Cyndadile's Writing

[Cyndadile]

I really enjoy writing, so I've decided to share some of it with you!

Unnamed Skit (Co-Authored) (Skit)
Click me! (http://www.pokemontopaz.net/forums/showthread.php?205-Cyndadile-s-Writing&p=2841&viewfull=1#post2841)
WWII Story (Short Story)
Click me! (http://www.pokemontopaz.net/forums/showthread.php?205-Cyndadile-s-Writing&p=2841&viewfull=1#post2841)
"The Zombie" (Short Story)
Click me! (http://www.pokemontopaz.net/forums/showthread.php?205-Cyndadile-s-Writing&p=2841&viewfull=1#post2841)
Unnamed Poetry (Edited 4/21/11) (Poem)
Click me! (http://www.pokemontopaz.net/forums/showthread.php?205-Cyndadile-s-Writing&p=7824&viewfull=1#post7824)
"Yellow Monster" (Short Story)
Click me! (http://www.pokemontopaz.net/forums/showthread.php?205-Cyndadile-s-Writing&p=20408&viewfull=1#post20408)
"Nothing Wrong" (Short Story)
Click me! (http://www.pokemontopaz.net/forums/showthread.php?205-Cyndadile-s-Writing&p=20408&viewfull=1#post20408)
"Never Sad" (Poem)
Click me! (http://www.pokemontopaz.net/forums/showthread.php?205-Cyndadile-s-Writing&p=20444&viewfull=1#post20444)
"Perfect" (Poem)
Click me! (http://www.pokemontopaz.net/forums/showthread.php?205-Cyndadile-s-Writing&p=23594&viewfull=1#post23594)
Any suggestions are welcomed.

[zeroality]

Haha nice plot twist. It's not bad, I'd read a sequel. :)

[Irot_Rebod]

I would enjoy a sequel. Good jorb, overall. ;p

[MewLoverEX]

Love it, Cyndadile. Sequel would be great.

[Pirotechnix]

This is a skit. As such, there should be no sequel -- the comedic placement and pace of the skit is well enough as it is (though its impact isn't nearly as effective unless it was acted out with a good crew ). I think the part about nearly falling off the cliff is unnecessary in its current form, as part of the comedy of the wide man telling him his shoe was untied is lost when you unite it with a plot point later on.

I think if you keep this as a one-off event, the script could definitely be fleshed out with some more lines to lend to the timing. I wouldn't read a sequel mostly because the setup is too "hurried" (read: fine as it is right now if it's isolated) as it is to give good continuity ability.

[Cranky Guy]

A short sequel.

Andrew/ Joseph: What the........*silent*

Father: * Kicks Andrew/Joseph out of house*

Andrew/ Joseph: Wait!

Father: * Stuffs Andrew/Josephs mouth with huge ham before he can say more*


AAAHHHH, that was good.

[Mediocrity_Incarnate]

O.........k? @cg

[Cyndadile]

I don't remember why I wrote this, but it takes place during WWI. Enjoy!

Unnamed Skit (Co-Authored) (Skit)
Narrator: Our main character is amidst a fight with his father over the future…
Andrew: But Father! Thou must understandeth that I must followeth my destiny!
Father: No! Your “destiny” is to work in the mills! And stop with that outrageous accent!
Andrew: No, Father. I must consulteth with the fortune teller to findeth my true destiny. *flees*

Narrator: Andrew now begins along the forest path, and encounters a wise blind man…
Blind Man: Hello, young man. I have a message for you.
Andrew: Dost thou speaketh to me?
Blind Man: Yes, and I have an important message.
Andrew: Well then, speaketh!
Blind Man: Your shoe is untied.
Andrew: *Waves hand in front of blind man’s face* Wait, what?
Blind Man: Your shoe. It’s untied.
Andrew: *Looks down* Oh. *Ties shoe* Thanks. And now, what was thy message?
Blind Man: That was it.
Andrew: Oh. *Slowly leaves, gives weird look to blind man*

Narrator: Andrew finally arrives at the fortune teller, anxious to learn his destiny…
Fortune Teller: Come forth.
Andrew: Wouldst thou telleth my fortune?
Fortune Teller: You have a great destiny ahead of you. I cannot tell you much, but I can tell you this: you will begin a great journey to find the meaning of life; you must first find a talking fish in the lake. Joseph, you…
Andrew: Joseph? No, I’m Andrew.
Fortune Teller: Oh. Well then, you’ll work for your father in the mills.
Andrew: What sayeth thee? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Narrator: Unwilling to return to his father, Andrew runs away, deciding to live on the mountain. He runs past the cliff taking one last glance at what he is leaving behind…
Andrew: *Slips* Thanketh goodness my shoe was tied, else I’d have falleneth from this cliff. *Begins to think*
Narrator: After his near-death experience, Andrew begins to ponder whether or not leaving his family behind was a good idea…

Narrator: Andrew returns home, ready to give in to his father’s wishes…
Andrew: Father! I’m backeth!
Father: Andrew, I am sorry to have treated you so poorly. But now I have something to tell you. You were adopted. Your true name…It is Joseph.

WWII Story (Short Story)
Author's Note: ">" indicates an indent.
>I returned to the front lines yesterday. If possible, the trench smells even worse than it did last time I was here. It was a long walk to make it up to the front, made worse by my failing left leg. It had been shot last year by an enemy soldier.
>It was late evening by the time I arrived. I was immediately put on guard duty. It was a completely silent night, perfectly calm, with the exception of some gunfire a few miles to the north. I hadn’t slept for more than a few minutes at a time in over a year, but I knew sleeping now would be fatal. I knew many people who had been killed for taking a short rest.
>My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, but my ears picked up on the intruder first. I turned my head right, trying to focus on the approaching figure. I slowly pointed my gun at the man emerging, but not slowly enough. He spotted me.
>“Hey! You’re back!” the person said, loud enough for me to hear but not so loud that anyone else would notice him.
>“Hi Sam,” I responded as he climbed into the trench. “What are you doing?”
>“Just wanted to stretch my legs,” he responded. “Get some fresh air.” I never understood him.
>An hour later, my replacement came. I left to find someplace to sleep.
>I guess I fell asleep in the middle of the path, because I was awoken a few minutes later when a newer soldier tripped over my bad leg. Then he scrambled off, completely ignoring me. I then saw why he was running. A huge rat was advancing down the trench. A few seconds later, someone shot it down.
>It was only a few hours later when it was time for stand to. We were all lined up on the front of the trench, ready to intercept any invaders. As usual, I was the first to see anything. A group of enemy soldiers was approaching. I shot one warning shot, coming within inches of the leader’s head. He stood there, paralyzed with fear. Then everyone in the trench sent a volley of bullets in their direction. Every one of the attackers were killed.
>The remainder of the morning was calm. When I finally rested to have breakfast, I realized just how hungry I was. I did not have dinner yesterday, as I was walking the whole afternoon.
>I overheard a few people talking about the end of the war. Ever since it began, people thought it would end quickly. It seemed I was the only person on the planet who disagrees.
>“I hear we’ve almost won,” one of them said.
>“It won’t be long now,” another agreed.
>“You said that last month,” I commented. Everyone gave me a strange look. “Well, it’s true. You people just can’t seem to face the fact that it won’t be easy.”
>“I think we’ve almost beat Austria-Hungary,” the first one said.
>Now I remember why I always used to put up with Sam. He is the only person who will put up with me.
>Just as I had finished eating, the commander assigned me to a patrol. Sam was in that patrol. Our small, 5-person group began out into No Man’s Land. We kept quiet, trying to avoid detection by enemy. It was the perfect day for that, too. A heavy mist hung over the landscape and it would be difficult for anyone to see us. We were trying to add barbed wire to the front line, but we obviously had terrible timing.
>We heard nothing until we were face-to-face with an enemy patrol. Both groups just stood there for a moment, unsure what to do. Then, an enemy soldier punched Sam in the face.
>Both squads exchanged blows, but we were outnumbered 5 to 11. I alone took down four of them, but two from our patrol fell too. Sam and I teamed up on another man, and the other member of our patrol ran west, as fast as he could. It was Sam and I against four other soldiers. One of them took out a knife. Another kicked my bad leg, causing me to collapse. Less than a second later, Sam fell next to me. The knife was imbedded in his heart.
>In anger, I turned over and shot the man who had killed Sam. The shots were perfectly aimed, one to the heart, another to the forehead. He hadn’t even fallen to the ground when machine guns fired from both sides of us. I kept as low as I could. I stayed there for what seemed like hours, bullets showering over my head. I could not believe that Sam had died.
>It was nightfall when I stood up and started to leave. 14 men lay dead around me. I limped back towards the trenches just as the dusk stand to was beginning. I collapsed, exhausted and injured, 10 feet from the trench. A few men ran towards me and dragged me into the trench.
>I woke up an hour later. My leg felt terrible. I looked down and found it to be missing.
>“You had Trench Foot,” one of the nearby nurses said. “If we didn’t amputate, the infection could have spread and you may have died.”
>It really doesn’t matter to me. All I want is to leave this terrible place. I want this terrible war to be over.

