,” he said suddenly. “No, not the Bible. It’s by a writer who liked to think he was holy enough to be in the Bible.”
Slowly, I crouched down, waiting for him to finally meet my eyes. His silver eyes darted all over the room, refusing to settle down on me.
“Zack, look at me,” I said softly. His eyes reluctantly look at me, their silver lakes reflecting back my emotions at me.
“There isn’t any reason to be afraid,” I told him, but my eyes were worse liars than me, and I found myself unable to keep eye contact.
“I know,” he whispered, but we both heard the ill concealed lie within those two words. We were both afraid, more afraid then I could remember ever having been.
I struggled to find the right words. “You, you never know…he may come back unharmed.”
Zack’s eyes shone at me with more force. “We both know that that is wishful thinking.”
I hesitated, letting my quick reply die on my lips. “Zack, he was-“
“I know what he was, Erin, there is no need to beat it over my head once more. Gods know I’ve heard enough times to recite. ‘He’s my brother, my brother’”, he mimicked my voice, raising it about two octaves too high.
I stayed silent. Zack was scared, and in his fear he was lashing out- and I very easily could be doing to same.
“Zack, I know that it isn’t easy, and that, that it…” my voice faltered and then faded out. I had no words to comfort him, no thoughts that I could comfort even myself.
“Just say it,” he commanded suddenly, his voice tough.
“Say what?” I asked, viewing him confused.
“Just go out and say it; you wish I was the one gone, not John,” his voice was deadly, the sharp edge cutting.
“Zack!” I gasped, shocked. “I could never say that!”
He ignored my protests. “Just say it! You wish that I was gone- and may never return. You would rather John take my place.
“Zack, we talked this out! We all have our parts. John was to go first, you know that! I wish it was safer for him, that’s true, but I….I don’t want you gone as well.” My voice dwindled until it was nothing more than a whisper.
The angry wall behind his eyes started to crumble away under my words. I saw underneath them a fear, a chilling, choking fear that I felt rising up in my own chest.
“Something went wrong,” I whispered, my eyes catching his. His eyes were on mine, and I saw the same conviction written deep in there swirling deeps.
“Something happened to John.”
We tore down the halls, sliding to a stop as we tried to remember which way to go. Was it left or right? Which old wooden hallway housed out answer? The very answer that was the more important thing in the world right now. Where was he?
“Didn’t the professor say that it was…it was in the left wing?” Zack panted, his eyes wild.
“I, I don’t remember!” I cried out, frustrated and scared.
“Left!” He cried out, upon sudden inspiration.
I didn’t pause to argue; instead I tore down the hall after him. The portraits, the flowers-everything was a blur as I raced after my brother.
"He who pursues fame at the risk of losing his self is not a scholar." Which was said by some guy who by the name looks Chinese. Anyway! As I wrote the story unraveled and I remembered the sheer joy of writing. I knew what the next sentence was, but in the beginning I had no idea what they were talking about. As I wrote, it came to me, bit by bit. It's one of the only stories that I don't have a good ending sentence, I wrote one, but since I had a minute or so left, I decided to continue.
What's interesting about this prompt is that it is not really relatable to the actually prompt. The prompt gave me a setting, and a vague idea, but my characters sort of took over and took it in a different direction.
EDIT: Haha! You know what? I actually misread the quote completely! In my mind, for some reason 'fame' was replaced with knowledge...I'm glad I did misread it; reading over, I would not have chosen it (and thus would not have written what I did) if I had correctly read the quote.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
(December 18, 2008)
Prompt: He who pursues fame at the risk of losing his self is not a scholar.
Time: 15 min.
Words: 774
He doesn’t see me, not yet at least. His head is bent downwards and for a second my heart skips a beat, fearing that my dream had been realized. My breath came back when I was close enough to realize that the angle it was bent at was natural.
“Zack? Zack?” I called out, threading my way through the books. The room was covered with shelves upon shelves of books. Briefly, my eye was caught on the bookshelf that lined the wall to my right.
“Ancient Greek Literature,” I read out loud, one finger running through the dust that had accumulated upon the surface.
“Zack, where are you?” I called out, stretching up, trying to catch a glimpse of his brown hair.
“Over here,” he responded, his soft voice nearly lost in the dusty tomes.
I slowly made my way through the books, following the sound of his voice.
“Listen to this, Erin. ‘For all things were given to me, but not all things shall be given unto you. He who asks receives, he who wants gets.’”
“Sounds like the Bible,” I muttered, turning a corner and seeing him once again. He was sitting, his back up against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. His eyes flickered from me back to the book.
“No,” he said suddenly. “No, not the Bible. It’s by a writer who liked to think he was holy enough to be in the Bible.”
Slowly, I crouched down, waiting for him to finally meet my eyes. His silver eyes darted all over the room, refusing to settle down on me.
“Zack, look at me,” I said softly. His eyes reluctantly look at me, their silver lakes reflecting back my emotions at me.
“There isn’t any reason to be afraid,” I told him, but my eyes were worse liars than me, and I found myself unable to keep eye contact.
“I know,” he whispered, but we both heard the ill concealed lie within those two words. We were both afraid, more afraid then I could remember ever having been.
I struggled to find the right words. “You, you never know…he may come back unharmed.”
Zack’s eyes shone at me with more force. “We both know that that is wishful thinking.”
I hesitated, letting my quick reply die on my lips. “Zack, he was-“
“I know what he was, Erin, there is no need to beat it over my head once more. Gods know I’ve heard enough times to recite. ‘He’s my brother, my brother’”, he mimicked my voice, raising it about two octaves too high.
I stayed silent. Zack was scared, and in his fear he was lashing out- and I very easily could be doing to same.
“Zack, I know that it isn’t easy, and that, that it…” my voice faltered and then faded out. I had no words to comfort him, no thoughts that I could comfort even myself.
“Just say it,” he commanded suddenly, his voice tough.
“Say what?” I asked, viewing him confused.
“Just go out and say it; you wish I was the one gone, not John,” his voice was deadly, the sharp edge cutting.
“Zack!” I gasped, shocked. “I could never say that!”
He ignored my protests. “Just say it! You wish that I was gone- and may never return. You would rather John take my place.
“Zack, we talked this out! We all have our parts. John was to go first, you know that! I wish it was safer for him, that’s true, but I….I don’t want you gone as well.” My voice dwindled until it was nothing more than a whisper.
The angry wall behind his eyes started to crumble away under my words. I saw underneath them a fear, a chilling, choking fear that I felt rising up in my own chest.
“Something went wrong,” I whispered, my eyes catching his. His eyes were on mine, and I saw the same conviction written deep in there swirling deeps.
“Something happened to John.”
We tore down the halls, sliding to a stop as we tried to remember which way to go. Was it left or right? Which old wooden hallway housed out answer? The very answer that was the more important thing in the world right now. Where was he?
“Didn’t the professor say that it was…it was in the left wing?” Zack panted, his eyes wild.
“I, I don’t remember!” I cried out, frustrated and scared.
“Left!” He cried out, upon sudden inspiration.
