This is a thread for me to dump/share my stories, poetry, and other literature related bullshit in a beautiful compact space. Unlike some other members, I will not be linking to them. I'll probably post them directly here to save myself effort.

You can ask me questions or give your criticism. Basically anything you have to say that's related to what I'm posting should go here. But please don't post your own writing, and don't excessively chat with someone else for half the thread space. If someone asks me a question, you can give your input; just lemme answer it first.

Assuming that all makes sense, I'll start posting on here soon enough.

I guess I'll start with some of the poetry I've posted on some other threads which I still like first.

Sweet Insanity

I never knew how far away you were.
Your voice, echoing in the distance.
Were you ever really there?
In pain, you stood before me
With tearstained cheeks.
"Everything... will be okay,"
I chocking upon the very words that gave you breath.
My outstretched hand,
I came closer.
Alas, you disappeared the moment
I grasped for you.

Your body is no longer next to mine.
No, it never was, was it?
This delusion, it controls me.
My life.
But God, I, who never once prayed, ask for this one gift...
This one, this single, darling, precious gift.
"Give me one more day of this sweet insanity."
Thick as honey,
It feeds me.
Alas, God was far away from us
And my whisper was lost in the needy's prayers.

Silence,
Oh, this frightening silence,
Take me away. Blind me. Take my tongue. Swallow me whole.
Just give it back. Give it back!
I miss you! Oh, how I miss you!
To the sweet insanity I seem to have grown out of:
"If you leave me, I will never forgive you."

My peace, it has been disturbed.
The glass shatters,
Radiant light scattering to reveal the black & white & red background.
Is that the world?
I stepped slowly toward it, knowing there was no other future left for me.
Giving up. I'm scared, but I will not cry.
I cannot bear tainting this world with my sinful, salty tears.
"Take me."

One step, two steps. Three. Four.
The ground I thought was there...
Five.
...turned out to be a mere reflection...
Six.
...and the shimmering Abyss swallowed me whole.

Through the water, I struggled to breathe.
I struggled to see.
I struggled to scream.
I realized I could do none of these things.
[ 'Perhaps...'] I thought,
I groped about the darkness, finding something beautiful beside me.
It was you! Oh, my sweet insanity had been returned!
[ '...he was listening?' ]
Alas, you were different. Or was I?
My sight, voice, soul, and heart had all been taken from me
Just so I could see your smile once more,
Just so I could speak with you once more,
Just so I could love you once more,
Just so I could be one with you one last time.

I lacked understanding of how the things
I lose and the things I needed were related.
Even with you beside me, I felt nothing.

Oh, this sweet insanity... what have you done to me?

The Sins of Our Love

These feelings,
Dissolved in scarlet blood,
Are flooding from all of the open wounds caused by
The cold blade you wield.

Bruises scar my wrists where
Your chains and cuffs embraced my skin
Like a beautiful metal angel that melted
Into my soul.

My soul is bleeding yearning for
Your entity,
Your being.

I'm calling to you.
Swallow me whole -
Digest my body and soul,
Heartless demon of the pathetic dreams
Which have plagued me since birth.

Drink me black -
Undress me and hold me close,
Disgusting pig which left me
The day the novocaine wore off.

The flowers are blooming from the
Dirt covering my decomposing body,
But they are disgraced by the hideous beauty
Of my sins.

Too greedy to steal you away;
Too lustful to wear this red innocence;
Too wrathful from this hate that resulted from love;
Too envious towards all those who can hold you close now;
Too gluttonous to hold myself back from my own;
Too slothful to rise from this grave just to take you to Hell;
Too prideful to bring myself to your level.

Let your cold eyes pierce into mine like red hot needles,
And my needles into your cold eyes like their true identity,
For we have both broken the sacred promise of our innocent days.

Let us drown in one another's blood,
Soaked to the bone in guilt and moonlight,
A red mantle draped over me so that the bruises
And cuts are no longer visible.

Let the flowers and moss cover us both
Until we reunite with the death god
That will surely sentence us
Both to Hell for our actions.

Hurry, swallow me whole.
The sins are down to the bone;
There will be none left for you,
The sadistic bastard of my love.

Yes, come closer, honey.
And as you have naught left
Of me to destroy,
Let my soul turn you to ice
and watch you shatter with glee.

(It's not all 2edgy, don't worry. I just don't have enough decent lighter stuff to post right now.)

These are incredible. There's a lot of passion from them, it just breathes meaning :) keep them coming, they're incredible.

>>6 Thank you c:

Hm.
I'm doing some prompts on Gaia to help me work out the details of a fantasy world I've been working on. I'm not sure if I'm gonna post it here, though; it's a lot of information and might take up a bit of space when it's not actually a story.

I don't feel like reformatting it, so I'm just taking screenshots of what I have thusfar. I'm only like 2% through the entire prompt set ;-;

1/?, read in order

2/?, read in order

3/?, read in order

4/?, read in order

5/?, read in order

6/?, read in order

7/?, read in order

8/?, read in order

9/?, read in order

10/?, read in order

This is all that I have typed up thusfar. I plan to get more done soon, though.

This entire world was inspired by a daydream I had that slowly turned itself into a story. I realized that I had no world for the story, so I started this prompt set c:

Although I can't relate to most of this, at least it was enjoyable.

10/10 Thread Baba.
Will continue to read and bump.

lolwtfchrome.

You uh, don't have to bump it... o^o
It'll just get bumped when there is something new lol

I expected to have more to post, but then I remembered that I left a lot of my flash drives and such back at my old house. We have to go get them. I think I have a few here though that I'll look through.

Here're some haiku's that I wrote forever ago:

CHILDREN
My children are older;
Their ground roots are not my own.
They’re wiser than I.

FALL LEAVES
Red like Hell’s fury,
Sweet and golden like honey,
Or orange like the sun.

ZEUS AND I
I hate the crying.
I hate it when Zeus does tear,
For these flood gates fail.

I DREAM OF…
The absolute me.
The absolute you.
The absolute us.

CAN I?
Dream? Love? Understand?
Dare? Survive? Flourish?
Pass? Live? Continue?

RED ROSES
Daring red roses--
Their petals like scarlet snow
--Lovely red roses.

SNOW
Ice Beauty, be born.
Fall for me, my Ice Beauty.
Ice Beauty shall’n’t last.

LOST
Ground falls for only I.
Darkness grazes the earth. I?
Where’d you end up, I?

Found this poetry & narrative. It was going to be the opening to a story I was working on but I ended up ditching it because I couldn't decide on a name or clear protagonist:

Blood.
The most bitter of substances.
Blood.
The sweetest of treats.
Blood.
An excuse to wear red.
Blood.
Seeped into the night

Death.
A frightening thought.
Death.
To make you lick your lips.
Death.
When everything stops.
Death.
When it’s all just begun.

Grave.
An adjective.
Grave.
A noun.
Grave.
Such a pitiful thought.
Grave.
The perfect way to start your day.

A Book.
A way of expression.
A Book.
The perfect way to guide your way.
A Book.
Something to read.
A Book.
The easiest way to record your death.

Spirit.
An entity attached to the earth.
Spirit.
A creation by us.
Spirit.
The scariest of thoughts.
Spirit.
Exactly what drives us.



Blood…. Oh so slowly it dripped! Drop by drop, the scarlet substance fell from the lips of an angel. A devil? Maybe, for it is unknown. The smallest of whispers sent shivers up her spine, but the closest of men drove her out of her mind. Who is to blame for this wretched crime? The angel who’s fallen or the devil that’s risen?

The devil, of course! No, no, the angel’s to blame. Who knows in this world, where death’s seen as a game? Surrounded by Lowers, or Highers fallen. Every human’s a demon without their own den. The trick is the mind the lowly creatures have made, an idea their greater…

Oh, now who’s to blame?

I can’t say I’m sure, but this much I know: Blood isn’t a toy, nor is it game. I feel for the creatures with such an idea that they’ll get to heaven without even trying while the rest of us watch the hideous beings fall to their death, their lives had no meaning.

Who shall we call? A human, a demon, an angel, or all? “A Human” one cried, disgusted by them, while the angel and devil couldn’t help but chuckle. “A human?” they answered, continuously laughing. “By all means, they’re nothing like us, but isn’t death a little bit much?” “They care not of such a thing, for all the impurities are put to shame, while the purest are sent to the place everyone wishes to go.”

By now, the laughing ceased, but there was still one to blame. How long could these humans go without shame? But what of the devil and head of Heaven? What was to become of them when they had nothing to laugh at? That was the question they all had to think of, for they did not worry about what would happen without them. The earth would go strong, the other creatures could live, and, by god, the world would be much happier without them!

A Thousand Times Over

I've walked this street a thousand times.

A million steps against the pavement
Darkens the road below me.
The asphalt soaks up my innocence in
A desperate attempt to save itself
With little regard for my feelings.

I swerve to the side in my own last
Ditch effort to escape the shadow that follows me,
A terrible creature created when its
Original self was forced into submission
By an invisible barrier around the familiar street.

Up and down,
I've walked this street a thousand times.

My breath seems to have left me
In the pitch black of the night.
I cannot breathe against the toxic fumes
Which flow out of the shadows mouth.
They plague the chamber which contains me.

I fall to my knees,
Choking and and coughing up the blood
That once gave me life.
I claw at the edge of the street;
My camoflaged shadow only laughs, for he is well aware
Of the electric barrier that shocks every inch of my being.

Over and over,
I've walked this street a thousand times.

A scream can be heard echoeing down
The narrow corridor of the road,
And I continue until my voice is rasp, then lost forever.
By now I have learned to breathe without air,
Long since suffocated.

I have forgotten the reason I was on this road to begin with,
Only aware of the freedom that was lost
The second I set foot upon it.
I try to continue walking but am stopped by
A sudden increase in gravity that slams me to the ground once again.

Back and forth,
I've walked this street a thousand times.

Battered, bruised, and in denial
Is the state that I am physically and mentally in.
"I am intelligent; I must have gone on this road for a reason,"
My naivety assumes without accepting
Any other explanation.

I am now a puppet who walks with few thoughts
And no need to bother opening its eyes to know where
It's fragile body is going.
Like porcelaine, I may break at any moment
Though I have even lost the ability to ponder over that possibility.

I've walked this street a thousand times.

The invisible barriers are darkening and
Tinting red under the immense pressure
Which has been overwhelming me from the start.
Even eyes glazed over and unseeing noticed the change,
And I neared the static wall.
My hand presses against the film.

A wet shatter brought me back to my senses.
Paranoid, I screamed and checked to see if it was
I who had finally fallen apart.
I had been drenched in my own blood,
But I had no missing limbs;
The porcelaine had not broken.

I've walked this street a thousand times.

Instead, it was the glass that cracked and fell and peeled away
Only to reveal the war scene that was sprawling out around me.
Each wall fell and broke,
One by one,
Raising sand, dust, and blood.
The smell of decay betrayed my vision of the world.

I've walked this street a thousand times.

Yes, I've walked this street a thousand times
And seen it through these two desperate eyes.
Only then did I realize that it was a every lie
Which saved me from a million good-byes.

I clench for an invisible blanket to cover me
To save me from the reality playing out
Outside of my protective walls.
What happened to them all?
The street was gone.
The walls were gone.
The shadow...

He continued to laugh,
More hysterical than ever.

A Fear

A lonely night in a lonely town
Full of lonely people who stand around.
The world is cold when my heart is hot,
And though their world is frigid,
Their hearts beat with ice.

Your veins are so blue,
So clear,
So cruel.
How can you stand yourself?

My veins are much darker,
So hidden,
So warm.
Why must we be so different?

In the lonely town--
It's full of lonely people--
When they're left to survive on their own,
It flourishes,
It brightens!
But all is not well,

For the lonely town full of lonely people
Needs a warm heart to accept it.
But my warmth seems to fade their own.
Like a candle next to a stove,
Which is hotter?
The candle melts in dismay.

I cannot fathom these frigid souls
Who walk about as though life didn't exist.
And so,
I leave.
In peace or in pieces,
I turn my head,
Only for their life to continue again.
To flourish in my absence,
It shall.

To the lonely town and its lonely people:
You will flourish.
You will survive.
You will warm.
You will feel.
My time for leave has come--
Remember me,
Please?

But their daily life continues again,
Perhaps but one or two remembering the strange face that they'd forgotten to welcome.

I continue my journey,
My adventure,
My trials,
In an attempt to be unforgotten.

Been a while since I read this one. Maaan did I write some screwed up shit.

This Piece Has No Title (1/4)

The small girl had tight blonde curls, a baby face, and bright blue eyes--the appitamy of a young German or Polish girl. She skipped along the alley way, her shortcut home, without any knowledge of the horrors that had happened there. So many people had passed away, but the blood and bodies were simply cleaned and disposed of, possibly buried somewhere. She climbed over a fence where an unwilling woman had been pinned by a drunkard, hopping down to the spot where the old man had stood with a camera in hand. She fell over the same curb that a young woman had before she chucked her unwanted child into the dumpster a few steps behind. She hopped down the street where two children were ran over by a man in a rush for work; he drove off without another word. ‘Twas the same street where a whole family was lost because a teenage boy was hiding in his room and smoking without proper knowledge of how to put a match out. The house next door to her was home to a man who beat his wife, and when the screams pierced through their walls, her mother hid the truth just as all before her did. “Their television is too loud, honey. Now go back to bed.” How many times had she told her the same excuse? But, still, the little girl peeled off her day dress and slipped into pajamas.