"The Zombie" (Short Story)
Upon awaking, he slowly sat up on the metal tray. He felt groggy; unable to concentrate. He couldn’t even remember where he was or what he was doing there. He sat up and looked at his hands. They were a sickly, pale blue color. The skin resembled a wet, deteriorating paper bag. His clothing was not in much better condition.
He put his feet on the floor, feeling the cool tile on the bottoms of his feet. He tried to stand up, but stumbled, heard a cracking sound, and had to prop himself up using the metal tables. Looking around, he saw other sick-looking people doing the same thing. He looked at his feet, and saw the source of the cracking noise that he heard earlier. The big toe on his left foot had broken off. Either he hadn’t felt it, or he didn’t care, because he continued lumbering on towards the door, acting more on instinct than conscious decision. The other people in the room did the same.


~ ~ ~

Eminor looked out of the window, at the room full of his creations. He had finally done it; he had brought a human being back to life. Sure, the first few tests did not go well, but he had FINALLY found the solution. Not only that, but he had successfully brought back over a THOUSAND people. There were a few problems, but that was unavoidable. He couldn’t regenerate their muscle mass, there was a lot of nerve damage, both body and mind were weakened, and they were not exactly pleasant to look at, but his work was REVOLUTIONARY! NO ONE would make fun of him now! NO ONE could call his work crazy! NO ONE would call him crazy! ALL the years of DISRESPECT from his peers, and ALL THE YEARS of ISOLATION had finally paid off! He could finally PROVE that he wasn’t insane! With time, he had PERFECTED his lightning-powered machine. One bolt, he had calculated, could bring back almost TEN THOUSAND people. He could not afford to make that many tables, at least not yet. Now, Eminor had proven himself. Now, he had shown his worth. NOW, he could get the funding for his project that he so obviously DESERVED. With an appropriate budget, he could perfect the small…flaws in his design. Now, it was time to show the WORLD what he had done. The world, which had previously SCOFFED at his ideas, would finally see what he was capable of! He was tired of all the disrespect. He could finally show the world the GENIUS that is EMINOR ROMONO!


~ ~ ~

Eminor gazed out again over his creations. Some of them had not left their platform yet. It was likely that vital parts of their brains had deteriorated, so he could not bring them back.
He looked back towards the successful creations, those that he was able to save from death. Why are they doing that? He wondered. They had gathered by the door, and were trying to push it open. Eminor chuckled. They were trying to get out.
“All in good time,” he reassured them, although they could not have heard him through the glass. “But not yet. First, I have some things I need you to do.”
But they were extremely determined. The thick metal door creaked under their combined weight, and finally gave out. Those in front slowly stood, and led the way out the door. Many of the creatures left parts behind, those that were no longer attached well. Eminor stood, shocked at their combined force, and, having recovered from the shock, rushed for the door. Before he opened the door, he remembered something. The gas . The gas that Eminor had used to aid in the rebirth process was highly toxic. Anyone who came close to the subjects for too long would die in a matter of minutes from the fumes. He pulled on a pale blue gas mask, then threw open the door and chased after his creations.


~ ~ ~

In everyone’s rush to open the door, he lost the pinky and ring finger on his right hand. Still, he felt no pain. On his way out the door, he tripped over a leg, and, after checking to make sure that it was not his leg, pushed himself back onto his feet. He stumbled along, following the hundreds of other people that had left with him.
He caught up with the others quickly, moving back up with the group in front. Still feeling sluggish, the group stumbled slowly away from the building. They followed a dirt path, rain pouring on them, lightning illuminating the horizon. The crackle of thunder make it difficult to distinguish the screams of “STOP, STOP,” in the distance behind the group as they continued down the path, coming to a small park. He saw some dark figures gathering under the streetlamps, and the group levitated towards them.
“Hey, who are you?” The tallest figure asked. “Some kinda parade?”
The group continued towards the light.
“Hey-” the tallest one spoke again, as the group’s features began to become distinguishable. “You’re a bit late for Halloween, freaks!” His friends burst into laughter. It was the last thing they did, as they inhaled a fatal breath of the toxic gas.
The group continued on.


~ ~ ~

There was little that Eminor could do to stop his creations. They paid him no heed, even when he tackled them to the ground. They just stood back up and continued on their way.
He decided that the only thing that he could do was alert the authorities. However much he hated to admit it, it was his only option. He left his creations, far enough away to not risk inhaling the toxic gas, but close enough to keep an eye on them. He pulled off his gas mask so that he could speak easily. He dialed the number on his cell phone.
As soon as they picked up, he began. “Dead people,” he explained, “are invading the city”.
The person on the other end sighed, said, “Sure. I’m certain that they won’t cause any trouble,” and hung up.
Eminor sighed an equally frustrated sigh, pulled on his gas masked, and ran after the group.


~ ~ ~

Mary Holtmer was used to listening to prank 911 calls. What she could not understand was why people made them. Why would anyone be so stupid… she lost her train of thought when the phone rang again.
“Hello,” she began.
“They’re all dying!” the caller said. “these gross people are killing everyone!”
“You mean the dead people?” Mary asked.
“Yes, I guess you could call them that,” the caller replied, obviously stunned by Mary’s nonchalant response.
“Sorry, we are only authorized to arrest living people,” Mary said, then she hung up. I’m so glad my shift is almost over , she thought.


~ ~ ~

He still had no idea where the group was going. It seemed just to be crawling along a road going through the middle of the town. He tried to think of where he was, but could not concentrate. He decided to try to remember his name. It started, he decided after several minutes, with a pointy letter. Definitely not round. Maybe “W”? What names started with “W”? He considered it for a while, his brain working very slowly on the puzzle that he had given himself. The only one he could think of was Will. He must be Will.
“Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiillllllllllll,” he groaned, content with the sound the name. Following his lead, others in the group began groaning with him.
Will looked around. People were staring at them. Maybe they think that we are a parade , Will thought, his mind struggling to reach his conclusion. As the group drew close to people, he noticed, they began to fall to the ground. They must be really tired , Will justified. “Goooooooood niiiiiiiighhhhht,” he wished them, the rest of the group following suit.
It was at that point that people began to scream. Where are they going? Will contemplated, only completing his thought long after the people were gone.


~ ~ ~

By the time Mary’s shift was over, she was completely infuriated. Dozens of people had called, all claiming that these “dead people” had invaded the city. Who , she wondered, has enough time on their hands to start a prank that big? She decided that some people just really need to get a life,.
She pulled on a coat and headed home as quickly as possible. She did not feel like putting up with anyone after her long day of work.
As she turned the corner, she saw a huge group of people about a block away. What is this , she wondered. Some kind of parade? She decided to take the long way home rather than push through the slow-moving crowd.
When she got home, she fell asleep immediately, unaware of the chaos occurring not even three miles away.


~ ~ ~

Eminor caught up with his creations again, after a short detour. He had decided that he needed someone who would trust him to help clean up the mess. As it just so happened, the only person who Eminor could call his friend could also help with his problem. In less than an hour, Eminor’s friend Jacob, the only person who did not consider him insane, had pulled a few strings with the media. As most people know, once the media fixates on a problem, that problem is going to be addressed.
Eminor pulled on his pale blue gas mask, and dove into the herd of his creations. He HAD to save at least one specimen. Otherwise, it would all be lost when the SWAT team arrived to eliminate the problem. Fortunately, Eminor had Jacob’s help in securing one of the creatures. Jacob pulled on Eminor’s spare gas mask, the same grayish-blue color as Eminor’s, and went to help.


~ ~ ~

By now, Will had figured out that something was wrong. Skin is definitely not supposed to be that color , Will had concluded. We must all be sick . What he couldn’t figure out was whether it was contagious or not. Then, he saw several strange-looking vehicles. There were a few people, all of them wearing black, standing behind the vehicles. They wore gas masks, and were holding guns. It must be contagious , Will thought when he saw the gas masks. He tried to quicken his pace, so that he could get to the people in black. They must be here to help us!


~ ~ ~

The SWAT team’s leader had already told his men what to do. “Kill all the blue people,” he had told them, “before they can kill anyone else.”
Now it was time. He was about to tell his team to open fire, but then something strange happened. One of the blue people began to walk faster, almost reaching a normal walking pace. He was coming straight towards them!
“Open fire!” yelled the SWAT team leader.