I didn’t pause to argue; instead I tore down the hall after him. The portraits, the flowers-everything was a blur as I raced after my brother.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Mourning...
I feel horrible for not getting anything done with my story...I realize how much I miss NaNo. NaNo was just that prod, that burning iron in my back that pushed me forward. No matter how much I squirm, or fought back, that prod pushed me further and further down the treacherous path of my novel.
And that right there told me I need to be writing. I normally don't go into that much detail over something that trivial. I need to write. I want to wright. So why don't I?
I don't know why. I just won't settle down and actually /write/. I need to.
Okay, now I'm sounding repetitive. I think the reason why I am hesitant to start out with Kyle and Maeve is because right after NaNo I started with another story. I wrote about three pages, and-I don't say this often-but it was really good. As in, really good. The description was unique and spot on, creative and fun to read. It was just perfect.
Then my computer went through a power outage and I lost everything. I had to completely re-write those pages, and what I rewrote was nothing like the original. Of course since I can't see the original, I think of it has perfectly sent from heaven while it really wasn't. I guess I was still mourning the loss of my work when I rewrote, and now all I can do is look upon the story with disgust. I like the plot, it grew out of a daydream (as all my plots do), and it was actually based around one scene that was playing over and over in my head.
A young girl-teen-is dressed in dirty, wet clothes, a loose fitting white tunic over ill fitting brown pants. Her hair hangs, dirty and unwashed over her dirt-smudged face. Her shinning blue eyes glare out defiantly, which fear hiding in them. She is surrounded by a circle of men who resemble Native Americans. They are outside, close to a river. She is almost bent over, fearful turning in a circle, trying to keep her fear off of her face. They intend to sell her as a slave, she was captured by a man who is in the circle. The man brought her here, and then displayed this stranger to the rest of the slave traders. They had never seen a girl like her, with her fair skin and dark orange hair. She knows their intentions (though I'm not sure if she understands their language) and fears gives her the energy to break away, struggling out of one of their grasps and running towards the river, away from them. They chase after her, and when the reach the river she plunges in. Only one is close enough now, the others have all stayed behind. He plunges in behind her, and catches her. Because it is shallow, he stands, one hand securely on her arm. To teach her a lesson (after all, she is to be a slave and rebellion is not tolerated) he pushes her almost carelessly under. After waiting until her trashing stops, he yanks her up. She is not dead, but severely shaken to say the least. Even though she is shaken, she still is rebellious. Her arm is wet, and slips out of his hold when he exists the water. She takes advantage of this, and bolts off, down the river. There is a horse (she doesn't know why at the time) that is taking a drink, just a little ways down. She's crazed with fear and the shock of the near death, so she is yelling at the horse, yelling it to stop, stay there and let her get on and then run off.
When she reaches the horse, she realizes that she doesn't have to energy to mount it. The horse bends down, and somehow she gets on it. The second she is on, the horse shoots off, carrying her away.
Wow, that went on a lot longer than I had expected it to. What it did do was pipe my interest in writing it again. Which is good. =)
And that right there told me I need to be writing. I normally don't go into that much detail over something that trivial. I need to write. I want to wright. So why don't I?
I don't know why. I just won't settle down and actually /write/. I need to.
Okay, now I'm sounding repetitive. I think the reason why I am hesitant to start out with Kyle and Maeve is because right after NaNo I started with another story. I wrote about three pages, and-I don't say this often-but it was really good. As in, really good. The description was unique and spot on, creative and fun to read. It was just perfect.
Then my computer went through a power outage and I lost everything. I had to completely re-write those pages, and what I rewrote was nothing like the original. Of course since I can't see the original, I think of it has perfectly sent from heaven while it really wasn't. I guess I was still mourning the loss of my work when I rewrote, and now all I can do is look upon the story with disgust. I like the plot, it grew out of a daydream (as all my plots do), and it was actually based around one scene that was playing over and over in my head.
A young girl-teen-is dressed in dirty, wet clothes, a loose fitting white tunic over ill fitting brown pants. Her hair hangs, dirty and unwashed over her dirt-smudged face. Her shinning blue eyes glare out defiantly, which fear hiding in them. She is surrounded by a circle of men who resemble Native Americans. They are outside, close to a river. She is almost bent over, fearful turning in a circle, trying to keep her fear off of her face. They intend to sell her as a slave, she was captured by a man who is in the circle. The man brought her here, and then displayed this stranger to the rest of the slave traders. They had never seen a girl like her, with her fair skin and dark orange hair. She knows their intentions (though I'm not sure if she understands their language) and fears gives her the energy to break away, struggling out of one of their grasps and running towards the river, away from them. They chase after her, and when the reach the river she plunges in. Only one is close enough now, the others have all stayed behind. He plunges in behind her, and catches her. Because it is shallow, he stands, one hand securely on her arm. To teach her a lesson (after all, she is to be a slave and rebellion is not tolerated) he pushes her almost carelessly under. After waiting until her trashing stops, he yanks her up. She is not dead, but severely shaken to say the least. Even though she is shaken, she still is rebellious. Her arm is wet, and slips out of his hold when he exists the water. She takes advantage of this, and bolts off, down the river. There is a horse (she doesn't know why at the time) that is taking a drink, just a little ways down. She's crazed with fear and the shock of the near death, so she is yelling at the horse, yelling it to stop, stay there and let her get on and then run off.
When she reaches the horse, she realizes that she doesn't have to energy to mount it. The horse bends down, and somehow she gets on it. The second she is on, the horse shoots off, carrying her away.
Wow, that went on a lot longer than I had expected it to. What it did do was pipe my interest in writing it again. Which is good. =)
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
No school today either....
Which is good, I suppose. Tomorrow I have my two hardest (along with one easy) semester tests, so I have more time to study.
Yeah.
I find that I am quiet good at, well, not doing anything constructive. So far I've, read my book, watched X-Files, knitted, played piano, and organized some loose sheet music.
None of these involved my book, or my tests. Ops.
Oh well, I guess I can get started on those now...
*cough* Actually right now I'm about to play Zelda on my Wii. Talk about being constructive. While I'm playing, I'm going to be reading all the chapter essay's I've written for history, in hopes of reviewing for the AP class. Since it's AP, the test will be...well horrible. It will cover sixteen chapters, with a twenty question cushion! This is the awesome part of the class. I can miss twenty questions and get a 100.
Not that that's gonna happen, but still.
I planned on plotting some in the post but that hasn't happened yet, and now I'm off to play Zelda. :)
Yeah.
I find that I am quiet good at, well, not doing anything constructive. So far I've, read my book, watched X-Files, knitted, played piano, and organized some loose sheet music.
None of these involved my book, or my tests. Ops.
Oh well, I guess I can get started on those now...
*cough* Actually right now I'm about to play Zelda on my Wii. Talk about being constructive. While I'm playing, I'm going to be reading all the chapter essay's I've written for history, in hopes of reviewing for the AP class. Since it's AP, the test will be...well horrible. It will cover sixteen chapters, with a twenty question cushion! This is the awesome part of the class. I can miss twenty questions and get a 100.
Not that that's gonna happen, but still.
