Independent Fiction
[Most Recent Entries]
[Calendar View]
[Friends]
Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
Independent Fiction's LiveJournal:
[ << Previous 20 ]
| Sunday, July 17th, 2005 | 10:30 pm
[poplinre]
 |
| | Monday, November 8th, 2004 | 9:10 pm
[poplinre]
|
nanowrimo excerpt
From Chapter Eight:
``I know we need the money.'' Pete cut her off with more severity then he had wished. ``Besides, I've enjoyed being able to spend the extra time with you and Sam.''
``I know, but---Its just, how are we going to make a good life for our son if we are always scraping for money? Maybe I should go back to work, but then what are we going to do with Sam? We can't afford a babysitter. Maybe one of us should go back to school part time. I just don't know what to do.'' She was unusually flustered. It didn't help matters that she had to bring up that he never went to college. At least he hadn't dropped out.
``Calm down. Don't worry about. I'll ask them for more work. They said I was one of their best workers anyway, so maybe they'll give me more hours or a raise or something. We will be okay.''
``I hope you're right.''
He leaned in for a deep kiss. ``Trust me,'' he said with a weak but seemingly convincing smile. | 1:33 am
[llamascout]
 |
NaNoWriMo Update Here's the latest installment. Sorry it's late. I'm so behind due to health reasons. Expect them sporadically throughout the rest of the week to come. Also, I might be able to update on T-giving break, depending on if I have access to the internet and a power source (my laptop has no battery power any more). Without further ado:( Cephalostate: Eyes in the Dark ) Current Music: Elton John - Tiny Dancer | | Thursday, November 4th, 2004 | 12:57 pm
[llamascout]
|
NaNoWriMo, Day 3-ish (late.. sorry) Here is a stunning installment in which I use... gasp... SPANISH words!( Cephalostate: Forgery ) Current Music: Indigo Girls - Closer to Fine | | Wednesday, November 3rd, 2004 | 3:46 am
[llamascout]
|
NaNoWriMo Day 2 Here's day two. This one was difficult to write (being tired). Judge quality and quantity, plz.( Cephalostate: Allergies ) Current Music: San Francisco Symphony - Symphonie fantastique, Op 14, Dream of a Witches' Sabbath | | Monday, November 1st, 2004 | 11:15 pm
[llamascout]
|
NaNoWriMo, Day 1 Here's the second bit o writing. Please enjoy and comment if you like. I appreciate relevant comments.
( Cephalostate: Hatchling ) Current Music: Saint-Saens - Symphony #3 in C | 3:23 am
[llamascout]
|
NaNoWriMo Work, Day 0 Since Midnight, I started working on my NaNoWriMo project (www.nanowrimo.org). Here is the first part, about 1700 words. Comments are greatly appreciated.
( Cephalostate: Phoenix from the Ashes ) Current Music: Depeche Mode - Freestate. | | Monday, October 25th, 2004 | 8:40 am
[llamascout]
|
Joseph Heller Fanfiction I wrote this last year. I thought it was entertaining, plus I love Catch-22.
( Page 214, Paragraph 2 ) Current Music: Rolling Stones - You Can't Always Get What You Want | | Friday, October 22nd, 2004 | 4:52 pm
[poplinre]
|
my BoxDrill submission : Rose nanowrimo 2003 I'm going to try to breathe some life into this forum. I envision it as a place for people to post their writings and have others give constructive criticism. Following the hyperlink below you can find a second draft of my short story for our Nanowrimo project last year. I would enjoy hearing what people think of it. http://www.cs.rose-hulman.edu/~poplinre/PittmanINK.doc Current Mood: patient | | Thursday, April 22nd, 2004 | 1:03 am
[llamascout]
|
Impromptu Short Story Title: Memory of Courage (source)
Struggle: Man against Cantaloupe (from Eric)
Genre: Mock Epic (Also from Eric)
Inspiration: Rape of the Lock, by Pope (source)
Beverage: Skyy Purple (Skyy Blue + Grenadine)
The maiden was faire as she stood sidelong;
Her man fronted by a fierce vinèd fruit.
He drew his sword, fronting his oppugnant,
Ready to avast the fierce muskmelon.
The eye of the ballèd melon stared quick.
Licking the blade of Artanamater,
His faitheful sword and steed from ages yore,
Our hero, Damantro, readied his hand.
He prepared to teach his foe a lesson
In both chivalry and respect for man.
The Cantaloupe, Grimwalde, a viney foe
Peerèd at our hero, shaitan to he.
Began Grimwalde to forward roll downward
Into the meadow beyond, to battle
A war sans pugilism, but with swords.
In the middle they met, ready to die
For the right to fight vying for lady.
Metal clashèd and ichor would splash to
In this battle of battles between two
A fruit and man would enter, one would leave.
Seeds and flesh were rent, spilling left and right.
Grimwalde faced Damantro in battle royale.
Winner take all benaming game at hand,
Artwynne stood by, faithful her beau conquers.
Yet in his prime of contention, he fell.
Grimwalde, larger than life, prepared to roll,
Creating Damantro batter within.
Artwynne stopping a breath, spake litany
For to have her hero rise triumphant.
All seemèd lost for the fallen worthy.
But soon he rose from his fallen formings
Bright with light glorious all around him.