~ ~ ~

Will could not feel the bullets ripping through his flesh. He simply stumbled, slowing as he approached the people in black. By the time that he reached the row of vehicles, he was crawling. He grabbed the vest of one of the people wearing black.
“Help…us…” he moaned. It was the last thing he said.


~ ~ ~

“No!” Eminor screeched through the filters of his mask. They started too early! Gunshots rang through the air. Eminor and Jacob tried to drag the specimen into a side street. The bullets continued to fly. He looked down at his creation. It was limp in his hands. He looked at its face. There was a hole on its forehead. Eminor screeched again. Jacob looked down, and immediately dropped the twice-dead body. Both of them knew that it was not worth it. Eminor would just have to start again. They took off, doing their best not to get shot.


~ ~ ~

The SWAT leader pushed the dead blue person off of himself, and continued firing. He noticed two figures trying to escape. They were especially fast in comparison to the others, but they were a similar pale blue color. “Get the fast ones!” he yelled to his team. “Don’t let them escape!”
The last two blue people fell to the ground, riddled with bullets. One of them tried to pull itself to its feet, but a shot to the head from the SWAT leader fixed that problem.
“Good work, people,” he told his team. “Saved the day again.”


~ ~ ~

“After much investigation, we have finally found the person who successfully alerted us of the strange outbreak that occurred early last week. Her name is Mary Holtmer, and she tells us that she received numerous calls about ‘dead people’ invading the town. She apparently knew that no one else would take the calls seriously, so she investigated herself. That was pretty courageous of her, don’t you think, Bob?”
“Definitely, Sue. I don’t think I would have done it.”
“I know I wouldn’t have. Now, over to James, with the weather.”
Again, criticism is welcomed. In fact, if it brings a sleeping bag, it can stay a few days :)

EDIT: Oh, I remember now, it was for World Civ! We needed to include certain things, and that is why some facts may seem kind of random. Still, though, comments on writing style are desired. Please don't just say it stinks. Tell me WHY it stinks.

[Cranky Guy]

IT STINKS! Just kidding. Nice story.

[Cyndadile]

Here's some poetry. I'm no good at rhyming though, but I did my best.

Unnamed Poetry (Poem)
There once was a man from Kalamazoo,
He was bored so he built a brand new zoo,
He had a lot of monkeys in a cage that was new,
But all the monkeys did was throw mud.

Yesterday was a boring day,
My friend bought a horse that he saw in a play,
And built up a debt that he could not pay,
Because his horse ate too much vitamin supplement.

Today I got a pen that was pink,
But it broke and sprayed out ink,
When it blew up, I had to blink,
And then I washed my hands in the faucet.

I met someone who liked to complain,
They hated driving a car up to Maine,
I told them that they could fly in a plane,
Or if they’d rather take land, they could travel by taxi.

The other day, a house caught fire,
The person who caused it was such a liar,
He tried to blame an innocent friar,
The monk liked to sing and was part of the chess club.

My friend’s dad liked to cut down trees,
When he went into the forest he was stung by bees,
He tried to run and dropped his keys,
When he tripped over a root, he broke his knees.

[ikkyblob]

Hurrah for nonsense poetry.... Very good.

[zeroality]

I just read the WWII thread. I probably didn't notice it before because we didn't have the 'unread posts' plugin on the forums back then.


Just as I had finished eating, the commander assigned me to a patrol. Sam was in that patrol. Our small, 5-person group began out into No Man’s Land. We kept quiet, trying to avoid detection by enemy. It was the perfect day for that, too. A heavy mist hung over the landscape and it would be difficult for anyone to see us. We were trying to add barbed wire to the front line, but we obviously had terrible timing.
That's an awkward transition, from patrolling to some remark about barbed wire and seems totally out of place. I'm guessing you had to add that in for class and my input is probably useless by now. >_> /late

Not a fan of poetry so I'll leave that to someone else for comment.

[Cyndadile]

Yeah, and I posted it here AFTER I turned it in. Got a good grade.


Not a fan of poetry so I'll leave that to someone else for comment.

You didn't actually read it, did you? Fans of poetry might want to kill me.

[zeroality]

I read the first verse and lost interest. >_>

[Cyndadile]

:(

[Cyndadile]

Updated. I intend to transform the skit into a short story, and add a sequel.

[Cyndadile]

Request for help: I'm in the process of writing a story about several high-schoolers. Two of the characters, the narrator and his friend, are kind of like me. So, I've been doing fine so far, but I realized that eventually I'm going to need to include an actual conversation. That is something that teenagers seem to do alot. So, considering the fact that I have minimal social skills, I was wondering if anyone could give me some advice on how a conversation between two people usually is formatted.

So far, I only need guidelines for the following types of conversations:
-Boy [socially awkword wizard] and boy [socially awkword][wizard's best friend] talk to group of kids [who think that they are cooler than they are] about something that causes a fight.
-Boy [wizard from above] talks to girl [secretly likes the wizard].
-Girl [same as above] talks to boy [socially awkword][wizard's best friend][secretly likes the girl].

No making fun of my love triangle. It builds suspense. And it is really important. Increases target audience, and all that. Really.

I would be very grateful if someone would help me with the social regulations for such encounters. I tend to avoid conversations in general.

[Tyrannigon64]

Don't worry, you are not the only one that isn't good at socializing. Is there anything in particular you want developed in these conversations? Also, is the guy an actual wizard or do you mean that in some other sense? If the former, does everyone else know? Well, from what little I know, let's see if I can think of any not crappy suggestions (chances are low).

Conversation #1: If the guy really is a wizard, "cool" kids should talk about how wizard is a freak. If not, try not to come up with something new; read previous parts that you've already written and write about how the "cool" kids are angry about something that already happened. Oh, and don't forget to make the socially awkword (did you mean awkward?) guys say really lame comebacks.

Conversation #2: Way too broad for anyone to really help with, I think. The only suggestion I have is for the girl to hint at her crush on him, but subtly.

Conversation #3: Again, too broad, IMO. Again, you should have the guy hint on his crush on the girl, but not as subtly due to his social awkwordness.

[ImmunityBow]

I can only give really vague tips with what information you've given:

Situation 1. You need to find some aspect of the wizard that is a weak point. Something he's either very self-conscious about or that he's extremely proud of. Then, have the group of kids viciously target that point. It is that which will make the kids look like they think that they are cooler than they are, and will simultaneously cause a fight.

For situation 2, it'd be helpful if the girl were to send extremely mixed signals, as if she's unsure of what she really wants. Basically she praises the boy for things that he does, but then draws away whenever the conversation steers towards to them as a pair.

As for 3, it's a little strange to have two very similar conversations that run with basically the same subtext. There's going to need to be some kind of twist, or else interest would be quickly lost.

[Cyndadile]

Thanks! I should be able to work with your suggestions. Conversations are one of the two parts that I usually have trouble with. The other is when there is a huge fight scene (with more than 10 people). Those can get really ugly-looking.

EDIT: Just noticed, Topaz has a good anti-duplicate-post system. Very helpful.

[Cyndadile]

Taking a creative writing course this summer, so expect some work from that. I'm working on a short story there that I'm quite proud of (Three).

Added Yellow Monster and Nothing Wrong today. For Yellow Monster, we were given a list of normal activities, and told to write about one. I'll let you guess what I chose. Nothing Wrong was fairly simple; write from a point of view different from your own (older, younger, different nationality, opposite gender, etc.). That was easier for me, because I'm used to that. Of the two, I thing Yellow Monster turned out better.

Yellow Monster (Short Story)
The huge yellow machine rolled to a stop a few feet in front of me, and it opened its huge mouth. Against my better judgment, I went inside. In its body, there were rows upon rows of grey slabs lined the interior, with a thin trail between them. It had already consumed many people, and they were beginning to sit down on the slabs. They seemed to be quite calm, but I had no idea why.
I decided that my best option was to blend in, so I sat down on an empty slab. The original purpose for them, I decided, was definitely not to be used as seats. They were far too uncomfortable for that. As I sat, the machine lurched forward, then stopped, and lurched forward again, eventually beginning to move at a steady pace. I felt the seat around me, and could find no seat belt or rope or safety harness to stop me from being flung from the uncomfortable bench. I was suddenly very certain that I would not be surviving the encounter.
The lining of the machine’s stomach was embedded with pieces of glass. Maybe it had trouble digesting them. I was able to see outside through the smudges and scratches. The machine that I was in was roaming through my own neighborhood. I decided to try to make an escape. I waited until I heard the screeching of its mouth opening, presumably to consume another morsel, and I ran for the front. I dove out the mouth, and into the forest where it could not follow. It stayed there for a moment. Other people emerged, apparently motivated by my bravery. The machine gave up on waiting, and left. I still remained in the forest several minutes, until I was sure it was safe, and then departed to return to the safety of my home.