I planned on plotting some in the post but that hasn't happened yet, and now I'm off to play Zelda. :)
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
No school!
So, yesterday, starting about 2:30 pm it started to sleet. This continued the whole day, and into the night. Thus, no school today!
Also, I just found out, there will be no school tomorrow! =D
Of course this really screws up the semester test schedule and means that we will have to attend school on Friday to take some of the tests, a day I had previous had off, but who cares.
All of this should mean that I am on schedule, nay, I should be ahead of schedule....
Yeah.
Should be, being the key word here.
No, I haven't done anything. I still don't really have a plot, though bits and pieces are coming to me as I do other things. I really should sit down and plot out what happens...
Well, here is what I know so far:
-Two twins, whose names are Kyla and Maeve. They are identical twins, with long black hair, pale skin, and vivid green eyes. They are Irish, and are the rare 'black' Irish. Their mother has the traditional Irish beauty, long red hair, but their father has the black hair-they got their looks from him.
--Maeve can be bitter to her sister because her sister is the one that (Maeve thinks) gets all the attention at their high school. Maeve is arguably the smartest of the two, though both are very intelligent. Boys are just falling over her, and everyone seems to want to talk to her, rather than Maeve. Because she wanted to stand out from her sister and be different, she recently streaked her hair bright red/orange. By the time of the story, she has returned to her natural black color, though I'm not sure why. I do know that sometime (before or during the story) they reconcile their grievances against each other (Maeve sees it through her sisters eyes, and realizes that she has friends who like her for who she is, and people who want to talk to her, not her sister) This may be why she has her natural black back, but I thought this scene would take place in the middle of the story, when the twins are in a trying and stressful situation and things boil over.
---Kyla is completely clueless with relationships, so she doesn't understand when Maeve is jealous. I think she has been on at least one date without ever realizing that she had even been asked out.
Yeah.
Anyway, Kyla is somewhat jealous of the independent spirit she feels her sister has. She is worried that she is, truly, simply a follower, lacking the authority and independence that her sister has. Kyla has never really been alone, and takes for granted her sister and friends. A while back, she streaked her hair purple. Why she did this, I'm not sure. I think she did this because she felt that she paled before her sisters' fiery personality, and when Maeve dyed her hair red, Kyla thought it was natural to follow.
Hmmm...I think that's it for now. That's pretty good, it's nice to get things written down.
Also, I just found out, there will be no school tomorrow! =D
Of course this really screws up the semester test schedule and means that we will have to attend school on Friday to take some of the tests, a day I had previous had off, but who cares.
All of this should mean that I am on schedule, nay, I should be ahead of schedule....
Yeah.
Should be, being the key word here.
No, I haven't done anything. I still don't really have a plot, though bits and pieces are coming to me as I do other things. I really should sit down and plot out what happens...
Well, here is what I know so far:
-Two twins, whose names are Kyla and Maeve. They are identical twins, with long black hair, pale skin, and vivid green eyes. They are Irish, and are the rare 'black' Irish. Their mother has the traditional Irish beauty, long red hair, but their father has the black hair-they got their looks from him.
--Maeve can be bitter to her sister because her sister is the one that (Maeve thinks) gets all the attention at their high school. Maeve is arguably the smartest of the two, though both are very intelligent. Boys are just falling over her, and everyone seems to want to talk to her, rather than Maeve. Because she wanted to stand out from her sister and be different, she recently streaked her hair bright red/orange. By the time of the story, she has returned to her natural black color, though I'm not sure why. I do know that sometime (before or during the story) they reconcile their grievances against each other (Maeve sees it through her sisters eyes, and realizes that she has friends who like her for who she is, and people who want to talk to her, not her sister) This may be why she has her natural black back, but I thought this scene would take place in the middle of the story, when the twins are in a trying and stressful situation and things boil over.
---Kyla is completely clueless with relationships, so she doesn't understand when Maeve is jealous. I think she has been on at least one date without ever realizing that she had even been asked out.
Yeah.
Anyway, Kyla is somewhat jealous of the independent spirit she feels her sister has. She is worried that she is, truly, simply a follower, lacking the authority and independence that her sister has. Kyla has never really been alone, and takes for granted her sister and friends. A while back, she streaked her hair purple. Why she did this, I'm not sure. I think she did this because she felt that she paled before her sisters' fiery personality, and when Maeve dyed her hair red, Kyla thought it was natural to follow.
Hmmm...I think that's it for now. That's pretty good, it's nice to get things written down.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
It's over!
NaNo has finished. It's over for this year, and that sentence alone is saddening. My creative output has gone from HERE *jumps up and down* to well, nothing. Once NaNo was over, I rushed back to life, and my time was filled with piano practice for the upcoming recital to homework on top of homework.
And now, finals are coming up! I have all Pre-AP and one AP class, so finals are...fun.
Yeah. Fun.
Anyway! I really miss writing. During NaNo, I had all these characters that wanted a story. As soon as I stopped writing, all of their different voices died out, and I actually forgot about them. Now I'm trying my best to wake them up and I've succeeded with one story. It's somewhat of a re-write of a story that I wrote when I was really young. The story I wrote was atrocious but the plot line was savable.
Meet Kyla and Maeve. The twins that are the stars for my next story. I have yet to plot out the entire plot yet, but I'm hoping to work more on it. Once Christmas break comes, I'll have a lot more time for writing. Until then, I've proposed for myself a little challenge, which marks the level of my sanity.
Here it goes....
Monday: Plot and 500 words
Tuesday: Finish essential plotting and 500-1000 words
Wednesday: 1000 words
Thursday: 1000 words
Friday: 1000 words
Which means that by Saturday I should have a somewhat working plot line and the beginnings of another story!
Why not, I say, why not?
And now, finals are coming up! I have all Pre-AP and one AP class, so finals are...fun.
Yeah. Fun.
Anyway! I really miss writing. During NaNo, I had all these characters that wanted a story. As soon as I stopped writing, all of their different voices died out, and I actually forgot about them. Now I'm trying my best to wake them up and I've succeeded with one story. It's somewhat of a re-write of a story that I wrote when I was really young. The story I wrote was atrocious but the plot line was savable.
Meet Kyla and Maeve. The twins that are the stars for my next story. I have yet to plot out the entire plot yet, but I'm hoping to work more on it. Once Christmas break comes, I'll have a lot more time for writing. Until then, I've proposed for myself a little challenge, which marks the level of my sanity.
Here it goes....
Monday: Plot and 500 words
Tuesday: Finish essential plotting and 500-1000 words
Wednesday: 1000 words
Thursday: 1000 words
Friday: 1000 words
Which means that by Saturday I should have a somewhat working plot line and the beginnings of another story!
Why not, I say, why not?
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Second week slump? You bet!
Okay, so it's just the start of the second week, so it's a little early to be claiming second week slump, but still. I'm working through it, though each day it seems to word count goes up and up. I feel as if I was still in the VERY beginning of my novel, and I guess I am. Dadgum you plot-that-is-so-longer-than-50000-words!
Gah.
Gah.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
NaNo time!
Whew!
It's official NaNo.