Each time she grew out of her clothing, her mother simply threw them away. At school, her friends asked her why they didn’t donate them. She asked her mother, but she changed the topic. The little girl felt guilty, and then asked her teacher if it was a bad thing that they threw them out. He explained that the world was fine and someone as young as she shouldn’t worry about it. “Plus, they can always just get a job.” That year, her mother lost her job. The whole time, she was telling her child everything was alright and that she shouldn’t be worrying. It didn’t take long for them to lose their home. By that time, the girl asked many questions of her mother, who didn’t want to answer them. They moved to a shelter. The child asked if it was a bad thing, and her mother simply changed the topic, just as she always did. They went to get clothing, and the girl asked if it was the same place that their clothing would have gone if they had donated. She didn’t answer; her mother’d become rather silent.

The girl then said, “Mama, why don’t you just get a job?”

Her mother slapped her hard before she broke down, crying and on her knees. “I know! I know, this is what God has done to me!” The little girl was crying, the white of her eyes turning a bright red, her cheeks a similar color as tears streaked them. Her mother struck her again and again, leaving dark purple blotches all over her face and arms. Nobody around them said anything as she dragged her out to the car. It had become a common affair for the child, her eyes no longer red, but simply glossed over; unemotional. She wore long shirts and pants to school, not that it mattered; none of her teachers asked her where the bruises on her face had come from. Everyone knew, but no one said it aloud. Periodically, she would come in with a broken arm in a make-shift cast. The only compassion showed to her was by the nurse, who tended to her wounds without a word.

The girl slowly grew up, her mother becoming too weak to strike her hard, though a bruise showed up periodically. The child was now a young woman. She had dropped out of high school when her mother fell sick, at the old woman’s command, of course. Though her mother was only in her forties, she was sick, elderly, and bitter to any weak bones she had. The young girl had grown out her curly hair, which straightened with puberty and was just starting to curl again as she reached her mid-late teenage years. She was shackled to her mother throughout all her younger years, never being able to find friends. Once she dropped out of school, the one bit of compassion that had been shown to her was gone; disappeared. That silent compassion of the school’s elderly nurse had given her so much hope.

She had worked hard as a waitress, barely getting by. She was a bony, battered child with acne; the only bit of beauty left in her from her childhood was in her eyes. Her hair was greased up, enough that she had been told, “If you don’t shower at least once every few days, you’re not working her anymore.” She received the most meager tips, which only frustrated her mother even more than she already had been. The girl had to spend all her earnings on a wheelchair for the woman and all her time to parade her around. Throughout this time with all the other homeless people, she learned the true nature of the world. She learned the stories of her childhood route; she met the man who took pictures of the young woman being taken advantage of instead of helping her. She wanted to ask him why he had done it, but she then remembered the truths she had learned and the cruelness of the world. The animosity was great around her, but she continued to take care of her mother, the only one left in her life, as well as she could. No matter how many times she hit her, the woman was still the only one who was left; she was her only mother, and it was only her mother left to love. Love. L-O-V-E. She felt like a child chasing after a balloon that floated higher and higher up. She’d been through twists and turns--perhaps even climbed trees to their great heights--all in an attempt to reach it, to catch it. All she wanted was for her mother to love her back, even if just a little, but that balloon had already floated higher than the greatest tree upon the tallest of mountains. Still, she continued to chase it. She wrote it constantly on any napkin or piece of paper she found; she read it in every dictionary the library supplied; she asked people to say what they thought “love” was and what it meant. Not a single object, person, or thorough search of her mind could pull out a true, solid explanation.

Her mother had gotten a great deal sicker the same year she was fired from her waitress job. No one would hire a homeless high school drop-out, and so, she couldn’t afford her mother’s medication, nor was she versed in any laws, loans, or anything of the sort that could help her get it. Her mother asked for her to take her to the park a day when she was horribly ill. “No, I could never. You must stay inside and get some rest.” But her mother asked her one more time, bearing a helpless expression this time around, forcing her frightened child to take her across the busy streets to the one piece of wilderness left. The weak, skinny woman took her child’s hand and beckoned for her to bring her ear closer. So, the child pushed her hair back and listened intently, knowing her mother had never touched her so sweetly or had any need to speak to her like so.

“My daughter… You were never loved, and you never will be.”

This Piece Has No Title (cont.) (2/4)

She fell limp with a grand smile upon her face, seemingly extending into heaven--as to make a kind assumption of which direction she floated or fell to--a great deal happier than she was on Earth. The child pretended that she had never heard it and brought her “home” one last time, passing by their old house, where a far more happy family stayed. The girl wondered if they were pretending, just as her mother had been. She then took her mother to the hospital, where she was diagnosed with an overdose. Of whose medication, the child didn’t know, for she couldn’t afford it. The finger was pointed at her, though, and she was found guilty at a trial for killing off her mother to live her life. The opposite of her life was brought up, saying that she beat her mother and was always trying to take her life. Some men from the shelter had testified it, more than likely for heads to be turned the other way on something they may have been charged with. The girl wanted to think that she had no idea how someone could lie, never mind after swearing upon a bible, but she did know. She had seen it everywhere, to everyone… especially to herself. She didn’t have the strength to testify for her own defense and explain the situation. Also, she felt the least she could do to show her love and care toward her mother was to let her pass away with a clean record.

The child pleaded guilty and was locked up for many years. By then, she was just old enough to be locked up in a real jail. She shared her room with another who was beat, one who she recognized as being her old neighbor. Although the blonde child never asked, the middle aged woman explained anyway, “I finally killed that bastard… In finally put him six feet under! He’ll never hit me again. I’ll never have a single bruise! I don’t care if I’m here in this dirty place. You must like it, too? You used to be homeless, right? Now you get a bed to sleep on, a shower every day, three meals a day and a few more if you can sneak a snack in! You loved to read, right? There are plenty of books here!” The woman tended to rock back and forth on her bed, biting her lip until it bled, and randomly laughing in the middle of the night.

When they went out for recess, she found that she recognized many people from old editorials. Whenever she went to the restroom, though, there was one man who she had hoped she would never meet who always seemed to shadow behind her, following her throughout the building, though never getting too close. A large, grizzly man who beat weaker inmates and took their dinner portions to get his large belly; the same one who had taken advantage of the woman in the alley way. One day, though, she could feel his breath on her neck… It was all a blur from there. Many men knew he was going to do it. Despite the movies, they weren’t any better than him; they didn’t hate child murderers or men who did such things to women, for they did the same to men and felt themselves at an equal level. They took bets on whether or not the blue eyed blonde would be able to handle it. Her eyes were still glassed over, and they wondered if they would finally break. Unfortunately, there was not a single man who bet otherwise, so the bet was called off.

Something different happened after that day, though.

She sat broken and still on the floor, feeling eyes on her from many men in all directions, though not a single was in admiration of her thin body where every bone could be seen. Some laughed, some spoke not a word, and others grinned cockily. After a while, the guards realized something was up. They broke up the crowd and, without a word, attempted to pick the girl up and bring her back to her cell. It was an everyday experience for them; they’d given up on filing charges against men who were already there for life. When she felt their hand on her arm, she jerked it away, blinking, clearing her eyes and seeing where she was for the first time. Outside the boarded windows, she realized a large, beautiful oak was in the recess yard. Around her were ugly men whose stench was not literal, but something she could suddenly read so much easier--hate. The girl had used the word so many times in her head, but she had never been able to really feel or read it. It was a new word to her, one which replaced the world love, for that balloon was not one she had to chase for; its string was in her hand the whole time, and she just needed to wrap her hand around and pull it close.

When the man tried to pick her up again, she moved smoother, calmer, not bothering to clothe herself. She walked through the small opening of the crowd of men confidently, clothed in something greater than even the hatred she had taken in--pride. She was a woman, a weak woman, but one whose conscious would be stronger than their muscles; this was who she was going to be. She no longer felt exposed. She let go of everything she had felt long ago, letting those chasing feelings flutter away from her in the form of great black and blue butterflies who floated higher than the balloon, letting it chase after them instead. For the first time in the many years she had spent there, she turned toward them, smiled, and spoke in her southern accent that poured out of her thin body like the thickest, sweetest honey. She quoted Elton John,

“If we’re all goin’ somewhere, let’s get there soon.” She walked away without protest, redressing herself. The woman she stayed with asked her a hundred questions, but all she answered with was a long, “Shhh…” The blonde girl was no longer a child, nor was she a young lady. She was then a woman, growing tall and strong, filled with a mixture of pride and animosity. She cared not for the seven sins, for there was only one which plagued her. She slept longer each day. She ate more than the before, for she used to peck at her food like a bird, barely eating anything. She actually walked around and stretched during recess, eventually working herself up to a light jog. The woman in her cell looked at her with a mixture of hatred and envy, wishing she could be like her, but hating that it wasn’t her in her young, slowly filling body. It had taken a long time, but she was finally eating enough to grow out the features that lack of food denied her in her years of puberty. The woman kept her head up during her breaks at recess, browning her skin, some freckles popping up where they used to be in her younger years when she danced in the sun for most of the day. Many people finally attempted to speak to her, but she gave them a secretive smile and continued on with her day.

No one could understand why she changed so much, but the man who’d made it occur was furious, for he was aiming to break her. She felt the same. When she discovered that his release date was earlier than hers, she worked out her plan to slowly destroy him. A few days after he was released, she gathered many men who detested him and would testify against him on the charges of sexual assault and stalking. Neither would get him too many years, so she began to listen into more of the conversations and found out many other things he had done. With her two calls a day, she found other women who were hurt by him, along with the same woman taken advantage of in that alley way. They gathered and had joint trials against him, eventually getting enough to send him to prison for about fifty years. During that period, he would more than likely pass away. The girl was grateful that he was sent to a different prison, for he would have destroyed her otherwise.

This Piece Has No Title (cont.) (3/4)

It should have taken several months for her to work up the courage to go against her own charges, but her strong, changed feelings toward her mother took only a moment of thought. She appealed her own charges. It took three different appeals--she didn’t even think it was legal to retrial a case that many times--but she was released, free to breathe the toxic air of her old city. She got her thick hair cut to earlobes in a style that made it even thicker and curlier, showing off her baby face, two wispy strands of hair making an upside down “V” on her forehead. She wore lipstick and red heels with suspended trousers over red top when she was having a good day. The girl got her high school diploma through online courses that she took on the library computers and then went on to college for fashion design. Before she knew it, she was making a decent amount of money, living a far better life than her mother had. She thought she cut her ties with her past when she’d cut her long, beautiful hair; she thought she had moved on. She had even changed her name, which was a long, frustrating process, and gotten her record cleaned. But those words of her mother’s still rang in her head every night… “You were never loved, and you never will be.”

She wondered if she had dreamt her mother saying that, but the experience was so real, and her words were too true. She needed to prove herself wrong, though, and she thought she had. Her first man seemed sweet and kind, but she later realized that the only thing he felt for her was lust. Every time she thought she had found someone who “loved” her, she found some other ambition. Once her clothing line had gotten more popular and she had raked in more money than she knew what to do with, men began to come flocking for that. The woman didn’t know why she was chasing after that strange idea again, but she was. It consumed her more and more. She got married once--perhaps twice? She couldn’t remember--and it was still in ruins. It took a long time for her to realize that what she was chasing after wasn’t “love”.

It was the same balloon she’d held in her hand. She couldn’t feel it anymore and strengthened her grip without even noticing it. By the time she’d realized, her nails had locked into her palms, far too deep for her to remove those nails without a great deal of pain. The woman was afraid of removing them, she realized, and couldn’t bring herself to for a long time. She sat, miserable, realizing her mother’s pain of loneliness. Her father had left her mother because of the child in her belly, dying on the same day that the baby was born. She did not want to be her mother, though. She didn’t want to be the same, bitter woman. She was afraid of turning into the cruel demon that took over that woman she puppy-dogged around calling, “Mama!” never once being acknowledged as her child. At that rate, though, she would become her.

The woman stressed over it and stressed over it; she was surprised that she hadn’t a gray hair on her head, though it’s true she was only in her mid twenties, a time when most young women were partying. She was a woman, though, and a strong one. She decided to go for a walk across the several lane bridge that crossed over the great river her apartment looked out upon, wearing her favorite outfit, though her mind was focused elsewhere. In the middle of it, a dark figure blocked her way. A thought passed through her mind that it may be the same man who had assaulted her, but she knew he was well locked away, and, so, her eyes adjusted properly. The man was in an expensive business suite, desperately untucking his pants and loosening his tie, kicking his shiny black shoes off. She was focused on the lights reflecting in them instead of the man and, before she knew it, he was far above her on the edge of the high bridge, not seeming to notice the woman beside him. Her blue eyes widened and she instinctively reached for him, holding onto his pants. “…what are you doing?” He ignored her the first time she asked it, but when she spoke more authoritatively, clearing her throat, he turned and made his confessions,

“Don’t try to stop me. I am a murderer.” Tears stained his cheeks as they had the first day her mother hit her, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away. Instead, he stood tall, despite the shaking of his legs. “A murderer! Two little girls--they were friends of my daughter, and they were so sweet, so kind--were crossing the road… And… And I, I hit them. I hit them! I was more preoccupied with work, with making more money, with being better, and I had to keep going. I couldn’t stop because two little figures were crossing the street! No, no, I couldn’t.” He had turned and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her, on his knees on the thick ledge. “You see, I had my reasons! My wife… She would have left me if I didn’t work. That makes sense, right? You can’t blame me, right!? Exactly, and no one else did, either… I cleaned the blood off my car and went on with my life. I was waiting, every day, for the shackles to come on my wrists and ankles. It got to the point where I wanted so desperately to go to prison. ‘Take me!’ I told them. I confessed, I swear! But they wouldn’t listen; they said I wasn’t guilty, that I had read everything in the newspaper and I just thought I was guilty. But I am… I was! My wife left me anyway. I told my kids, and they think I’m insane. I… I don’t know what to do. No, I know what to do, and this is it. I have to go. You understand, right!? Right? Right..?” The man slowly got more and more silent, backing up with a wide smile, but sad eyes. The woman before him was too shocked to stop him, her grip loosening on his pants when he backed up. He stood and took one final step, disappearing from her sight. All she remembered about his fall was that his tears had dried by the time he reached the water. All she remembered about what must have happened after was that, when she woke up on the couch, she was surrounded by empty wine bottles and the same name as his nametag plaguing the list of dead in the newspaper.