Nothing Wrong (Short Story)
Every day seemed to be getting shorter. Or maybe I was just taking longer to do things. I turned off my alarm clock. It went off every day, even weekends, at eight. It took me a while to get out of bed, because the bed wanted to make sure that I couldn’t escape. I figured that I could let my bed think that it had won, and then escape when it wasn’t expecting it, so I rested my head on my pillow and pretended to sleep.
After a minute or two, I sat up. My bed did not try to resist. I checked my clock. It said that it was noon. It was probably lying to me. It did that sometimes.
I walked over to my kitchen to start a cup of coffee. On my way, I noticed that the oven’s clock also told me that it was noon. I guess that they were conspiring against me.
I went into the living room and started looking at the mail there. Electricity bill, phone bill, Wal-Mart ad, they all made good kindling for a fire. Except it was summer. I’d have to wait a few months to make a fire.
I picked up the remote, and turned on the TV. The news was on. I watched it for a few minutes, then went to get my coffee. I was just pouring a cup when there was a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Its me,” a man answered. He was fairly tall, and had black hair and tan skin. He also had a Mohawk. When did that happen?
“Oh, hello Ben. Come in.” I eyed his hairdo. “I hope you aren’t planning on going out in public like that.”
“Like what, Dad?” he asked.
I pointed a finger at his hair. He reached up and touched his hair, but didn’t say anything.
“Come in. I’m watching the news,” I repeated.
He followed me into the living room. “Dad…” he began.
“What?”
“The TV isn’t on.”
“Of course it is. It’s the news.”
“The power is out.”
“Nonsense.”
“Dad, I think that you need to see a doctor…”
“There’s nothing wrong with me! I’m not going anywhere! There is nothing wrong!”
“Dad…”
“Fine!” I said, thoroughly annoyed. “If you want, I’ll go with you. But there is nothing wrong with me!”
And that is how I ended up here. There is nothing wrong with me. Nothing.

[Tyrannigon64]

Those were very interesting. Who is the "Yellow Monster" told by? At first I thought an animal, but I'm sure they would notice it. Unless it's an insect.

[Cyndadile]

Uh, it is told by a school child. Unspecified age. Just a human. Hey, those things are scary death traps!

[Tyrannigon64]

Well, noting his/her unfamiliarity with it, and the line "against my better judgement, I went inside." I'm guessing it's his/her first time on one, and (s)he's probably quite young, probably kindergarten or first grade. I'm thinking too much, aren't I?

[Cyndadile]

That age would be reasonable. And no, you're not overthinking it. Writing (or at least my writing) is made to make you think. What you think about is up to you.

[ImmunityBow]

To your credit, it wasn't immediately obvious that the yellow monster was a school bus, though I did figure it out halfway through. I find that's very difficult to achieve: often, it's either way too obvious or way too nebulous.

[Cyndadile]

Thank you! I think the class is actually helping with stuff like that. Some of it seems pointless, but they have some helpful resources. Worked on a poem today that is similar to the bus story, due to the fact that the subject isn't really known until the end. It migh be too nebulous, but I do say it in the end. I'll be posting that tomorrow, after revisions.

Also, does anyone know if the titles of short stories and poems should be italicized or in quotes?

[Tyrannigon64]

I'm pretty sure they're supposed to be italicized.

[Cyndadile]

I thought so, but something I read said that short stories and poems go in quotes, while novels, movies, and long poems are in italics.

[ImmunityBow]

In MLA format, short stories, poems, TV episodes and articles are in quotes, novels, movies and long poems are either underlined or italicized.

[Cyndadile]

Ok, thanks. I usually use MLA for stuff, because my teachers prefer it and I am more used to it. Is it any different for APA? Probably doesn't matter, but I'm curious. I believe that my health teacher wanted me to use APA, because it was typically used for science stuff or something.

[ImmunityBow]

I looked it up, and it seems to me that books, films, journals, are all italicized in APA, whereas articles are just in plain text, without even quotations.

[Cyndadile]

I'm not really a poet, but I think I have my moments. This is the best poem that I've done in a while; "Never Sad":

"Never Sad" (Poem)
hundreds, thousands, joined Together
defying all the Odds,
Communities, gathered Underwater,
spreading Their Lives on.
Time has no Significance
to these Mysterious Beings,
They Live Their Lives,
taking Their Time,
and having no Regrets.
We Humans scoff,
“what simple Lives,”
yet perhaps, just maybe,
We are Wrong;
while We tire of Our Lives,
and seldom feel Accomplished,
We could take Their Paths through Life,
as They never complain.
it seems quite Clear, to me, at least,
that while We can’t find Our Happiness,
the Coral are Never Sad.

Sometimes titles just feel right. You know it when you see it. "Never Sad," "The Zombie," and "Three" are some of the best titles that I've used. They just fit. I don't care if anyone else agrees, I'm the author and what I say goes.

[ImmunityBow]

Could you explain the capitalizations? There seems to be some method to it but I can't quite figure it out.

[Cyndadile]

Essentially, they are the Important Words. Important things/ideas (Life, Community, Happiness), and the things that respect should be shown to (Time, They, Us, Coral, Humans).

I almost regret doing it because my teacher got confused, and when I explained it, she still seemed to consider taking points off for it. But I don't regret it. I'm not going to ruin my writing because other people think it needs to change. I know what lies underneath, and none of them do, so I will do as I please.

I'm going to have a REALLY hard Time with editors.

[ImmunityBow]

Why are "Underwater," "Mysterious, and "Clear" capitalized then? What significance places them on the same level as, say, "Being" or "Life?"

[Cyndadile]

Underwater is important because it is related to water, one of the most important molecules on Earth. It is also Home (another word worth capitalizing) to a majority (or at least a lot) of the world's life, and it was where life likely started.

Mysterious is significant because Mysteries are what makes life...life. Also, it is part of a title for "Coral" (Mysterious Beings), and Coral's state of capitalization gives reason for alternative titles to be given similar status.

Clear is important in the context because it refers to Clarity or Enlightenment. Again, I feel that those are important ideas.

Also, here is "Three," unedited. Turning it in on Monday, and afterword it will get butchered to incorporate a bunch of writing techniques that I probably won't think fit. Any editing help would be appreciated! It is obvious that it needs revisions, and the people in my writing class are too lenient and unwilling to give me the thorough help that I'd prefer. I'm going to wait to add it to the master list in the first post until all revisions are in.
Note: Alternate font is meant to be a bold, flowing cursive. Imagine it so. The forums don't seem to have any such font.
“Where were you last night?” he asked as I tiredly stumbled into the apartment.

I glared at him for a moment. The bright lights in the room stung at my eyes, which had become accustomed to the heavy darkness outside. “Where were you?”

“Where do you think?”

“Why didn’t you answer when I called?”

“What did you call about?”

I rubbed my forehead. It never ended up well when we were answering questions with more questions. “I needed someone to come pick me up. That’s why I was late. I had to walk home.”

“Oh.” He slowly leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on the leathery brown armrests.

“Yeah.”

“What happened? Didn’t you drive today?”

“That’s the problem. I was in an accident.”

My roommate tried to hide it, but I could tell that he wanted to laugh. His hand was covering his mouth, but I could still see the corners of his mouth. “I told you before; you’re a terrible driver.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” I protested.

“Sure it wasn’t.”

“Seriously. Someone came up beside me and forced me off the road.”

His smile faded. “Why did they do that?”

“I don’t know. They were gone by the time the police came.”

“Is everyone ok?”

“I hope so. I was driving with a coworker, Jeff. He was brought to the hospital. They wouldn’t tell me much, except that he had suffered a lot of trauma.”

“Why didn’t you go with him?”

“They would only let family see him.”

“I’m sorry. I hope he is ok.”

“I hope so, too.”

We were both quiet for a while. Then my roommate broke the silence.

“Did you get their license plates?” he asked.

“Part of them. ‘137-D-something-something.’”

“Hold on. Isn’t that my license plate?”

“Is it?”

“I’ll go check.” He left. He eventually returned, but he took much longer than it typically would have.

“Well?” I asked.

“I…don’t know. My car is gone.”

“So,” I skillfully deduced, “someone stole your car to try to kill me? That’s…a bit strange.”

He didn’t answer. He had picked up the phone and was probably trying to report the car missing. Dialing the number, he frowned at the phone in confusion.

“What?” I asked.