And I love it. Granted, the first day-while I got my word count-I wasn't completely having fun. I think the first day can be the hardest because you just have to jump it, and forgo all reason and just /start/. Sometimes starting can be the hardest thing to do.
Anyway! Everything is changing! My characters are surprising me already, and so far that's a good thing. For example, in the beginning I had the opening scene, and the first time Jade was to see Michael was when he saved her from Seth.
Well, that doesn't make near as much sense as already introducing Michael before he saves her from Seth! (Note, this probably won't make sense to you since you don't know the story:))
Just little things like that. =)
I'm ahead on the word count, and that makes me very happy as I can already see that this will be waaaaay longer than 50 000 words. -shrug- My goal is to get as much done in November as I can, and then set word goals for 25 000 or more each month after November. I really want to finish this by the new year. It will be the first time I've ever written a novel. xD Yes, I did do NaNo last year, but never finished the novel-though I did get 50 000 words.
Anyway, I suppose I should go back to writing-or doing school work that I've been neglecting...=P
It's official NaNo.
And I love it. Granted, the first day-while I got my word count-I wasn't completely having fun. I think the first day can be the hardest because you just have to jump it, and forgo all reason and just /start/. Sometimes starting can be the hardest thing to do.
Anyway! Everything is changing! My characters are surprising me already, and so far that's a good thing. For example, in the beginning I had the opening scene, and the first time Jade was to see Michael was when he saved her from Seth.
Well, that doesn't make near as much sense as already introducing Michael before he saves her from Seth! (Note, this probably won't make sense to you since you don't know the story:))
Just little things like that. =)
I'm ahead on the word count, and that makes me very happy as I can already see that this will be waaaaay longer than 50 000 words. -shrug- My goal is to get as much done in November as I can, and then set word goals for 25 000 or more each month after November. I really want to finish this by the new year. It will be the first time I've ever written a novel. xD Yes, I did do NaNo last year, but never finished the novel-though I did get 50 000 words.
Anyway, I suppose I should go back to writing-or doing school work that I've been neglecting...=P
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Prompt: People only see what they are prepared to see. (09/27/08)
So, I looked and looked, but could not find a prompt! About to go crazy, I finally found a good quote site, and at random, chose one. Hence the "People only see what they are prepared to see."-Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Anyway, I do think that since I haven't written in a while, it'll take me some time to get back in shape. I wasn't even going to post this-it's so bad-but I thought I should. Enjoy. (ha!)
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
(September 22, 2008)
Prompt: People only see what they are prepared to see.
Time: 15 min.
Words: 679
“What do you mean?” I exclaimed, my heart beat starting to sped up. “Won’t they-oh I don’t know-see the freaking demon that is five inches from their face!”
His face, infuriatingly calm, turned to face out the window.
“What are we supposed to do, fight them all ourselves?” I could not calm my voice, could not keep the anger out of my mind. This shouldn’t be happening! How could people just be so ignorant?
“You knew what you signed up for.” His voice was soft, and when he turned to face me, I saw the sadness in his eyes.
“But-” I stopped, trying to find the right words. How can we let people die, I wanted to scream out. I wanted to pound my fists on the table like some three year old, yelling.
“How can we just-“
“We won’t be doing nothing, Sieryn!” His voice was curt, and he let out a tired sigh.
“Zoe,” he resumed, using my name rather than my title this time. “We won’t be doing nothing, can’t you see?”
I closed my mouth, unwilling to explain that I didn’t see. That I didn’t understand.
“People only see what they want to see.”
“And that makes them perfect targets!” I jumped in, one fist poised above the table. I was glad we were alone, if we were out in public I would have to watch both my words and actions-something that I felt I was unable to fully do right now.
He gave a soft nod. “Yes, they are the perfect targets. They never see them, they never can fend them off-“
“Which is where we come in, right?” I asked, my voice tired. To work and work, to never stop, to never breath; to fight and fight with all that is within to protect people you’ll never know, people who will never know you.
“Zoe, it isn’t easy-I understand! But this is our job; we are protectors, we are the guardians.” He ran one hand through his golden hair, his piercing grey eyes locking onto mine. “This is our job.”
“They’ll never know us.” My voice had gotten weaker, as the energy died out, acceptance taking its place.
“We’ll fight-perhaps even die-for people that don’t even know us,” I whispered, my gaze shifting to the table, my fist slowly falling down upon it.
“Yes.”
“Why?” I asked, looking up at him. “Why can’t they see?”
“Zoe, people aren’t ready-aren’t prepared. They are unwilling to see what is real, what is right before them.”
“So it’s our job, our job to help them.”
“Yes.”
I nodded, finally accepting what he had been trying to get across the whole day. I realized what was ahead of me, and realized that I could never back down. I would die, I knew that with a sickening certainty, and most likely I would die in some dank, god forsaken alley. Perhaps, just perhaps, the police would find me the next morning; perhaps they would attempt to find out who I was.
Strangely enough they would find no record of me anywhere- the dental records would show nothing. Whatever I had on would give them no clue to who I actually was. There would be no identification.
I would die alone.
The life I had chosen was not what I had thought it was. I had thought it was glory, saving people from death. I had not realized the hardness of it. There was no glory, nothing scared, nothing holy.
I would deal with death, and worse, every day, and I would do so until I died- my death being the finally escape from horror. For I was chosen, cursed or blessed, to protect. Protect people from themselves, as it would seem.
I glanced up at him, seeing for the first time to lines around his eyes. Looking straight into the steely gray pools, I saw in them years of weariness. They were the eyes of someone much older than he, someone who had seen much more than they were supposed to.
They were the eyes of a guardian.
Anyway, I do think that since I haven't written in a while, it'll take me some time to get back in shape. I wasn't even going to post this-it's so bad-but I thought I should. Enjoy. (ha!)
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
(September 22, 2008)
Prompt: People only see what they are prepared to see.
Time: 15 min.
Words: 679
“What do you mean?” I exclaimed, my heart beat starting to sped up. “Won’t they-oh I don’t know-see the freaking demon that is five inches from their face!”
His face, infuriatingly calm, turned to face out the window.
“What are we supposed to do, fight them all ourselves?” I could not calm my voice, could not keep the anger out of my mind. This shouldn’t be happening! How could people just be so ignorant?
“You knew what you signed up for.” His voice was soft, and when he turned to face me, I saw the sadness in his eyes.
“But-” I stopped, trying to find the right words. How can we let people die, I wanted to scream out. I wanted to pound my fists on the table like some three year old, yelling.
“How can we just-“
“We won’t be doing nothing, Sieryn!” His voice was curt, and he let out a tired sigh.
“Zoe,” he resumed, using my name rather than my title this time. “We won’t be doing nothing, can’t you see?”
I closed my mouth, unwilling to explain that I didn’t see. That I didn’t understand.
“People only see what they want to see.”
“And that makes them perfect targets!” I jumped in, one fist poised above the table. I was glad we were alone, if we were out in public I would have to watch both my words and actions-something that I felt I was unable to fully do right now.
He gave a soft nod. “Yes, they are the perfect targets. They never see them, they never can fend them off-“
“Which is where we come in, right?” I asked, my voice tired. To work and work, to never stop, to never breath; to fight and fight with all that is within to protect people you’ll never know, people who will never know you.