This Piece Has No Title (cont.) (4/4)

She had learned a few more emotions that night, but still knew little of the love she was trying to catch. After that dark incident, things began to change once again. She met a man through her work, a model she had hired for her new men’s wear line. He was about her age, and was always saying that she was beautiful and should try modeling, as well, but she always explained she was too busy with her designing. He flirted more than she noticed, buying her presents on holidays that weren’t even real, always giving the woman her favorite flower, a long-stem red rose. He had commented once that she should grow out her hair. She had a resolve to keep it short, but she found herself letting it get longer and longer, and the man gave her a large smile when it’d reached her shoulders. He asked if she liked him, and she simply replied, “Don’t get cocky because you’re a model, honey.” He persisted no matter how many times she rejected him. By the time her hair was at her chest, she had given in, and a wonderful time they had. They married. With their combined riches, they had a great recital with live music and many guests, both wearing the bride’s own wedding collection. A few years into their marriage, the woman asked, “Why have I never met your family?” He asked the same question back, and she found the answer hard to get out, even though she had known it for so long. She struggled for a few moments with the words before she finally let it out. “They’re dead. Are yours as well?” He laughed and said,

“No, they’re alive and well, but my family is pretty broken up. If I visit one half, the other will disown me, so I just avoid them and let me think I’m on whatever side.” She was confused and stubborn, asking to at least meet his father. “Alright.” He pet her head, and they went off the next day to a town out in the country to speak with his father, who told them a story of when he was a teenager. He was the same as the teenager in the home who had started the fire. He explained that he didn’t know a fire was going on when he slipped through the window to a party. He said he was shocked when he got back and everyone was dead, but it didn’t hit him until when he grew up that it really was his fault. He had tried to commit suicide many times--she remembered the man who had jumped off the bridge--but he couldn’t bring himself to.

“I’m glad to see I’m to have grandchildren, though!” The girl looked at the old man, bewildered. “You have a child, don’t you? Oh, don’t be ashamed. I’m sure he’ll turn out just lovely.” She didn’t believe him until a fever hit her a week or two later; she decided to go to the “baby doctor”. Sitting in the waiting room, she couldn’t help but notice a lovely brunette with green eyes and pale skin--the woman was expecting soon, her chest and belly great in size--and strike up a conversation. The woman went on to say that she wanted to treat her baby better than her mother had treated her. She explained that she was left in a dumpster by her mother and found later by the police, almost having passed away. Throughout the story, she noticed the receptionist behind the counter shuffling awkwardly. Her features were similar to the woman speaking, the same green eyes watching the two from under long bangs. The doctor called a name.

“Whoopsies, that’s me. Well, I hope to speak to you soon, and let’s hope that baby comes out alright. You can always trust an elder’s judgment of a baby, even before they’re born. Bye now.” She waved and went through the door. The blonde woman went to her own appointment, finding she did in fact have a child. On her way out, she put on a wide smile and stepped over to the counter. The receptionist waved her hand,

“I’m busy, you can leave.” The blonde reached over and ruffled up her hair.

“You had a fine girl,” she whispered and left. Eight months later, she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. It was in that moment that she realized what “love” was, and the only questions that plagued her were how a mother could ever hate something they had created and how hard it must have been for the brunette’s mother to leave her to die. How many times must she have thought twice and ran half-way back, but then feel she had a resolve she was set on and couldn’t? The blonde shook her head at the questions and directed her newfound feeling into her child, loosening her grip on the black balloon and letting it flutter away once again. The butterflies came back with the white balloon and put it in her hand, letting her hold onto it herself, never once forgetting her grip upon it.

Pretty Sure My Brother Wrote This On Our Old Computer When He Was High One Day Because I Wasn't Old Enough To Write This Well When The Document Was Made (1/5)

"We're here!" A woman's voice announces. "We're back!"

She calls out to a small band of people walking up behind her. The woman is called Warsong, a young, tall, dark-skinned potent, leader of a band of mercenaries. Warsong is not her true name yet it is what she has been called her entire life. She was given this name because of her potent ability of sonic destruction, meaning that her voice can destroy or kill at certain frequencies. For much of her life Warsong and her comrades have worked as an army for hire, however tonight's mission is personal.

As dark storm clouds roll across the sky and a mighty wind blows her clothes, and short hair, like a flag Warsong stands on a cliff, and scans the ruins before her. They are the desert ruins of a orphanage where she and her friends spent the early part of their life. At this point, the Edgar Hicks Home for Orphaned Potents is inconsequential for below the school lays the laboratory of Dr Edgar Hicks, a place where potent children are exploited and experimented on by scientists.

The school was just a cover. As children, Warsong and her friends escaped from the laboratory destroying the school in the progress. Many children were either recaptured or died in the escape. The escapees vowed vengeance for what happened to them and the other children. Now adults, and again led by Warsong some of the escapees have returned.

As the others arrive at the peak of the cliff Warsong begins to climb over the edge. Ravage, Warsong's long time mate and second in command begins his descent.

"Warsong are you certain you want to do this now?" Ravage implores.

"You heard the same reports I did Ravage!" Warsong reminds him. "Children are disappearing again. An unidentified army of mutants is murdering potent families. It's the same thing that happened to us. How can this not be the right time?"

"But we promised the others we'd do this together!" Ravage says.

"How many children would have been killed if we waited for them to finish their trek around the world? While we wait for them to find themselves?"

"Coming through!" A voice jokingly warns.

Midnight, a young Dragon, slowly descends through mid air, past Warsong and Ravage. Like all dragons Midnight has the ability to shape shift from dragon to man or any mix of the two. He usually can be found in the appearance of a dark-skinned man with huge dragon wings. He flies down past the two rock climbers with a foolish grin on his face. Warsong and Ravage remain silent and still until Midnight is past.

"‘While we wait for them to find themselves?'" Ravage repeats, "This is about Precious T isn't it?"

Warsong remains silent and continues to climb down. "What happened between you two?"

"The truth." Warsong whispers just loud enough for Ravage to hear.

"What does that mean?" Ravage demands.

The sound of a rocket blast startles Ravage. Just after the sound, a pale-skinned man lowers down to eye level with Ravage. It is Erad-1, another member of the mercenary army.

Erad-1 is a potent that was enhanced with liquid metal cybernetic material. This gives Erad the ability to change his extremities, and other body parts (not his entire body), into various machines and tools. Using this ability Erad-1 has changed his feet and upper back into boosters allowing him to fly. Erad-1 appears to be human in every way except for his glowing red eyes.

"Excuse me Ravage, didn't mean to startle you." Erad-1 apologizes. "Anybody want a ride down?"

"Yes! Thank you Erad!" Warsong accepts. As she climbs into Erad-1's arms Warsong frowns at Ravage. When she is settled, Erad-1 continues his landing.

Ravage looks down. The ground is not yet visible below, its like he is climbing down into an abyss. Fantis another flying member of the team hovers near Ravage now.
"I'll carry you down if you want Ravage." Fantis offers with a girlish grin.

Phoenix and Megabyte, the last two members of the mercenary group to begin their descent catch up to Ravage now.

"We'll be forever if we try to climb down." Phoenix reasons, "Fantis, can you take me down?"

Phoenix, like Warsong, is one of the more honored members of the team. Many of the younger team members look to her as a mother. Her potent ability even more rare than Fantis' is to heal. Phoenix can heal any nonfatal wound with a mere touch. This power also works instantly on healers should they be injured, this being the case a healing potent is considered to be virtually immortal. The lifespan of healing potents is also nprecedented some say they live forever. In harmony with her ability Phoenix also has a vast medical background. Her family is one of the richest in the world, all doctors of some sort, and all healing potents of varying degrees. She handles all of the groups' medical needs.

"Me too please." Megabyte asks. Megabyte is a potent super-genius. His knowledge of computers and technology is staggering. Potent super-genius is another rare breed. Many try to find these types of potents and use them as slaves, exploiting their mental powers for weapons development. Megabyte is a great asset to the team; he has created protective combat clothing, super computers, and a vast arsenal of weapons found nowhere else in the world. He almost never accompanies the team on a mission but Warsong hopes he can hack in the labs computers and extract valuable information. A timid, introverted person, Megabyte prefers to be left alone with his computers instead of socializing or fighting. Most of the team just leaves Megabyte to his work whenever possible.


"Okay." Fantis agrees, "Ravage?"

"No thanks. I'll be fine" Ravage assures her, and then pushes off of the cliff face into a freefall.

"I hate it when he does that!" Phoenix complains.

Fantis sighs, "You guys ready?" Using her unique ability of Plasma Acid, Fantis creates a thick plasma bubble before Phoenix and Megabyte. "Just step into the bubble." Fantis invites.

Pretty Sure My Brother Wrote This On Our Old Computer When He Was High One Day Because I Wasn't Old Enough To Write This Well When The Document Was Made (2/5)

Fantis' blood consists entirely of Plasma Acid. She has a heart beat 200 times faster than the average human meaning that her body creates this most unusual blood almost non-stop. As its name implies Plasma Acid is very acidic and can burn through practically anything. Through the years however Fantis has learned how to control the acidity of her blood, this depends greatly on her mental and emotional state. So it is possible for her to lower the acid level to a virtually harmless level.

Fantis is also part telekinetic; she can carry and move some objects with her mind. Because telekinesis is completely dependent on the potents thought process and reasoning, the strength of a potent's telekinetic power is limited by their mental capacity and concentration. Fantis is narrowed to levitating her own body and things held with her Plasma Bubble. A great amount of concentration is needed to move the Plasma Bubble so Fantis is not able to do this very often. Because she is very limited in her telekinetic ability Fantis is not classified as a telekinetic potent.

"Don't move around too much you might burst my bubble." Fantis laughs.

"Does she always have to use that joke when she does this?" Megabyte grunts. "It's so lame."

"I heard that!" Fantis barks, "I can let you out here you know!" Fantis threatens as she moves away from the cliff face.

"Sorry." Megabyte sighs.

Slowly and carefully Fantis carries the bubble down the cliff side.

Plummeting far ahead of them at an every increasing, incredible speed is Ravage. With the ground approaching his head quickly Ravage seems unconcerned. Instead he folds his arms and frowns, meditating on his conversation with Warsong. Eventually he passes Warsong and Erad-1, who watch as Ravage's body bullets toward the desert floor. Ravage has the ability to absorb the force of impact from any blunt, energy based, or non-sharp object that hits his body; in this case it will be the ground.

His body instantly converts the force of impact into strength, the harder the impact the stronger Ravage becomes, temporarily. Therefore jumping off of a cliff and smashing into the ground would not kill Ravage instead it would make him significantly stronger physically for a period of time. The length of time that the increase in strength lasts varies from an hour to a few days. And if he is hit during a current stint it boosts his strength more and lengthens the duration. Ravage's body slams into the ground creating a crater 8 feet deep and sending a tremor a quarter mile around the point of impact. The sound of the crash is heard for great distances.

Midnight, who had already landed on the ground nearby, rushes over to Ravage's pit. Ravage is climbing out of the hole when the dragon arrives.

"THAT was cool!" Midnight cheers upon seeing that Ravage is well.

Ravage comes out of the crater breathing heavy because the rate of his fall was so fast that he was suffocating. "It (huff) was nothing (huff - gasp)." Ravage says between pants. Erad-1 touches ground just minutes after Ravage's crash. Warsong leaps out of the cyborg's arms as soon as they land and runs over to meet Ravage.

"You idiot!!" Warsong snaps at him with a tear in her eye.

"You were worried about me?" Ravage says as he wipes a tear off of her cheek and smirks.

"NO! You JERK!!" Warsong smacks his hand off of her face. "The tremor you caused could have triggered a silent alarm in the base! You may have blown this entire mission!"
"Whoa! It's not like I intended on sabotaging the mission!"

"How do I know you didn't?" Warsong blurts then walks away from the men. Erad-1 and Midnight huddle around Ravage.

"Rav' she's really mad at you!" Midnight states. Ravage frowns at him.

"Don't worry ‘bout it, it must be the stress of the mission." Erad-1 excuses.

"No it's not that." Ravage says.

"What is it then?" Midnight asks.

"The truth."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Erad-1 asks curiously. Ravage doesn't answer but continues after Warsong. Erad-1 looks at Midnight.

"I've got a bad feeling about this one Erad." Midnight says shaking his head.

"Don't worry about her. Warsong always has a cool head once the fighting starts." Erad-1 reassures him. The two men proceed behind Ravage and Warsong.

Just a moment later Fantis' Plasma Bubble bursts as it touches down. Blue goo splatters all over the near by sand, rocks, and plant life. Fantis, Phoenix and Megabyte remain clean. Phoenix checks he long, fiery red hair for any plasma acid residue. Megabyte takes his oversized backpack off and checks his equipment.

"We're fallin' behind." Fantis says, "Come on! You don't want to miss the action when it starts!" Fantis leaps into the air and flies ahead of the other two. Phoenix and Megabyte give each other a knowing look, as if to say ‘We don't want to be here anyway.'