“Phone isn’t working.”

“Try your cell.”

He dialed the number but had no luck. “No service.”

“We always have service here.”

“I know. Maybe…” The phone rang before he could finish his thoughts.

I glanced at him, then down at the phone. He shrugged, just as confused as I was. I picked up the phone.

“Hello,” I began.

“One,” said the man on the phone, and then the line went dead.

I placed the phone down cautiously.

“What did he say?” my roommate asked.

“He said ‘one.’”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

We stood together in silence for a few moments. “That is creepy,” my roommate finally said, quite decisively.

“What do you think we should do now?”

“I don’t know if we should be the ones doing anything. Maybe we should talk to the police.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Hopefully they can take care of everything.”

I opened the door, and my roommate followed me down the stairs. He is taller than I am, and his steps were longer than mine, so he ended up ahead of me when we reached the bottom of the stairs. I nearly knocked him over when he stopped, staring at the door out of the stairwell.

“What is it?” I asked. He moved over, and let me see the door.

Written there, in dark red ink, were these words:


Leaving so soon?

I wouldn’t if I were you.

Reasonably, my roommate and I decided not to leave.


We walked back up the stairs, silent save for the echoes of our footsteps. When we arrived at our apartment again, I broke the silence.

“We’ll tell the police in the morning,” I said, more to myself then to anyone else.

“I think that’s a good idea,” responded my roommate.

I looked around the room for something to distract myself from the eerie situation. I picked up the stack of mail and started sorting through it. There was only one letter addressed to me; it had no return address, and was in a small blue envelope. I tore the envelope open and unfolded the piece of paper inside it.

It was a short letter, written in a dark, flowing handwriting.


Over the course of the next two days, I shall be attacking three of the people who know you best. You will be informed promptly of their deaths. Do not try to save them all; I know how you will act, and I will find them. I have chosen you as my target for no reason other than opportunity. Nothing personal.

-R.


At first, I thought that I must have been misreading the letter. I reread it several times, before I realized that I was just avoiding the truth. I looked up at my roommate. He was watching me with a questioning gaze, and he was running his hand through his hair. That was always a sign that he was worried.

“What did the letter say?” he asked.

I tried to say something, but I couldn’t. To avoid the trouble of figuring out how to talk again, I tossed him the letter. His eyes ran over the print on the letter, and I wondered if I had gotten that pale when I was reading it.

“What should we do?” I asked him after he finished reading it.

“I…I don’t think it can wait until morning,” he stuttered. I could hear the fear creeping its way into his voice.

“Right. I’ll go to the police. You can come if you want.” I tried to sound confident. “I’m sure the wacko will back down when he finds out that we’ve gone to the police.”

“I’ll stay here,” my roommate replied. “And…keep everything safe, or something.”

“Ok. Just stay away from windows, and don’t unlock the door for anyone. Isn’t that how they do it on TV?”

“Right,” he confirmed.


I went down the same stairs that we had gone down earlier. I figured that whoever had written the message had covered all the stairs in creepy messages, so it didn’t matter which I took. When I was on the last flight of steps, I noticed a faint pine smell. It got stronger as I went farther down the stairs. The scent stung slightly, like bug spray or rubbing alcohol.

The message on the door was gone. That might explain the smell, then; it was probably removed with some sort of cleaner. I opened the door carefully. No traps. The lobby was empty, and the lights came on as I entered the room. I crossed the room to the front door, stepping around the fancy-looking glass elevator that stood, surrounded by “caution” tape, in the middle of the room. To me, it had always seemed stupid that they never bothered to fix the elevator. Walking up and down seven floors to my apartment can be extremely tiring, especially after walking home from across town. Carefully checking all of the shadows for sinister figures, I pushed open the heavy glass door and stepped out of the building.

Outside, it was dark and quiet. It may have been my imagination, but it seemed quieter than usual. Most towns have at least some traffic at night, but today the roads seemed completely clear. The only sound was the chirping of crickets.

Walking to the police station wasn’t a problem; it was only a few blocks away. I didn’t see anyone on the sidewalks as I went, but I couldn’t tell if there was anyone hiding in the shadows. I hoped that there wasn’t.

The police station was well-lit, inside and out. The rough, red-orange brick of the building was covered in yellow light from the streetlamps. I opened the door.

“Hello,” said someone sitting behind a desk. It was clearly a slow day, because he was reading a book and leaning back in his chair.

I interrupted before he could continue. “I received this letter today.” I put the open envelope, with the letter still safely stored inside, on the desk.

Raising an eyebrow, he drew out the letter. He read it over, his eyes widening as he finished. “Boss!” he shouted back into the building. “We got another one!”

A short, heavyset man with a bushy brown mustache clambered down the hallway, carrying a white mug of coffee. “Let me see,” he said. At least, I think he said it. I couldn’t tell if his mouth had actually moved beneath his mustache.

The man behind the desk handed over the letter.

“Matches the handwriting from the others,” the police chief mused, “and it’s a similar message.” He turned to me. “Has anything strange happened since you received the letter?”

“I just opened it, but some weird things have been happening, yes. I was pushed off the road by my roommate’s stolen car a few hours ago, and our phones went dead. Then someone called and just said, ‘one.’”

The police chief muttered something that I couldn’t hear. “If that’s true, then someone has already died. We need you to contact friends and family, and tell them not to talk to anyone for a while. Also, we are going to need to know…” he was interrupted by my cell phone.

I looked at my phone, frowning. “This wasn’t working before,” I said.

“Answer it,” both police officers said. I did.

“Hello?” I said.

“Help,” my roommate said as soon as I picked up. “He’s…” I heard the phone drop to the floor, followed by two loud cracks. Then the phone was picked up again.

“Two,” answered a familiar voice. Then the cell phone abruptly went dead, just as the one in my apartment had.

“Was that him?” asked the chief.

I didn’t answer at first, stunned into silence by the message. “He said ‘two,’” I eventually responded. “I think…I think he shot my roommate.”

“Who else is in the area that might be in trouble?”

“No one. My family all lives in Washington.”

“Then, if the killer takes the same path as usual…you’re next. As well as any witnesses around you.”

“What should I do?” I asked.

“You should probably stay here and stay calm. It is unlikely that someone will try to attack you if you are surrounded by police.”

I nodded my agreement. “So, I just wait here until you catch him?”

“That’s the plan,” the chief confirmed.


I don’t know how long I was waiting in the police station. More officers came throughout the night, and still others waited in the shadows outside, watching in case the killer decided to attack me in the police station. It was sometime between midnight and dawn when something suspicious finally happened. All the lights went out at once, and we were plunged into a void of darkness.

Several of the officers swiftly drew their guns, as if it was an instinctive reaction. They spun around, each looking in a different direction, guarding all the entries to the room, even the windows and vents. To make sure that I wouldn’t be in anyone’s line of fire, I bravely ducked underneath a desk.

It took only a few seconds for the backup generator to come roaring to life. As soon as the lights flickered back on, everyone relaxed a little. It didn’t last long.

The screeching sound of metal crashing against metal echoed through the room as the lights began to dim. A high pitched metallic scream joined the orchestra, followed by a deafening “bang.” Then, all was silent and dark.

I forced myself to remain calm. It is an extremely difficult task when you’re about to die. Staying calm becomes increasingly more difficult when someone starts shooting at you, which was exactly what happened next.

Less than half a second after the intruder started shooting, the police officers in the room began to fire in return. I find it extremely difficult to believe that any of them was actually trying to hit the killer, because not one of the officers was able to hit him. I admit that it wouldn’t be easy to aim in the darkness, but the sound of the gunshots should have given them a general location to focus their aim.

Squinting my eyes in an attempt to see through the dark, I saw a dark figure darting across the wall on the other side of the room. I carefully backed farther under the desk, trying to make myself a less obvious target. I heard the grunts of officers who had been shot, and the thuds of people falling to the floor around me. The smell of blood filled the room.

I saw the police chief, a bullet hole centered on his forehead, falling to the floor in front of the desk. As his gun, still clutched firmly in his hand, hit the ground, there was a flash of light. I jumped in surprise, hitting my head against the top of the desk. I don’t think anyone heard; they were too busy getting shot to notice. I suppressed a scream as my leg started screaming in pain. The police couldn’t shoot a killer, but they seemed to be quite capable of hitting the person that they were trying to protect.

My eyes adjusting to the darkness, I followed the killer around the room. No one was shooting. The rest of the police officers must have been shot down. I heard some of them groaning, luckily still alive. The killer moved among the shadows, at one with the darkness. He was wearing one color; his shoes, pants, shirt, and mask were all black. Watching him made my mouth feel as if it were filled with something vile. I felt an urge to spit it out, but I didn’t want the sound to draw attention to myself.