He thrust Artanamater to the skye
And bellowèd a war cry to heaven.
Heaven responded with a lightning bolt.
Rechargèd with otherworldly powers,
He stood tally against his frutian foe,
And had at Grimwalde, making fruit salad.
The foe was significantly ballèd
When Damantro rode away with Artwynne. Current Music: David Bowie - Slow Burn | | Sunday, October 13th, 2002 | 8:15 pm
[llamascout]
|
A Letter to You
Hello, Andrea, how are you today? Oh, I'm fine. Mother and Father are all right, along with Spud.
I remember when we named him. We went into town to get groceries, and saw this adorable puppy, and he was free. Mother said, "Okay," and we came home with him. Father took one look at him and said, "That dog looks like a potato!" Thus, he became Spud.
Since you seemed to play with him the most, now he just sits around all day and mopes. Sometimes he waits by the front door, waiting for you to come back home and play with him. We just tell him that he's a silly dog, and try to get him to play with us instead. He does miss you, we all do. He only plays with us in a half-assed way, now.
I saw this movie the other day, and it reminded me of you. It was about these people who lived in a small town, and they managed to have fun, and even be content without having to leave to go to the big city. Of both children, you seemed to be more like that. Me? I want to get out of here as soon as I'm done with High School. Mother and Father don't quite like that idea, but they want what's best for me.
Speaking of Mother, she made your favorite dish last night: Teriyaki Chicken with Basmati Rice. And Father, he finally fixed that car of his. We were pleasantly amazed when we heard that beast roar to life. He was so excited that he took Mother into town, and left me at home to do the dishes. I admit, I let Spud help.
Remember, each time we had to do dishes, we'd let Spud lick the plates? Then mother would see us do it, and reprimand us. Of course, she too would be laughing just as hysterically as we were, only doing it on the inside. Mothers seem to be able to do that: laugh on the inside, and not let the true emotion come out. I admit, though, you not being here to help hold the plates up to Spud's piggy-snout while he greedily scarfed the contents of the plate definitely made it less entertaining.
We both got into it, though, since it reminded us both of you. When I was done, he actually played with me, all excitedly. When Mother and Father came home, Spud and I both were lying on the floor, exhausted. They both had a good laugh at the sight of Spud and I there on the floor.
After that, it was bed time. I walked past your room. It's still set up like you lived there. I'm not surprised. Mother is quite the sentimental woman. I'm sure that even if I leave for school for good, my room will be in the same condition that I left it in, or cleaner, for that matter. Then, maybe I'll get married, have a bunch of kids, and there my room will be, set up for a teenage boy. Parents are funny like that.
School is going well. We're reading this one book in English. It's one of those dark comedy books you always liked to read. It's about this guy, and things happen to him--bad things. But he always managed to laugh it off, even to the end of the world (yes, the world even blows up in the end, while he's laughing, after having lost everything). I told Mother about it, but she just shook her head and said, "The crazy books you kids are reading these days." It's called Job Complex by Jedediah Franklin, III. At first, everyone thought it was job complex, like a work-job, and not Job, like the guy from the Bible. I figured it out soon enough, seeing how this guy suffered, similarly to that of Job, even. Of course, he didn't get a happy ending.
I would like to thank my parents, for taking me to church every single possible time they could. I know so much about things that other people don't understand. It's crazy. There was the Job thing, and I explained it to the class. Then there's the stuff that I learn in the Theology class after regular service. I originally did it because I didn't like the kids in the youth group, and this was the only other group I could join, since I wasn't married, a parent, engaged, seeking church membership, a college student, or a single adult. They were hesitant at first, since I wasn't really that old, but the finally let me join, and were glad too, since my "child-like" insight brought forth a whole mess of more topics for the class to study as a whole.
Speaking of church, I always envied you. You had cool friends in the youth group, but I couldn't really do things with them, since I was your little brother. Now, they're all at college, and the next class is stepping up to take their place. It seems that every graduating class gets less and less enthusiastic about everything year after year. I hope I can change that for me, at least.
I remember your graduation, actually. I mean, it wasn't too far back, but at the same time, it wasn't only yesterday.
I remember how you loved the hyacinth flower, and wanted it to be the graduation flower--the one you wore on your robe. But, when put to a vote, the rose won out over everything else.
It was funny how you managed to sneak in a bit of hyacinth in with your rose. If Mother and Father had found out before the ceremony, they would have made you remove it.
Actually, today, while walking home from school, I came across a patch of hyacinth. You were the first person that I thought about. I knocked on the front door, and an elderly woman came to the front door. I asked her if I might have some of her hyacinth. She kindly said yes, and that I may help myself to as much of it as I would like. So, I searched for a decent stalk, and plucked it delicately from the ground.
She asked me why I was so careful with the stalk. I told her that I was going to take it to my sister. She asked me about you. I told her all I could remember, which was a lot, since you've been there all my life, pretty much.
