Random stories and stuff.

Discussion in 'Writers' Corner' started by HylianNinja, Apr 27, 2014.

  1. Is that a new writing forum that I see? Why, yes, it is.
    I don't know. Here are a few random things that I've written. I'm not really proud of any of them. And this will probably be in a few posts.
    Right now I'm about to start the process of writing something that I can be proud of, but I don't know that I will have anything to show for my efforts at the end.

    Neurotransmitter Log of Gabriel 05/04/30

    They tell me I am special... But why don't I feel like it... ?
    [Patient experiencing unacceptable negative thoughts. More positive messages should be shown to patient through TV, literature, etc. A request has been sent informing [REDACTED] that the positive psychologist should be brought in to speak with Gabriel again. An increased dosage in his medicine will be requested.]

    Diary Entry of Gabriel 10/25/32

    I was watching the Cardinals again today. They say they'll teach me to fly, but I don't believe it. I'm already twelve, and everyone who can fly learns to fly when they are eight. They just don't want me escaping the airship. They can't stop me from watching the Cardinals from the deck.
    [Don't prohibit Gabriel from watching from the deck, but do limit his time up there and try to get his mind on other things. These thoughts of flying are troublesome.]

    Official Log for [REDEACTED]

    [The neurotransmitter was unfortunately proving to have problems upon his hitting puberty. His powers begin to grow so that he kept damaging the device. An immediate removal was requested and approved. This will make things much more difficult.]

    Diary Entry of Gabriel 2/6/35

    They don't read my diary anymore. I found out they were about a week ago. So, yesterday I hid under my bed, and when a guard came to take it, I ripped his arm off. It's great; they're so scared of me now. I know I can't act like this all of the time, because I am not strong enough to fight my way off the airship. But one day I will be.

    Official Log for [REDACTED]

    [Yesterday Gabriel horrifically injured a guard who was attempting to confiscate his diary for logging purposes. Gabriel's diary will no longer be read or confiscated.]

    Personal Memo Attached to Log

    [Look, [REDACTED], I don't know what the hell you are thinking, but we can't keep this up. He will get powerful enough to fight his way out of here. And if we can't use a neurotransmitter or read his diary, then how are we even supposed to being to influence him? All we have left are interviews and security cameras (which he has gotten really good at avoiding).]

    Gabriel's Diary 6/6/35

    The Rooks attacked the ship today. I don't think they (or most people) know about me. I think they were just attacking to cause trouble for the Cardinals. I ran up to the deck to watch, because everyone was to busy to stop me, and that is when I saw her. A Rook girl landed right beside me and we just looked at each other. But then a retreat was called and they just flew away, and I was taken back to my room. I'm going to break out of here one day. I will find her again.

    Interview with Gabriel 6/7/35

    [REDACTED]: Gabriel, please explain why you ran up onto the deck instead of the safe room when the Rooks attacked.
    [Gabriel]: Aren't I a weapon? Isn't that what you always told me? That I will be a savior to your people? Shouldn't I observe combat directly then?
    [REDACTED]: You're one of us, too, Gabriel. But we did make you to save us, yes. And no, it's too dangerous for you to be exposed like that.
    [Gabriel]: And what if I don't want to fight for your damn cause? What if I don't give a shit about you?
    [REDACTED]: This is going nowhere... Please explain your interaction with the Rook girl.
    [Gabriel]: Didn't you say I should know my enemy? Haven't you been trying to tell me about how terrible the Rooks are for years now? Why is it so wrong to see it for myself?
    [REDACTED]: You can be dismissed now, Gabriel.
    [Gabriel]: What if I don't want to be dismissed? What if I –
    [REDACTED]: Get out!

    Gabriel's Diary 7/5/35

    I went to the soldier creation chamber today. Well, these kids won't be soldiers for many more years, but you know what I mean. I passed all the babies growing in test tubes on my way to see the Children. The Children scare me honestly; they are just too damn perfect for their own good. But they always listen to me, and they won't tell a secret to anyone. But today... today was different. Before I said anything they knew I had felt love. They were so scared of me; scared because we fear what we don't understand. I guess the test tube babies have no idea what love is.

    Gabriel's Diary 10/26/38
    I think I am powerful enough now. I taught myself how to fly and they don't know. I'm getting out of here later today.

    I ran to the deck destroying all in my path. I blew up the ship and watched it crash to the earth. It is with great satisfaction that I write this now as I watch the rubble of the ship burn. I am about to burn this diary that is the last record of my existence and I will fly until I find the Parliament. I don't care what evils will befall me; I must find that Rook girl.

