Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
The alarm dragged me from the dream. I thought about sleeping in, but it wouldn't be worth it. Fifteen minutes later it would still be too early, I'd still be hungover, and I'd get my pay docked if I was late. Again. I punched the alarm's button to shut it up, and went to put on my makeup. I didn't shower first. No one here did. The animals smelled like crap anyhow, so what were twenty more unwashed beasts? Besides, I could use the time on my face. I took pride in it. It was always a masterpiece. Every day, I came to work looking how a clown should. Ten minutes later, I was streaked with pie and whipped cream. An hour of makeup, at least, ruined in a instant. It sucks to be a clown.
I finished my work, looked at myself in the mirror for a minute, then grabbed my cigarettes from the counter. I lit one as I left the trailer and began to make my way past the animals. The twins were there, working with the lions on their routine. They just looked at me and laughed, one of them with his head still in the lion's mouth. They knew where I stood in the hierarchy of the circus. I threw the butt of my cigarette down, and lit a new one as I walked past. It wasn't fair. They just show up and abuse a lion onstage and they get all the girls. I slave away to put on my face, struggle to walk in foolish shoes, and get pies thrown at me. The crowd laughs with the twins, but they laugh at me. It sucks to be a clown.
I didn't really have much of a choice in careers, though. I always thought being a clown was my destiny. What else does someone named Bozo do? But the circus was supposed to be better than this. All I do is get pie in my face, five days a week. Today is different though. When they went to throw the pie at me, I knocked it from the air. I took the gravel-encrusted pie from the ground and slammed it into the ringleader's face, like I've wanted to for fifteen years. I strode over to the cannon, and as I clamber in I remember Arthur. "I know the answer now. I fly." There hasn't been a net since he died, but I don't need one. I don't want to be caught. It sucks to be a clown.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
She suddenly felt a shock of pain, as if her earlobe had been stabbed with a pin, and nearly slapped the creature from her shoulder. Remembering herself, she softly chided the pokémon and took a bluk berry from her pouch. She carefully removed a single drupelet, which she held up to her shoulder. The animal sniffed it tentatively, and then snatched it from her, and set to the task of eating it. Thus satisfied that her ear was no longer in mortal peril, she looked back towards the boy.
He was on his knees now, sullenly staring into the water. A magikarp's head pierced the surface of the water, and it looked at him. It waited for a second, and then swam away, splashing some water at him as it did so. He never moved.
Red shivered, the water leeching heat from his body, though the weather was still well above freezing. The loss of the poliwag - of his poliwag - cut like a knife. It wasn't that he had liked the creature. Its existence made him despair of ever achieving anything, of even surviving as a Called. Nevertheless, now that it was gone he had nothing. No creature to help him protect Pallet. No pokémon to keep him alive as he ventured into the forests. No bumbling, happy Nyoromo to provide companionship.
He was so preoccupied by his thoughts that he didn't see the first bubble break the surface of the water and float off into the sky. Nor did he see the second. When three broke the water at once, though, he couldn't help but take notice. More and more bubbles rose, and a small section of the lake seemed to boil. Then, all at once, the bubbles stopped. A moment passed, and a blue sphere leapt from the water. Red watched incredulously as it dove through the water again. It reappeared a moment later, and in seconds it stood before Red.
"Poli!" it gurgled, a bubble still clinging to its face.
The girl was bemused. I'll need to remember this. She placed her pokémon in her satchel, and swung into the woods. Preoccupied with embracing his poliwag, the boy didn't hear a thing.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
Now, before the huge "happy holidays" vs. "merry christmas" debate starts, I will say this: do not even go there. Please. Let's just enjoy this, okay?
This is not going to be a long post. Not even close. But that's okay. :P
So yeah, whether you're celebrating Hanukkah, Kwanza, Christmas, or the pagan festival to the Sun God during the Winter Solstice, enjoy!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
To properly ring in our victory, I invited an illustrator. He will be illustrating the Apocalypse, and perhaps other things as they strike his fancy. By illustrating, of course, I mean sprites, as he somehow has less drawing ability than I do, a feat in itself. The second reward is my new blog, which will function much like bonus commentary on a DVD, but without having to watch the entire video again.