As I watched, one of the injured officers leaned up and pointed his gun at the killer. The killer was faster, shooting the officer in the heart and the forehead. He leaned down to pick up something from one of the fallen police officers. He pulled the gun out of the officers hands, and emptied the bullets into his pockets. When he stood up again, he noticed me.

I had quietly stood up, using the desk to support me. He focused his gun on me, aiming for my head. There was a loud bang, and a flash of white light. The killer fell to the floor.

“Three,” I said, placing the chief’s gun on the desk beside me.

[ImmunityBow]

The premise reminds me of Heavy Rain. One thing that immediately jumps out at me is "He suffered a lot of trauma," which strikes me as odd. It's usually "serious trauma" or something like that, I don't think you can quantify trauma.

[Cyndadile]

I came up with a new story idea today, and I'd like to know if anyone has heard of a similar story before. It is basically the opposite of a lot of stories about wizards.


Note: This takes place many years in the future, I haven't decided an exact date yet. The protagonist's name is probably going to be changed. I'm using "Mortal" as a synonym for "Non-Wizard" for now, until I find a better word that is not stolen from Harry Potter.

Centuries ago, humans would never have believed that people would be able to harness the magic inside them. Yet today, every human on Earth has access to a vast array of abilities that the ancients had only dreamed of. Well, every human except one. Alison has led a difficult life; in a world where everything is operated by wand, it is extremely difficult for a mortal to do something as simple as turning on a Holo-Vision set. On her sixteenth birthday, when most people receive their wizarding license, Alison is instead visited by agents from the government. They want to bring her to a government facility for some kind of testing. Her parents are willing to put their daughter in the capable hands of the government, but Alison isn't quite as confident in these strangers...


Did that make sense? I can clear up anything that seems too vague.

[ImmunityBow]

This isn't a story idea, this is a teaser snippet. The problem is that we can't help you if you're going to be secretive about the plot. Currently it looks pretty generic, with the twist being that instead of the old cliche of the past having all the cool stuff, the cool stuff is now. Otherwise you haven't really revealed enough plot elements, especially the conflict since it seems pretty obvious that the conflict is going to be between Alison and the government but all the other details surrounding the conflict aren't there.

tl;dr, More information is needed before any opinions can really be formed.

[Cyndadile]

Ok, I just wanted to see if anyone was interested in hearing more.

This is almost everything (plot-related) that I've come up with so far. There are some other random details in my notes that aren't too important to the plot, I won't share those.

Alison ends up escaping the government fairly early, although she doesn't realize the true reason for it; she didn't really outsmart the gov, she simply was unaffected by their attempts to stop her. I'll explain that in a few lines.

Alison is on the run. She's not very good at it, since most people don't do petty things like "camping" anymore. Also, the gov't seems to be especially good at finding her. It's almost like magic.

Eventually, Alison ends up in The Cave. I'm not sure if she finds it on her own, or if someone leads her there. The only entrance to The Cave is by swimming down into a pool of water, and the pool is contaminated with iron, so it repells magic. Inside The Cave is a secret hideout for mortals. All of the escaped mortals are trying to stop the government, because the gov't wants to wipe out mortals. Alison joins them.

Why does the gov't want to destroy the mortals? Well, it turns out that the mortals aren't as powerless as they seem. See, they have the power to see through all the mind tricks. The government is officially a democracy, but their hasn't been a presidential election for over a decade. The power-hungry politicians have found a new type of power; Dark Magic. They're using mind control to keep the people under control, but the mortals are immune (at least, the ones that haven't been exterminated are).

Eventually, The Cave gets an unexpected visitor; Alison's (ex-)boyfriend. Alison convinces the rest to trust him, but he can't do much but inform them about the gov't's actions. If he were to fight, the gov't would control him. As it is, if he is caught they could interrogate him for The Cave's location, and he would have to give it to them.

That's all for now. Enough for an opinion?

[ImmunityBow]

The mortal's struggle to establish their right to live is a compelling one, and their seems to be a lot of potential for drama surrounding the ex, and yes, things seem to fit together. I think your idea has a lot of plot potential, but also a lot of potential for author bias (your political views, your experiences) to come in and make the story less accessible for people who don't share that point of view. I'd like to see the story play out.

[Cyndadile]

Thanks. I'm going to do my best to avoid bias, which should be fairly easy when it comes to politics since the government is fairly black-and-white (killing=bad, dictatorship-of-the-world=bad). Unless, of course, you support genocide, in which case this may not be the book for you.

[ImmunityBow]

In making it too black and white, you can lose a lot of potential antagonistic depth, which is all the rage with the kids these days. I don't mean to avoid bias, since bias is unavoidable, rather don't let the book become your outlet for your political ideas rather than a story in and of itself.

[Cyndadile]

Hmm... Depth in the president would definitely enhance it, at least. I'm going to have to do some more thinking about that. I'm planning on writing in the third person, so it shouldn't be too difficult to go into detail about other characters.

[Cyndadile]

"Perfect" (Poem)
Dedicated to Lucida C.
Special Thanks to Charles Bigelow and Kris Holmes
You are perfect.
Nothing else compares
to your gentle shapes
and glowing form.

Others try
to replace you,
to show you up,
but never with sucess.

Long hours I have watched you.
From afar,
from close by,
anywhere we meet.

Lucida, Lucida,
your beauty can't be matched.
you captivate me
with perfection.

Lucida,
I can't imagine
this world without you,
without us.

Lucida.
A beautiful name.
It suits you well,
for you are perfect.

Lucida,
I see the how others
adore you, but
I am not jealous.

I know,
Lucida,
that we will always
have each other.

Lucida,
I admit I've left before,
but I will always come back
for you.

Lucida,
nothing else compares.

Lucida,
you are perfect.
Another poem, rough draft, for fun. Also, changed first post. All spoilers now contain links to the post which contains the story.

[ImmunityBow]

Criticizing from a feminist perspective (which I don't often take), the poem holds Lucida to an unrealistic standard. There's something slightly frightening about it, especially the last two sentences.

[Cyndadile]

I don't see what feminism has to do with it... (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucida) :D

<3 Lucida Console

[ImmunityBow]

Oh lol.

Got me :3

[Cyndadile]

Why can't people understand my feelings... :(

Society frowns upon our relationship.

[ImmunityBow]

Because Gill is my personal love.

[Cyndadile]

Dr. Seuss, he had it right;
(Whenever, in fact, he did write)
To add a rhyme is to add some fun,
For everything and everyone!
Once you start, it's hard to stop,
You think of rhymes for words like "pop."
And if you're stuck on words like "orange,"
You can use half-rhymes with words like "door-hinge!"

[Cyndadile]

I'm only beginning to realize that Douglas Adams walked a fine line between stupidity and comedy. Emulating his writing is hard.

You know what else is hard? Keeping your names straight. I keep wanting to write Emily (the tritagonist in Topaz Adventures) instead of Amy (deuteragonist/tritagonist in a different story).

Finally, I'm surprised that I haven't posted this yet:

The Island
****The Knight crouched down, raised the Weapon. The Beast lowered its head, scratched the dirt, and prepared to charge. The Knight leapt to the left, standing between the Beast and the Great Tree, and he waits for the Beast to charge.
****The Beast let out a growl as it began its swift advance. The Knight is faster; he jumped up and gathered air beneath him to slow his decent. He cast out the Staff, and the Orb at its end glowed red as it let out a wall of flame.
****The Beast was startled and changed course, moving to the right, avoiding the dangerous wall. The Knight was waiting for him there. He held up his hand and let forth a burst of force from the Pyramid on his Ring. The Beast was sent flying back, and lets out a surprised yelp. It pauses for a moment before retreating. There are other trees to eat from, it decides. Other trees that are not so dangerous.
****One man, a blacksmith from the Village across the Lagoon, watched this battle with great interest. As the Knight brushed the dust from his brilliant Cloak, the Villager approached him.
****“I have heard much of your power, about how you ward off the Beasts and locked away the Monster” the Villager began, “but I did not truly comprehend your power until I saw you fighting just now. You are able to protect the Great Tree,” The young blacksmith bowed to the Great Tree before continuing, “without harming any of the Beasts. You must be the most powerful person on the Island.”
****“I simply protect the Island to the best of my abilities,” replied the soft-voiced Knight. “It is the Scribe who is the most powerful in the land, and who does the most to protect the Island.” He motioned towards the branches of the Great Tree. Sitting in the lower branches was a young woman. A great contrast to the Knight, with his brilliant Cloak and gleaming headband, the Scribe was clothed in simple dress. In place of the Weapon, Staff, and other objects that held the Knight’s power, the Scribe held a single scroll and a pure, white quill.
****The Scribe dropped from the Great Tree as the Knight continued, “It is the Scribe, and her Script, that give me power. It is she who writes the fate of the Island.”
****The Scribe smiled at the Knight, kissed him on the cheek. “The Knight and I are the Guardians, and so we must do all we can to protect the Great Tree.” The Scribe’s voice was soft like the Knight’s, but held a tone of authority that the Knight did not match. “It is the Objects that hold this Island together. The Guardians may come and go, but the Objects must always be there. The people of the Island must remember that their safety lies in the Objects, not the Guardians. There will come a time, however, when the Guardians will need more than the Objects to protect the Island. We can only hope that the Guardians, whoever they will be, are prepared for the challenge.”
****The young blacksmith did not fully understand the Scribe. Few ever did, for she often spoke in prophecies or riddles, or told of unimaginable futures or pasts. The Knight, however, was of the same mind of the Scribe, and he never had trouble understanding her.