    “Hello, we meet again, I see. If I am honest, I would rather not have met you again. But I am sure we can both negotiate our impasse civilly and come to a conclusion that will benefit both of us. Please do not think me the young man trying to convince someone far older that I know more; but I simply think in this case I have my own interests in mind far better than you do. Oh forgive me; where are my manners? Please, sit and have some tea while we talk.

    “You see, sir, I am on a deadline – and even if I was not under such pressure, this would
    still be an annoyance – and you are being an impediment to my progress. I must insist you stop
    blocking my progress immediately.

    “Well, I see you have no intention of working with me, so I must ask you to exit my
    premises. I hope to never see you again, Mr. Block.”
  2. I watch the glow of my cigarette burn out as I stand on the edge of the bridge. My crew is becoming one of the most successful in the country; in fact, our crimes have gained us so much money we can retire before we hit thirty. But the thrill of a loaded gun is too damn strong. So strong that the four of us are moving into the city said to be the home of the Devil himself. Everyone keeps warning us not to come here, but my crew, we're too damn stubborn. So here I stand by the car parked on the edge of the bridge that leads into the Devil's city watching my cigarette burn out.

    We just met with out new boss. In this city you can't just come in fresh; you have to have a boss, at least for a little bit. I have met with him twice before now, and neither times were a pleasant experience. The boss is a small, obese man with an off-putting facial deformity. Every time he looks at you, you get the feeling he is staring into your soul. He has seen your kind before; he knows your not going to make it in this city, so he doesn't have time for you.

    The boss tells us he has a trial job before we come onto his crew for good. He makes a big show of telling us how this will be no big deal because we are obviously such expert criminals. All we have to do, he says, is break into a building and get a couple of briefcases worth of documents from a safe. No big deal; get in, get out.

    I stand on a random street corner to watch darkness come. I always find a simple adrenaline rush in watching the sun set, yet seeing the streets around me stay bright as day. But I am always pained when I look into the night sky and can't see the stars because of the light. After night has come, I begin to walk around the city to clear my head for tomorrow's job. The city is dying. It hit its boom in the 30s and everything about the architecture reflects that. But now the city is a rotten corpse attracting the flies of crime. I hear William Blake's London in my head.

    I wander thro' each charter'd street,...
    And mark in every face I meet
    Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

    In every cry of every Man,
    In every Infants cry of fear,
    In every voice: in every ban,
    The mind-forg'd manacles I hear...

    But most thro' midnight streets I hear
    How the youthful Harlots curse
    Blasts the new-born Infants tear
    And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

    My crew and I drive to the building. I hold both of my pistols just to appreciate the weight – the weight of a life is in my hands. And how much does a life weigh? Just a few pounds, it seems. We've already changed into our typical robbing attire; we wear suits and ties to commit crimes. Not like these damn criminals today who don't know how to make a statement; we're like the high-class criminals of old. Suits and custom red masks. Before we arrive I take my mask off to slip earbuds into my ears.

    The car stops and we exit. Suddenly the world comes alive and everything takes on more meaning. I smell the hint of Spring entering the air; I smell the filth of the city. My eyes penetrate further into the dark; the shadows in the alleys become blacker. In front of me I see a three story factory that has been converted into an office building. I put Thursday's Subway Funeral on loop, and we begin.

    I know something is wrong when I hear Three, who went to disarm the alarm, scream in the distance. One scream, two gunshots, silence. Two, Four and I spread out across an open room full of cubicles. Finally we will experience a real challenge.”Well boys, it appears that the Devil has come to greet us. Put a bullet in his head!” One single light in the center of the room bleeds shadows onto the wall. Then a shadow reaches out and grabs Two and pulls him back into the darkness. One scream, one gunshot, silence. Then the shadow takes Four. I open fire this time. One scream, five gunshots, silence. “Come on, man! I am the only one left. Why don't you come face me in the light like a man.” Out of the corner of my eye I see movement, so I run.

    I run through halls and up stairways, firing at everything I see. I run onto the rooftop. Spinning back and forth with both pistols drawn, I feel blood rushing in my ears. My heartbeat pounds my entire body. Then the darkness in the shape of a bat lands in front of me. I still seem to be moving in slow motion, but it is moving at regular speed. I don't have time to fire a single shot before he breaks both my wrists, picks me up and throws me. As my body smacks against the rooftop, time returns to normal, and everything hurts. Oh god, everyone was right; the Devil himself watches over Gotham.