A little over a year ago, Met posted 100, a post that celebrated not 100 published posts, but 100 total, drafts included. We currently have 266 posts including those that are drafts and those that are scheduled. What have we achieved in that time? We gained Elphaba, an author with an unfortunate penchant for writing Fanfiction. GLaDOS's Lament was published. Tuesday's little Tale began, and mystery ensued. Songs appeared every week, for a time, though they have encountered a hiatus that can only lengthen as Met flees from the government. Thursday has become known for producing Thoughts, which are generally beautifully macabre. Friday now Features our newest author, who tries to resist the madness with actual meaning. God has begun to dream on Saturdays, and will do so until somewhere around the Chinese New Year. The Winged have fallen, and lament it. I have found my new work, which I have no intention of ending, and will last for as long as I can write about it.
What will the next 100 bring?
Is it cheating to end Song of the Day like this?
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Hello people, i have been invited to the blog to put up pictures of the characters of the Golden Apocalypse. I only have Oak and Red right now, I will make Green as soon as possible. I do realize that these aren't all that great yet, but i will try to improve them over time.
The first was a boy, Red's age, with blue-green eyes and brown hair. He wore a necklace with a small disc-shaped pendant. He stood about as tall as Red, but had a haughty way of holding himself that made him seem taller. In his mouth was a slowpoke tail, which he chewed thoughtfully. A grimace spread across Red's face as he viewed his childhood rival, Oak's grandson. "Green." he said curtly.
Green turned, and a sneer distorted his normally handsome features as he saw Red. "You finally made it. I thought that you lost your way here and had been eaten by an arbok. I see I was mistaken. Pity." He noticed the movement of the poliwag and looked at it incredulously for a second. "Is that your pokémon? I've seen diglett larger than that thing. I didn't know poliwag came that tiny. What do you even call it?"
Red was at a loss for a moment, and quickly surveyed the slithering creature. "I, uh, I call it - him - erm, Nyoromo."
Green laughed. "Well your poliwag, - Nyoromo, was it? - couldn't survive a minute against Hitokage here." He gestured at the pokémon who walked by his side. The bipedal lizard snarled. The burnt orange creature stood at least two feet tall. It had claws on both is hands and feet. Those on its feet were longer, but dull, whereas those on its hands were viciously curved, and were stained with red as if it had just been fighting, which, Red realized, it probably had. It had unintelligent black eyes, and its slavering maw was open to reveal the teeth of a carnivore. What was, perhaps, its most startling feature was its tail, which was half as long as the creature was tall. It was raised off the ground, and on the end bloomed a deep red flame. Green saw Red's interest in his pokémon. "You like him? Gramps raised him specially for me. Said that he'd be the strongest in this year's calling. Allow me to demonstrate. Hitokage, scratch."
Before Red knew what was happening, the reptile charged towards his poliwag screeching a blood curdling "Charmander!" Nyoromo had just reached the waters edge when it reached him. It clawed the helpless amphibian, which was tossed to the center of the lake by the force of the blow. It hit the surface, bounced, and landed again a bit farther. It floated face down on the surface a moment before sinking, leaving a small floating pool of white blood. Red watched for a minute, two, and Nyoromo failed to surface. He barely saw Green leave with his charmander, nor heard him call "Smell you later!"
A lone magikarp jumped to catch an insect, and landed with a splash. Above, a spearow called.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Also, may I insert here: I have my own blog now! It's called Elphaba's Writing Space. I write stuff and post it on there (hard to figure out, I know). The address is http://elphabaswritingspace.blogspot.com. Minus the period after the ".com". But I digress...
So, fanfiction. What is it? Basically, it's people taking previously concieved stories, movies, or TV shows, and putting their own twist to it. They can show a scene from a different character's point of view, make up their own scenes, add characters... whatever works for their stories. They use their own imaginations to make something theirs. That way, they get to control the story.
Some people (coughREOGANcough) think that the authors of fanfiction are stealing someone else's story, and not being creative enough to come up with a story themselves. I disagree. The authors are still creative--they have their own characters, circumstances, and way of writing. They like a character in a certain book or TV show, and they want to put them in a situation of their own making. Is that not creative? They're asking the question, "what if?" Is that so wrong?
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
It colors every aspect of my life.
It affects all I do.
In everything, I must be cautious not to let it slip.
Not to let it shatter the illusion
And my life.
And my lie.
I know that there is help.
I know I could be cured.
