Penblade
Junior Scribe
*Insane Muttering*
Posts: 5
|
Post by Penblade on Jan 17, 2012 21:22:40 GMT -5
Well, I've got this. It's just an idea right now and I was wondering if I should write it, or should I make it into an epic sci-fi RP?
The year is somewhere around 10,000 A.D. and humanity has expanded geometrically out from Earth. The United Protectorates of Humanity, otherwise called the Great and Terrible Human Empire, now extends fifty seven light-years out into the galaxy in any given direction. Humanity has met several different alien races as they expanded out among the stars, the majority of which have been peaceful, and eager to join the UPH. A few of them, however, have been hostile, or have just refused to join the Protectorates. You’ll never hear about these alien races though, because whenever such aliens are encountered they are annihilated before any citizen of the Protectorates even catches a glimpse of them. Entire civilizations have been wiped out with no survivors, and no evidence, just because they wouldn’t surrender their planets to the humans. The planets the aliens once inhabited are slagged from orbit by massive warships that “don’t exist” until there’s nothing but sand and rock left, then the terraforming teams are called in, unaware of what’s transpired and thinking it’s just another barren planet.
All the genocides are coordinated and kept under cover by a cooperative agreement between the Galactic Exploratory Company, the largest corporate entity in human space, and the reigning UPH government, both of which have their seats in the Sol system, specifically, on what’s left of Earth. Oh, you want explanation? Well, by about the year 9000 A.D. every land mass on Earth had been effectively covered by industrial machinery, pushing forward the beast of galactic expansion. The innards of the planet had been stripped bare in the search for oil, coal, iron, copper, any raw resource that a use could be found for, leaving the surface severely unstable. Fortunately for anyone still living on the homeworld, seeing as by this time the rest of the solar system had been colonized, tectonic instability was no longer a problem, because, you see, the planet’s core had stopped spinning and thus moving the continents ages ago. The humans, in their almost Godlike mastery of machinery, had managed to keep the sun’s radiation from causing any problems for the now defenseless planet by, literally, caging the sun.
By putting plates the size of entire planets in a grid around the sun, and generating an energy absorbing field between the plates, they rendered the sun, harmless. The energy collected from the star is funneled via wormhole technology to all nine of the system’s worlds and used for everything from keeping the planet lit and warm, to running cars. All natural fusion energy, at the low, low cost of enslaving a solar system. By this time the human race justifiably felt they were gods, and began their expansion.
The main character of our story will be Kolba, the only survivor of the ice planet Sateo. He was taking a small, one man spacecraft through the asteroid belt encircling his planet as a rite of passage when he is abducted by a cloaked human warship. They try to perform a vivisection on him but he escapes and stows away after watching his planet get pulverized by the hidden warship fleet. The humans try to send in a terraforming team, but then something very strange happens. The planet seems to pulse with some sort of energy, then the tectonic plates shatter into a thousand smaller plates, turning the planet’s surface into a molten jigsaw puzzle. Finding the planet wholly uninhabitable now (supposedly) the fleet leaves and pretends the planet never existed, unwittingly carrying Kolba with them, whose very existence threatens the Empire’s secret.
Ten years of later, with Kolba fleeing across the stars from his human hunters while at the same time trying to find a way to avenge his homeworld, he arrives on a planet that, like his own, was hidden because it couldn’t be conquered. It is a desert world with no name and seems to be completely uninhabited until he discovers a temple in the middle of the middle of nowhere. Inside he meets an entity encased in a giant stone called the One Mind. The entity was the one that caused the post-cataclysm tectonic disaster on Sateo with the explanation “I couldn’t save the Sateons, but I could save Sateo from infection.” After that the One Mind tells Kolba the humans have to be stopped before they irreversibly unbalance the galaxy. At this point the One Mind gives Kolba a glimpse of what it sees in its mind, which turns out to be the entire universe, past as well as possible futures. The glimpse nearly kills Kolba, but also reveals to him what he needs to do to begin taking his revenge. And so, now with knowledge no one else in the galaxy could possess, Kolba takes his ship and heads back into human space to make war on the beast.
|
|
|
|
Post by Appolix on Jan 28, 2012 0:04:57 GMT -5
Personally I am not a newcomer to this sight but I really haven't used this sight in a year or two so I would like to post what I have become as a new writer. I have had an idea with this story but I am not sure if it is a topic that I am good at writing at so I wanted to experiment. Well here it goes.