I almost started crying when I started to talk about that day you got into your car to go on a date with your boyfriend, Brad. But, I managed to finish the story without crying too much. I told of how a drunk driver hit your car, and how when Mother and Father and I heard about it, we rushed down to the hospital to see if you were all right. They had you in the intensive care unit. Though you were not in the best of conditions, you managed to look so peaceful while you were surrounded by a world of chaos. We were there for you during your last few moments here on earth. Brad came by just in time to kiss you goodbye. He did so on the forehead, since you had a respirator on your mouth. We all waited there until you left, and waited around a little while longer. Mother and Father invited Brad over, because he was really sad about it all too. He came over, and we sat around the kitchen and sipped hot cocoa. Though it was the sweet kind Mother always made, and you perfected by adding chocolate chips, it tasted bitter that night.
Brad finally got himself another girlfriend, though he does miss you much. She's understanding, and realizes that she cannot replace you, but at the same time, she, of all the girls I know, holds the brightest candle to you.
I told this kindly old woman about how the drunk driver managed to survive to accident, and when he found out what he had done, he killed himself.
At this, the woman was taken aback. She too had a sad story to share, one about her son who had a problem with alcohol.
It turns out that her son was the same guy who hit you while driving under the influence. She was hoping that he would give up his vile addiction, and I guess you could say that he did, though not in the way that she had hoped.
She told me that we should both go to the cemetery together, so that we could visit our loved ones. I told her that I had to rush home, and would return shortly. I came home and started writing this letter. I'll place it on your tombstone, along with the flower I picked. I hope you like them.
I miss you a lot, you know.
See you soon,
-Frankie
Current Music: Weezer - Waiting On You | | Tuesday, February 5th, 2002 | 12:05 am
[llamascout]
|
The Last Hope - Sample
This is a rough first draft, too.
On the planet Yolun existed a sad state of affairs. The Magician Vonne's Doom Machine had made the terrain a desolate wasteland that could hardly sustain the indigenous life forms present, and could not keep this sustenance going for much longer. The Lokut had carved the life off of a fraction of the planet. Their ravenous appetites had cleared out entire small colonies. The curse keeping Ronk at bay vanished, and he awoke to reign terror once again, practically unstoppable.
In his palace in the secluded uncharted area of Yolun, Yolu, the essence of the world, sat on his throne and watched the happenings slowly drain the life of his world, and eventually him.
"Three points. All detrimental. What can I do but nothing?"
A lone tear streaked across his blue face, and struck the floor.
A small village, somewhat untouched by the three plagues, stood along a riverside. A small boy was fetching water from the river. He carted it back to a small cabin. Inside the cabin, an old man was hunched over an old tome. As he read, he would occasionally jot things into another book with his quill.
"Grandfather, I got the water today."
"Thank you, lad."
"Have you seen mother? I would like to ask if I may go out and play today."
"She is at the marketplace, right now. We needed more items, apparently."
"Grandfather," said the boy, glancing at a new volume on the shelf, "What is that?"
"That one?" said the grandfather, pointing, "That's a manifestation novel. It was given to me by a dearly departed friend. May his soul rest."
"What does it do?"
"It writes a story based on the wishes and desires of the carrier. It is still fairly new, and has much story left in it. It is but a trinket in these sad days. I suppose you may have it when you come of age."
"Thank you, Grandfather. I am going to find mother now."
"All right, boy."
As he walked towards the marketplace, the boy thought about the way of life. Was it always this way? We live in constant desolation, but was there ever a high life? Were we always in fear of the plagues? Was there a time before them?
He spotted his mother. She was examining the sparse selection of fruit. He ran up to her, and wrapped his arms around her waste.
The fruit vendor looked at the boy and said, jokingly, "Another suitor, Kani?"
"I believe this one already belongs to me, thanks." She said, smiling. She then looked at her son, still smiling, "Shen, are you done doing chores for your grandfather?"
"Yes mother, I just wondered if I could play today."
"Well, it has been calm for a while now. I suppose you may, just do not stray too far."
"Thank you, mother." said Shen as he ran back up to the house.
A cluster of horses rested on the edge of a wasteland. Several men stood among the horses. They all were covered in rags, typical of any group of desert marauders. One, the apparent leader, spied through a telescope at some of the nearby edge towns. He located and edge town that was ripe for the plucking. They would strike at dawn. He spread the plan to all of his herd. They would eat soon.
The sun set, and came back to the opposite horizon shortly afterwards. The first fruits were brought out into the market to be sold. As one keeper set up his shop, he peered across towards the wasteland. He saw a smoke cloud rising in the distance.
His mind raced quickly. Where had he heard things like this before. He recalled the newest rumor. Then he recalled the implications if this new rumor were true, and were happening to his village today. Quickly he shouted.
"The Lokut!" He hollered. "The Lokut!"
The town was in uproar. They saw the dust clouds, and suspected the worse. All ran for cover, but soon they were overtaken. The raiding marauders conquered with sword and bow. After sufficient raping and pillaging had occurred, the looting began.
One man stumbled out of his fallen shop hut. He was fairly wounded, but managed to stagger up to the leader. He bore a small knife, but bore it with all his heart. He tried to stab the leader, but the leader was too swift, and quickly stopped the man's hand from causing damage.
He took the knife from the man's hand, and pressed it to his throat. Grinning down on him, he sneered. "The last man to sneak up on me wasn't as lucky. He's still alive."
"Before you kill me," the man wheezed, "Please tell me who you are."
"I am not the Lokut, as you people might have suspected. They call me Azra."