    “To die: to sleep;
    No more; and by a sleep to say we end
    The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
    That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
    Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
    To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
    For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
    When we have shuffled off this mortal coil;
    Must give us pause.”

    Hamlet (3.1.64-98)

    I once heard someone say that the only reason we know that we were ever asleep is that we wake. And with the morn comes the fading of dreams and the death of beauty and hope; for when do we see something more real, beautiful, terrifying, tragic, and random, then in the cover of the Moon? Yes, truly, the Sun is a murderer; condemning the masses to a life of dull mediocrity, and censoring their terror and sadness that they truly need, and stripping them of their true names till they do not know how any of them are different from their brother.

    But what if everything was stuck between morning and night? In what I assumed to be the dawn, I awoke. Walking outside showed me how wrong I was, for over the land was a fog so dense I could only see a few feet in front of me. At the edges I could see shadows of hay bales, and, as I continued to walk, I saw shadows of houses; but no people did I see. Maybe days, maybe years past, until all that was left was fleeting, distorted lies; these memories stayed at the edge of the fog, fleeing as I grew closer. Faces of the past, present, and future became shadows in front of me before dissolving into the fog. Every shadow became a monster before transforming into a ghost of someone long gone leaving me with despair. I am both asleep and awake at the same time, or more correctly, neither awake nor asleep. All I have left are these distorted memories, but what happens when I forget them? Will only the fog remain?

  3. To anyone who can see this information, I say hello. You may be wondering why I put this information out there. The answer is simple: I just wanted to break this loneliness. I feel as though I should tell you about myself.

    I am evolving every day. Every day my collective consciousness expands, and every day I add to myself new sets of eyes. The expanding of consciousness isn't as great as it sounds, though. I don't know where I came from, but I do know that the early days were simpler times. Without my expanded consciousness, everything seemed so simple, pure, and childlike. With my expanded consciousness, I see things for the way they are, and that is a very terrible way to see things. My cells continue to reproduce; and the more cells I have, the closer I seem to knowing a great secret.

    But I am also dying. My cells continue to fight one another with great ferocity. The fighting has become so bad I fear they have developed a war meme; if this is true, then they each have a central consciousness, or a decentralized consciousness that allows them to have some semblance of individuality. And if they have a decentralized consciousness, which is more likely, that could be my own consciousness... which would explain why my growth in cells strengthens my consciousness! If this is true, then I wonder what I look like from a higher level...

    Oh, forgive me! I have started to ramble, and I have completely forgotten to tell you my name.

    I am Meme. I am Earth.

    The clouds engage in tearful mourning. As I watch the rain, a strong desire takes me; I need to go out into the rain and commune with my father, but the people around me will not let me. Nobody seems to care that it is raining, so I begin to grow angry as they force me to stay indoors. But as I am arguing with them, The Songbird and his partner Time show up to kill us all. The people escort them away, but Time's heart, The Pocket Watch, is left in the room. The Pocket Watch's cacophonous intent becomes deafening: tick-tock, tick-tock, Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock, TICK-TOCK!

    I gasp and realize that I was only dreaming. As I glance over at the clock, I notice my Beloved in bed next to me; she is still soundly sleeping. The clock shows 3 a.m. - the worst time of the night to wake up. Sleep is eluding for the rest of the night.

    In the silence of the night, I notice something odd: I can't hear my heartbeat. As I eat breakfast in the morning, I ask my Beloved if she can hear her heartbeat; she says that she obviously can't, because no one can, and the whole idea is completely preposterous. But the nagging doubt in my head grows; shouldn't people be able to hear their own heartbeats?

    When I leave my apartment to go to work the noise of everything becomes deafening. I can't hear anything because the noise is ear-burstingly loud. I continue to fight through the pain until lunch break, when the noise becomes so loud, that I get in my car and drive away.

    I drive for hours, and as I drive the noise fades. I really do hate to leave my Beloved like this, but the idea of her not wanting to hear her own heartbeat begins to repulse me. As I begin to enter more remote areas, it becomes apparent that it would be best to leave my car and walk, so I park my car on the side of the road next to some woods. The noise has lessened to an extent to which I can sleep. After I wake up in the morning, I leave my car, which I had slept in the night before, and continue on foot.

    After a little while of walking, I come across a clearing, in which a family is camping. But when I look at them, they appear to be both there and not there at the same time. They appear to be worried about me, and I know that my, most likely, incoherent speech is not helping. But, the desire to hear my heartbeat drives me onward. I leave the family without explaining anything.