Personally one of my favorite past times was exploring the woods and climbing the trees. I had been doing it for as longs as I could remember and never once did I think of anything else better to do. My parents were Quakers and wouldn't let me play video games or watch anything other then the Religious channel.
At school I would always get made fun of for being a Quaker and now it was really starting to bother me. It was always the same kids who were bothering me over it, the two school bullies Joe and Ed. Joe was tall with short black hair and his face looked like a pizza with all the acne he had but nobody ever mentioned it. He usually wore a leather jacket just so he could intimidate people more then he usually does. His friend Ed was short with long blonde hair that he usually kept slicked back with tons of hair gel. His hair would usually shine due to the amounts of hair gel that he would use but nobody had the guts to mention it to him.
These two always took advantage of others with any chance they could get and with me they found that they could take advantage of me whenever they wanted to. It was probably not the best idea to mention to them that I was a Quaker but at the time I didn't know that they were the school bullies. I have only been going to this school for several months and I already want to move. Our family was too poor to be able to buy houses so usually we rented apartments and once we couldn't afford it anymore we would move.
I begged my parents to let us stay in the last area that we were in which was Miami, Florida. It was perfect for me there and I had friends who defended me, it was actually a good feeling to have friends. But like any other friendship I had it was ended when I had to announce to them that I was moving yet again. This time we ended up in Tampa Bay, Florida which so far has been a living hell for me.
Today in school the two bullies Joe and Ed stole my lunch money and said if I wanted it back then I would actually have to prove to them that I would hurt somebody. They knew that I would never do it and this time it was the same as always, they got my lunch money and I had to go sit down without a lunch.
I was sitting alone at lunch when one of the lunch aides Ms. S noticed that I was sitting alone and without a lunch. She was one of the nicest ladies that I knew and she really cared for all of the lonelier kids at the school. She was an aging women short with long grey hair and she had a black T-Shirt that said Tampa Middle School on it.
"What's wrong, Jake," she asked me.
"Well first of all, I have no friends at this school and yet again Ed and Joe stole my lunch money and there is nothing I can do about it," I said in a low voice.
"Well that is just not right I am going to go do something about it."
"No really it is fine you don't have to do anything, I can wait to eat until I get home."
Just as I said that my stomach roared loudly begging to be fed and Ms S's looked down at me trying to say oh really with facial expressions.
"Well lets see what I can do about it because it is obvious somebody was lying to me when they said they weren't hungry," Ms. S said to me.
"I'm sorry, they just really do hate me and I am afraid of what is going to happen if they find out that I told on them."
"Jake you know me I won't let anything happen to you, you are my favorite kid around here."
As she said that she walked towards Ed and Joe and there faces turned red in anger as they handed her back the money. Ms. S pointed out the door and as they were passing me Joe pointed at me and mouthed your dead in my direction.-....
Well unfortunately that is all I could really come up with right now but I plan on adding to this story ASAP, and the part about the woods will end up coming into play.
|
|
Andy88
Junior Scribe
Posts: 36
|
Post by Andy88 on Mar 17, 2012 20:27:09 GMT -5
Hey guys. I'm kind of new to this site (okay really new if you check out my join date) and I wanted some outside feedback for a quick story I was working on. I just started it a week ago so it won't be all that smooth but I'd mostly like to hear about how the story itself sounds (or how hard it is to decipher from my cruddy writing :/).
Chapter 1
New York City; normally a maddening whirlpool of headlights, honking horns, and peddlers of every kind; was hauntingly empty of these, replaced only with miles of security lines and an anxious public. Yet despite the relatively tranquil mood of the streets outside, FBI agent Lauren Mason had a myriad of items to keep track of. A high profile visit from the President of the United States to the city all but assured her even minor mistakes could mean the difference between praise and punishment. As Laura prepared herself for yet another mountain of paperwork, her cell phone blasted its annoying ringtone, which Laura could never quite get herself to bother changing. The caller ID alone seemed sufficient to cause her normally smooth, calm face to crinkle into a scowl. For the next several minutes, everyone in the office could hear the nonstop chatter of a very disgruntled woman. She had talked for only a few minutes when a stout man in a suit with glasses tapped her shoulders, prompting Laura to quickly turn around and make herself as presentable as possible.
“My office, as soon as you can,” he muttered to her.
