Mirror Image

As I walked down the highway with my thumb raised, yet another car passed me by. This time, I raised a different finger at the driver, but she didn't seem to see me. Which, granted, was probably a good thing--I'd been living on the streets for too long not to know that psychos were everywhere.

Speaking of which. I stared at the dark blue pickup parked a few miles ahead of where I stood. The driver got out and looked around, and I dodged behind a bush on the edge of the road. As I watched, he dragged a long, thin... something out of the back of his truck. He threw his blanket-wrapped package into the ditch, got into his car, and sped off.

I ran over to the bundle, a thrill of foreboding running through my veins. As I reached it, I swore. It was a body. I pulled the blanket back from where the face seemed like it should be, and gasped.

The woman was a mirror image of me. As I brought my left hand up to my face, so did she--and her eyes opened.

"Hello?" we said at the same time, and blinked in shock.

What on earth was going on?

Ideas

I'm sorry if it is illegal to post on days I don't normally, and this post is also not a good idea, but I have to post it. If anybody has any ideas on what I should illustrate from The Golden Apocalypse, please tell me. I have an extreme lacking of ideas.

Song of the Week 13.5: 'Enable-Disable Bipolar Disorder' by wauterboi

I'm back for a bit to post a song of the week. This one is of the .5 additions because it's not from OCR. As soon as I heard this track I knew I had to do something with it. As you can see, once again I'm using Protagonist Records music. Personally I think Protagonist is probably one of the best record labels I've come upon. It's introduced me to several excellent artists that would've taken me some time to find if I was just using OCR as my musical frame of reference. This track happens to be from wauterboi and it's straight off of his new album, if then. The actual track (titled Enable-Disable Bipolar Disorder) drew my attention immediately while I was listening to the entire album. There's a good chance I'll be buying this one soon. While wauterboi isn't the sort of usual "refined" synth feel that I often listen to the way he employs his arranging skills with the sounds he uses are impressive. To quote SGX, "Slow groove, big distorted synth, moody melody, some lofi synths, and a bit of NIN style." SGX knows way more about music than I do, but I also have to mention the beats. I absolutely dig how the primary beat works in with the background. In fact, this reminds me quite a bit of Little People in some ways. As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, I had to do something with this track. This one definitely has a good chance of making it into my movie. This isn't a huge movie project or anything and there's no budget; it's essentially a live action FPS borrowing from several soundtracks and game ideas. Anyway, wauterboi has really impressed me with this album release. I highly recommend you check it out. The first track is _, then Birth, and the last track is Death, so I imagine wauterboi had a theme in mind when writing this. Reogan and I used a similar sort of idea when working on one of our own projects (although we focused on the more human viewpoint whereas wauterboi might be going for the machine thing as per the cover art) and I find it interesting to see how each person interprets life from a musical standpoint. That's about all I have for you today. You can download the track here, enjoy.

Xia

She saw them across the the street before they saw her. Normally, she would have been safely hidden by the large crowds, but everyone had disappeared in anticipation of the coming weather. Usually, she would have fled before they could glimpse her, but today her red Novice's robe would be seen the instant she stepped from the shadow of the  stall to run to an alley.

She closed her eyes, muttering a prayer to the gods she served and almost believed in.

Drunken laughter, then quiet.

Chanting now, coming from the girl's lips.

The wind died complete.

Footsteps on the pavement, getting closer.

A distant rumble of thunder.

She could count the men by the sound of their footsteps alone. Three.

The air filled with the smell of ozone.

The breath of ale on her face. A hand close enough to her face she could feel it.

The girl opened her eyes.

The storm broke.

Stupid plot idea... etc, Chapter Two

Ink cartridge in place, John took one of Leah's hands and started massaging it. "Quit it," she protested, ignoring how good it felt--as well as the return of those annoying butterflies.

"Quit what?"

"Massaging my hand. Yours are all inky."

"Yours are, too. What are you afraid of?"

She blushed. "I am not afraid of you."

"Your pupils just dilated."

"Did not." How did he get so close?

"Yeah, they did. You're either afraid or excited," he smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Which is it?"

"Neither."

"Yeah, right. You like it when we face off. There aren't enough people in your life you can debate with."

"I happen to like not getting annoyed to death," she breathed, suddenly hyperaware that John's face was only about three inches away from her own.

"You're not dead yet, are you?"

"I will be soon, the way you--" The rest of her sentence was cut off as John gently pressed his lips to hers...

"Hey, Mom wants to know what's taking so long," said a voice from across the room. It was Mrs. Brooke's six-year-old son, Jack.

As Leah stepped back from John in a daze, he answered without taking his eyes from hers, "Tell your mom it'll be five minutes, tops."

Leah averted her eyes and walked away, her thoughts in utter turmoil.

"When deep down in the core of your being you believe that your soul mate exists, there is no limit to the ways he or she can enter your life." Arielle Ford.

Crow

Crow blinked. The sign didn't change.

Crow, keep going. 

She looked forward incredulously, almost expecting to see some slight change in the road  - some path that she hadn't noticed.

The construction was still there, working on the interchange that was supposed to relieve traffic congestion, but everyone knew would make it worse.

The car behind Crow honked. She looked at the sign again.

Well?

Taking a deep breath, Crow shuddered onto the broken concrete, broke through a warning sign, and trundled up the unfinished slope.

Red Standing Awkwardly On The Cliffs

The background picture is from http://media.photobucket.com/image/cliffs%20edge/Sorenai/Digital%20Blasphemy/attheedgeofacanyon.jpg

I am sorry, but my computer will not allow me to place a period at the end of the previous sentance. You can zoom in on the picture, Red is just as detailed as normal, it's just very large, and Blogger will not let me make the picture bigger. So that's Red, standing on the cliff that he had climbed to escape the Mankey. I was rushed (yet again) to make it, and I have a strong ambition to make it better, but I probably will never get around to it.