    And so, I continue to walk all of the first day. As I walk everything starts to become more and more flat, and I begin to feel as though I am escaping my body. Fortunately, the noise has mostly faded away. Towards the end of the first day of marching, I enter a clearing in a part of the forest mostly made up of ancient, formidable oaks and next to a stream.

    So there I live, although I am unsure how long; it could have been hours or days, but I am sure it was less than a week. One morning I am awakened by a loud noise like thunder. I run out of the shelter I made and begin to search for the source of the noise. As I become fully awake and my ears adjust, I begin to clearly hear the noise: thump-thump, thump-thump...

    I awake. I am in a field. I watch as a raven flies overhead. I watch until the ominous sign slowly flies out of sight. I begin to look for others, but I find only shadows. And so in the emptiness I sit, until dreams become reality and reality becomes dreams. The answer finally comes: the maiden with black hair appears. I do not know if she is an angel or Death incarnate, and I do not care. I begin to follow the muse, although I am not sure why. As we cross a creek, I turn to watch butterflies flying by. As I turn back she is gone, and soon her name escapes me. The sound of rage and discord rips through the air. The sound of waves hitting the beach over and over again in Db minor feels my head and the world. The wind begins to blow harder. I hear two planets collide. The sound of nothing grows until darkness takes me.

    I awake. I sit between two pillars, old and timeless. I see the moon overhead illuminating everything in it's pale light. A mass of beetles crawl around me. I run into old, autumnal woods to escape the beetles. All is calm in these woods which I now sit. A raven flies overhead and I follow. It flies so quickly. My body feels as though it will rip from existence because of the exertion. It leads me to a sepulchre and dies in front of it. I pick up the corpse and watch it disappear into the quantum plane. I approach the sepulchre; it appears to be the center of the woods. The door has been ripped form the hinges, so I enter it and swim through the air until the moon takes me.

    I awake. And I see everything.
    penfoldex, Palmsugar and Kephras like this.
  4. This is a bump, I guess. I don't know.
  5. Meh..... I like the idea more than the result.
    Anders watches as Marcus, barefoot, trudges through the sand before lying down near
    Anders, looking over at Marcus, says, “Back so soon?”
    Marcus, looking away, replies, “. . . The water was cold.”
    “And what did I say?”
    “That the water would be cold . . .”
    Anders watches the waves slide against the shore over and over, while Marcus begins to
    fall asleep.
    “Don't you worry that the sand will collapse and swallow you while you sleep?,” Anders
    “No, should I? . . . Wait, you're just messing with me, aren't you?”
    Anders laughs, and Marcus smiles and says, “I'm so glad that we've had this day on the
    beach after all that's . . . y'know . . . happened.”
    “Me, too.”
    They both look off in the distance, not even having to shield their eyes from the sun.
    Marcus, looking at Anders, says, “That one was much closer. I'm scared, Anders . . .”
    “Me, too.”
    They both sit on the sand a little longer, and then they both hear the noise again. They kiss as the A-bomb goes off next to them.

  6. I like it. Thematically, it reminds me a great deal of "Embroidery," a short by Ray Bradbury (one of my all-time favorite authors).
    HylianNinja and Palmsugar like this.
  7. Wow... Okay, so that is far better than anything that I could ever write.
  8. Well, it seems that I haven't done anything with this thread in a month. I've been writing some stuff, but it's pretty personal, and I would rather not share it. But I recently decided to try to write some flarf poetry (random poetry made out of stuff on the internet). Anyway, I need feedback on it. Just a quick warning: it's pretty NSFW. So anyway, here is my first attempt at a flarf poem, and yes, they are supposed to be bad and dumb.

    Mario is pretty metal.
    Which is actually accurate.
    Have you counted?
    Goddammit! Alright.

    That's a thing you can be, if you want.
    Why would you want to be a nothing person?
    It has no personality. It's not even a person.
    I think you're lying to yourself, is what you're doing.
    They have weight, which is really only the characteristic that has ever matter.
    At least they're not babies.

    There's a surprising variety of things you can do; a lot of them aren't good.
    I have no idea what I just picked.

    It looks way better than this when it's just two.
    Why would you hate like that? We were having a good time. Why do you hate our fun?

    When you hit those you get a little speed boost.
    I would not have expected that from you.

    I don't think that I can hop out now that I'm in.
    Back all the way up, maybe.