“Zoe, it isn’t easy-I understand! But this is our job; we are protectors, we are the guardians.” He ran one hand through his golden hair, his piercing grey eyes locking onto mine. “This is our job.”
“They’ll never know us.” My voice had gotten weaker, as the energy died out, acceptance taking its place.
“We’ll fight-perhaps even die-for people that don’t even know us,” I whispered, my gaze shifting to the table, my fist slowly falling down upon it.
“Yes.”
“Why?” I asked, looking up at him. “Why can’t they see?”
“Zoe, people aren’t ready-aren’t prepared. They are unwilling to see what is real, what is right before them.”
“So it’s our job, our job to help them.”
“Yes.”
I nodded, finally accepting what he had been trying to get across the whole day. I realized what was ahead of me, and realized that I could never back down. I would die, I knew that with a sickening certainty, and most likely I would die in some dank, god forsaken alley. Perhaps, just perhaps, the police would find me the next morning; perhaps they would attempt to find out who I was.
Strangely enough they would find no record of me anywhere- the dental records would show nothing. Whatever I had on would give them no clue to who I actually was. There would be no identification.
I would die alone.
The life I had chosen was not what I had thought it was. I had thought it was glory, saving people from death. I had not realized the hardness of it. There was no glory, nothing scared, nothing holy.
I would deal with death, and worse, every day, and I would do so until I died- my death being the finally escape from horror. For I was chosen, cursed or blessed, to protect. Protect people from themselves, as it would seem.
I glanced up at him, seeing for the first time to lines around his eyes. Looking straight into the steely gray pools, I saw in them years of weariness. They were the eyes of someone much older than he, someone who had seen much more than they were supposed to.
They were the eyes of a guardian.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
The beginning of the story..
Okay, so I was driving home one night, when a song by Toby Keith (yes, I like country, get over it) came on the radio. I'm not sure what exactly the title is, but one of the lines "I'm an Indian outlaw.." really caught my attention.
From that one line came a story idea. xD
So, I thought I would post the beginning of the story.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
Their eyes say it all.
They need not even open their mouths, I know what they are to say anyway.
Murderer, they'll cry, hate and fear covering any possible love they might have felt for me.
They'll drive me out, banish me forever, never again to see those I love.
And how can I blame the? I try desperately to find within me the anger I should feel for their actions, but find nothing but emptiness.
Perhaps this is my real punishment; perhaps the gods decided my fate would be an eternity of a void, of nothing. Not emotions, no purpose, detained to wander the desert for eternity, alone.
I wondered if my fate was to die in the wilderness. Why would the gods choose such a fate for one like me?
The question would have no answer, no voice from the gods. I feared most that my death might never come.
For what would be a more fitting punishment than to wander the desert, lost, for the rest of eternity, with his face always beneath my eyelids?
They will cry, they will scream, but none will now my true punishment. For how can they possibly understand my fate, my eternal pain that will be with me for as long as I am cursed to walk this Earth?
From that one line came a story idea. xD
So, I thought I would post the beginning of the story.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
Their eyes say it all.
They need not even open their mouths, I know what they are to say anyway.
Murderer, they'll cry, hate and fear covering any possible love they might have felt for me.
They'll drive me out, banish me forever, never again to see those I love.
And how can I blame the? I try desperately to find within me the anger I should feel for their actions, but find nothing but emptiness.
Perhaps this is my real punishment; perhaps the gods decided my fate would be an eternity of a void, of nothing. Not emotions, no purpose, detained to wander the desert for eternity, alone.
I wondered if my fate was to die in the wilderness. Why would the gods choose such a fate for one like me?
The question would have no answer, no voice from the gods. I feared most that my death might never come.
For what would be a more fitting punishment than to wander the desert, lost, for the rest of eternity, with his face always beneath my eyelids?
They will cry, they will scream, but none will now my true punishment. For how can they possibly understand my fate, my eternal pain that will be with me for as long as I am cursed to walk this Earth?
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Yes, I know, it's been a while. School started, along with marching practice, so I was quite busy. Also the self-doubt that every writer encounters, when you look back over stuff you wrote and think that it is absolutly horrible, doesn't help much in encouraging me to write.
It is also hard to find good prompts! Some prompts are the classical 'prompts' like 'Write about a time you were sad.'
I hate those prompts. They aren't writing prompts. They are essay prompts.
I don't write about my past. I don't write about my future.
I write about worlds that no one knows, stories that will never be told. I write about what might have been, and what may be.
I don't care if people know a time I was sad. I care if they know my characters, and the tribulations that they face. I care about what they take from my stories.
A time when I was sad is not fun. It is boring. A time when a girl is thrown into another world is interesting.
Who wants to write about what they see, what they do? Who wants to read about lives just like your own?
Isn't it more interesting when you read of a person in a totally different place; a totally different life?
They say we dream to envision different alternatives to imagine what 'might have been'.
I write so I can see, touch, and feel what 'might have been', not just think of it. In my story, it isn't 'what might have been.' It is what's happening.
It is also hard to find good prompts! Some prompts are the classical 'prompts' like 'Write about a time you were sad.'
I hate those prompts. They aren't writing prompts. They are essay prompts.
I don't write about my past. I don't write about my future.
I write about worlds that no one knows, stories that will never be told. I write about what might have been, and what may be.
I don't care if people know a time I was sad. I care if they know my characters, and the tribulations that they face. I care about what they take from my stories.
A time when I was sad is not fun. It is boring. A time when a girl is thrown into another world is interesting.
Who wants to write about what they see, what they do? Who wants to read about lives just like your own?
Isn't it more interesting when you read of a person in a totally different place; a totally different life?
They say we dream to envision different alternatives to imagine what 'might have been'.
I write so I can see, touch, and feel what 'might have been', not just think of it. In my story, it isn't 'what might have been.' It is what's happening.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Prompt: Go forth (08/09/08)
Yay, a recent one! =P
Anyho, this one isn't that bad, I could've kept writing...stupid time-limit. ~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
Anyho, this one isn't that bad, I could've kept writing...stupid time-limit. ~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
(August 9 ’08)
Prompt: Go forth
Time: 15 min
Words: 773
“Go forth, my son. It is your time; it is your destiny.”
The words still hung clearly in my mind, the old voice, thick with both emotion and age sang in my head.
I had nodded to those words, my head bowed as a sign of compliance.
It was my time.
My littler sister was the hardest to walk away from. Her dark brown eyes gazed up at me, confusion muddling the innocence that shone forth.
“Why do you have to go, brother? I thought we were going fishing tomorrow…” Her soft, childlike voice spoke as one who had more age than she. She had tilted her head, her dark brown hair falling softly on her shoulders.
“Father will take you to the stream, little one.” I knelt down, forcing a smile to my face, using the nickname I had given her long ago. “I will see you.”
“How? I don’t understand.” Her words were more frantic as I turned to leave.
I hesitated before turning back to face her, pushing every tear away.
“I will be in your dreams, little one.”