To heal, though, is to tell,
And never be seen as I was.
As I am.
As that which I am, yet never was.
I tell myself I'm not alone.
That others suffer as I do
I search for signs in everyone.
I find them in some.
But I'm not sure.
And to ascertain is to tell.
And to tell is to invite ridicule.
I float alone
In a sea of regret
I am consumed.
I am without hope.
I find myself not caring about the world.
But I do.
I care enough to maintain my lie.
To maintain the person I want to be
Rather than that which I am.
I disguise myself daily
With a smile
And with casual
Every day I take up my shovel
And dig a little deeper into my pit.
I sit at my loom
And weave another dozen lies.
I take up my hammer
And forge more chains
I am trapped
In a prison of my design.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Honestly, I'm not sure what to write about. I think I just like being able to write, you know? Having the freedom to express what I think, how I feel... it's great. Kind of like keeping a diary, only I'm not writing stuff THAT personal on here. Duh.
Maybe that's what this week's feature is about. What do you do to express yourself? Writing? Composing music? Getting tattoos? Whatever! We all have different outlets for creativity, and that's the fun part!
The sad part is, some people don't express themselves creatively. Maybe they don't think they're smart enough, or talented enough, or whatever. But if you think about it, everyone has a talent! Maybe you're super good at video games, or cooking, or computer coding, or some other fourth thing. I don't know.
I think I'll be posting more regularly. Hopefully. Because it feels good to write again.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Monday, December 07, 2009
Sunday, December 06, 2009
It was to the Lab that Red ran, struggling to put on his jacket. He was late, and the Ceremony of Calling was to have taken place that morning. The hill upon which the Lab sat was so tall and steep, Red was forced to walk it. At reaching the peak, he stopped, awed. Though he had been here before, the sight was so powerful that it took his breath. He saw a figure on the roof, and knew it instantly to be one of the Seven. He couldn't see which it was, as the figure was silhouetted by the rising sun, and the Robes of the Guardian prevented him from determining gender. He stared for a while, somewhat dazzled by the power of the sight, then remembered the urgency of his situation. He sprinted in through the doorway. Once, the portal had been filled with great sliding glass doors, but since the Fall they stopped working and were removed with the few pokémon that remained under human control at that time. Now it remained open always, increasing the need for a constant watch. Red hurried down a long hall and entered a room that was used only once a year. To his great dismay it was empty. He was about to leave when a soft voice spoke, "You're late." The voice came from a dark corner of the room. Red could just make out a chair which swiveled around as he watched. A large figure rose from it and stepped into the light. It was Oak. Once an esteemed professor, he now led the small community. The muscle-bound man stood over two meters in height, and had a long scar from his jaw to above his left eye socket. The eye that once was housed there had been lost when Oak fought off a rhyhorn alone. He was lucky he lost only his eye. The man never wore a patch, though, and kept the socket empty. Red immediately began stammering an apology, but trailed of when Oak raised a hand. It was missing its ring finger, though Red didn't know the tale behind that. Oak walked to the far side of the room. He opened a door, and entered, with Red trailing behind. He led Red to the back of a dim room, where a row of cages awaited. "One remains. Take it, use it, and preserve the fragile peace we know."Oak took a cage in one hand, and gave it to Red, who staggered from the weight of it. "Go." Oak commanded. Red obeyed, and when he reached the hall he sprinted out. Upon reaching the entrance he reconsidered his destination, and turned for the Dome. Once within, he set the cage on a lone rock on the field, near both the pond and the forest. He reached for the cage, and opened the door, knowing as he did so that it marked the end - the death - of his childhood. The door swung out, and his breath caught in his throat.
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Red awoke screaming. Realizing it was just a dream, he laid back down. He was almost asleep when an errant thought strolled into his consciousness. He was sixteen today. It was the day of the Calling.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
"The Russians, I assume, No?"
"Sí. They have the bomb." The line went dead.