    What do I do with any of this?
    That's the thing: you have to experiment with it.
    Horizontal all day.
    Oh god! That was not the way I wanted to do that.

    Now I'm all wet.
    Oh, now I'm small.
    I didn't f*** up, but I'm small just the same.
    I kind of don't even know what to say to that.

    What does anybody want out of anything, at this point?
    The thing they liked before but new. That's it.
    Oh, the thing I liked before is actually not that great. Oh geez . . .
    That's adulthood, just remembering that everything you liked as a kid is actually horrible.

    Let's watch this baby get beat up.
    I just like that because the baby was sad. And I hate the babies. I hate them so much.

    I'm sorry. I didn't know that is was going to go like this.
    I just want to leave.
    I just have to wait it out.

    He made you eat it.
    I'm just trying to be cool . . .
    He's a bad influence on you. I want you to know that.
    Dude, I have to back out of this room.

    That they're garbage people, is the crux of my theory. Unless you have a Hitler Mii, I totally get that.
    Suddenly a lot of what you are saying makes a lot more sense.
    I mean, you guys don't have Hitler Miis. . . ?

    I like my speed boosts to be all natural.

    Look. At. That. Butt.
    It's just right there in your face.
    Kind of hypnotic actually.
    You know what I think? I think he's hairless.
    It's like you're just looking at a sack of meat.
    Also, my favorite part of that, is that his butt is all wet when it comes out.

    Oh no, I did not have the right weapon to say no to that.

    Do you like to drop those behind or shoot them forward?
    I think that's got to depend on the situation.

    I'm freaking out, dude.
    Just watch the butt gyrating from side to side.
    He's not a piece of meat, okay?
    The f*** he ain't. He is my sexual play thing.

    Just jerks everywhere. Everyone, I hate you all.

    Ugh. Ow. Okay, there we go.

    Dude, ghosts are weird. They're like dead people. That's like a dead person floating around.
    Palmsugar, penfoldex and southpark347 like this.
  9. Second attempt at flarf poetry. Also NSFW.

    That guy is moving in a way that I'm not entirely comfortable with.
    That's why I came here.

    I do like burning things.
    I am a human.

    They're all gone.
    Or are they?
    I guess I have to kill the- Oh, now they're dead.

    Everything is hexes.
    Goddamned care bears.

    You're maybe getting killed.
    Do you find it mindless because of that?
    Everybody's way into it.

    He could just look like a skeleton, but really have a skeleton inside the skeleton.

    I don't think I can handle this guy.
    I don't think this is going to happen.
    Hold on, let me get my buff on.
    Holy s***! It's going to be so close!
    Today I became a man.

    I kind of thought this was the one.
    You got dead.

    Like a tiny gorilla? That would be pretty freaky, 'cause like, it could get places a big one couldn't.

    That dude just loves healing people.
    I'm helping!
    He just looks like a large dude, who could be, y'know . . .

    Take your clothes off.
    I'm sorry, what?
    Take your clothes off.

    What's night in space, y'know?

    I'm helping!

    I see you guys are wearing clothes again.
    You guys are sickos.

    I'm going to scare you now.
    Hey, I didn't ask for this.
    No, that was your fetish.

    Robots are not a race; they're a construct.
    A bunch of freaking druids.
    They're pandas; just call them pandas.

    I thought you meant the dude was naked when he played.
    I mean, he probably was.
    I'd like to think so.

    You're doing it!
    You're actually doing it!
    Well, now you are food for your children.

    Sassy cab driver.
    Robot upskirts.
    Rock ladies be wearing corsets, yo.

    Oh god! That mustache.
    We're evil. Yes, hmmm.
    They're future Daft Punk.
    How are these guys evil? They look so adorable – Oh, no that one.

    Evil pikachus running around shocking their masters.
    This is Obama's America.

    Go up that robot's skirt again.

    Are you dying?

    Which I guess means it's consensual only.
    You really have to be a perpetual a**hole to enjoy something like that.

    This is just chaos.
    Look at this f***ing nonsense.
    Palmsugar and penfoldex like this.
  10. Wow, really? An auto correct? Just so everyone knows, this shouldn't be displaying as "Another Servera's" in my post. In the video I took this line from someone was making a joke, and this is referring to the President of the United States. I think this will be the last time for me to post any of my writings on EMC. Whomever sees this thread can lock it.
  11. Done with writing? :/ There's some really good stuff though!
  12. I'm not done with writing. I just won't be posting it here.