"May you rot in the flames, Azra." cursed the man, as he spat his last upon the face of his killer.
Azra drew the knife across his throat, and drained the man of his life.
"Be sure to save a spot for me there, old man."
As the man bled his last, a bald man with an eye patch came up behind Azra.
"I had mercy this time, Belk."
The man just grunted, then surveyed the collateral damage, exposing a deep scar across his throat.
Meanwhile, the Lokut were busy ravaging a distant forest.
Current Music: J. Geils Band - Centerfold | | Tuesday, January 15th, 2002 | 9:53 am
[llamascout]
|
The Odd Man Out
The cool morning breeze flowed over the deep blue ocean as the sun cracked over the horizon, just like every other big morning opening scene. The location? A planet quite some distance from Earth. This planet is called Aors. In case you're wondering how to pronounce that, just switch the first two letters (giving you "oars") and say that. Note that this doesn't always work when coming across unfamiliar words--this is just an isolated case.
Aors is your typical life-sustaining planet. The population is an exact 7,438,963,234,531, or it was at the time of the incident about which is this story. The peculiar thing about Aors is that the news media industry and the entertainment industry are one. The inhabitants of the planet are willing to pay sums of money in order that they might be able to watch a greater amount of news channels.
The main economy consists of Producers, Consumers, and Entertainers. The producers keep the consumers alive, the consumers keep the producers alive, and the entertainers keep everyone happy.
Aors gender balance is rather interesting too. The male-female ratio is close to 1:1. In fact, it would be 1:1 if it wasn't for the fact that the total population of the planet were an odd number.
Obviously, I have established that Aors is quite the interesting planet. Obviously, you're pondering what other "interesting" facts I have to point out. Obviously, you're getting restless. Obviously, I should probably stop saying "obviously."
Marriages, the next interesting topic, are all arranged. When parents have a child, they immediately look for another new parent, and there arrange a marriage in the newborn ward.
No one knows how Azhra (say "Ah-jra" [but say the j as if you were French]) came to be the only one who wasn't arrange to be wed. He would have asked his parents, but they died in a gristly freak accident involving an elevator, an elephant, and an electric current. Surprisingly, this is the most common way of dying, next to natural causes.
You're probably thinking, "Why should Azhra care that he doesn't have any woman to go to? What about widows, and widowers? What do they do?"
Widows and widowers go into seclusion, and usually end up dying a few months after their partners. The loss is too great to bear.
Of course, there aren't many nonessential deaths on Aors, since murder is low.
Back to Azhra. His parents were sick and twisted, naming him after the ancient Hythian (an lost, but remembered race of people) word for "Loner."
Things looked bad to Azhra. He didn't fit in anywhere.
His life past, and he was approaching his 23rd year. That's the year that everyone normally gets married, provided that their parents established an agreement with another family, like every other person on the face of the planet had done for generations past.
The International Space and Air Committee had not sent any rockets into space in quite some time. They had recently developed a new method of jet propulsion, which allowed interplanetary travel in a great deal less time than typical means.
Of course, they could not test out this new technology, since the People Interested in Tending Animals would not allow ISaAC to launch any more animals, including apes of the Mono espacius type, into space.
The Mono espacius is better known as a Space Monkey. They have a natural instinct that allows them to pilot spacecraft, survive in a frigid space vacuum for prolonged periods of time, a draw perfect images of all that they saw. Of course, unlike people, they had no souls, so it really didn't matter if they died in gristly accidents. They were designed for such.
It was therefore decided that the scientists would collaborate to decide who would be the best suited for this mission, this brave exploration that could unravel the mysteries of the universe.
About a week later, they announced the big winner.
Shockingly enough, it was Azhra.
Of course, he had nothing to lose.
The big day came. Azhra had been trained by the scientists and monkeys alike to better operate the spacecraft. He had been abused by PITA, for the sake of the animals. He even was given an ISaAC flight jacket, because there was a bit of a surplus, and the scientists thought that it would coax him into being a bit more enthusiastic towards this grand mission.
He boarded the ship, glancing back at Aors for what could be (and would be) the last time. He was regarded as a hero, but no one would dare trade places with him if given the chance. They weren't loners.
After the countdown, the rocket launched into space. People kept waiting for it to explode in the atmosphere.
On a totally unrelated note:
"Oh, Mike, we're going to miss the rocket launch of that Azhra character!"
"Lucy, calm down, we won't be late. Let's take the elevator!"
Quickly Mike rushed with Lucy to the elevator and pressed the call button. The elevator came, and the two boarded it in a rush.
It lowered several floors, and came to a stop at a wide, open space.
Standing before Lucy and Mike was a great elephant.
Mike uttered in a whisper to Lucy: "Don't make any sudden moves, dearest, just let it walk away, and hope that the power line directly above it doesn't snap, hitting the elephant, shocking it, and causing it to crush us in a mad panic."
Lucy silently nodded, as the tears ran down her face. She was nervous, and missing the rocket launch.
The power line snapped.
Azhra looked down on Aors as it became a green and blue sphere. His rocket ship wasn't too crowded. He was actually comfortable.
His next task was to find a habitable planet, and with that, find other intelligent life.
"Intelligent life," he muttered, "How can I know it if I've never seen it?"