"Dios Mio." whispered the nun. She left the phone hanging in her hurry as she went to dismiss the class. The second they were gone, she closed the schoolhouse and hurried to the chapel. First she went to the cellar where the supplies for the Eucharist were kept. She blessed a chalice of wine, and some bread and partook of the sacrament. She then upturned the box of bread wafers, and unlatched the false bottom to reveal a multitude of silver discs, polished to a shine and sharpened to a razor edge, roughly the size of the wafers. She took these, and then hurried back into the sanctuary to remove the sword that had so long been hidden in the cross at the pulpit. She went to the altar, and opened the Bible which had been undisturbed for decades. A beam of light shot through the stained glass window at the front of the church, and illuminated the pistol that was nestled in the hollow book. Maria knelt, genuflected, and said a prayer. Then she rose, and sprinted from the building to where her motorcycle waited. Stalin had gone to far. He now faced the wrath of the nun.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
So, for those of you who don't know this, I am a HUGE fan of musicals in general. However, Rodgers and Hammerstein are some of the best out there. That's not opinion, that's just fact. (Just kidding. Mostly.)
Time for a little history! The Sound of Music opened on Broadway with Mary Martin as Maria, and Theodore Bikel as Captain von Trapp. It was immediately successful, and is one of the most performed musicals in high schools across America. It was adapted into a movie in 1965, starring Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer. The movie beat Gone with the Wind as the number-one box office champion of all time. It held this statistic for over 30 years, until Titanic beat it in 1997.
So anyway, I know there's a "this day in history" thingy on the blog, but I wanted to commemorate this date with a post. (Plus, who knows when I will again, so yeah...) YAY, MUSICAL THEATER!!!!!!!!!!
Monday has always been the domain of my dear GLaDOS. However, despite the fact that she is Still Alive, you'll be GLaD to hear she won't be making an encore performance until Portal II. So now we must fill the space with something, lest Met greedily snatch my posting territory, as he is wont to do. Option one is a Jacques Cousteau tale; a prequel to my first. Before the beginning, I'd like to note how astonishingly difficult it is to write like this. Even so, I managed to write
A Prequel, Part I
Well, one thing's clear, thought Jacques Cousteau, It's dark. And so it was. As Jacques descended the blood soaked stairs into the dark depths of Darkdeep, the darkness deepened. He dared not unsheathe the Feldagger the Medium of Doomspeak had given him, for it still glowed with the blood of the fallen Yeti-Worm that had ambushed him. The light would cause the hosts of Darkdeep to notice him. And when they notice me he thought, Then they will know that the Gatekeeper is no more. If that happened, even the Half-Djinni Spirit King's blessing couldn't save him.
Option two will bring us all back to the days of our childhood. It will show us the dreams we dreamed, and the lives we imagined into being. It will then proceed to trample them, rend them thrice in twain, and force-feed them to us through a funnel caked with a slimy substance of questionable origin. Yes, it has come at last!
Pokemon: The Golden Apocalypse - Prologue
Red ran through the dense forest, branches ripping at his clothes and snaring his feet. The vines that hung down from the canopy were covered in vicious thorns, but he ran straight through them, ignoring the searing streaks of crimson they left on his exposed face and arms. Behind him, a roar bellowed through the trees, causing some branches to fall, such was its ferocity. He tripped on one of these and before he could rise, the skies darkened. A reptilian monstrosity flew through the air above, spewing smoke from its nostrils and fire gleaming on its tail. As it flew past, a torrent of water erupted from the river to Red's left, and the dragon fell from the skies, somewhere to his right. The Blastoise turned in Red's direction, where the Charizard had fallen. Cursing, Red jumped up, and tried to escape the spot where soon, no doubt, two behemoths would battle. He had barely started, when both creatures fled from some creature more terrible than either of them. Though hidden by the forest, its advance was marked by the tremors that shook the ground and the crashing of distant trees. Red ran for but a moment, before reaching a clearing at the end of the forested valley. His heart sank, and his thoughts dulled as he slowly realized there was no escape; instead of a steady rise to the level of the surrounding land, there was a steep cliff, precluding any progress. Red turned, intending to run past his pursuer, when the Venusaur entered the clearing. The titanic beast stood twenty meters high, and a vine thicker than a large apling snaked from the bulb on it's back. Just as it was about to grab Red, the sun reached an angle that cause light to suffuse the scene. The vine retracted as the bulb on the giants back opened. A glow began to emanate from the flower, which grew unbearably bright and then leapt from bulb. The beam howled towards Red, heat rolling off it in waves and-
Red awoke screaming. Realizing it was just a dream, he laid back down. He was almost asleep when an errant thought strolled into his consciousness. He was sixteen today. It was the day of the Calling.