“Yes, director,” she intoned in a sharp, slightly nervous slur. With the blood in her face rapidly draining as the prospect of a conversation with her boss fell on her like an anvil, she slowly got up and made her way to the office in a slow march.
Incomprehensible chaos was the only words to describe the scene as dozens of speechwriters and security agents frantically labored to prepare themselves for the speech to start momentarily. Yet President Chamberlain himself, a large, built man, had an inexplicable aura of calmness and serenity in him that seemed to make sense of even the least intelligible tangles of the scene.
“No, something doesn’t sound quite right about that, reword it to make it sound more... direct,” the President said after reading and pointing a finger to a line on a draft of his speech, to which the writer promptly went back to work correcting the errors. Without missing a beat, Chamberlain took a quick look at his watch before putting on his suit and perfunctorily snatching up the final draft of his speech.
“Well, we’re running low on time, I guess that will have to do,” the president said as he set it down. A burly man that must have been his bodyguard flanked him as he left the room and made his way down the hall towards the podium.
“All corridors clear?” he uttered into his earpiece, to which a fuzzy yet clear voice responded, “President is clear for entrance.” “God speed Mr President,” he said to Chamberlain as he got up to enter public view.
“Thank you Agent Daniels,” he said as he made his way out onto the stage, he beamed and let out his imposing yet comforting smile, giving a hearty wave to the crowd while giving a wide, natural smile. Not missing a beat, the president comfortably took his position on the podium.
There was a soft knock on the door to the FBI New York Assistant Director’s office, to which he replied “come in.” Laura, at 6’3”, stood almost uncomfortably taller than her shorter boss.
“You asked to see me sir?” she asked in a flat, professional tone.
“Ah, sit down,” he said motioning for her to sit.
“Well, I hope you’re not too comfortable in your office space,” he began, almost immediately after which Laura’s veiled expression pealed back to reveal her flickering emotional turmoil.
“Wait... sir I know that maybe I haven’t had the best of days but... please let me prove that I can be an asset to this agency...” she hurriedly said in a panic.
“I’ve seen enough... pack your things and get them into office down the hall, I need to fill that office sooner or later and your stuff isn’t going to move itself,” he said in a flat, seemingly uncaring tone.
Laura all at once released a stormy sigh of relief at the sudden turn of events.
"Thank you, thank you very much Director!" she exhaled forcefully as she shook his hand.
"Well hurry up and get that office filled, last thing we need is to he caught unprepared for something when our Special Agent in Charge seat is vacant," the assistant director responded in his mechanical tone.
“But my goal, our goal remains unchanged. We have much to do and far to go, but with your cooperation, I know that we can make it, God bless America!” the speakers in the entire hall boomed as the president concluded his speech. President Chamberlain gave one final wave to the crowd amid thunderous applause as he walked off the stage, flanked by his chief bodyguard.
“That was a mighty fine speech sir,” he said softly to the president as they were walking back down the hallway. As the group came back into the lounge to rest there was the sight of one of the aides from earlier slouched over a laptop.
“Hey! Wake up!” the chief bodyguard said in a stern voice. The president simply chuckled before going near him.
“He’s tired, we all are. I’d be sleeping too if I didn’t need to give a speech,” he said as he shook the aide to wake him, only to have his apparently lifeless corpse skid and thud on the floor. The mere sight of death immediately triggered the bodyguard’s reflexes, ducking the president down while he and all the other agents in the room drew their guns and surveyed the room. One of the men came down to put a hand to the body’s throat.
“He’s dead,” he said. The president, along with everyone else in the room, was quickly evacuated from the room to a barricaded safe-room as the scene filled with armed police and Secret Service agents.
“What?!” Chamberlain exhaled in an incredulous daze. Refusing the Secret Service’s insistence that he evacuate in case an intruder was still near, the President instead came down to try and see who he was.
“Sir, it’s not safe in here, we need to evacuate you,” urgently prodded Daniels. Under his guard’s strong proddings, the president eventually relented and left for a safer location.
Laura had barely finished carting all of her belongings into her new office when the phone rang. Picking up the phone, an anxious voice greeted her on the other end. It only took mere minutes, but by the time she had replaced the phone on the desk, Laura looked noticeably drained.
“I really should have been careful in wishing for ‘no dull moments’,” she sighed to herself as she put a hand to her waist to make sure her weapon was secure as she rushed out the door.