Her eyes were not clear of her confusion, her mouth open to say more. I couldn’t let her do that though, I had to leave. Lingering behind was not good, I could miss my opportunity.
This was my time.
I brushed aside the memories, glancing quickly to the sky. Dark blue streaks raced across it, the bright sun was now slowly dieing on to the west. A new one would be born in the morning, following the ancient ritual that had been going ever since the dawn of time.
I too would be following an ancient ritual, one that I half wished I could do without. I was almost an adult, though, and I had to go through the rite of passage that every boy my age went through.
If, and only if, I came back, bearing the marks of the Wise ones, I would be accepted as an adult, and honored man, back home. If I failed, my family would not know me, and the tribe would shun me.
The thought of never seeing my little sister again was encouragement for me to face the passage, no matter how scared I was.
I suppose this is a good place to sleep tonight, I thought, gazing at the meadow I had found. It was small, but the tall grass was soft and comforting against my thighs. Soft, golden light filtered over me, and I could feel the pulse of nature surround me.
This was how it should be. I knew, I could feel it deep within me, resounding with certainty.
I did not do much before falling asleep. I needed no fire to warm me as the cold breath of the Vikarn had yet to sweep over our land. Pulling out some bread from my pack, I slowly chewed it. Closing my eyes, I could see our home. Right now, little Kayana would be getting ready to sleep. Mother would be cleaning everything in preparation for the new day. Father, well Father would be coming back from an elder meeting, his father weary from the long day.
I could not deny the longing that I felt for that scene. More than ever, I wanted to run back home, to bury my face in Mothers’ soft robe, to run through the streams with little Kayana, laughing as she fell down before falling down myself to make her happy.
That would not happen; I could not see home until after I had made the way through the passage. And then, once I finally got home, I would no longer be a child. Instead, I would be an adult, and would assume the responsibilities of one.
Once home, I would find a women, pretty and nice. We would settle down, not too far from my home. Together we would live, two as one, as it has always been. Mother would await the child, as she always did love children.
That life seemed years away from the warm dusk that now stole my thoughts. It was time to sleep; I would need all the rest I could get for the long walk tomorrow. I still had many miles to go before I found the passage.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Guard
-sigh-
Oh wow, a post that's not a prompt! =)
Anyhow, I just got back from a three hour guard (aka flag line) practice. It was long, hard, and at the end we learned a 'fun' new move. It involves a pop toss, which you bounce on your leg instead of catching it.
Bump it on the 'right' part of your leg, your thigh, and it turns red. Bump it accidentally a touch too low and suddenly you're jumping up and down, one hand pressed against your mouth.
It hit my kneecap.
Not only that, it hit my kneecap, twice. -wince- There's already a bruise forming...
Anyhow. Our instructor, in the beginning of the three hour practice, was getting tired/grumpy, so that was...nice.
Threats on running were common. Nice and subtle too-out of character for him.
He's a nice, but strict, guy who only wants the best. That doesn't stop him from cracking jokes during practice, though.
Oh wow, a post that's not a prompt! =)
Anyhow, I just got back from a three hour guard (aka flag line) practice. It was long, hard, and at the end we learned a 'fun' new move. It involves a pop toss, which you bounce on your leg instead of catching it.
Bump it on the 'right' part of your leg, your thigh, and it turns red. Bump it accidentally a touch too low and suddenly you're jumping up and down, one hand pressed against your mouth.
It hit my kneecap.
Not only that, it hit my kneecap, twice. -wince- There's already a bruise forming...
Anyhow. Our instructor, in the beginning of the three hour practice, was getting tired/grumpy, so that was...nice.
Threats on running were common. Nice and subtle too-out of character for him.
He's a nice, but strict, guy who only wants the best. That doesn't stop him from cracking jokes during practice, though.
Prompt: Watch this time (08/05/08)
A recent one; it's okay. I need to polish it up, and describe the beautiful surroundings more. I can see them in my head, but the reader can't.
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(August 5 ’08)
Prompt: Watch this time
Time: 15 min.
Words: 636
“Watch for now, soon enough it’ll be time for you to try.” My brothers voice was softer than usual, as he pulled the old wooden bow up, stretching his arm back.
With a sudden swiftness, the arrow flew from the bow, hitting the tree that had been the target. I knew that I would never be able to copy my brothers’ skill, but hoped that I would be able to master the bow enough to provide food for my family.
Aelkin was busy explaining how to pull the bow back, and I struggled to pay attention. My thoughts often wondered off, unable to keep away from thinking about the beautiful wilderness around us. Wind cut through the long grass, tickling me as they snaked around my legs. Before us stood the old forest, the trees older than any remembered. There had never been a time when these mighty trees were saplings, not even my great grandfather, eldest in the tribe, could recall such a time.
“Makiln, are you even listening?” Aelkin paused, turning his head to give me a stern look.
“Of course I am, brother,” I replied automatically before pausing. “Well, I’m trying that is.”
Aelkin gave a soft laugh. “Sister, try and keep your mind off of the wilderness for just some time. To use this bow is not an easy task, and I need you to concentrate.”
I nodded, resolving to pay more attention as Aelkin handed me the bow. My hands ran over the wood, smoothened by the many years. I had once asked my great grandfather where he had gotten it; he replied that it had been handed down to him from his grandfather.
Imagine how old! I thought, my eyes running over the intricate designs on the wood. Time had scorned it, the designs faded.
“Makiln, please try and pay attention!” With a start, I realized that Aelkin had been talking when I was examining the bow.
“Sorry, brother,” I replied, trying my hardest to look at him and not let my gaze dart off to the animal, an elk or something like it, that had just emerged from the forest. The animal was a good distance behind my brother, and my gaze momentarily slipped to it, watching as the majestic animal slowly started forward, its muzzle grazing the grass.
My brother didn’t seem to notice that my attention had slipped again. He pointed to a younger tree, one that was closer to us than the rest.
“That’s your target, sister. It is not a difficult shot, I think even you can hit it,” Aelkin grinned as he teased me.
I viewed the tree quickly, noting the smooth bark, and mentally picking out where I wanted the arrow to hit. Pulling the bow up, I stretched my arm back, feeling my muscles strain.
Come on, I silently urged myself; I carried three buckets from the stream to the house this morning! This isn’t near as bad as that; I can do better!
Pulling back with the rest of my strength, the bow wavered, before becoming still. Carefully, I view the tree, adjusting the bow so that I would hit my mark. Before Aelkin could complain that I had once again lost focus, I released the string, letting the arrow dart through the air.
The air made no sound as it flew towards the tree. When it struck the tree, the sound was nearly too soft for my ears to detect.
A wide grin spilt across my face as I saw that the arrow had flown tree, striking right where I wanted it to.
“Good job,” Aelkin said, as if he had been expecting me to hit the tree the whole time.
“Thanks.” I couldn’t stop grinning, even as I made my way to the tree, yanking the arrow out of its flesh.Prompt: The Darkest Light (06/24/08)
This is actually my absolutely favorite one. Note, the room 101 is a somewhat off reference to 1984. I didn't have time to research and make sure that was the number, remember I had fifteen minutes to pound out as many words as I could.