"Come on Meg', Warsong'll kill us if we don't catch up." Phoenix admits with a sigh.
"I'm right behind you Phoenix." Megabyte says

The desert sands almost look white against the dark gray night sky. The orphanage is in the exact geographical center of the desert. The desert itself exists within a circular mountain range and is 300 miles across its diameter. There is nothing to obstruct the view of the school so it is very visible from the mountains. Local legends states that nothing can live within the desert and that no one can travel across it and survive the tremendous heat of day and cold of night. It also speaks of a horrible desert monster the eats all living things venturing onto the sands. The mercenaries do not believe any of this to be true but a story started by the scientist in the laboratory in order to keep others out.

After escaping from the laboratory the group spent weeks in the desert, lost, and fighting pursuers. During this time they were able to learn where every grain of sand lay. There were no monsters and they did leave the desert alive. Now in far better health, and with better equipment, and a better knowledge of their destination the group of seven is able to cross the desert in less than 3 days.

Pretty Sure My Brother Wrote This On Our Old Computer When He Was High One Day Because I Wasn't Old Enough To Write This Well When The Document Was Made (3/5)

The sight of the school brings back unwelcome memories for the mercenaries. They remember the lies told to them, that they were abandoned and unwanted children because of their special abilities. They remember the forced military education they had, children under the age of 10 treated as if they were soldiers and in some cases prisoners. Children forced to fight for their lives against monsters and people who could care less about killing a potent child. Horrible experiments were conducted on them here, many children did not survive the ‘treatments' the scientist gave them. The others never knew when the next ‘treatment' would be their last. All the while none of them fathoming that there was an outside world where they could live free. The school and the laboratory were their lives. During the day class was conducted. Teachers, who were scientist with an education in potent psychology and biology, brainwashed the children drilling war and hate into their minds. In the evening combat training and experiments were conducted routinely.

Combat training was anything but training. The children were placed in life and death situations ranging from being attacked by wild animals to hand to hand combat to one versus many to full scale wars. Failure in a training sequence could mean serious injury, or death. Warsong can remember watching many of her friends be led out of the sleeping quarters never to return or returning traumatized.

Experiments included having their memories of any pre-orphanage existence erased and tests to enhance their potent powers beyond what was normal. Memory erasing was only a one-time process. As soon as a new potent child was captured Dr Hicks would erase the child's memory.

Only a few of the escapees were able to regain their pre-orphanage memories, including Warsong, Ravage, and Phoenix. Most of the others have no recollection of who they were before Dr Hicks captured them. The process used to enhance the powers of the potent children varied depending on the child's power. It also depended on how much a child could withstand mentally and physically. Though they have no actual proof it is only reasonable to assume that many children could not handle such a torturous process.
Using and controlling a potent's powers requires intense mental discipline and self-control. For a child to have their powers enhanced so that they are even stronger than most adults would put an unimaginable amount of mental and physical stress on little shoulders. Only Erad-1 and one other potent child was enhanced by cybernetics. Some assume that their bodies were unable to handle the stress of the enhancement experiments so they used other methods to give them the augmentation necessary. Some others say that Erad-1 is one of many possibilities the scientist had in mind for experimentation. Still others say that he is the intended final product of all the experiments, maybe all the children were meant to be cyborgs.

Regardless of the intended outcome these persons were severely abused as children. Only by shear determination and group effort were they able to escape their captors. Now after almost 20 years they have returned to end these inhumane experiments and seek revenge for what was done to them.

Even at their young age the group of about 40 children escaped successfully only because of their number and by surprising their captors.

The lab itself was very well guarded by man and machine. The many human guards were mainly on perimeter watch walking the halls of the laboratory and the orphanage. Androids were based in the laboratory only protecting sensitive areas. There weren't many androids at that time so they were used sparingly.

Combat strategy was a mandatory course at the orphanage and the scientist subliminally fed this information into the children as well. This made it easy for the children to come up with a means of escape.

Organizing around one hundred and fifty fellow captives Warsong, Megabyte, and others devised a massive riot and breakout. Even though at the end less than 40 made it out of the lab, the escape was a relative success. That day after the escape many of the children vowed to come back together and end Dr Hicks' evil experiments and rid the world of the corrupt scientist. Today Warsong breaks that vow, returning only with a handful of the original escapees, the others choosing to seek some kind of life outside of revenge. In anger, she refused to wait for them.

Finally they arrive at the school ruins. Warsong stands ahead of the others. Her arms folded across her chest, staring up at the hollow building. Whistling can be heard as a stiff, hot wind blows through the building. Ghost of past memories creep through the minds of all the mercenaries. Beatings by the caretakers, fights instigated between children, being denied food, being forced to work under the desert sun for 10 to 15 hours without water, worst of all watching their friends be taken away into the ‘basement' not knowing if they would ever return.

A tear rolls down Fantis' cheek.. Erad-1 stands still; emotions aren't his strong suit. Midnight sits on the ground and covers his face trying not to let the others see him cry. Megabyte puts his finger to his mouth and stares at the structure as if to analyze it. Phoenix wipes her eyes, and then turns her back on the ruin as if she is ashamed of it. Ravage at first looks over the building but almost immediately turns his attention to his mate, Warsong. Warsong's arms drop to her side, her fists clinched tight. Her head falls to her chest and her eyes are closed. Ravage places a hand on her shoulder.

"Its alright Songbird." Ravage says soothingly, using her pet name. "We can always turn back."

"NNNOOO!!!" Warsong screams releasing her emotions, inadvertently using her powers.
Everyone, except Erad-1, drops to the ground holding their ears. Under controlled circumstances Warsong can concentrate her vocal abilities away from her friends, however when her emotions take over and she screams she creates an explosion of near deadly sound waves hurting any living thing, and practically destroying all objects in her immediate area.

Her scream last only a second but the ringing dies out minutes later. Everyone stands, trying to clear their heads. When all seems calm again they turn to make sure Warsong is well. Bits of rock fall from the orphanage. Phoenix immediately examines the others making sure no one was injured.

"I'm sorry everyone. But we have to do this now." Warsong tells the others. "I will not let this man ruin more innocent lives!"

*wasn't as long as I thought it was

Pretty Sure My Brother Wrote This On Our Old Computer When He Was High One Day Because I Wasn't Old Enough To Write This Well When The Document Was Made (4/4)*

"No harm done." Phoenix smiles.

"Maybe some harm." Erad replies.

Everyone looks at the cyborg. He is pointing up, everyone else turns to see the building is toppling over on them.

"SCRAMBLE!!" Warsong orders. With no time to think everyone runs in every direction hoping to move fast enough to escape the falling ruin.

Erad is in the least hurry. The rubble would not cause Erad-1 to even lean, let alone hurt him. Ravage would just absorb the impact and gain strength for a period of time, but he would have to watch for is sharp objects. Erad watches the others while gliding just inches above the ground.

Fantis jets across the desert floor leaving a blue streak of deadly acid behind. As the acid hits the ground, a trench is burned several feet below the surface. Small pebbles to hunks of rock the size of an average toddler almost completely cover the ground. Megabyte is running yet falling further and further behind. Megabyte trips and tumbles into one of Fantis' trenches. Phoenix sees this and stops her escape to help him. Large slabs of concrete, steel, and stone rain down around her, Phoenix quickly makes her way to the trench and reaches in to help Megabyte. She lays belly down on the sand and reaches as far as she can to Megabyte. He tries to climb up to her but is unable. A steel support beam crashes down on top of her legs crushing them, and pinning her to the ground. Phoenix screams out in agony. Erad-1 hears her and flies to her side. Using his liquid metal parts Erad-1 creates a canopy from his arms. Placing one leg into the trench it forms into a ladder allowing Megabyte to climb out and under the metal tent. Finally the entire wall gives way and collapses on top of Erad-1, Phoenix, and Megabyte. Warsong, Midnight, Ravage, and Fantis were able to escape the scene.

The four escapees stand at the edge of the rubble catching their breath and waiting for Erad-1 to burst through the debris safely escorting Phoenix and Megabyte. Only Midnight sustained minor damage, shards cut into his leg as he flew away. Phoenix would be able to heal him instantly, if she survived herself. A few minutes pass with no sign of life coming from the mountain of wreckage. The survivors wait in silence.
The entire building did not fall just the eastern wall, the wall that was facing the mercenaries, and the upper floors. Most of the first floor remains in fragments, the western wall is almost completely intact, and enough of the northern and southern walls remain to support what's left of the relic.

The sound of small pieces of debris falling down a large mound of rubble catches Midnight's attention. Being a dragon he has the best hearing ability out of the present group.

"Over there!" He directs the notice of the others. The other three concerned survivors search for the origin of the movement. More stones are heard falling over in the distance.
"I saw some fall over there!" Fantis exclaims pointing to a high mound surrounding a still standing pillar not far in front of the group.

"That may have been nothing. I saw a large metal beam roll over towards the rear wall!" Ravage points to a pile near the western wall.

"Then what did I see? Over there by the southern wall?" Warsong says.

"That's what I had noticed too Warsong." Midnight agrees.

"Something's not right." Warsong deduces. "Everyone take cover!" She commands.
The fallen wall has created a few choice places to hide in the other wise open wilderness of the desert. Warsong and Midnight hide together behind another pillar with debris surrounding it. Ravage ducks behind a small pile, so small that he has to lie on the ground to be completely hidden. After searching for a bit Fantis lays behind the same pile as Ravage.

"What are you doing? This spot isn't big enough for the both of us!" Ravage whispers to Fantis.

"I know but I couldn't find another place to hide." Fantis says with a pouting look on her face.

"Okay but get closer to me or we'll both be seen." Ravage tells her.

"Alright!" Fantis cheers then with a large, teeth bearing, smile puts her arm around Ravage, and moves so close to him half her body is on top of his.

Ravage gives a quick perplexed look to Fantis, who is smiling, completely comfortable with her present position. Ignoring her antics he returns to the situation at hand, looking for the source of the moving rubble.

An explosion is heard coming from somewhere near the building. Almost simultaneously a beam of light shoots into the air and immediately fades. A second later movement like several foot steps across the rubble is heard. The four remain hidden.

"Warsong?" A familiar voice is heard calling out.

Everyone hiding perks up listening for more voices to be sure.

"Were they buried too?" A woman's voice asks.

"PHOENIX!!" Fantis exclaims as she pops out of her hiding spot on top of Ravage.
As Fantis jets toward the three friends coming out of the wreckage the other three that were hiding reveal themselves. Fantis lands next to Phoenix almost instantly; smiling happily, she gives her a tight hug. Fantis is like a child who has just been reunited with her parents. Tears of joy escape her eyes as she hugs a reluctant and blushing Megabyte.

"Why were you guys hiding?" Megabyte asks in an attempt to stop the intimacy.
Fantis ignores his query and moves on toward Erad-1 with open arms. Erad-1 stops her in her tracks with a raised hand. Erad never even looks at Fantis. She becomes a little frightened by his serious glare into the distance.

"They were right to hide."

Without further explanation, Erad changes his hand into a laser pistol.

"Run! Warn the others!"

With that Erad fires and hits a heap of fragments not far from the group with him. Debris is scattered everywhere revealing an android guard beneath. Phoenix, Megabyte and Fantis run to Warsong, Midnight and Ravage when they realize what is happening. Erad-1 begins a firefight with the android guard. Two more androids erupt from separate masses of building and enter the fight with Erad-1. Erad-1 is not intimidated.
"I don't believe these things are still here!" Ravage says with a groan. "It's been 20 years!"

"The lab must still be active!" Warsong says. "They ARE experimenting again!"

"Then let's do what we came here to do!" Fantis yells optimistically.

"Well it's not like Erad needs the help." Megabyte replies.

But its too late Warsong, Ravage and Fantis charge into battle eager to destroy the war machines. Midnight and Phoenix remain behind. She is healing his wounded leg. Megabyte stays close to them until,

"You’re all better Midnight." Phoenix declares.

"Good! I didn't want to miss this action!" Midnight flies up and toward the fight.

"Come on Meg!" Phoenix orders Megabyte.

See draws a gun from a holster on her hip.

"We're in this thing together."

Reluctantly Megabyte follows Phoenix to the fight.

“We’re here!”

I actually wrote this back in '09 for a vocabulary project in science. I'm not a huge fan of it, but I guess I'll post it for fun.

Pandora (1/2)

The pale, mechanical luna shone in a pale, bitter way above us, reflecting off of the murky, polluted but otherwise clear compound once known as “water” as though it were our guardian scornfully scolding us. My silver cheeks sparkling from the luna, my metal hand stretched outward for the net, pulling it in quickly, but, to no avail. We were all tied of fishing for creatures we could have created ourselves, including myself and Alex, but it had been explained to us that it was an important form of keeping order somewhere in our strange world. The fish liked to squirm around and always seemed to see the nets, even in the dirty H2O.

Once more, my hand reached for the net.

My three largest fingers were caught in the cobweb-like net as I attempted to pull, only to be pulled in along with it. Alex jumped in after me, grabbing my hand, and his face was the last thing I saw…

I began to spin, my vision blurry, my grip on Alex’s human hand loosening. The world around me was being engulfed in pitch black, leaving me to drown within the Galaxic Lake. The Galaxic Lake was not place of jokes. Instead, it was a crossroad to every world, or, at least we thought. I would find out for myself what the truth of our beloved lake was to be…

“Missus? Miss? Young lady?” A gravely voice injected itself into my voice interpretation outlets, but, it sounded too unclear. Normally, sounds were heard in a much higher quality. Slowly and surely, I opened my eyes, only to find a wrinkly, dark human and a young man of an unknown age. Just as I was about to check the records of who they were, I realized that I could feel something on my hand…

My small, pale hand that I had never seen before.