“Pack your things, we got business to take care of,” she blared out to the agents both in the lower floor and the lounge. The agents had barely had time to register what Laura had said before she was already out the door getting the cars ready, this was her first day as agent in charge and she had the alacrity to show it.
Moving quickly onto a convoluted mess of cops and coroners milling around with about as much organization as a cloud, Laura quickly took charge of the scene and systematically had the first responding cops and FBI agents bag, or process in the event that the evidence wasn’t portable, every scrap of tangible material in the room.
"Hey! Hurry up, I'm not a millionaire and gas isn't getting any cheaper!" hollered a very quiet yet urgent voice.
"Don't get your panties all up in a bunch, I'm coming out," uttered a replying voice as a thin, wiry figure emerged out of the house. The sunset tinted the neighborhood just outside the city.
"Thanks for the ride Jake" uttered the teenage boy as he hopped into his friend's car.
"No prob Rick, didn't want you to miss the party," Jake replied as the car sped off. In a whirlwind screech, the car planted itself directly in front of a noisy, crowded dance club. An amicable valet quickly took the car to a parking lot while the two friends walked into the club.
“Teo, how ya been?” yelled out Jake as a slightly older, 20 something year old, muscular boy came out to greet them.
“Just fine, I see you brought a friend,” Saleem said as he gave Jake a high five.
“Yea, this is Rick, he’s cool. Well at least when his mom’s not around anyways,” Jake answered. Teo simply smiled and reached over to shake Rick’s hand.
“Good to meet ya, Teo.”
“Same, Rick Mason, now let’s get this party going,” he replied as the three boys entered the club. The dark lit club, normally a nighttime leisure hub, was at this point mostly vacated save a fairly large crowd of teenagers.
“I already got things set up, just jump right in,” Teo beamed as they came in. Music, drinks, and an active dance floor signified that the party had already been well under way, and the two newly arrived boys eagerly jumped into the fray.
Chapter 2
By now the initial sweep was over and Laura found herself back at the field office trifling through the victim’s computer for any possible leads. As the lead technician was shuffling through the computer file after file, her pace noticeably jerked down upon seeing another line of code, almost as if she were mere inches from stepping on a computerized landmine.
“What’s the matter?” Laura asked suddenly leaning in closer.
“It’s locked...” the technician replied. She sounded unready to proceed, clearly knowing more than what she had said.
“Well? Hack it. I’m pretty sure dead men don’t give a damn about their privacy when we’re trying to find who killed them,” Laura intoned in a semi-impatient voice.
"Thing is... I think there's a virus in here. And this is the president's aide we're talking about, I'm not sure we're..." she started.
"Dammit I told you to hack the damn thing, no more excuses," she blurted out, her patience having run dry. The technician tentatively agreed and began typing rapidly as he began to peal back the layers of security on the files. As the files finally unlocked the entire screen seized up and spasmed out a multitude of barely intelligible text and symbols.
"Think you can translate that for all of us non-computer geeks?" Laura intoned annoyed.
"Um... sorry this isn't just computer talk, this is White House tailored jargon code, you're guess is as good as good aa mine," the technician replied in a voice of genuine confusion. Laura scowled.
"Well try to figure something out, I’m going down to see if the body’s got any leads," she said exasperated.
Trying to get his thoughts away from the day’s ghastly turn of events, the President had arranged for a press conference to try to alleviate any concerns or panics that might arise from such an incident.
“That sounds about right. Reassuring yet confident at the same time,” conferred President Chamberlain to one of his speechwriters as he was preparing for a press conference. The aide seemed noticeably fatigued after and sat back from her seat. “It’s been a long day, go home and get some rest, I’ll finish the rest myself,” he sympathized to his exhausted aide.
“Oh don’t worry about me sir, I’m not going to be a liabili...” she began as she attempted to get
up, but in a complete failure of self will her body buckled and fell towards the floor, forcing Chamberlain to lunge and catch her, propping her back up momentarily to try and revive her.
“Carrie?! Snap out of it,” he pleaded before putting his hand to her neck and, to his distress, could feel no pulse. It took little time for the room to be flooded in yet more emergency responders and security personnel.
Landing in his own chair with an audible thud, the President let out a frustrated scowl as he slammed his fist on his desk.