Option three is where I write a dark tale, Elphaba calls it horrible, I reply sarcastically, Met intervenes, Elphaba sides with him and I cry.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Speaking of which, if I suddenly disappear in an "accident" in the near future, start here. Reogan might kill me. Or not care. I really have no clue.
Monday, November 09, 2009
(Twelve points to anyone who can explain why Peru is the ideal country for this excuse)
The hero emerges from the mountain dungeon onto a ledge just below the outer rim of the caldera. He sees that, as his foe claimed moments before, all his efforts were for naught. A twilight had fallen over the land. A lugubrious lethargy leeched life from all beings. The skies slowly broil with a faintly rumbling lightning. The remains of the Pandora still glow in the aftermath of the inferno. The hero looks on the land, as even the plants seem to break under the oppressive weight of the darkness. All at once, the faint wind ceases and a chill falls across the land. The color drains from all life, and only grey remains in the shadow. The hero looks at his own sleeve - his own arm - and in the light of his sword sees, to his relief, he still has the bright vitality he had possessed before, if a little dimmer. The world, though, seems to be devoid of hope, and seems to foretell a coming absence of life. Suddenly, a movement catches the hero's eye. He sees something nearing the ashes of the city. He recognizes the mayor of his own town, along with the prominent working men of the village leading a caravan to the ruins. Between the men, shielded by them, are the survivors of Pandora. There are merely a few score - the flames took many - but there are enough. The village would rise as a phoenix might. It is now that the hero sees a splash of color in the crowd. Helping an old woman along, is Pandora, the kind girl named after the very village she has come to rebuild. Hope lives on.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Monday, November 02, 2009
The fumes leeched
She lay on the ground,
Struggling for air
That was no longer there.
If I was thinking,
If a shred of my mind remained,
I would have foreseen
Her next move.
Coursed through her veins.
She was at me
She removed what little remained
And killed me.
As I died
One final time
I watched her pick through
She broke my heart.
And I love her.
Sunday, November 01, 2009
I clawed my way up through the darkness and woke screaming. My heart raced and my muscles were tensed to escape from some imagined and already unremembered terror. The entire house seemed silent after the echoes of my yell faded. I laid there, soaking in sweat for a moment, before I realized that it was far too hot under the covers. Upon standing, my vision swam, and I fell to the bed. After a slight pause, I stood again and, swaying slightly, made my way to the kitchen. I didn’t bother with the light, because I’m always certain that I’ll see horribly intelligent red eyes and a dripping maw right outside my window. Being a writer of decidedly dark fiction does that to you. I fumbled in a cupboard to get a glass, cringing at every noise. Finally succeeding in quietly extricating one, I went to the sink and filled it. The moment after I took a drink, I was struck by the thought that something could have been in the glass, and I wouldn’t know. I might have swallowed mouse droppings or a quietly pulsing arachnid egg mass unaware. I poured what was left down the drain, set the glass on the counter, and walked to the door. I opened it and slipped outside. The cool fall air was wonderfully refreshing, and I closed my eyes as I raised my head to the sky. It felt like something was horribly, horribly wrong, but it always did, and I refused to act on the feeling. Every rustle of the grass was an abomination lurching towards me, every breath of air the whisper of wings bringing fanged doom from above. I’d long since grown used to this paranoia, and so I felt my very soul shudder when, upon opening my eyes, I saw a figure, silhouetted in the light of the full moon, standing on the roof of the house across the street. His attention was fixed down the road a ways, and he didn’t seem to notice me. Without turning, I slowly moved back until I could feel the door behind me. I grabbed the handle, and turned, but it was locked. Icy terror gripped me, and the world turned black. How long I slept I do not know, but I awoke before any sign of dawn had appeared. The glass sparkled with frost, and a chill breeze blew. I shivered, as I tried to recall why I was here. I couldn’t help but gasp as I remembered and I swung my head up to see my neighbor’s roof. There wasn’t anything on it. Then I heard the thump of a great weight landing, and a single stone fell from my roof to my shoulder. I looked up and saw those terrible eyes looking at me, wreathed in wrinkled brown scales. Four long fangs protruded from a dripping snout, and the stench of decay wafted down to me.
Minutes later, all was silent in the cold night. The air was still and the frost glinted red in the moonlight.