Startled, I pulled away from them, looking down to the strange body I was placed in, analyzing every aspect of the new matter making up my once cyborg-like body. The skin, as Alex explained it was called, was moon-lit and pale. I looked up to their sky, swiftly discovering that their moon was either much smaller or mach farther away.

Feeling a chill, I covered myself with my arms.

“Are you okay?” the young man questioned innocently, stretching a hand out to me. I looked at it curiously before looking up to his face.

“You talk so strangely,” is stated in a tongue I had never heard of or used but could understand. “Where are you from?”

“I might say and ask you the same thing, Missus.” He smiled, taking my hand himself.

“My name is Pandora, not Missus, and I a guard from the Clockwork Palace.” I kept a good eye on their expressions, only to find that they hadn’t a clue what I was talking about. How could they not know the name of their own King and Queen’s palace, as well as its trusted human and cyborg guards!?

The man nodded and the boy picked me up, holding me on his back, my arms wrapped around his neck. “You’re a strange one, Pandora,” they commented as they went back to their home. “but we will treat you as family, for the moment. Where are your parents?”

“Parents?”

The elderly man sighed, the boy speaking for him. “We can talk later. It’ll be a long trip, so you should get some sleep. I think you hit your head on your way here from where ever you came from, so some shut-eye will do you some good.” I had never, myself, experienced sleep, but Alex had to, so I did as he did. I found that I fell asleep within milliseconds, dreaming of all the possible places I could be, who those people are, and where my closest Master had escaped to.
When I opened my eyes the next day, I was sleeping in a small barn in strange clothes, a thin blanket drifted over me and plate of food I had never seen before on a table to my side. I looked down to the straw, wondering where I was before suddenly hearing the sound of a horse. Master loved to ride on horse-back--they were one of the few tamed creatures that stayed themselves after thousands of years--but the barn she lied in seemed different. There were no automatic food dispensers or machines dangling from the ceiling. Instead, there were tools hanging from the walls and hay beneath he creatures and myself. The scent of manure stayed within my nostrils to the point where I had to leave. For my first time smelling something, it was not the best experience. I passed by a flowing source of H2O on the way to the main, small house. Walking closer to the river, as I remember Alex calling it, I leaned down on my knees, taking a handful of water. The water was not nearly as polluted the water from my world was, so I took many handfuls of it. Still, it was not the best water source. It was merely less than brown.

I stood up and gazed at my reflection. Gold eyes, long, silver, flowing hair, gray nails, pale skin, and bronzed cheeks. I must have seemed like the oddest woman in the world to them, with their dark skin and black, curly and straight hair. I sighed and walked back to the main house, where I was welcomed inside.

“So, you’re Pandora!?” a small girl said cheerfully, running up to me, grabbing a hand, and spinning me around in circles. A bunch of other children came in, as well, and I found each finger occupied by another small child. “You’re so funny looking, but pretty!!” They giggled and kept on spinning to the point where I wanted to faint.

“You’re right,” the boy from before bantered in reply to the little girl about me. “She is strange looking, is she not?” I kept on spinning, finding it hard to see. Suddenly, all the children dispersed into a single room at the sound of a pan being hit. I let out a sigh of relief and glared at the boy.

“I hate you…” I muttered in an almost teasing way.

“..,and you have the cutest death glare.” We both laughed quietly. “I’m Kartik, for your future reference.”

“At least my name is a tad more normal than yours.” I suddenly recognized my accent and language. I had an old-English voice, but the boy had a more Indian accent. I shuddered. “Wait… what year is it?”

“In both England and India, that name isn’t the most common thing around. Are you such a ditz that you don’t even know the year, Pandora? It’s 1764, Missus.”

I bit my lip. Was going back in time two and a quarter thousand years even possible? I had never assumed that the technology had been created, but, apparently, someone had done it behind my back. Although I was eager to inform the queen of such a crime, I could not. I was left in a time where Pannet--a much more technologically advanced form of the internet--was all but not even a thought.

Still, as we ate dinner, I cautiously became more aware of my surroundings, observing and listening to what they had to show and tell. We exchanged knowledge, and I ended up attempting to explain how chemical bonds, elements, and things of the sort worked, for I had already taught them things not even the most intelligent man of the time in their area had really put into words yet. I nourished them with lessons of everything I could, allowing them to teach me the cultures and ways of life. As I spoke of the elements and such, the children had many a question, some accusing me of witchery even though they knew it was one day to become true.

Time went on, and, after about six months, I was finally asked how old I was. “How old? Hmm… probably about…. 17? Yeah, I should be around there.” They were shocked.

“You look about 8 or 9!”

Pandora (2/2)


“I can’t control how this body ended up looking…” I pondered over whether or not I should tell them the truth. I had already become close to Kartik, and he seemed relieved that I was around his age. I blushed. I didn’t want them to know that I wasn’t a human, afraid of the consequences. I had never been afraid of consequences in my entire life. Why would I now? Because I was an intelligent, mature human being, which frightened me even more than telling them the truth. I had to. “Kartik… may I talk to you in private?”


He nodded and we stepped out of the room and into another, his room. I could hear eager children, whom I can now identify by their first names that are native to the language, filing down the hall in a way that made it obvious they didn’t want to know they were there. As they piled up at the door, I opened it, let them all fall in to the room, and then they all ran away full of giggles.

“Kartik…” I whispered in a soft voice, closing the door. He came behind me, picking me up like the princess. “…there’s something you need to know.”

“You can tell me anything, Pandora.” Kartik placed me softly on his bed, sitting next to me, watching carefully. I could tell that he seriously would do whatever I asked of him, never telling a lie, making me smile.

“The truth is… I… I’m not a human, like you. This may sound crazy, but, I was born thousands of years from now where what I taught your family are things we learned before year two of life. I was born a cyborg--a hunk of metal--who merely fell into your time and turned into this. In our time, metal creatures like me had a Master who was in charge of us, and working to protect the capitol was our job. I like it here, but I miss Alex and feel guilty for never telling you. There may be no such bond between a Master and a cyborg, but, still…“ My light words were muffled by the sound of kids running around the halls, screaming ‘tag’ and ‘you’re it!’, their feet stomping on the ground, each step echoing through the long hall and into the barely cracked door..

“What did you say?”

I shook my head, suddenly losing the courage to tell him. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing.”

He paused.

“I love you.”

“…” I wasn’t quite sure of how to reply, so I let my instinct take it from there, wrapping my arms around him and just staying there. “…I love you too.”

I normally don't like fanfiction, but this is an exception. I actually got first place in the fanfiction contest I put it in. Anyway, this is a Bleach fanfic which starts from the episode that Ulquiorra and Yammy are introduced; from there, it goes off into my own interpretation (since I wrote this before I went any farther than that in the anime).

Caught in the Crossfire (1/3)

“Yammy, you’re struggling. Switch with me.” Ulquiorra’s words pierce through the battle, reaching Yammy in less than a heartbeat, like the soul steel of the blades the shinigami and arrancar hold. It was obvious that the unlikely match--a large, bald, bold, and hot-headed arrancar and one of the same species who was small with long, black hair and an unchanging expression--were only together for business, less than pleasure.

“Shut up!” The man’s voice was booming, but began to falter near the end. Red splashed the scene, creating a puddle of blood where many human’s were; they reacted to feeling a slimy sensation, but no much else, for none could see the horror before them. An ear-piercing scream came through the area, calling for even stronger shinigamis.

“Get out of my way,” he muttered silently, jumping into the air and thrusting Yammy to the ground. “Ichigo, we’re not here to fight just yet.”

“Like I care. Go to Hell you god damn thing!” At this point, the carrot-top hadn’t known of the true existence of an arrancar. Ulquiorra let out a quiet sigh, though his expression stayed the same, knowing that he would have to fight or run. An order from Aizen suddenly rang in his head. Do not run away. This will be an interesting fight, Ulquiorra Schiffer.

He pulled out his Zanpakuto, calmly beginning the wretched fight with Ichigo.

“What are you?” Ichigo questioned in hustled, panting whispers part-way through the fight as their swords clashed, the sheer power of the two creating a deep hole beneath them, just inches away from the frightened humans, running for their life. All but one.

“I should be asking you the same thing.” The arrancar kicked off of the boy’s abdomen, leaving him to nearly fall headfirst into the ground, and floated high in the sky, preparing to send a cero to him. It was almost ready to go when he was stopped.

“Aimo, Aimo, llede llushe.” He held his ears, dropping his Zanpaktu, suddenly losing his composure as his head felt like a ticking time bomb. “Noyna milia, endel protea… Photomy.” His eyes scanned the ground, only to find a single girl--other than Orihime, the time healer he had discovered, and her friend--, nearly hidden by the burning branches of a tall red oak. “Ko-” Ulquiorra stopped her in the middle of her song, flying to her as best as he could without dropping too low, falling through the branches to her. The second the song stopped, the intense migraine was gone. She merely stared.

“What was that?” he demanded, his hands wrapping around his neck, no sounds except the wind and Ichigo’s incessant wandering (trying to find him) closing in on his senses. “Tell me how you did that, girl.”

Who are you? Why were you fighting? she mouthed.

“Speak.”

I cannot speak.

“Of course you can. You just sang!”

S-sang..? I’ve never spoken a word. The only song the half-dead can sing is that of one from their soul, and only those of the same soul can hear.

As Ulquiorra began analyzing what she had mouthed, a voice came from behind him, the branches shaking as Ichigo stood atop a burning branch. “Losing your composure over a little human girl? There’s only so much a probably five year old can do. Get your hands off of her.” He glanced back.

“Maybe we are, if I could hear you sing. What is your na--” She disappeared at his question, along with the world, leaving the arrancar to find himself in front of Master Aizen with his back turned to the master. “Why did you pull me from the fight?” He did not bother to turn around.

“You weren’t going to win, Little Ul-Qui-Orra!”Gin, white-haired and all, whispered into his ear, grinning his usual Chesire Cat grin. “Didn’t you notice the two, stronger shinigami’s watching from behind? They were ready to attack you the second you lost your composure, and that is a no-no for such a strong arrancar.” He chided him like a child, wrapping one arm around his shoulders. Harshly, but not roughly, Ulquiorra pushed him away, turning to Aizen for his explanation, only to be greeted with questions. Aizen was adament that his fourth arrancar needed a push in the right direction if that was to happen again, pressing the thin-rimmed glasses close to his eyes with a dangerous smile.

“That will not happen again, right, Ulquiorra?”

“Of course not, Aizen,” he replied non-chalantly, quietly wondering if Aizen knew who the girl was and that was why he never asked that particular question. After his master dismissed him, only minor events occurred, all except one. Lying in bed with sheets sloppily thrown over him, he awoke with start, finding himself in a different room with a different, human body.

“Wha-what’s g-going on?” This was one of the first times he had felt himself shaking. He had not been human for so long--why was he suddenly human once again? And why was he not able to analyze the situation as well as usual? He bit his lip, trying to subside the shaking until he could calm himself and realize what was going on. “There has to be a reasonable explanation to this.” Deep breath in. Deep breath out. “I don’t shake. I don’t get scared. Something different has to be going on.” Deep breath in. Deep bre…

“Ulquiorra?” A worried voice creeped in from the window along with two simple knocks, and he turned his head, only to find a girl of about 15 there. “Hey, let me in before I fall!” She was pouty and insistent, but definitely not lying, for she was swaying in the wind with the tree. The boy looked down, noting his age, appearance, and… boxers? A blush swept across, jumping out of bed to pull on a pair of pants before running to the door and opening it, feeling the girl jump into his arms. “Ulquiorra! I thought I was gonna di--hey, why are you shaking so much? I know Daddy’s scary, but it’s not like he cares if I come.”

Waking up with a cold sweat, he gasped, finding himself within a chamber. He knew what it was well--a machine created to strengthen an arrancar-- but it took time to do this. “How long have I been in here,” he whispered through the air mask, his eyes opening only slightly, remembering the dream and then the girl he had met the last day he remembered. “It must have been a strange dream triggered by her. Nothing special.” He hoped so.

“Ulquiorra? Little Ulquiorra?” Gin’s voice was less than hearty, and the fourth arrancar suddenly knew why he was put in there. He could remember many events, but he was not there. “I see your awake!”

“Those were put in my mind so I’m well-educated of what happened, weren’t they?”

Gin’s expression turned cold. “You know what time it is, don’t you?”

He thought for a moment, his expression still blank, the sweat beginning to evaporate. “Yes.”

---

The two walked through the halls, the shaggy, white-haired man explaining the situation in further terms. “Only the strongest of the arrancar’s survived the power-up process. You know what that means, right?” He nodded. It was time for the war, and taking out of every shinigami and human that happened in their way of taking control of both Soul Society and the human world.

Gin. Aizen. Ulquiorra. Tia. Szayel. Coyote. Lilynette. It wasn’t surprising who was left. Anyone who did not die during the “incubation” was killed by Gin, Aizen, or Ichigo. Lilynette tugged on Coyote’s sleeve, whispering something into his ear, only to be warned by Aizen that secrets would not be kept, leaving a sweat drop to fall down her face and for her to let out a nervous laugh.

“A-O-Of course, Aizen.”