This is also my longest one. I got 926 words in 15 minutes!!
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This is also my longest one. I got 926 words in 15 minutes!!
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(June 24 ’08)
Prompt: The Darkest light
Time: 15 min.
Words: 926My cell was dank, and it smelled. It smelled quite bad, to tell the truth. Fortunately, I got used to the smell after awhile; being in one place for a long time can do that to you. I had even gotten use to the food, or lack there of I should say. What I could never get used to was the darkness. Every night, when the dim gray light outside of my cell vanished, I curled up in a small ball, counting the minutes until it came back. It became the bane of my existence, this light. It filtered through the barred window, all three inches of it, which cut through my wall, near the ceiling, too far up for me to even touch. Even so, the light from what I presumed to be a hallway outside of my cell, gave me some touch of ungodly hope.
Hope that shouldn’t exist in these types of situations. Hope that perhaps they wouldn’t take me to what I had dubbed as room 101. I’m not entirely sure why I called it room 101, perhaps my mind was groping for an earlier time, a time where I read books, a time where no stress existed. A time so early that it was beginning to vanish, the memories stolen by the darkness of my surroundings. I hated this, and fought it savagely, each day making it a goal to relive some memory, so dusty it was nigh forgotten, to remind me that there was life besides this.
Life besides my cell seemed pretty unlikely, and I was wont to simply throw the idea, the hope out. The only reason I did not do this was that the memories were my only light in this place, the only real one anyway. That’s why I liked the grey, smoggy light so much; it was the embodiment of my hope. I’m sure they didn’t know, I’m sure that I hadn’t given it away one trip to 101. I was sure because the light was still there. If I had told them, they would have done everything to take away any shred of hope that I processed.
There was a rattling outside my cell or cage as I liked to think of it, and I perked up, slowly pushing myself into a sitting position. My arms hurt strangely, and I looked down, surprised when I saw the skin had been tattooed from wrist to shoulder by bruises. More than surprised I was scared. Scared that I didn’t remember when that had happened scared that I was losing my soul and mind here.
That is what they wanted, after all. They wanted you to become soulless, to lose any reason for your existence, to make you want to end it all. What they were so scared of was people like me. People who were still alive, their spirit not completely broken.
Yet.
A small flap opened, and a dingy tray was thrown in, the contents splayed out against the grimy floor. Quickly, I leapt forward, rescuing the crust of bread and watery soup like thing the best I could. It was rare to get food, and I could lose none. Not if I wanted to survive, that is.
I knew that I should save the food, and I put half the bit of stale bread back on the tray for latter. The rest, though, I lost self-control and devoured on spot. I hadn’t eaten in who knows how long, time was nonexistent here, my days controlled by the flow of dim light through the bars. What I did know, though, was that it had been awhile since my last ‘meal’. Long enough for me to feel weaker than usual, long enough to make the walk, no more than a few steps, from wall to wall hard.
I had long ago ceased in feeling real ‘hunger’. The want had become nothing more than background, blending in with my environment. I could not remember a time when I did not feel this hungry, no matter how hard I tried.
I could remember people, faces, but everything was started to blur. My memory would not last much longer, and I would soon know nothing but my cell and time here.
That’s what they wanted, really. I fought against them with every fiber of my being, but it was no use. They were strong.
There was a larger rattling on my wall, and I let lose a small yelp, knowing what was going to happen. My body began to shake as I watched the door open, invisible until it moved. A man, clothed in dark clothing with a hood over his face bent down, wrenching me from my spot. I cried out, but suddenly began silent as he drug me down the hall. I never remembered much of this hall, oddly, my memory blank with the fear of the impending pain.
He stopped suddenly, and tossed me into a concrete cell, much like my own. Another man was already waiting there, and a plain table stood in the middle.
“Please…” My voice was horse from lack of use, and my pitiful plea wrung my heart. I hadn’t always been like this, you know. Hadn’t always been willing to do anything to save myself from the pain. Time here had changed me, though. And not for the better.
I brought up my hands in a futile effort to protect myself as the blows started to pour on me, pounding my mind until it retreated into the darkness once again.Prompt: Scream, but where no one will hear you (06/15/08)
This one is okay; it actually inspired me to start a story called Another Fight, one that I'm still working on.
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(June 15 ’08)
Prompt: Scream but only where no one will worry about you.
Time: 15 min.
Words: 592
I always traveled here, to my safe spot, to the little haven I had created, when I felt like the world was crashing down around me. When my little brother had bothered me until the point of breaking, when my parents seemed to never stop yelling-I came here. Here is where I sought refuge; here is where I could relax. I could cry, here all alone, and no one would hear. Strangely enough, that it what I wanted. I wanted to be alone.
I had just arrived in my haven, sneaking off the path, under the bushes until I reached it, when I heard the footsteps. There weren’t much, but were loud enough for me to discern them, too loud for any animal. My heart leapt in my throat as I worried that someone might find me. I came here to escape, and wanted nothing more than to be alone. All alone.
My eyes wide with worry, I silently flattened myself on the pine-needle floor, gazing out from underneath the bushes. In my narrow line of vision, I was able to see white, beat up sneakers. The sneakers paused, and then continued on, beating a straight line to my hiding spot.
What do I do? I frantically ran through my options. If I stayed here, the owners of the sneakers would find me; and if I ran the person would see me.
I can’t let him find my place, I thought, knowing how it would defile the serenity of the place if another person was to stumble upon it. Getting up to a crouch, I stayed there, frozen with indecision. Suddenly, I stood, straightening to my full height.
I don’t know why I did this; it was as if my name had been called, the syllables still hanging clearly in the wind. When I stood, my eyes were able to see through the pine trees lower branches, and make out the figure that stood on the other side. He, for that was the gender of the figure, stood with his back to me, and for a second my heart jumped at the possibility that he wouldn’t come any closer. Long black hair swirled about as he did an about face, startling me with the suddenness.
Tan skin road flawlessly over his face and the dark hair fell softly, almost covering one dark eye. I was paralyzed by the gaze that seemed to bore through the needles, straight to my eyes. Strangely, I felt little fear of this boy, as if deep down I knew he meant no harm. Slowly, I pushed the branches away, and left my little haven to see him clearer.
“Who…who are you?” I asked him, my voice stopping for a second. My mind ran over the kids at school, and realized that I had not seen him there, though I felt certain that I had seen him somewhere.
His eyes took my by surprise, as I saw the anger that had been within them drain away, leaving only curiosity.
“Why do you want to know?” He asked, as if the idea of me simply wondering was foreign to him.
“I…don’t know…perhaps, because I just know I’ve met you before, but I can’t seem to think of your name,” I stuttered, my shyness showing.
A hint of a smile crept up on his face, but his eyes remained guarded.
“You don’t know me. I didn’t even live around here that is until recently.” His voice was rough; the uncultured accent in it enough for me to believe his words.Prompt: Thunder from the trees (06/10/08)
This one is not the best, I had problems with the plot, if it can be called that. As a reminder, the way to do these prompts is to find one, and immediately set the clock and pound out as many words as you can. Thus, sometimes they are horrible, and sometimes they don't really go anywhere...