Suddenly, his monitor started beeping. It had located a planet that was not only habitable, but had signs of habitation: buildings, agriculture, pollution.
He set his course for this planet.
The morning light broke anew on a fresh day in the dew-laden fields of the comfortable planet of Solu.
Solu, yet another interesting planet. The interesting thing about this one is the population: one.
With the morning light, crashing upon the plane, came a rocket ship crashing right next to the morning light.
A figure wearing a fancy flight jacket climbed out of the wreckage, and stepped back to survey the damage. It was gruesome.
In a white room, a lone pair of eyes were opened.
A young woman, having about 20 years, sat up from what appeared to be a hospital bed.
Looking at her surroundings, she assumed that she must have been in a coma.
For how long, though, she wondered.
Her current train of thought, however, was derailed by the sound of a rocket ship crashing down onto the ground not to far from her current location.
She watched as a man in a fancy flight jacket climbed out of the wreckage and surveyed the gruesome damage.
Quickly, she ran outside to see if he was all right.
Azhra figured he'd be stuck here for a while. He looked at the smoking wreckage of the ship.
He heard the pitter-patter of bare feet across a dew-laden meadow. Looking over towards the sound, he saw a girl, having about 20 years, making her way towards him, to see if he was all right.
Peculiar, he thought.
"Are you all right?" she asked the stranger.
"I'm fine. What about you?" he said, addressing her hospital dress.
"I was in a coma, or something, for a bit, I guess. My name's Gertie." she said, reading his Jacket. "Are you Isaac?"
"No. Not really."
"Who is he then? Some sort of prophet?"
"Perhaps."
She giggled.
"Actually, my name is Azhra." Azhra told. "Say, where is everybody else?"
"You got me. You're the first and only person I've seen since I awoke." she said.
"My guess is that we're the only two left on this planet. It also looks to be that we're stuck here," he mentioned, motioning towards the crashed ship. "Probably a good thing. Of course, I bet I'm not missed back home."
"If we're the only two people left, does that mean that it is our responsibility to repopulate the planet?"
"Let's get to know each other, first, Gertie. We've got all the time in the world."
Azhra put his arm around Gertie as she leaned into him. The sun was now setting on the horizon.
Didn't it just rise a bit ago? Azhra pondered, but he quickly ended that line of thought upon realizing that he finally found completion.
From a world of trillions, to find "the one" light years away.
"And you'd like to find a secluded place on our planet to start your own little colony?"
"Exactly."
"Wow, ever since we sent that little bugger into space, it's visits from intelligent life left and right! Certainly not an uncommon thing."
"We do know intelligent life when we see it."
"Well, by all means, we'll find you a nice place to start your colony. After all, we like to say, 'Aors is Yours!'"
"We thank you, sir."
"Say, what did happen to your planet?"
"An asteroid was scheduled to strike our planet. In fact, it may be happening now. We're not 100% sure when, but we are certain that it will strike. We figured better early than never."
"Oh, what a pity. What planet was this that we shall never be graced by?"
"We call it Solu." | | Wednesday, October 31st, 2001 | 9:53 am
[llamascout]
|
Public Access Punishment
Wallace killed three people. With a tire iron. It was their tire iron. He was a sick man. Wallace then robbed a bank, giving the world a few more widows and orphans. Wallace eventually got caught after detonating a bus bomb. He was a small time terrorist, sure, but tell that to the suffering parties.
You can tell them that you're sorry, but are you really? Could you possibly understand loss when everything is at your disposal? Can you honestly tell them that you can feel for them when really you're just thinking, "At least it didn't happen to me."
I apologize for the outburst, I'm just angry, I guess. My parents were two of the three people killed with the tire iron. The third was my sister.
I wanted justice. I wanted vengeance. I wanted blood. I wanted to see Wallace suffer.
They caught him, I was happy. Now that bastard will toast for his crimes.
But it wasn't like that. Some rotten lawyers tried to get his charges lowered. They claimed that he was crazy, that he was suffering on the inside, and this is how he told the world. They claimed that he wasn't at fault. They claimed that society was at fault.
I'm part of society. They claimed that I killed my own family. Maybe I should have. At least I wouldn't have used a tire iron. At least I would have made it the least bit painful as possible.
Fortunately, the lawyer was the only individual of "power" that had his head up his ass. The judge gave Wallace the full charge.
The execution day came closer. A public survey went out. "Would you like to see Wallace's execution televised?"
People actually said yes. They probably were the ones who just sat around and watched TV all day. Aliens on channel 29. Cartoons on 13. Soaps on 4. Executions on 42. Watch one, tape the rest.
Oddly, there was a decision made. The execution was televised. I didn't want to watch, but I did.
I got to watch it free, for obvious reasons. Others who were not directly affected had to pay a price.
The sale was phenomenal.
If people would pay to watch large vehicles run over cars, or large mean in leotards "hitting" each other, then of course they'd pay to see a live execution.
This was probably one of the worst mistakes ever made in history.
Widespread fame struck this new "entertainment" genre. Executions started to show up more often between WWF Raw and Monster Truck Rally on Pay Per View. Slowly, the masculine vehicles were weaned out. Slowly the overgrown children slapping each other was weaned out.