Caught in the Crossfire (2/3)

After further briefing, the group of seven were sent out, immediately wreaking havoc upon the human world, staring with the town where most of the soul reapers lie--and Ichigo Kurosaki. Lilynette and Coyote began East, Tia and Szayel West, Ulquiorra North, and Gin and Aizen South, not taking long for the panic and danger to spread. Houses were burnt, humans were killed, and hollows of all types were called upon to destroy this world. In the center of it all--past the arrancar, the soul reapers, and the crying humans--lie a confused yet all-knowing girl, cryptically talking to herself as she stood in the middle of high, long white stairs that connected an elevated portion of the town to the lower.

Again, fire swirled around her, smoke and suit turning her face black. Her short, curled, brown hair was also covered in debri, but her blue eyes showed no mercy to it at all. She sat on the stairs, shaking, wondering what was going on. It didn’t take long for Ulquiorra to stumble upon her once again, this time calmly stepping before her, enhanced Zanpaktu in hand.

I hear footsteps, she wanted to wisper, glancing up, seeing the boy from before with a red, blood-stained sword in hand. Her eyes widened. Who…

“They’re fighting, but you’re not singing?”

I can’t see them. All I see is fire… and you. Should I sing? You’re the only one it stopped before, weren’t you..? She stood up and, for the first time, the arrancar boy noticed that she was probably a little older than five. Or was he really in that incubator that long? What’s going on? she questioned shakily, wrapping her arms around his waist, immediately stopping shaking, feeling comfort.

“We’ve come to destroy this world, as well as Soul Society, and even you.” She did not react. “What is your name?”

Lunari.

“Why aren’t you afraid?”

Because I know you’ll protect me.

“Why should I?”

Remember.

“What?”

I miss you.

He suddenly felt a shock of pain, as though a lightening bolt had gone through him, along with a bolt of guilt the second he let his sword go into her shoulder. “I…”

“Ul… quio….rra?”

Not knowing what to do as confusion swept over him and Aizen’s soul power got easier and easier to sense, he wrapped his arms around her and stumbled into the forest, hiding in a cavity she showed him underneath the stairs. “It’s like concrete caves down here… how did you find these?”

I always come down here when they hurt me.

“Who?”

Everyone who knows I don’t have a Daddy or Mommy, but doesn’t know why.

He swallowed, setting her down and glancing at the badly-bleeding wound. “Why… is that, Lunari?” She smiled meekly and, much to his surprise, sat up and kissed him. A seven year old kid… kissing an arrancar. Ulquiorra was about to push the little girl away when a surge of pain, along with a dream, came through; he suddenly realized it was not merely a dream, but, rather, the memories of him as a human.

“W-what are you doing!?” the boy shouted, his arm blocking the man from the girl behind him. The man sighed.

“Merely stretching my research, boy. Now, come. Let me meet you in the afterlife.”

“You’re sick..! You’re sick, Doctor Aizen!”

“Calm down,” he shouted sharply, shoving a needle into what he thought was his son’s arm, but ended up being his daughers. Still, he shrugged it off, watching her fall to the ground and Ulquiorra turn and run to her rescue. At first glance, the boy had no idea what was going on, but quickly saw the needle. “You’re turn.” He shoved the needle into his neck.

Doctor Aizen began to experiment on his daughter’s love, letting her body rot in the other room. He pulled out a vile of the blood of a Soul Reaper, and then that of a Hollow, shaking them up, though those were not what he injected into him. They were injected once his soul was released using a different concoxion, one unknown to anyone other than the doctor himself. At that, the boy’s soul was released, though Aizen found him chained to that of his daughter, pulling her soul out when she was not quite ready. He tried to stop the ignorant boy. He did, but that did not change it.

Aizen watched as Ulquiorra and his daughter were chained to one another, running away from him. In the end, he did discover where they were, injecting the boy with Hollow blood, cutting the chains that bound them. The two then progressed into their second, spiritual lives with, what he thought, no memory and their own paths.

He pulled away from her. “I-I’m the reason you’re only half human, now that you’ve been reborn..?” She looked down, but nodded, wrapping her arms around him and snuggling into him. “But Aizen was the one who started it, right..?” She nodded again, her small forehead rubbing against his chest. “I was reborn as an arrancar… you were reborn as a half-human, half-spirit… and Aizen was reborn as a soul reaper?” He didn’t need an answer, but she still nodded. Ulquiorra frowned, pushing her away. “We’re different people now, Lunari.” The two stared each other in the eyes for a few more moments, both slowly realizing how unbreakable the bond between them had to be for them to re-find each other in every life. Surely they were not separate in their lives before last time, either. Ulquiorra wrapped his arms around her, letting her sit in his lap, neither speaking until the concrete blew out above them and nearly crushed them both.

“Well, well, well…” Gin said playfully, Aizen on his tail while they ventured inside the spider web of caves beneath the stairs. “Our toy and a little girl…. Little Ulquiorra!? Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

He held her tighter, worrying that, if he moved further into the shadows, they would hear them. Either way, they were going to be discovered, so he decided to leave her there and show himself. “What do you need, Gin? Aizen?”

“The little void of spiritual energy of a girl you’re with.”

“What?”

Aizen pitched in. “That girl--I’m sure you know how you, I, and her go back--is a void for all released spiritual energy. It may not seem like it, but she’s a ticking time bomb.”

“No.” He took a few steps closer, Zanpakutu in hand. “She’s not a ticking time bomb, Aizen. She’s your daughter.” Gin glanced back and forth between them curiously, his eyes wandering toward an unexplored, shadowy area where he saw a foot. He rushed at full speed, only to have his sword deflected by Ulquiorra. “Stop!”

“Stop what? I wasn’t planning on killing her, don’t worry. I just wanted to play.” Aizen walked past the two, Gin keeping the boy away from Master Aizen, and kneeled down in front of the small girl, his hand holding her chin and pulling her to him sharply.

“Lunari. You’re going home.”

Monster.

Caught in the Crossfire (3/3)

Monster.

“Don’t make me raise my voice,” he whispered into her ear.

Monster. He stretched out, intending to slap her, but she let her own energy out, flinging him back several feet, also injuring the two spectators. Before either knew it, she had lost control, the energy flowing around her, destroying everything in its way, bound to destory the whole world--and even Soul Society--if it wasn’t stopped. Still, it got larger, eventually creating a white light and crash that exterminated every other image or sound.

Lunari woke up to a black void, floating on her back as though she was in water. A small pressure could be felt on her hand. She turned her head, seeing Ulquiorra, as well as her own, bare reflection. The two were in their past forms, shifting continuously, until, finally, they settled into a twelve-year-old Lunari and probably 15-year-old Ulquiorra, both righteously human and beautiful. “Is this our true form?” she asked as he turned his head to see her. She wrapped her arms around him, both taking in the silence, letting the black water purify their bodies and souls, feeling each memory pass out until there was nothing left but the memory of two bare, beautiful beings floating in the dark, endless void.

Another piece I wrote for school.

Alternate Ending to The Giver

The Giver looked around, trying to figure out where Jonas had gone. He had been awoken at a very early hour by the sounds of a startled community, and it had not taken him long to realize that The Receiver had left before their expected date. He gasped for breath, holding himself up with the branch of a tree.

‘Nothing will be the same,’ he thought to himself, noting his wise, truthful words so he would never forget the statement. Before he knew it, he was surrounded by Elders seeking his assistance, and he suddenly knew what he had to do. No matter what time Jonas had left, their plan must still go on.

“Please gather everyone and bring them to the same assembly room we use for the yearly ceremonies,” The Giver began, holding back the ache in his heart as he began to remember the terrible memory he had given Jonas in all his agony. The boy tugged on his hand, asking for water, but he was too weak to give it to him this time. “No matter their age, gender, or state of mind—we must have all members of the community there.”

A few of the Elders gave him a questioning glance, and other gave him a frightened look, for his voice was harsh as it came straight from his aching heart. He glared at them, and one Elder left to go tell the announcer to bring everyone to the told meeting spot. The colors began to return to The Giver as he continued speaking, and the eyes of the Elders and other community members around him began to light up, all of them obviously spooked by the sudden change.

“Now! I shall give a speech once everyone is there, for we must calm the community down. We shan’t be getting rid of these memories—it is impossible now that it has come this far—but we shall explain to all how to deal with them. I will be there for you all, I promise.” He smiled a wry and dry smile as everyone around him began to look extremely startled, nobody knowing what to do.

He sighed, wobbling back to the large center where everyone was slowly beginning to gather, tears in the eyes of some and large grin in the eyes of others. For once, it seemed as though they had all truly felt… something. anything. For once, there was happiness, sadness, and true fear in their eyes and voices.

As The Giver sat on a chair on the stage, he looked out to them all, realizing that those with the light eyes were reacting with much more emotion. ‘I was right. The color of the eyes is what proves our difference and our capability of receiving these memories.’ He held his head in pain, recalling sad memories.

As many of the people in the community spoke, he began to realize that the tones of their voices were changing, as well as their hair, skin, and eye colors. Everything—all of the Sameness that it had taken so long to achieve—was changing, though it would become more significant later.

Finally, nearly everyone in the community had gathered, and it was obvious that many were spooked as they were too dizzy to even realize that there were seats and other people there. Many were injured, but The Giver had forbid any relief-of-pain medication be given, which caused many to detest his very existence as they winced in pain.

“Everyone,” he began, his voice loud, strong, and brave. “These are not bad dreams, as you all may think. What you are experiencing right now is the feeling of the world, and what you are seeing is the memories from the past. The world was a cruel, cruel place, but it seems that we must all absorb these things and comprehend them.

“Our dearest, dearest Jonas, the soon-to-be full, new Receiver of Memory, has fallen into the river.” His parents gasped, for they now felt a heart-wrenching pain that they had never felt before. It was strange to them, but, as many soon realized, it was the feeling of love, as well as loss and grief, all of them mixed into a dangerous poison that his parents, friends, and other family had swallowed. “Because of his death, we must celebrate the Ceremony of Loss.” And so they did. Even through their pain and grief, all chanted his name like they had been taught.

They continued to chant as they were given time to think of everything they had received, and The Giver stopped his chanting to help many who had been reacting much more deeply. As they day went on, the good memories continued to be soaked up into their minds, and the tears began to slowly be swallowed up. There were smiles everywhere, though they all still remembered the sadness they had just felt. All of those community members were still confused, and it wasn’t long before they were all talking to one another about them, sharing their happiness and sadness as they walked back to their houses.

Accents, voices, and new languages began to roll from their tongues, all suddenly becoming their own person with their own form of speech, their own personality, and their own feelings. The form of Release, on the other hand, was being put down, now. All felt sadness for the act, and Fiona seemed to be disgusted with herself as she spoke to The Giver, just as everyone else had, personally, did. Her cherry red hair began to show, as well, and her tunic turned to a color that perfectly matched her newly found personality. Those Assigned to be the Tailors who made the tunics began to make new clothes—clothes with what they came to know as pockets, zippers, buttons, and belt loops—that were given out to all. Some of the “fabrics” that they had acquired was being formed into beautiful “dresses” and “blankets”. Everything began to have its own words to say, and every house was different.

Yet, as all of this was going on, they all felt the true feelings of the world, and many began to dream of little Caleb and the brave Jonas’ deaths, tears erupting again. The Giver, who secretly knew that his death was not true, still wept at his absence. Lately, he had not been well. His health was diminishing, and the feelings were too much. The colors were too bright; the new Sun felt too hot; the snow was too cold; the people were too loud, and the feelings had been taking him over.
The Giver, whose name was unknown to the community, just as Jonas’ would have been, walked outside one last time. A wooden cane in hand, he slowly took steps outside of his room, walking around to the House of the Old, as he walked down to the bridge by the river. Kids were fishing, which they had just recently learned from the Fisherman now that it had been two months since their transition into such a new life, and he took a step onto the bridge. His bare feet made no sound as they took that single step, and his body slowly gave up the fight against life itself.
There would be no Release for this man, for that had been banned from the community, but he would die a silent death among all of the people. He would pass with a smile, knowing that he did something to change the world. The Giver’s body gently knocked against the old wood, his cane making an even louder sound, and his eyes stayed lightly shut. The children around him continued to giggle and play, no one noticing the man who had left the earth…

...the man who had given his life—along with his companion, Jonas—to let them have such laughter.

Still, his heart would live on, spreading through the souls of all who held the memories he had held to himself for so long.

This was a small portion of the vampire story that I've been working on for years. I might post the full thing some day, but I don't feel like it at the moment. Too much effort. Also...
Disclaimer: implied incest in the following literature.

An Excerpt From Cilia's Fangs (1/2)

"Fine, fine. I'm coming. Damn wench," he muttered, slipping the key into the door. Within a second of the "click" that came with the unlocking, Ophelia barged in, taking in the appearance of the man. Short and unshaven, he wore an oversized suit with a cheap tie that probably still had the three dollar price tag on it. She shook her head at him. Cilia did not enter. Without bothering to look at her daughter, she raised an eyebrow, and the man roughly pulled Cilia inside. "You think this is an open bar or what? Little shit. Don't leave that door open so long!" However, at the sudden, jerky motion, the white haired vampire freaked and pushed him so hard he stumbled back against the wall, speechless. His shaky body, the lack of muscle... Such an easy victim. However, she was not interested in eating.

"Now you know what happens when you touch her. Stay back and let us do our shopping." He rubbed his balding head and nodded, allowing the two female vampires to go through yet another door before he left them alone. They came to a dark room full of iron cages, humans in shackles to the wall. Those who could dragged themselves closer to the bars, screaming and crying for them to be taken out of there. Other stayed as far as they could, hoping to stay inconspicuous rather than to become the slave to another horrid woman.