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(June 10 ’08)
Prompt: Thunder from the trees
Time: 15 min.
Words: 370
Great rolls of thunder shook my forest. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the dark wall of clouds approach faster than I had expected. Closing my eyes briefly, I hung my head. How did I ever get into this mess anyway? It was just to be a simple walk in the forest. Only I had to wander off the path, like every cliché story about people getting lost. Since it was my own fault, I had no one else to be angry with.
Pushing aside my thoughts, I concentrated on what needed to be done. Didn’t they always say that when you’re lost you should stop moving?
Check, I mentally made the list, stopping right in my tracks. This went against every instinct that screamed to run from the oncoming storm. No matter what logic told me-that I could never outrun the storm-I still fought the impulse to run, to dash away to some safe place. Problem is, there was no ‘safe’ place.
I suppose I need to find a place to ride the storm out, I thought, quickly scanning the surrounding area.
There! Right there, nestled among old pine trees were the tall-tell signs of the mouth of a small cave. Granted, it looked rather small from here, but right now I had not many other options. Breaking into a jog, I headed towards the opening. Coming closer, I realized that while it was by no means spacious, it was big enough to suit my needs just fine.
I hesitated slightly before going in, not sure what to expect in the cave. Praying that there wouldn’t be many bugs-which was a long shot-I brushed aside the pine branches, bent over, and entered the cave. The temperature didn’t drop dramatically, like I had expected, but the change from the dark, but still lit outside into the dark cave big. A strong wind pushed me forward, and I rushed farther into the cave, where the outside wind dropped suddenly. Dripping sounds were heard from my right, and by the little light that came through the mouth of the cave, I saw a little pond, the size undeterminable because it simply faded into darkness, not too far from where I was standing.Prompt: Nothing's gonna change (06/08/08)
So, yeah, I took some time before I actually started to do prompts again! Anyho, this one is...okay, I suppose.
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(June 08 ’08)
Prompt: Nothing’s gonna change
Time: 15 min.
Words: 389
“Nothing will ever change, don’t you get that?!” My older sister’s voice was loud and mean. If I hadn’t known her better, I would have thought she was drunk.
“You will grow up here, surrounded by this…”she struggled for words as she angrily kicked some trash that was lying on the carpet which looked dark enough to be called black-even though the original color had been tan.
“This-junk, and you will grow up just like us, just like the rest of us trash in the park. Don’t you get that?!” Tears were now streaming down her face as the angry-tinted red checks reflected the glossy glow to my eyes. I did my best to ignore her words, no matter how much truth rang in them. Moving my eyes to the dirty carpet, I slowly pulled my hand up to my face, feeling the welt that was starting to rise.
I should put some ice on that, I thought, but made no move. Sure, I was almost certain that Mark wouldn’t be back until late this night, when he was drunk, but I could not be certain, and did not want to risk igniting his anger again. A soft movement of white, standing out completely from the dirty floor, caught my eye. From my vantage point on the floor, only the scribble of my favorite teacher was seen.
So this is what started it all, I thought, feeling too tired and too weighted down from my tender age.
“Are you even listening?” The anger had mostly emptied from my sister’s voice, and I heard only the broken spirit left within the girl. She had been like me once, I know that now. She never told me, but others had. She had been smart. She had wondered-like I had. And she knew the consequences.
I could feel no anger toward her, no matter how loud or mean her words. She was just trying to protect me, that’s all. She wasn’t like Mark, no not at all. My sister didn’t come home at midnight, drunk with a new ‘girlfriend’. No, she was the only one in our little broken up ‘family’-oh how naive the word-that worked, a hard, low wage job that scraped some food together for us. She was the glue to this whole mess, the mess that was my existence.Prompt: Dead Tree (10/14/07)
This is another NaNo Prompt; thank goodness it's better than the last one!
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(Oct. 14 ’07)
Prompt: Dead Tree
Time: 15 min.
Words: 417
The tree should’ve been cut down a long time ago, thought Zelda, her pure blue eyes peering at the dead structure. She was only half way through her trek through the woods, and she had planned to stop here for a brief rest. Her lithe body carefully picked out a way to the tree, the long blond hair gently moving with the breeze.
Briefly, she wondered what her twin sister, Zora, was up to right now. Zora had chosen to stay behind, and catch up on the spells that she couldn’t get. Practice and practice, that’s what the teacher had advised and Zora, had taken that to heart.
Zelda was brought back to the present by a loud sound; a squirrel had scampered down one of the dead tree branches. Grabbing a small flower that was used by the Eladelif family for generations as both a sign of their linage and their skill to make music, Zelda carefully brought it up to her ruby lips, blowing ever so gently. She was rewarded by the soft sound made only by that flower.
Zelda was the 15th generation of the Eladelif family, the royal musicians, and was the first girl to carry on the gift of wild music since her great-great-great-great grandmother. Her sister Zora had tried, and tried, to coax a sound out of nature, but it just would not heed her will, not like Zelda could.
As she sat down, with her back against the old tree, she brushed her long hair behind her pointed ears, pierced three times, two showing what family she had been born into, and the third one showed that she was a wilderness musician.
Softly, she played out a simple melody, enticing a Bardif bird to join in, adding to her hollow reed-like sound with its piercing high call. The two sounds melted together, joining as one, sending the harmony rising to the heavens, from which all gifts were given, as Zelda’s mother had once told her. She didn’t know how long she played, for her time had no meaning. Eventually, though, she knew that she would have to go on, finish the trek and reach home in time for the evening meal. Perhaps, if she hurried, she could help her sister Zora with her magic.
Zelda slowly got up, reluctantly dropping the flower to the ground from which she had found it. Dust to dust, she thought absently as the Bardif bird flew off, the sunlight glittering off its bright feathers.Prompt: Lucky (10/13/07)
Note: this is my first ever NaNo prompt, which I wrote a while back. It is very bad. -_-
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(Oct. 13 ’07)
Time: 10 min.
Prompt: Lucky
Words: 303
Story:
They keep telling me I’m lucky. Lucky for being abducted. Abducted by aliens. Lucky. Sometimes, I wonder what lucky is, what it really is. The onboard computer is only too happy to tell me that lucky is, in exact words, “producing or resulting in good by chance”. How?! How can I be ‘lucky’, lucky to be torn away from my family, taken away from everything I know and love?
Is that lucky? In my mind, it’s bad luck. They concentrate on all the things I’ll see, and learn. They say that I was chosen picked out from everyone else because of my ‘potential’. They say I have the potential to be a great engineer.
I, of course, refused to help them. At this, they were surprised. They don’t look like aliens to tell the truth. They look like humans, some of them, though, do in fact look a little like your typical alien-like the ones you see on Star Trek.
Oh, how I miss simple things like Star Trek! Watching it, with my family, listening to the tales of a far off time, never imagining I would become part of that time. The aliens are…advanced to say the least-their machines remind me so much of the sci-fi machines, born out of imagination on Star Trek.
Their engine can take you faster than we could ever think. They, of course, have artificial gravity, and, I must admit, this keeps sticking-it looks like
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