“Dammit how the hell does this happen?!” he yelled out directing it at no one in particular, though it was his chief bodyguard Marshal Daniels that usually took the brunt of the President’s frustrations.
“Sir, I think considering all the security breaches we’ve been having we need to return you to Washington as soon as possible for safety...” he began.
“I’m not the one who’s dying! The real item of business we need to get to is find out who the hell is killing my people!” Chamberlain cut him off angrily. “What kind of a leader can’t even keep the ones closest to him safe,” he muttered dejectedly to himself.
“We’ll get to the bottom of this sir, the FBI’s already going through evidence as fast as they can,” reassured Marshal in a calm, low voice.
Slowly with a cold precision, the bodybag of the late Michael Dawson was opened and exhumed of its contents. Shortly thereafter the cold, thin steel began its descent into Dawson, guided by the hands of a seasoned corpse surgeon.
"Any leads on a cause of death Jerry?" interjected Laura, clearly having virtually abandoned looking through the victim's computers. The doctor was mildly startled before looking up at her.
"Good god, can't I ever do an autopsy in complete peace?" uttered the jittery, light voice of Jerry.
"Sorry, I kind of got a bit irritated with the computer guys, was hoping you'd have better news," Laura said in an apologetic reply.
"Oh well it's not all bad news right? I hear you got promoted! Congrats!" Jerry replied excitedly for his friend. "Well... I'm afraid to say I honestly have no clue, his heart, lungs, throat, bloodstream, you name it is all completely clean," he added sheepishly. "Well, there is... something. Not a cause of death not even close but... well I thought you might like to know."
"Of course..." Laura sighed in resignation.
"There is..." Jerry responded more positively as he pulled up a tray filled with strange metal plating scarcely bigger than a fingernail. "Something you might be interested in, not that it really gives us any cause of death, these were in here far longer than the couple hours that he's been dead and chemical analysis already rules out gradual poisoning," he tempered his good news. "In fact... I hope you're not too mad at your computer guys cause these plates look like circuitry," he continued rambling. Laura, taking the metallic plates on the tray, peered at them from an almost horizontal angle.
“Where’d you say you found this again?” she uttered. Jerry, still busy with further examination simply pointed to a spot on the corpse’s waist. She set it down and was about to head up and try and get some rest when her phone rang. When news of a second murder came to her ears, her heart now sank. By now her head was flooded with gruesome imaginations from terrorists to a political campaign gone too far.
"Sorry Jerry I gotta go," she said hurriedly as she rushed out of the autopsy room.
After what felt like several hours had passed, the club was mostly emptied out save the boys and a handful of servants cleaning up the aftermath of the party. Teo leaned back in his seat to catch his breath from all the action, accidentally flashing a loaded pistol on his waist, to which Rick jumped up in a startled daze.
"Oh, sorry about that. I just keep this on me for personal defense, I'm not some thug if that's what you're wondering," Teo quipped to his defense. "Besides, sometimes in this world you need to get ready to pop some heads when things head south. Anyways, I’d been meaning to ask you guys if you could help me with a few business items downtown, it involves some heavy lifting and I’d rather not just go by myself,” he added.
“Sure, I got time, you?” Jake replied as he looked over at Rick.
“Yea sure no problem,” he quipped in response.
“Alright, let me go sort some things out in the basement first, we’ll be leaving shortly,” said Teo eagerly as he lunged through the back door of the building into what must have been the basement.
In a blaring spectacle of sirens, a mini motorcade of police and FBI barreled down the streets when the sound of a violent crash punctured the air. At first, Laura assumed some careless driver had driven into a pole or car, it wouldn't have been the first time. But a second, more clarified explosion sent a second car flying off the road, her worst nightmares suddenly revisited her: they were under attack. Laura tumbled out of her car as the blastwave of the explosions slammed her car into a nearby building, and not a moment too soon, for she had barely rolled a few hundred feet away when her own car burst into flames. The disoriented agents that managed to stay alive in the inferno rolled towards cover, but not before a hail of bullets flooded the ground around them, killing or maiming most of them. The source of the bullets soon became apparent as a squad of masked gunmen descended upon the scene. In tandem with the FBI's return fire, the hailstorm of bullets and shrapnel converted downtown Manhattan into a living inferno of hellish proportions. A few of the agents had made it to Laura's position behind the walls of the nearest building, though with so many losses and a total lack of preparation the situation certainly could have been better.