Cilia locked eyes with a young girl of that description. She had brown hair with a bowl cut and large, innocent eyes. The girl tried not to lock eyes with Cilia as she stared, but finally they drifted to her, and her whole being froze just to stare into her multicolored eyes, her snow white hair, her tan skin. Was she an angel? Like a deer in headlights, she stayed that way until Cilia had made up her mind. "Ma'am? Are we here to get new servants?"

"What a stupid question. Of course." Cilia never moved her eyes from the girl. Ophelia appeared beside her. "If you want the thing, say so. We're not going to waste the whole night here." The vampire child nodded, and Ophelia called down David, handing him a great wad of cash, an amount that most people wouldn't make in their entire life time. She had picked out three more, all strong boys. The tallest of them was blonde with bright blue eyes. Another had black hair and blue eyes, and the other had red hair and green-hazel eyes. She knew that Nick wouldn't be fond of having three more boys her age in the house, and she figured that was her mother's goal in the first place.

The girl was named Anne. The blonde boy was named Leon. The red-head was called Jeremy. The black haired boy was named Samuel. Anne, Leon, and Jeremy were no hassle at all--they went right along with them, merely grateful to be out of the horrid cells and have a promise of a nine course dinner the next morning. Why dinner was in morning, they didn't understand... But Samuel did. He put up a fight the best that he could, casting frightened glances toward Cilia as he struggled to get out of his chains, giving her a pleading look. She, a bit more used to being with Nick for a few moments, felt her expressionless self return. The dangerous child was at full strength. She gave him a glare, and it seemed like that's all that was necessary.

"Stop that incessent shaking, you four. You're going to a nice place. If not nice, it's at least a place better than David's little torture center, which you all came from. So shut up and deal with it. I am the head of the house; my words over rule everyone else's. After that, John, Nick, Zack, and finallly Cilia." None the less, Cilia had already made it clear that she was to be listened to.
"Cilia will be your guide for the next few days, to help you all wash up and prepare, as the rest of the servants are busy getting prepared for the next party. You have three hours to get ready before the seamstress will come and get measurements to prepare you with uniforms. You will then be free to eat and will be given an explanation on the situation." Cilia, at first, didn't understand why this was all necessary. Why her? Hannah could have done everything. But then it dawned on her. Not only was it--supposodly--the Lady of the house's job to teach the servants, she was also slightly exempt from the rest of the chores. John, her father, always thought of her as his little princess and never let her help out with anything important. This was the first time that she was to experience something mature. Her first sense of need. Yet, she sensed nothing at all.

The servants were quiet.



Nick wasn't pleased to hear that Cilia would be cleaning up both the girl and the three boys, but he wasn't allowed to see her until she was done fixing them up, which frustrated them both greatly. She was to make sure that they all of them were spotless and shaven, and she also was to do their hair in a presentable manner. First up was Anne, who she, in some strange way, felt connected to. Anne had the same beauty as Cilia, just that hers were an exaggeration of normal features compared to Cilia, who has a more exotic look entirely. The servant was far from reluctant to peel off her clothes and slip in to the large, warm bubble bath to soak and be cleaned, giving her "guide" a shy smile. It was then that the vampire noticed how plump her lips were without being unappealing, and she later noticed light freckles after her face was properly washed. Neither of them spoke as she was washed and shaved to perfection. Her hair was beautiful, but Cilia put a quick perm mix in it and gave her tight, beautiful bologne curls that brought out the roundness of her big lips and eyes and healthy cheeks.She then put one of her own sleeping gowns on her and sent her to the dining room.

The next was Leon, who was more shy and awkward with just about everything he did. He was well over six feet, and he was shocked to find that the tub was big enough for him to practically lay down in, never mind just stretch his lanky legs out. It took a bit of convincing, but he finally peeled his clothing off and slipped into the new warm water, which didn't have bubbles for him. She noticed that he had a mole on his stomache, and also that his blue eyes were a great deal more dull than hers. Aside from that and his height, he was a normal boy. He was the youngest of the boys, it seemed, and hadn't started growing any hair yet. He was thin and weak, but there was plenty of room for him to grow into muscles. She gave him a layered hair cut down to the back of his neck and let him wear Nick's pajamas.

The third was Jeremy, who was determined to crack jokes and hold a conversation the whole time, which was a difficult task for Cilia. She eventually gave up and just let him keep on talking without holding the other end of the conversation. He had no problem hopping right into the bath. His face was dirty, but beneath it she found darker freckles and pale skin. She gave him a cut down just past his ears that flipped inward. For some reason, it worked on him. He was easy, and she shoved his shortness into an outfit, which was (reluctantly) supplied by Zack.

Disclaimer: implied incest in the following literature.

An Excerpt From Cilia's Fangs (2/2)

Finally, it was the Hell child's turn. She called Samuel in. She was honestly surprised that she even got him into the bathroom, but she understood shortly after why he had listened at all. Within a moment of her locking the door, she was pinned down to the floor, his hands shaking against her wrists. Quivering lips slipped up to her ear. "Vampire," he whispered, slightly sadistically.

"What if I say, 'I'm not like the others,'?" He gripped her even tighter. She did not give him any satisfaction of seeing her cringe; however, she could not control the spasm her arm had after he had tightened it even more. "Remove your hands from me this instant, boy."

"I'm plenty older than you are, kid."

"Now. For your own sake. Nick'll kill you the second he finds out where these bruises came from; you might as well extend your life a few hours by not making me call him now."

"Weakling." She glared at him, and he smirked, but backed off. "I'm taking a shower. Fuck this bath shit. And don't you dare try to wash me, bitch."

"I'm washing you either way, so you choose whether you want me standing naked in the shower next to you or clothed by your side."

"Try it." He honestly thought she was joking; he had no idea about what she was really like, and his assumption was wrong. She peeled off her clothing and slipped into the shower, which was next to the bath, and pulled the glass door shut. He didn't blush; he wasn't the shy type. Like her, he didn't give a damn. He never submissed to her, so they went back and forth until she finally thought that he was proper. He wouldn't let her touch his hair. It looked fine anyway; she didn't need to do anything in the first place. She put him in a black, satin shirt of Nick's and white pants. Exhausted, she followed him to the dining room where the others were waiting, her hair obviously soaked, proving that he did put up a fight. Anne couldn't hide a slight giggle. Jeremy was laughing obnoxiously loud, cracking jokes left and right. "Did you have to sit on top of him to get him to stay in the bath tub or what!?" he said between laughs. At that, Leon blushed and looked down at his feet, his thoughts obvious.

"Silence. Sam, sit down and shut up. I'll go see if Helen's started on the food yet." She started to walk away.

"Shut up is this family's favorite phrase, isn't it?" Sam was being a wise-ass by muttering it under his breath.

"Sure. Now shut up unless you'd rather not eat." Everyone was silent after that. Within a half an hour, Helen, the chef, and her dish boy, Roy, had come out with a large meal. It wasn't quite as large as Ophelia had promised, but the chef knew better and told them to eat slow, a little bit at a time, and to not over stuff. It's dangerous when you haven't had a good meal for a while to over eat. Not that the Lady of the house would care about her servants to that extent.

Finally, Cilia had the chance to sit down on a large, comfortable chair at the end of the table. It only took a minute for Nick to walk back to her, hugging her from behind, nuzzling his head into her head. "Cil... I was so worried. Are you okay? Your hair's wet." She sighed, leaning back into him, ignoring the servants who had paused with their eating to watch the strange pair. His bright red eyes flickered over to the male servants, holding her tighter as he spoke in harsh, sharp tones, a great deal different than the soft spoken words he whispered into his sister's curls. "If any of you dare to lay a hand on her, I'll personally remove you from existence. Is that understood?" Jeremy nodded, and Leon eventually worked up the courage to do so as well. Sam stared Nick down until the vampire was forced to remove himself from his grip on Cilia and stand beside the boy. "Is. That. Understood?" Sam grinned, bearing the devils lips, and answered,

"But of course. I believe English is my native language, actually."

Nick smacked him hard enough to send him off of his chair and plummetting onto the ground, and his smirk was gone as he regained his seat and continued eating. Cilia continued to cling to her older brother until little Hanna popped her adorable head in. "Lady Cilia!" She ran up to her, a big smile on her face as she tugged on the girl's gloved hand. "The seamstress is here!" The little girl turned to the others. "Oh, my! I'm sorry for not introducing myself. I'm Hannah, a general family servant. Lady Ophelia told me to say that you will be assigned as personal servants to either Lady Cilia, Sir Nicholas, or Sir Zachary. Those two over there are our chef, Helen, and her helper, Roy. I hope we'll all get along. Oh, your assignments, I-"

"Cilia! Hurry up! The seamstress has other appointments!"

"Sorry, my fault, Lady Ophelia!" she shouted back before turning to the newbies. "I'll tell you who you're assigned to later. Have fun." And off she went.

Cilia had everyone follow her to the sewing room, ignoring them as she spoke with Nick. Through this conversation, though, the servants got a glimpse into at least a bit of vampire society, but they had a great deal more to learn.

"You know, we're sort of a package, Cil. If mom is assigning personal servants, she's probably going to separate us more. I don't want that to happen."

She clung to her big brother, her arms tight around his one long, muscular one, grateful that her gloves covered the bruises that the boy had given her. She didn't want to deal with the rage of Nick; just wanted to spend time with her. "I know, and I don't like it."

"I'm just a guy, too. I can't oppose mom like you can, Cilia."
"Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I could win a fight against Ophelia. I don't want to fight her anyway. She either harrasses me about everything or completely ignores me." He sighed at her response, dropping the servants off at their fitting. The two took a break from their work and slipped into Cilia's bed to rest.

(^those situations may sound awkward to read, but in the context of the story, they're pretty normal)

moar poetry.

Hidden Will

A hidden will lies in these walls,
A place to hide,
A place to cry.

It sits upon a golden chest,
Full of things with magic crests.
Colors that we’ve never seen,
Inside this hidden hope so clean.

Knock the walls to find a spot,
Who’s sound is different than the rest.
Chances say it’s a hidden door,
One that leads into the path,
The best?
The worst?
You will soon learn.

Search the wall for one last thing,
A handle of sorts—a metal ring.
Once you find this strange little grip,
Open the door to this new little world
And off into Hades’ Wrath.

The floor is none,
Just dirt and leaves,
But hunt the wall,
And you shall see.

Upon your right,
A handle lies.
Pull it tight down to your side,
Revealing sets and pairs of knives.

Pick up none for traps do lay,
But one fair key will block your way.
The door has locked,
You’re left astray?
So find that key,
Or choose to stay.

Under the table,
Beneath the floor,
Not a single key lies so don’t even try.
Pick up the cloth that lines a box,
A box that’s full of fruity rocks.

Beware of moving those juicy things,
For poisons sit inside their kind.
A pink is fine,
A red can kill,
So do not choose one,
Do not dine.

Hope is something many have,
A quality that’s sometimes bad.
Try not to lose it,
Try not to use it,
Just leave it be for now.

Under the velvet you now have in your hand,
There is little green stone like the garden’s of land.
That is the key that will let you out,
Into the life you haven’t yet gotten to roam so about.

Avoid that stone,
Pick up the other.
The one that is orange,
The green one’s brother.

This sun-stained jewel will sit in hand,
Its glow will light the way.
A door reveals on the ceiling,
Outlined by the time of day.

Once through that door,
Yet another obstacle blocks your way.
A wall of sorts,
It’s there to stay.

Take out the stone and it will tell,
A newer path,
Which shows with math.

Do not stray from that little walk,
For a loss of life will soon occur.
Take a right at the end of the way,
Keep following that warming light.
Trust me, it all will pay one day.

maor poetry. The last one and this one are some of my favorites. I had a lot of fun writing them xD

Life in Time

Life in time is yours and mine,
A cry of crime inside our lies.
Out the door and back again,
We’ll only leave the Devil’s Den.

Believe me friends,
Times are not best,
But with a smile,
You shall rest.

Follow hope around the clock,
Have lovers at your side.
Listen to it’s tick-tick-tock,
Ready to say “Good-bye”.

Keys inside,
They leave us trust.
Let out a grin,
For we shan’t rust.

Check beneath the silver box,
Full of golden beads.
But look out for that wretched squid,
Whom traps us all within our needs.

Jump to right and left and back,
Be sure, my friends, to keep your track.
For once you get to 50 hops,
Time shall skip right past our clocks.

Hands on time,
For they shall roam fast.
Keep eyes on hours,
At midnight past.

Music plays by ghastly hands,
An organ at its side.
“Beware!” it shouts. “Of my ice cold breath.
Breathe it in and meet your death.”

Time to run, and run and run.
Keep hands on deck,
Feet on floor,
Heart in hand,
And life at stake.

Do not wonder from the path,
The older bricks will guide,
But silvers’ go in circles,
All around the eyes which find you.



Soon you’ll find a three way split,
But do not worry,
The path not lit,
Will show the way in darken slits.

At the end,
My many doors sit.
They wait and wait,
For human bait.

They wait for you,
Prey at hand,
To follow them.
Within it’s grasp.

If you’ve ever seen a ghost before,
And have not died of fright,
Then trust me, all, and take the right,
Which leads into an open door.

But if you’ve screamed and cried and whined,
Then take the left to meet your fate.
Among the lost,
The worst,
The least,
Inside a darker room.

The left shall lead you to your doom,
While right will let you grasp my world;
A world of hope and trust and life,
Full of those who’ve left our lives.

Their skin is light,
It’s pale yet bright.
A transparent person,
Whom’s kind to all.

Now choose your fate, but let me warn,
The door in the middle is for those born.
You are not permitted in that door,
Where children’s souls are left to mourn.

Once you enter this ticking clock,
Time is ready to suck you in.
Never can you leave this house,
But the doors are your best chance to live.