****The blacksmith bade the two Guardians farewell, and left them at the Great Tree. Both the Scribe and the Knight resided near the Great Tree while they were in the Town. The Knight did so because he felt that it was his duty to protect the Great Tree, and the Scribe did so because she felt obligated to protect the Knight. The Guardians always traveled together, because they depended on each other, and felt lonely in each other’s absence.
****The Guardians did, in fact, have names once, but they lost these when they took up their roles. They do not mind this because their new names describe them better than any birth name could. The Scribe was the Scribe. The Knight was the Knight.

****The following evening, the Guardians left the Town. Every month they would travel around the Island, watching over its inhabitants, although they spent most of their time in the Town, guarding the Great Tree. Both of them carried a backpack full containing food and supplies, but they brought as little as possible on their travels.
That day, they were travelling across the Lagoon to visit the Village. Boat was the fastest way to reach the Village, for the Island was divided by a Swamp that made travel by land difficult. The ship that the Guardians took was shared by several other passengers, including the young blacksmith that they met the day before.
****“Hello, Knight, Scribe,” the blacksmith greeted them. “Are you visiting the village?”
****“Yes,” said the Scribe. “We intend to spend a few days there before following the Lagoon to the Swamp, where we will check if the Camp is still doing well.”
****“Do you have a place to stay while in the Village?” asked the blacksmith. “The nights can be very harsh in the desert. If you have no other plans, I would be honored to house you for your stay.”
****The Guardians considered this. They usually chose to camp outside the Village, but it was true that the nights would be especially harsh with Winter approaching. Without speaking a word, they conversed with each other and decided to accept the blacksmith’s offer.
****“That would be very kind,” said the Knight. “Thank you.”
****“It would be my pleasure,” replied the blacksmith.

****It was night by the time that the ship reached the Village. The flame in the Village Lighthouse cast a glow over the docks. The blacksmith led the Scribe and the Knight to his house.
****The blacksmith’s house was made of clay and roofed with wood, much like the houses around it. He led the Guardians inside and showed them their beds, then went to the kitchen to prepare some tea. The Guardians unpacked their bags, and then went to the table to discuss their plans. The blacksmith returned from the kitchen and placed a cup of tea in front of each of them, and they thanked him.
****The Guardians had become very cautious people over the years, especially when it came to food and drink. The Knight glanced at the Scribe, who withdrew her Script from her pocket. She unrolled it under the table and scribbled a few words. Satisfied with the results, she nodded and returned the Script to her pocket. Both Guardians took a sip of tea.
****Seated around the table, the Guardians and the blacksmith discussed the Island, their jobs, their thoughts. The blacksmith was the man who forged weapons for the Island’s soldiers, the ones who protected the Citizens form the Beasts. The blacksmith had many questions about the Knight’s gear, especially his Weapon. “What design do you prefer?” He asked. “What techniques do you use? How sharp is its blade?” While the Knight answered the blacksmith’s questions, the Scribe retired to her room.
****It was very late at night, or perhaps very early in the morning, when the blacksmith allowed the Knight to get some rest. Before the Knight could arrive at his room, there was a frantic knocking on the door. The Knight instinctively answered it.
****“Is there a problem?” he asked.
****“Knight! It is fortunate that you are here!” responded the man. “Something terrible has happened at the Camp near the Swamp! Something has attacked the Camp and dragged away some of its people! You must save them!”
****The Knight immediately began to prepare to go to the Swamp. The Scribe heard him collecting his Objects.
****“Where are you going?” she asked.
****“There has been an incident at the Camp. I must go help them.”
****“I will go with you.”
****“No, you should get some sleep. You must be well-rested in order to fulfill your duties.”
****But the Scribe insisted that the Knight bring her along, and the Knight finally agreed.

****For most occasions, the two Guardians would have crossed the Desert and hiked through the Swamp to get to the Camp, or they would have taken the Path from the Town. Some days, they would travel by boat, although it is difficult to land a boat on the shore near the Camp. This time was an emergency, so they took the fastest route at their disposal: the sky.
****The Scribe held tight to the Knight’s Cloak, and the Knight swiped his Staff at the ground. The Orb atop the Staff glowed a light grey color, and as it moved a gust of wind followed it. The force of the wind flung the Knight upwards and away from the Village. He landed several dozen meters away. Again he slashed the Staff through the air, and again he flew through the air. The Orb had enough power to let them fly high above the trees, but the Knight stayed close to the ground so that the Scribe would not be too greatly injured if she fell.

****The Guardians leaped across the Desert and over the Swamp in less than a quarter of an hour. When they landed at the Camp, they were greeted by a scene of destruction.
****Something had knocked over most of the tents in the Camp, and there were large claw marks all over the ground. One of the people living at the Camp, an explorer of the Swamp, met the Guardians.
****“What happened here?” asked the Knight.
****“It was one of the Monsters,” answered the explorer.
****“A Monster? They usually stay in the Swamp unless they are attacked, and it is difficult to get deep enough into the Swamp to see one.”
****“I did not see the Monster myself, but I know where it came from.”
****“What do you mean?”
****“I was in the Swamp, on the side by the Sea, and I noticed that several trees had been uprooted. I went deeper into the Swamp to see if I could find out what happened. The trail didn’t go far.” The explorer paused.
****“Go on,” prompted the Scribe.
****“At the end of the trail of wreckage, I found a large metal plate. It had been bent out of form.”
****The Knight turned pale. “No,” he said, “it can’t be.”
****“Yes,” responded the explorer. “The Vault had been opened. I hurried back to Camp to warn them, but it was too late.”
****“Are you sure?” asked the Scribe. “The Vault was impossible to open from the inside, even if the Great Monster was awake. Someone would have had to open it from the outside.”
****“I don’t know who opened it, but the Great Monster was gone.”
****The Knight moved towards the tracks that the Great Monster had left behind. The Scribe joined him. She was drawing something on her Script.
****“It is unmistakable,” said the Knight. “These are its tracks.”
****“Yes,” said the Scribe. She showed him the Script. It was printed with a map of the Island. At the top left of the map was the Mountain, and an “X” covered the entrance to the Cave at the top. “The Great Cthulhu has been released. It is at the Mountain now, so we should have time to get the people away from here before it returns.”
****“You must take care of that,” said the Knight. “I need to go to the Cave to rescue the people that it took.”
****“Are you sure that you can do that alone?”
****The Knight took an hourglass from his belt and gave it to the Scribe. He had not used the Time for many months, so the bottom of the hourglass was filled with golden sand. “Take the Time. I will go to Cthulhu, keep it from attacking the people. Tell the people here to cross to the Village, through the Swamp. Cthulhu is not liked by the other Monsters, so it will be hesitant to enter the Swamp. Once they cross the Desert, they will be safe. Once you send them off, go to the Town. Send them to the Village by boat.”
****“But Cthulhu can travel by water. It can attack the boats.”
****“Use the Script to aid their journey. Then, I must ask you to stay in the Town, near the Great Tree. Close the Town gates.”
****“Why do I need to stay at the Town? Shouldn’t I go to the Mountain to help you?”
****“No. That is why I gave you the Time. If I find that Cthulhu has grown too strong, you will have to activate the plan. You will need both the Script and the Time for that.”
****The Scribe nodded, but was very nervous. She knew that the plan was made for emergencies like this, but she had hoped that she would never have to use it. Using might save the Island, but it could also destroy the Island. Would anyone be able to free the Island, or would it be trapped between times forever?
****The Knight held her hand. “We’ve beaten it before, haven’t we? We’ll do it again,” he said, although he didn’t sound very confident.
****The Scribe nodded. “I know,” she said.
****The Knight kissed her good-bye and left for the Mountain in the Wastelands, and the Scribe began to evacuate the Camp.