“I count four to five gunmen, two from the North, three from the East,” said another agent rolling behind cover next to Laura.
"Well tell me something I don't know Nick. I’m not a blind idiot," she blew out in a mix of fear and irritation. Despite returning fire, both agents knew that chances of holding out against automatic rifle fire with handguns was an impossibility.
"Just tell me the ETA on backup," she yelled out, slowly nudging Nick to inch back as far back as possible from the scene without compromising cover.
"NYPD SWAT is 10 minutes out, FBI is 15," he hissed. The gunmen, intent on killing everything in sight, and without a large crowd to navigate thanks to the Secret Service sweeps from earlier, inched closer to the two beleaguered agents' positions. Intent on at least taking some adversaries out upon being cornered, Laura burst out and shot an unfortunate enemy clean in the forehead and another, but only in the shoulder.
"Cover me, reinforcements don't seem to be particularly useful at the moment," she yelled to Nick. She pulled out a throwing knife from her waist and impaled it on the closest assailant and slipped under the corpse of her earlier corpse, using it as a shield to shoot and kill two more enemies and salvaging a grenade from the meatshield and creating a thick plume of dust and smoke with it. Slipping an AK 47 from its former owner's shoulder, Laura rolled through the smoke while the gunment were still in a daze and in a second hailstorm of pure metallic fire sent the remaining 4 gunment violently to the ground. Nick, in an incredulous daze, came out from the rubble and after a brief sweep, holstered his weapon.
"Laura you scare me sometimes," he said in a trance. Nick had barely said this when a stimuli of some sort prompted him to tackle Laura to the ground just as she was trying to stand up, sending her head a lifesaving inch below an incoming sniper bullet. Laura reflexively rolled herself and Nick behind the nearest cover before peering up at her would be assassin, finger on her rifle’s trigger. She could only glimpse a lithe figure with ashen black hair on a nearby rooftop flee from the scene as its shot chance diminished. No sooner had she spotted the fleeing assassin when the sound of sirens and speeding cars, descended upon them as NYPD SWAT swarmed the embattled city block. Knowing the drill, both agents tossed aside their weapons and pulled out their badges over their heads, signifying their innocence. With dozens of armored policemen securing the scene, the worst of the day seemed to be over... for now.
“Sir, we’ve already had two staff deaths and a plethora of panic inducing press to go with it, I strongly recommend that you return to Washington both for safety and publicity’s sake,” uttered agent Daniels to his boss.
“For the last time, I have more events scheduled in New York and by God I won’t let an errant murderer and terrorist get between me and my duties to my people, am I clear?” the President boomed in a quiet yet unquestionably authoritative voice. “If anything this should be a wake up call for us to double our efforts to find and kill the damned thug behind this catastrophe and put an end to this, speaking of which, where the hell is the FBI? I was expecting them to show up a little faster...” he muttered suddenly. Just as the President was about to put the matter aside for the moment to resume business, a frantic knock came upon the door, prompting agent Daniels to reach for his waist before suppressing his reflexes and inspect the knocker, just an out of breath Secret Service agent, with the spooked expression of a shell shocked soldier. Daniels quickly allowed him in to meet the President.
"Mister President, there's...more fatalities," he uttered.
"Good God, which office room is it this time?" Chamberlain replied with more exasperation than surprise.
"Uh, 42nd Street, downtown Manhattan...” he interjected.
“Teo where have you been? You’ve been digging through the basement for hours,” Jake muttered as a seemingly dazed, probably from the booze, Teo dug himself out the door of the backroom in the club.
“Sorry, I’m not exactly the most organized person,” he replied as he stumbled out of the doorway. “Just needed to put some things away,” he muttered with a sheepish grin. “Anyways, like I was saying earlier, I could really use your guys’ help with something downtown, it isn't anything too strenuous it I have a few hands to help me," he requested.
"Sure, how long do you think it'll take?" Rick interjected.
"Less than an hour, I promise," Teo reassured them as he motioned for the two boys to hop into his car in the back parking lot. Not ones to ask a million questions, they both shrugged and hopped in, Teo quickly hopping in the driver's seat and speeding out of the complex well above what would have been considered safe speeds, and irrefutably above the legal speed limit. Within minutes, the car had flown to an old warehouse on the outskirts of the city, and Teo quickly jumped out and opened one of the doors, giving his two friends view of a room littered with crates.