My rules are more than fiction,
Not just a story to frighten us all.
Time is a mansion in which spirits lie,
Time is a place where all can fall,
All can die,
Yet all can live in one beautiful harmony.

Time is a mysterious thing that only I have tamed.
Do not attempt that at home, my friends,
For it can suck you in…

okay, I'm done spamming for now.

Here's some quick poems I wrote for my creative writing class. We were practicing with different formats of poetry.

LOOOL just realized after I handed it in that I repeated the cinquain twice xD The teacher didn't notice it either and marked it 100% when I was supposed to do 10 and did 9. Meep.

All of this is excellent from my standpoint. I've especially taken a liking to that first one. How long have you been writing?

>>49 Thanks~ And eight or nine years? Been doing it more seriously for five or six, though, and didn't start getting compensation for it until this year.

Ah, neat-o. I hope you're able to keep doing it for years to come. You're an excellent storyteller and hope you get recognized for it. I'm curious to know if you have any influences/inspirations in writing poetry, since I'm trying my hand at the craft and would love to know some good stuff to check out.

>>51 There aren't many poets I'm partial to, but I've always appreciated the works of Edgar Allen Poe, Ben Johnson, Emilie Autumn, and Ralph Waldo Emerson. A lot of my style developed from religiously reading their poetry / listening to their songs. As far as general inspiration goes, I find it from basically everything-- what I see, how I feel, what has happened to me or someone else, music, art, people, etc. Everyone is a little bit different in that department.

I also find that I can only write good poetry by hand. If I can't physically scratch a word out, the inspiration just isn't as strong, and the piece comes out weak. Of course, that varies from person to person.

Edgar Allen Poe is a name I've heard so much praise shooting from, but never found myself adventuring towards. I guess I'll have to get on that wagon eventually. Also, I feel you on the handwritten aspect. Even though my keyboard-raised hands are more comfortable mashing down on keys, there's something about paper and pencil that draws out my emotions.

And I'm babbling... I appreciate the words. I'm going to continue stalking this thread as long as you keep throwing hot written's at it if ya doesn't mind~

I love Edgar Allan Poe! I have this big thick book with all of his stories and poems. My favorite story of his is "The Gold Bug."

>>53 You should check 'im out some day :3
>>54 My favorite is his poem Annabelle Lee quq

I'm not sure if it's amazing or scary or pointless that I can listen to the same song on loop for hours, eyes closed, without falling asleep, while gradually building the storyboard to movie concepts in my mind ._. I'm going to forget if I don't write it down, though. Gotta post what I have so far real quick.

Just came up with a new one inspired by my beach adventures. Was listening to Sparks (AKA Turn Off Your Mind) with it ;O Imagine that under the sea, there is a huge wall underneath the sand, separating us from a whole different kingdom that's reversed beneath us. They've been fighting to keep these giant sea monsters off their island forever, though a few generations ago, they succeeded in making them idle servants - little did they know that the whole thing was a ruse and that they had been breaking away at the wall beneath their great castle since then. The wall finally broken, these shadow-like monsters rush out into the ocean, spreading.

A girl with an undecided backstory is the first to notice them nearing the beach, as she is the farthest out. She's a strong independent white lady who don't need no life and decides to sacrifice herself, sensing the evil, by waving everyone to the shore. The shadows get closer. The humans only seem partially convinced by her saying there's a 'school of sharks' coming, but the life guard sees the concern on her face and calls everyone in. The crowd panics and run to the other end of the beach to watch.

The life guard sees that she hasn't come in and wonders if she can't get in and prepares to run out, but she tells him to not come. Don't come. He hesitates. He's wrong, again. The girl is pulled under, and a cloud of blood bubbles up just as these crazy looking monsters peer their heads out of the water. The people scream and run. The lifeguard is too terrified to help her.

Under the water, she tries to get a good look at what is attacking her. She's not the type to give up that fast. She pulls a pin--a family heirloom that was holding her bun together in the water--out and stabs the creature. A huge flash of light fills the water, and the creatures are blinded. She kicks its head to jump up to the surface to get air.

While this was going on, the prince of the kingdom below had leaped straight into the water to attack the monsters, not wanting them to affect the human world. Backup was late. He uses his super fancy magical powered sword and shit to fight them, and sees the girl when she's pulled into the water. He tries to reach her to save her, but he thinks it's too late. Then the flash of light came. He sees that she gets air and takes advantage of the chance to go grab her to protect her before the monsters can see again.

He proceeds to fight them, unable to get her back to shore on time, but he doesn't expect her to join the fight. She takes his second sword and helps attack monsters on his back, only to have the hair pin taken by a monster. She pulls herself out of his arms and jumps from his shoulder to get air, then to dive back in to fight the creature that took it. Her arm is nearly taken, but he slices the monster open so that she can get it.

She sees one of the shadows creeping up on the lifeguard. Her honest desire to protect him combines with the prince's power so that they can rush out to slice the monster. He puts her down on the shore next to the lifeguard to catch her breath, which she does quickly. The prince roughly explains the situation and says that they have to seal off all the areas that the monsters have reached before they can get onto land, while fighting off those who have already come to shore. He says her pin has a special power and significance because it doesn't belong to either world and will let them seal it. Reluctantly, she agrees.

The Prince then decides that she is too useful to leave in the human world. He explains this to her and tries to take her to the ocean's side of the barrier, but she refuses, saying she has a life in their concrete jungle. The lifeguard tries to defend her, and when the prince goes to pull her in by force, the lifeguard grabs onto her hand (only to be pulled in with her). The prince is furious, but it's too late to send him back through the completed barrier. The three of them turn to the ocean, where a bloody battle is happening now that backup has arrived.

With a wave of the prince's hand, a wall is opened up in the sea, revealing a long stone staircase down past a door at the bottom of the sand. They walk down it, only to have the gravity flip on them when they pass the door. Stumbling up the steps reveals a whole different world full of fantastical things. The lifeguard stares in shock and disgust at his reflection in the world around him. He asks himself why they didn't just believe her, which the other two don't hear as they rush up to the other world. He swallows hard and follows behind them, his shadow showing a quick flashback within it as they walk on the surface.

The prince talks to a few important seeming people about the situation at hand while they walk into the castle, dropping the two off in a room with a promise to explain later. The girl has time to get over the shock and remembers where they came from. She is obviously still agitated about losing her pin and being stuck in there, wondering if her family is going to be angry at her for going to the ocean, for not going home, for not doing the chores they'd asked. She wondered if she was stuck there before she realized she couldn't remember her name. He says that he can't either but has the memory of him doing something terrible to a little girl, though he avoids mentioning that directly to her. Everything else they start to recall, they forget before it can be said.

The prince comes back after a little while to find the two of them starstruck by the fact that they can't remember anything. He tries to explain how the world was made. The dreams and wishes of humans, one way or another, always end up running off into the ocean. The collective dreams starts to manifest themselves, and one of the men who was manifested saw the danger in that. He created a glass wall to separate their world beyond the ocean from the ocean itself. Their dreams were too much to hold in the ocean still, however, and cracks came in the wall beneath them, bits of the water puddling up, soaked in the wishes of humans.

This reacted with the world he had created and manifested countless different places, creatures, and people. The little home he'd made for what was created soon became a country, a world, a dimension, full of fantasy, horror, politics, love, hate, and everything humans had ever dreamed of making. However, with great things come terrible things. The pollution of the human's dreams and water combined to create something terrible: the monsters they'd seen before. The world was thrown into chaos for many years until a human child that wandered in dreamed up a way to seal the monsters as prisoners, servants, or even pets.

That relationship went on for fifty years - up until the wall collapsed under their wrath.

The prince pushed that problem aside and explained that their loss of memory is because only dreams exist it that realm. If they happened to recall anything, it could only be a false memory created by a dream they once had and shouldn't be trusted. He warns them to not try to remember anything since the monsters can alter it, not to mention that memories they try to recall there are lost forever to the real world.

That foreboding message left them both on edge, but the expression on his face when he explained his concern for his kingdom. They relax and try to comfort him-

More to come eventually .o.

Finalized some of the backstory to >>56.

Time in the world under the sea goes by much quicker than that in the real world. You can spend a lifetime there and only be gone a few minutes from your real home. However, when humans are in the sea world, they don't age.

The child who wandered in is also the main girl protagonist. She grew up in a beautiful house right on the sea with her mother, who would always listen to her child talk about how she heard the "voices in the ocean" and could see "little lights" floating around the water constantly. She claimed to see an amazing kingdom under the ocean in her dreams and spoke often of it. Her mother loved her and trusted her but was a sickly recluse, teaching her daughter from home, while giving her enough freedom to go outside when she wanted. The girl was always on the coast picking up shells and admiring the views.

One of the local boys (the lifeguard as a child) was in an argumentative family and also came by the ocean frequently and came to like her (without admitting it) when they were little. However, he always made fun of her claims of the ocean's voices and lights, and the friends he gained as he went through elementary school agreed, often harassing and bullying her.

She always had trouble communicating with people because the boys and her mom were the only ones she talked to, but she could understand the hearts of people better than anything; after all, she listened to the whispers of their hearts as their wishes seeped into the ocean every moment of the day. This also had an impact on the boys having trouble dealing with her. They took their bullying too far one day. She said you could only get into that "other kingdom" if you swum down to the bottom of the ocean during a storm... So during a terrible storm, the boys forced her into the water and told her to go show them her fantasy world. The girl dunked down under the water from a wave then never came up. After a little while, the boys began to get frantic and jumped in the water to look for her but couldn't find her anyway.

The mother never reported her missing, but every night she was gone, she'd sit by the ocean and tell it all of her wishes and hopes and dreams about seeing her daughter again. She'd sometimes even talk to the ocean as if it were her daughter. She grew weaker and weaker each year until she passed away.

The boys swore to keep the girl's passing a secret. The event later inspired the original boy to become a lifeguard at that same beach. He felt like he could get redemption by saving others from getting pulled into the ocean, though deep in his heart, he hoped that she would one day drift back onto shore and forgive him for what he'd done as a child.

When she had been lost in the ocean that time, she had basically died. Her lungs filled with water. Her body slowly drifted down to the bottom of the ocean. There, however, a door opened from underneath the sand. A hand reached down and grabbed her, pulling her up into the other world. Their healers brought her back, and she became a popular human visitor to the royal palace. The prince at the time, ancestor to the prince in the current story, doted on her. She embraced her curiosity and explored the growing world as she liked, learning the mechanics of the kingdom, and showing the power she had as a human child. Everything in her imagination became reality. When the world became plagued by evil creatures, she created a solution to handle them through that imagination.

But all good things must come to an end. After a few years of mixed emotions there, they decided she was too dangerous to keep in their world. She floated up to the surface one day with no memories of the world under the sea nor her past life. She didn't remember her near death experience nor her (now deceased) mother. All she had with her was a hair pin her mother'd given her that she'd kept close the whole time. The child was found and taken in by a ship that was passing by and put in an orphanage. She was quickly adopted, but the family had issues with her.

She was always scared about how she could hear strange voices in the ocean water and seemed to see unusual things. The family that took care of her feared her, and she was passed to relatives who lived further inland. They were fine for a few years until she started to hear the voices from anything related to the ocean, then later, anything that had running water. Every family she was passed to gave up on her until she finally ended up in an orphanage again.

She had trouble making friends due to her condition and tended to avoid people to the point of isolating herself. Now a high school student, when her school decided to take a trip to the shore, she saved up all the money she could to participate so she could see the shore and the beautiful site of the ocean that she'd missed for so long. She convinced her teachers to let her go without a safety partner (they often took pity on her because she had no one to talk to or pair up with, letting her work alone) and headed straight to the beach. She admired the view in the morning and made small talk with the nice lifeguard there, though the two of them were quiet and distant. She eventually worked up the guts to pull out her swimsuit on the last day of the trip and go swimming.

That's the day that the events of the previous post begin.

I wish I could write like you. I started on a couple stories, but still have yet to finish 'em. One is horror and the other is magical fantasy with a bit of horror. I'm having a bad case of writer's block at the moment, because I'm at the point where my creativity and motivation have walked away from me. Got any advice?

>>59 I wish I did, honestly. I've been in your shoes countless times and still don't understand how the block comes or how it goes. Most of the published writers I know say the only way to get past it is to "just force yourself to write", but I've seen how badly that can go. I say to just wait for the motivation to come back. In the mean time, don't give up :3 Always keep your stories reasonably close in your mind.

I'm writing a manga right now, I'm still working on the story and haven't started the art yet. I mostly write fanfiction

>>61 Sweet! :3 I want to turn a couple of my stories into graphic novels, but I decided on finishing writing out the legitimate novels for them first. That way I don't have to worry about the story or characterization and can take the time to focus on the art.

I've never really been into fanfiction. I tend to make a lot of them in my head (usually with me as the main character lol) but don't enjoy writing it all that much. I don't think I've ever sat down and read a fanfiction all on my own without a friend prompting me, either xD

I've heard a lot of writers say that too and still wonder about that. Got so many ideas for stories in my head, I wanna write 'em all down, but I guess my motivation is being lazy at the moment.

>>63 If you're not motivated to write them in full, then you should at least make a document and fill it with all their titles and synopses. That way, when you do have the motivation, you don't have to worry about having forgotten how the story goes.

I'm pretty good at remembering how my stories go, it's just with this one story I'm working on, I've got so much material in my head, I don't know where to start. 2 of my short stories are kinda in the horror/fantasy genres and the other is an Alice in Wonderland type. Just trying to organize it all is one hell of a job.

Oooh, hey, my motivation just came back... LOL

^