****The plan was created by the original Guardian: the Librarian. He watched over all of the Objects and kept track of who had them. At that time, there was no Scribe or Knight, and the people of the Island competed for them. Each Object had its own temple or shrine where these competitions took place.
****Eventually, it became clear that people were abusing the power of the Objects. Instead of using them to protect the Island, people would use the Objects for selfish reasons. The Librarian decided that the only way to ensure the safety of the Island would be to entrust the Objects to trustworthy Guardians. These Guardians would use the Items to protect the Island and its people.
****Before he appointed the Guardians, he invented the plan. It was a lengthy chain of events that would unfold if the Island was in danger. In order to activate the plan, one would have to write a certain symbol on the Script then use the Time to begin.
****Once the plan was activated, the Island would be locked in time and the Objects would be cast away. In order for the Island to be saved, someone from the outside world would have to collect all of the Objects and return them to the Island. No one but the Librarian had done this before, so the Librarian was confident that whoever collected them would be skillful enough to save the Island.
****The Librarian gave the most powerful Object, the Script, to the Scribe, and gave the rest to the Knight. This helped to balance their powers, and also, by separating the Script from the Time, made it necessary for both Guardians to agree that the plan was necessary.
****The Librarian chose the first Scribe and Knight, and each Scribe and Knight chose their own successors. After that, the Librarian left the Island in their care, and no one has seen him since.

****With the use of the Orb, the Knight arrived at the Mountain quickly. He looked into the Cave.
****A huge form stood in the middle of the Cave. It was almost as tall as the cave, towering at least 10 meters tall, and it had giant wings. Its hands and feet had sharp claws, and its head was shaped like an octopus, with a row of tendrils surrounding its mouth. It was facing out of the cave, looking directly at the Knight.
****“Hello again, Knight.” A man stepped out of the shadows of the Cave. “I’m surprised it took you so long to arrive. And I believe you’ve met my friend, Cthulhu?” The Monster let out a great roar.
****“You freed Cthulhu?” asked the Knight. “Why? Don’t you know that it will destroy the Island?”
****“I know all about Cthulhu and its powers,” answered the man. “That is why I have chosen to use it. You Guardians have held the Island captive for too long. It is time for a new protector. Tradition has made you Guardians appear as Kings, but you do not have the interests of the people at heart. You trap us here, on this Island, and you make us your servants. If you truly cared for the people, you would use your Objects to take us from this Island, not to keep us here.”
****“That is not true,” the Knight protested, but the man cut him off.
****“You have grown used to getting everything you want from us. You expect us to house you, to support you, to obey you. Why should we trust you? I am tired of being a blacksmith, making weapons for use against the Beasts. Why is the Great Tree so important? Perhaps we are better off without it. Let the Beasts tear it to shreds.”
****“You… are the blacksmith? How did you get here from the Village?”
****“I have powers that you would not comprehend. I have no need for the Gem or the Orb to alter the world around me. I have my own strength.”
****“That doesn’t matter. We aren’t holding you captive, we’re keeping you safe! We’re…”
****The blacksmith interrupted. “It does matter, Knight. You are taking our identity. Even this Island has no identity. It has no name. You make this Island nothing, you make us nothing. Well, I’ve had enough of this! It is time to destroy you Guardians and your Great Tree. With Cthulhu, I am going to take back our identity!”
****The blacksmith leaped onto Cthulhu’s back, and the Great Monster roared. The Knight drew his Weapon, the steel of the blade shining in the morning Sun.
****Before Cthulhu had a chance to unfold its wings, the Knight had unleashed the power of the Orb and was floating high in the sky. He made a dive for Cthulhu’s neck, but the Monster swatted him away.
****The Knight would never try to injure one of the Beasts, but Cthulhu was different. Cthulhu would not stop until the Knight was dead, so the Knight had to fight it with all his power. The Knight didn’t actually know if it was possible to kill the Great Monster; he had tried in the past, but was only able to put it to sleep and lock it away. He did know Cthulhu’s weakness. Since Cthulhu was a being of the water, the best way to destroy him would be to dry him out. Cthulhu hated fire.
****The Knight sent a huge blast of fire from the Orb, aiming it at Cthulhu’s feet, but the Monster was surprisingly agile and avoided the flames.
****Cthulhu countered with his own attack, slashing its massive claws at the Knight. The Knight managed to drop low enough to avoid the claws, but he was still knocked back by the Monster’s hand.
****The Knight managed to recover before he hit the ground, and he flew back towards Cthulhu. Raising his hand to the Light on his headband, the Knight exploded into a bust of light and appeared behind Cthulhu. He raised his staff and let some power out of the Gem embedded in it. Caught off guard, Cthulhu stumbled forward, but regained its balance and turned around. The Knight touched the Darkness on his headband and disappeared into the shadows.
****“You think that the Darkness can fool me?” shouted the blacksmith from the Monster’s back. He held up his hand and a sphere of light formed in it. He looked around the cave, and then he threw the sphere.
****The Knight didn’t have a chance to react. The sphere hit him and removed his veil of shadow. The blacksmith dropped off of the Monster and approached the Knight. He took the Weapon, and the Weapon changed, adjusting itself to the blacksmith’s preferences.
****“This is extremely well crafted,” said the blacksmith, pointing the Weapon at the Knight. “Very sharp. A perfect Weapon for the new ruler.” He lifted the blade and slashed it at the Knight.

****The Scribe waited in the Town. Everyone was gone. The Town looked completely unfamiliar in its deserted state. She leaned against the Great Tree. The Sun was rising in the sky, and the weather was nice. How could such a nice day bring such danger?
****She kicked at the dirt, drawing patterns with her feet. She drew a picture of the Mountain. She wondered if there was anything else she could do to help.
****After a few more minutes, she tired of drawing in the dirt. How are things going? she thought. No answer. That was odd. He always answered. Is something wrong? Still no answer. Maybe he’s busy fighting Cthulhu. If something had gone wrong, surely he would have said something.

****Satisfied with the Weapon, the blacksmith walked away. “Cthulhu,” he called out, “deal with him.” The Great Monster lifted its head and approached the Knight.
****The Knight wanted to respond to the Scribe, but he was busy looking for a way out. Strands of light created by the blacksmith were holding him in place. He couldn’t reach his Staff, he couldn’t touch his headband. He took a flute from his belt. In his fingers, it changed form, becoming a small string instrument.
****The Knight put the Music on the ground and pulled the thinnest string. It produced a high-pitched sound.
****Cthulhu recoiled, and the blacksmith cringed. The power holding the Knight in place weakened, and he broke through the strands. He picked up the Music, and the Music transformed back into the flute. He blew into it and another high-pitched sound broke through the air. He picked up the Staff and reached for his headband.
****A slimy arm grabbed him. One of Cthulhu’s tentacles was holding him back. He reached up with his other hand, but found that hand held down also. Another tendril reached for his neck and squeezed. The Knight couldn’t breathe. He tried to push Cthulhu away, but he couldn’t move. His vision began to fade, his lungs and neck burning with pain.

****She felt a sudden flash of pain and felt his presence in her mind. Now, he told her.
****The plan? she asked, a sense of dread growing in her.
****Now.
****The Scribe stood up. She unrolled the Script, drew a symbol. The plan’s symbol.
****She turned the Time, but the golden sand did not flow. It needed her permission to use its power. She hesitated for a moment, but she trusted the Knight’s judgment. She released the sand. She walked a few steps away from the Great Tree, and looked up. The Sun was shining bright above her.
****The Scribe threw the Time above the Great Tree, and time came to a halt.
Some italics may or may not be missing.

Maybe I should start posting as PDFs. Would less people read if I did that?

[ImmunityBow]

Probably, it's more convenient on here, even though the formatting may be worse.

I'd love to comment at some point but I'm feeling pretty sick right now and would like to just lie down (not because of the story, I think I caught it from my roommate). Maybe another time.

[Cyndadile]

I'm feeling pretty sick right now and would like to just lie down (not because of the story, I think I caught it from my roommate).
Thanks for the clarification. Wouldn't want to think my story was infected or anything. ;D
Everyone in my residence hall is getting sick. It's only a matter of time for me. But when it comes, I'm prepared to fight.

Anyways, I think I need to do some more writing when I have spare time. Does anyone here know of any online short story contests coming up? Preferably ones where you can get feedback on stories.

Also, I think my storycrafting is beginning to infect my academic writing. In my latest English essay, I ended up inventing two (quite flat) characters to demonstrate my point.
I should totally work on character development in later essays. HAHA /needtogetalife.