The fans wanted more, though. They wanted plot, competition, something. Different companies adopted different methods. One was a reality based series in which the inmates (all convicted murderers) got to vote on which one of them was executed, Survivor style. The winner got a life sentence. Another series had their convicts face a similar punishment as their crime. That got to be excessively gruesome. Those two were probably the most widely watched of the Execution TV Series. One failed series was based primarily on The Running Man.
Eventually, some bigwig at some TV company had a novel idea for a series.
He pressed the executive buttons to get a ETV show resembling the Gladiators of ancient Greece and Rome.
Different criminals got different penalties. Murderers and rapists were left unarmed. Small-time criminals got armor and access to a weapon. The scales of justice determine you chance with fate.
A ticketable offense could be waived by either "community service" (wild animal handler in the Coliseum) or by participating. In the latter instance, they were given two warriors of high battle esteem to aide them in whichever game was selected for that day.
Criminals who survived either got their fines waived, their sentences reduced, or got another shot at living a few more days until the next event.
As the games went on, and criminals survived, they were given armor and weapon upgrades: payoff for their hard work at bloodthirsty survival.
Even non-criminals wanted to participate. Their prize was money.
Kids would watch it, rooting for their heroes: hardened criminals. When one died, they didn't mourn, they just chose another one. They were desensitized to death.
I think a video game was made too, so they could play at home.
It used to be a weekly show. It was such a novel idea, however, that it became a daily show.
And then there's me. Don't ask what I did, because I don't even know. All I know is that I had 10 years to serve. I managed to knock it down to 6 years so far. That was hard work, starting with so little.
I managed to be sneaky and underhanded enough to raise to this level. I sure hope kids don't look up to me.
I have a feeling that all this will end soon. People just can't go on enjoying death like this.
I mean, I don't like what I do, but it's survival.
Of course, I don't really consider myself a human being anymore.
We've all turned into animals.
Devolution.
Today, I'll polish my sword and my armor. After that, I'll get myself psyched for blood. Today's match is a special match. Today is the CEO of the TV company's daughter's birthday. What a lucky girl. She doesn't have to deal with the plebeian affairs. She just gets to sit back and smile.
I have to represent one of her "soldiers" in today's match.
I run out to the Coliseum. People applaud. They chant my name. I do my signature sword swing.
I evaluate the soldiers on my team. We have to defeat some other army. Most of them looked like easy kills. Though, I had a feeling about today.
I face the window of the office of the CEO and raise my hand in a gesture of respect. I mutter to myself, "Those who are about to die salute you."
The match started.
Current Music: Schlong - Jet Song | | Wednesday, October 24th, 2001 | 10:07 am
[llamascout]
|
The Creature That Nothing Could Stop
This is a borrowed work from my good friend, S. Forrest. I liked it so much, and asked him If I could post it. At first, he was hesitant, but later let me post it. I apologize if the format is thrown off. Maybe you can buy the book if he ever publishes it. Here's some background: The planet Yolun is a basis of many of his stories. It is a fantasy planet where much is possible, thus making it a fantasy planet. Mor is a country to the northeast of Centra. There is some animosity between these two countries, but that can be expected among the lands of Yolun. It seems the only two friends among all the rancor are the (former) science facility of Mor (currently unnamed) and Centra's "dreaded city of scientific heyday," Sciana. Forrest tells me that I take too much of an interest in his writing. I think he wants me to write a Yolun Encyclopedia Encyclop?dia (In the world of Yolun, they revert to silly archaic spellings as such. My noticing of such a fact is probably why he wants me to write it in the first place). Anyway, here's the segment (from the opening):
On the planet Yolun, men worked feverishly in a laboratory. They were attempting to hone not only their skills of science, but also of magic. Their current project was the design of a new species. This was the first time that Science was given the job normally taken by Chance or Nature (depending on the other's mood that day).
The project's benefactor was anonymous, but there really weren't all too many people on Yolun who could fund the design of a new species. Even fewer in the land of Mor, since everyone figured that it was a local investor.
The scientist magi didn't discuss such matters, however. They just did the job and did the job well.
The design schematics were very precise, and called for not only species integration, but also for the creation of genetic code from scratch.
After all the complex scientific deviltry was complete, in went more complex magical deviltry, just to make the new species all the more powerful, in accordance with the schematics.
At long last, the creature was complete, and was ready for testing.
They decided to name him Ronk.
Test 1: Strength/Endurance Testing.
The subject, Ronk, achieved high rankings in his (we have determined that his kind have genders, and he represents the male form) strength and endurance testing. He can lift twice his own body mass in normal gravitation (20000 kg), and can hold that amount of mass for up to 10 minutes before having to take a short break. If the need be, he can strain himself to lift more; hypothetically, this would be necessary if an obstacle hindered his path. He can jump half a kilometer into the air, in any direction (usually forming components smaller that 0.5 km). He can also hold his breath for up to 20 minutes before having to use his integrated gills.
Test 2: Defense Testing.
Ronk is impervious to all known types of offensive assault. Everything from physical weaponry to magical attack. His skin is well shielded from artillery, and his mind is well shielded from psychological attacks. Poisons have no know effect on him.
Test 3: Offensive Testing.