"I just wanted help loading all this crap up, I figured a couple extra hands could cut down on a few hours of extra exhausting lifting," he barked out. "Just grab as many as you can and start packing them in the trunk!" he yelled out as he walked in and out with a crate, quite heavy by the strained look on his face, and heaving it into his car's spacious trunk.
|
|
|
|
Post by robinson on Sept 16, 2013 9:00:08 GMT -5
Hello
I wrote some stuff on the stories and poetry forum. I called it 'i don't know'. Its clearly not a story , its not poetry exactly or prose entirely. It might read superficially as a mere 'stream of consciousness' , but there is more depth to it than just 'empty' babble. I think reading it with your 'back' brain rather than your conscious literal analytical mind, it becomes more rewarding. I have been a zen Buddhist for 17 years and i suppose some of its style comes from the Koan approach in chogye Zen Buddhism (Korea) , but also i loved Ted Hughes's 'crow' and 'prometheus on his crag', so i think there is a bit of that style in there too.
I don't read much these last 15-20 years , other than books i had to for education and my job. I have masses of creative writing but a lot was just me , woodchipping my style until i found a voice , which is where these 'i dont know' pieces are at.
I was a pro-jazz musician and still compose a lot of music using Ableton Software : ambient , soundscape kind of stuff, moody. Music is my first love art form , and i think this writing style is very musical as i hear the words a bit like a song.
Anyhow , i think thats enough of myself . I am very nervous to put this writing out there , its silly really. Please feel free to go look , i will be deeply intrigued to see what you think. I don't have any ambition to publish anything or be 'good' or 'crap' or whatever , i just hope that by sharing it , i might connect with someone , somewhere at a level , at several levels in parallel . thankyou for giving me this location to do so .
In Gassho
Love
Adrian Robinson
awritersrecluse.proboards.com/post/363702/thread
|
|
|
|
Post by Ad Absurdum on Mar 29, 2015 9:43:39 GMT -5
Death
I did not think vengeance would be my inheritance…
The crater that holds my father’s body is many things. It is beautiful. A hexagonal honeycomb of glassed earth–molten into reds and topazes and bronzes. It is hideous. A smoldering wreckage, smoke oozing out of its mouth, rising into the night sky, black against black. Ultimately, it is a tomb. My father will decompose, melt, evaporate–whatever his kind, my kind, does when death is at hand.
The remaining seconds trickle out of him like grains in an hourglass. Words flow out of his mouth, coiling and serpentine, slithering into my ear, ensnaring me into his legacy, entwining me into his fate. The words are a story. His final years.
My father, Selstice. Architect of the Sol.
The denial once wreathed around my body has fled far and away. The last months have seen me with my eyes sewn to the horizon. In the permanent night that has taken hold, I have been searching for a glint of dawn, a sliver of the bright blaze of my father’s creation. Hungry for the great light, golden and rich, to pour over the landscape.
Nothing. My eyes had remained famished. Only the silvery gossamer shade of Luna, my mother’s textile, shimmered chalk-white over the world. The sky was a boil bruise of purple and violent, an endless twilight. Still I looked and searched, casting my eyes away from the great cities and into the murky depths of the aether above.
Only after a year did it appear. A slash of tangerine orange against the ebony tapestry, flaring with a light that could not be copied. At once I realized.
I knew.
I have run across a quarter of the World to arrive at his site of impact. The crater. The tomb. His body charred, his armour shrapnel blistering with the last few winks of a decaying intensity. There was no blood. Not for his, for our, kind. Only gold against gold glowing from his wounds. A brilliant colour. It was only meant for the aether, not for this pathetic world, drowning with its own indulgences.
I have knelt beside my father and he has told me his tale.
Who thought inheritance could taste so bitter?
An eye for an eye. A parent for a parent. A husband’s death at the hand of his wife. A father ended by the mother. My mother, Twila, Architect of Luna, now dominating the sky with her ivory shade of light, casting platinum shadows and entrapping this world in a veil that is neither fully bright nor fully dark.
My father is finished. The once vivid pulse from his body, brilliant and glowing, is reduced to kindling. But it is not wasted. My fingers feather over his face, closing eyelids over sunflower corneas. When I stand, I am changed. I, the son, the inheritor. Inheritor of my father’s sword, a bronzed saber as sharp and curved as the last gasp of Sol before an eclipse. Inheritor of the scorched rage of my father’s wrath. Inheritor of his passion, his drive. Inheritor of Sol itself, currently the dead light, extinguished by my own mother, usurped and cast over by the infinite nighttime and the whispering silver of Luna.