Ronk displays honed offensive skills. He is well versed in "hand-to-hand" combat, but also has the ability to breathe fire and squirt blood from his eyes. As of now, he has taken out about half of our testing arena, and is currently working on decimating the other half. I'm sending these files out into the network so others may read them if he gets to be too much a pest, prancing all about the country side, killing thing.
I must be brief, for Ronk is now heading this way. There is one important thing that one should know about Ronk, it is his only weakness. That weakness is
Current Music: Mantronix - Hardcore Hip Hop | | Saturday, October 13th, 2001 | 2:29 am
[llamascout]
|
Silence Breaker
I walked into my front door. There before me, a strange man stood in my kitchen. Apparently one of my brother's friends. My brother did have the weirdest friends.
I figured, what the hell, might as well be friendly.
"Hi, my name's Sam." I told him.
He looked at me and smiled, "Short for 'Samantha'?"
I nodded.
He helped himself to a drink.
He was kinda cute.
We stared at each other for a while. The electricity built in our gaze. Our eyes said words more poetic than those our lips could have formed . . . unless they were pressed together to his . . . No! I mustn't think like that. I mean, who is he, anyway. Some friend of my brother, or something. A complete stranger to me, and already I'm picking out the wallpaper on our dream house.
Finally, the Grecian god spoke, a sweet wind blew from the south to carry his words to my itching ears. "You live in this area?"
I smiled, and nodded. I mustered a pitiful, "Yeah," but was on the edge of swooning. I really must control myself. Honestly, it's not like he's the sexiest man alive . . . but he sure is close.
He offered me a drink. That's when I noticed that something was different . . . was it the carpeting, the wallpaper, the paint? The fact that my fridge isn't charcoal gray?
Then it struck me like a load of bricks. I looked at him and asked ever so hesitantly, "This isn't my house, is it?"
He grinned at me, and with a simple monosyllabic response, he chuckled, "Nope!" | | Sunday, September 2nd, 2001 | 10:53 pm
[llamascout]
|
Minor Character
Gun shots fired all around me. I was cowering in a foxhole. I crouched next to James Corker. He was my reason for doing anything.
"Joe," James said. "I'm going over."
We had made it this far, I figured he couldn't die. Actually, I convinced myself to the point that I actually believed that he couldn't die.
My life had been plagued by stereotype war movies. Every one had some buff major character that could run through a barrage of fire without getting shot.
Then there was his buddy who would follow, and get hit by stray fire.
That was how I felt most of the time after I met James. We were paired together, after the war broke out, and the propaganda distributed. We were stationed in the same area, and were placed in the same group, and finally paired up due to our names being alphabetically adjacent.
He had managed to not get shot by the enemies. I got grazed once, and it was close, but I hadn't yet fulfilled my Minor character duties.
"Joe," James sad, "I'm going over."
I watched as he ran across the field, bullets missing him. I got up to follow, stoic and resigned to my upcoming fate.
As I ran, I reflected on my past. I never really did anything too noteworthy, just day-in, day-out mundane things. I really was a minor character.
James ran in front of me. The bullets hadn't yet found me. Suddenly, James went down. He was hit. I wasn't. My microcosm fell apart. I had no reason left to die.
I stumbled, sadly into the nearest foxhole. There, I started crying.
I was the main character after all. | | Thursday, August 23rd, 2001 | 12:13 am
[llamascout]
|
Dun Dun Dun
I'm here.
I turn around suddenly, looking to see who said that. I see no one. Looking up, I see the illumination of a fading street lamp. In the distance, I hear a faint drip, drip of what I hope are just rain gutters, and no other "gutters," thank you very much.
A shudder runs down my spine. I wonder who originated the voice. Shaken, I continue on my trek homeward.
The next day, I'm walking down the very same street, and I accidentally bump into an attractive woman. We get to talking, and find out that we have a lot in common. We even lived on the same road.
As the days went on, I saw her more and more, until I was sure that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. Somehow, she reminded me of someone, but I couldn't quite place my finger on who it was.
We got married soon after that. It was a blowout. Shortly, we went on our honeymoon, which was, need I say(?), fantastic.
Nine to ten months later (give or take), we had our offspring, our child, our daughter.
She grew up like any other child would, nice house, nice school, plenty of friends, loving, caring parents, the usual.
On her twentieth birthday, something great happened to her: she got engaged to the handsome boy who really liked her.
On the day after her twentieth birthday, something terrible happened to her: her fiance ran off to Vegas with a table dancer.
This sent her on a crying spree. She ran into the woods. It was raining.
My wife and I followed her, still hearing the her sobs as she ran deeper and deeper. I feel a cold chill run down my spine.
We couldn't find her, so finally, I shouted, "Where are you!?"
I'm here. | | Tuesday, August 21st, 2001 | 12:22 am
[llamascout]
|
Really Now,
"Who are you?"
I looked up at the grimy man behind the bar. My hand was holding a pistol, shakily pointed at him. Quickly, my mind raced back as far as I could remember. No one had ever asked me that before. No one had ever cared enough who I was.
Worse yet, no one had even told me the answer to that question.
Then it hit me, I didn't know who I was.
"I," I stammered, "I don't know."
All 23 years of my life, no one had ever directly addressed me. No one had ever used my name in conversation. I had no identity. I guess I'm really no one.
"I guess I'm really no one."
The man just stared at me.
"So, as I said earlier," pointing the gun at him with a bit more confidence, "give me the damn money!"
He put the money in a bag. He handed it to me. I took it.
In the car, later, Janet drove the car. I asked her, "Who am I?"
"Who are any of us, really?" She asked philosophically. "Are we but emotions? Are we matter?"
"Are we not men? We are DEVO!" interjected Charlie from the back seat.
"Chaz, shut it." Janet said. "You see," she directed at me, "None of us really matter to those who couldn't care less about us. If the world hates us, why should we bother to make ourselves known?" She laughed to herself.
"What?" I asked.
"It's just that I think you're better off than Chaz and me. At least people can find out about us. It's you that they know nothing about. How could you be so lucky?"
Earlier in life, I was in school. I knew all the answers, but was never called upon. I got angry one day, and made a scene.
"We'll have a talk after class, young man." I was told.
Later that day, in the classroom still, my teacher sat in the room alone. I had cut the meeting.
The next day, she acted as if nothing had happened. Now I knew why.
Back in the car, Charlie lit up a cigar he had swiped from a tobacco shop. "Yeah, man, you're, like, totally untouchable."
Is it worth it, to have no identity?
"But, I am nobody."
"Yes you are, you are you, though you really have no identity, you're still someone to us." Janet said, smiling at me through the cigar smoke.
I was glad Charlie stopped smoking marijuana. It sometimes interfered with Janet's driving, and we'd almost end up getting killed.
Thank to the cigar smoke, we'd just loose 10-20 years off of our lives.
Or maybe 60, depending on what lane a truck is driving in. Janet screams and tries to swerve. Charlie hollers, accidentally inhaling the cigar smoke. He starts coughing. The truck driver is too intoxicated to notice. The vehicles collide, the bodies fly.
Darkness.
The next thing I know, I am surrounded by bright light. I see Janet. I see Charlie. I see the driver. I see a man in a black cloak. He slowly approaches. Looking down upon us, he takes a book out from his cloak, opens it, and reads from it.
He beckons to Janet, to Charlie, to the driver. They stand from their spots on the ground, and walk towards him. They start to walk away.
I stand. "Hey!" I shout. "What about me?"
"You're not in my book." he simply replied, and walked away.
I woke up in a hospital bed. "Good morning, sir." said a friendly nurse.
"Good morning." I choked.
A doctor walked in. "Oh good, he's awake." He looked at me, "Good morning sir, could you tell us who you are?"
"I don't know." I said.
"Amnesia?" asked the nurse.
The doctor asked me more questions, things to test my memory of past events.
"No, he remembers too much else. It could be a special case, however."
"We've been calling you J. Doe, sir." she told me, "I guess until you find out your real name, that'll stick." She smiled coyly.
Jump to now. I'm sitting in my living room in my cozy house. Life has been well.
I turned from my robbing ways, I learned my lesson. I heard a rapping upon my door.
I opened the door. A man clad in black, carrying a thick book looks at me.
"J. Doe," he said, poetically, "It's time to go."
"All right." I told him as I followed, "How have Janet and Charlie been?" | | Monday, August 20th, 2001 | 3:42 pm
[llamascout]
|
Cliff
I looked down on him. He was dangling off the side of a steep cliff.
"Help." he pleaded.
I leaned over closer to the edge so he could see my face better. "You got yourself there, you know. I wasn't the one who kept inching closer and closer to the edge. Remember: you removed me from your life. I'm surprised you're even listening to me now. To be totally honest, I never really liked you."
I paused, for effect. He still clung.
"C'mon, man, just help me out."
"How do I know that you won't pull me down there with you? Why should I even bother helping you? You're self-destructive. It's time you learned your lesson. I won't teach you, though. You'll have to teach yourself."
Though I didn't smoke, I lit one of his cigarettes and took a quick drag. After some coughing, I peered down at him. "This is self-destruction too. I have an inkling that the only reason you started was to be cool." I tossed the cigarette at him, and spat to the side of the cliff, as to not hit him, though maybe I should have.
Looking down at the ground, I saw some CDs of depressing bands. "Why do you listen to this crap? All they do is complain. All they do is whine. They reminisce about times when they were happy, but get angry because they think that they can never achieve that status again." I tossed the CDs down at him.
I see yet another thing, pictures, pictures of ex girlfriends and infatuations. "All you ever wanted was someone to own you, to lead you along, someone to make decisions for you. You called it love, but it was lust. You called the girlfriends, but they were really slave masters. You complained when it ended, because they leeched you and left you. You didn't notice at the time? You're dumber than I thought. Maybe we're better off without you! Maybe you should let go! Maybe you should just give up!" I tore the pictures up, tossed them at him, then kicked some loose dirt off the ledge, making an impressive dustcloud. I looked back down the cliff with an evil grin. "Maybe I'm just lying to you. Maybe the people you hate really care, but they're all hurt because you hate them." I started to walk away, but stopped. "If you want to find out, you'll have to be willing to climb out by yourself, I won't help you."
As I walked away, I added, "The cliff will always be there, but will you?"
Current Music: Weezer - Falling For You |
[ << Previous 20 ]
|
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
indiefiction