My father is dead, a husk, now indistinguishable from any human now. An Architect made impotent. But his creation lies in the sky. Empty, but not forgotten. Even as his light winks out, my own body trembles. Inside me, a spark sings into existence. A drive. Singular and intoxicating. A spark meant for one purpose.
A spark to reignite Sol.
~~~
Descent
Before his death, I had devoted nothing but disdain towards my father.
Was this supposed to be the rewards of the eldest? To be born from the broiling furnace of Sol, luminosity expanding from my lungs? To have a mere lick of the power of an Architect, like tasting the bitter crumbs of the finest banquet, only to have it thrust out of me, an exhale in which power, raw and yearning for potential, tears itself from my lungs, from my soul.
A fraction of a fraction of a second, feeling that power. Me, fully conscious, birthed not from the womb, but dripping from the crystalline belly of my father’s creation itself. Yet for it to be snuffed out as fast I had begun. The first child of an Architect, a being of sheer, golden radiance, only to be bastardized, disfigured, distorted. Exhale all of it, let it evaporate and dance away in the aether. Inhale the blood, the bones, the tender heart-flesh of a mortal. Inhale the twisted justifications from my own father, the one responsible.
“I was mortal once,” he said, words crackling through the plasma splashes of Sol. “All Architects were. Tender beings as delicate as glass. You, my son, come carved from the greatest of Creations. I come from the humble slush of the world below, molded and sculpted with humility.”
My sneer spoke volumes. Could he not taste the irony of his own statement?
“I seek a son to follow in my footsteps. I seek a firstborn who will take care of this, of all of this, when I disperse. Yet to trace my path, one must originate from the source. You will experience what I have. You will feel what I have felt. The sinewy nuances of a mortal, one to mold you in to a noble leader.”
With a snap of his fingers–as if I were nothing more than an insect perched upon a leaf–he casted me through the aether, through the frosted nebula, past the silver smirk of Luna, and towards the World below.
~~~
Mother
I walk now in this body as I have for twenty years, clothed in this pathetic flesh. Heart pulses, flushing veins scarlet with blood. Lungs expand, greedily extracting oxygen. Feet slap the ground in an endless cadence. Each part of the whole, this prison, doomed to repetition. One fails, and the system collapses. Repeat to infinitum and the system collapses anyways. The body seeks to fight the inevitable.
My father’s crater is but a winking ember at my back. It is outshone, outshone a million times, by Luna. My mother’s creation waxes mercilessly across my back–across the entire world. Colour withers in this milk haze, and what is left is a sliver of silvered reality. I wonder if mother is aware of my existence? If she mocks my mortality, observing me with the same baldness as her creation.
In the world of shadow, simulacrums reign. I walk not in a forest, but a pathetic imitation. Imitations of fruits, ash coloured and ash tasting, grow ripe on charcoal branches. The grass beneath me appears as shards of bone, bleached to a near white.
I try to plunge onwards, try to ignore my surroundings, but the mortality in me begins to waft fresh. Stomach yearns and snarls. Throat parches and crackles like leather. I submit, plucking off ash fruit, letting it crumble into my mouth. Flavourless and near chalk texture. Vomiting is an impulse not easily resisted. I kneel beside a stream, oozing with the sweat of the World, and lap at it like an animal. Such humiliation deserves to be crushed by the golden heel of an Architect’s boot. When Sol is ignited, when it is mine, I will scald away this imposter world, scrape the land of shadows from the crust of the ground. I will let colour drip freely again, pine green and ocean sapphire and volcanic scarlet, saturating all things until they have no choice but to breathe in the vibrancy.
The sea lies ahead, cloaked, not yet poured over the horizon. Still, the lingering smell of salt saturated air propels me forward, reeling me towards its source. The sea is pure escape. Escape from walking. Escape from this dreaded continent, polluted by humans and their cities. Escape from the jungles of concrete and asphalt.
The sea lies ahead, but what lies beyond it I cannot be certain–save for one thing. Whether it be a desert of rippling saffron desert sands, a tectonic labyrinth of shifting icebergs, or fields of magma encrusted with toothed peaks, such a place will the home of Serciephrix.
|
|