Ryan

Ryan woke up in the clouds, and he didn't feel out of place. The sun was bright, too bright, impossibly bright, but somehow it felt nice. The Being before him, too, was bright. Ryan didn't mind. He didn't tremble when he felt the Titan speak, the voice coming from all around and within.

"I'm done. Your turn."

With that, the Behemoth vanished from all being, leaving only a faint odor of ozone.

I'm God, Ryan thought. How do I do this?

Jacques

You couldn't swing a dead cat in here, thought Jacques Cousteau thoughtfully, without hitting a sphinx. Luckily for him, the statues would sleep until the midnight hour, and it was only three strokes after the twelfth bell of dawn's-night.He took a deep breath before breaking the surface of the water, and climbing up the island's shore. A bitter stench wafted to his nostrils, and as he looked about, he could see why. All about him were the bloated corpses of things that may once have been part human, but now were too dead to be.
"Either these are the long-dead living," whispered Jacques to a crab crawling from an eye socket, "Or the recently living dead."
The crab made no reply, and Jacques' eyes narrowed with suspicion.
The crab slowly closed its right claw, then allowed it to fall lazily open.
Jacques withdrew a comb from his raincoat, and slowly twirled it in his hand.
The crab's eyestalks slowly crept forward.
Jacques' face was the picture of solemn focus, while his mind scrabbled for everything he knew about this type of crustacean. Did they hunt in packs? Were the females huge, winged carnivores? Did they serve the sea-witch or-
My God! Mercury is in the third palace of Jupiter! That means- Jacques lunged forward, but it was too late. The crab's shell split, and writhing maggots poured forth into Time. Twelve chimes sounded in the space of no more than a second, and no less than an eon. Jacques turned as behind him, the waters churned.

Maria

Sister Maria of the order of the Sisters of Our Lady of Perpetual Turmoil sped across the desierto mexicano, her habit pulling at her as she reached dangerous speeds. The sunlight flashed across the dusty chrome of her bike, and would have blinded her but for the sunglasses she had purchased at the last service station. She turned sharply and looked right to see past the dust cloud her wheels has kicked up.
The last town was little more than a shifting dot on the horizon. No vehicles were in sight. The nun resumed her course, and took her left hand from the handlebar. Plunging it into the sleeve of her right, she found the hidden pocket, within which a second pocket was secreted. Using the nails of her thumb and index finger, she carefully pulled out the single thread of the pocket to open its full depths, and from there she drew out a key no larger than an ant. The minute key was inserted into the round end of the left handlebar, and turned.
The icon-adorned instrument panel folded into itself, revealing a sensory pad. Maria pressed her rosary to the panel, and mentally recited the Hail Mary. She pulled back, and a chime like a church bell gave prelude to the appearance of a small button directly between the handlebars. As Maria pressed it, a gout of flame shot from the exhaust, and the nun tripled her speed.
Glancing up at the sun, Maria gauged she would be to the rendezvous at the Yucatán by nightfall.

Conversations With Myself Part 4 (Moving Forward)

"Enough! We're not doing this."

"Why? It was your idea."

"I've got enough trouble as it is and this is a very intensive situation I'd plunge myself into. I can't afford the time and I don't want to either."

"Fine. Why not?"

"Because we've got enough things to deal with and all this does is destroy the consistency we've maintained for almost a year now."

"I suppose you've made these quite topics very... sensitive."

"It affects a lot of people and they obviously won't want to deal with it either."

"Why'd you propose it in the first place then?"

"Psychology."

"You love your psych projects don't you."

"Of course, but this one is just a little too extensive. Maybe the idea will be reused someday in a less... destructive setting/capacity."

"You realize we have the same speaking techniques. I would've stuck with you to the end y'know; whatever would've became of this situation I still would be there against all odds and presumptions."

"I know."

"Well? Now what?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, but let's continue to be consistent. At least we're moving forward."

"Indeed."

Stupid plot idea that absolutely WILL NOT leave me alone, Chapter One

(I also have no title for it. Sorry.)

Leah Avery shoved at the ink cartridge, trying to force it into the printer. "C'mon, fit," she muttered. "I've got to get this stupid newspaper printed or Mrs. Brooke is gonna kill me." After a few more minutes of struggling, Leah gave up. "Forget it. I'll just print the thing at home," she sighed to no one in particular. This had not been her day.

Oh, fantastic, she thought sarcastically as John Allen walked into the computer lab. John had been the bane of her existence since the beginning of their high school careers. He was arrogant, cocky, never seemed to date the same girl twice, was her only real competition for valedictorian, and worst of all, was the co-editor of their school's newspaper along with her. Which meant, naturally, that they spent excessive amounts of time together--and it made the whole ordeal all the more frustrating.

You can't deny it, commented an annoying little voice in Leah's head. You enjoy your little verbal sparring sessions with him.

Shut up, she replied to the voice.

Not only do you enjoy it, Journalism is the highlight of your day. You even look for him in the hallways, just to see if he'll talk to you.

Do not!

As John walked toward her, Leah did her best to ignore that voice that had seemingly cropped up out of nowhere. "What's up?"

"Did you get the paper printed yet? Mrs. Brooke wants to leave early, since it's Friday."

Leah sighed. "We ran out of ink, and I can't get the cartridge to fit. I'll just print it at home."

John winked, and Leah felt butterflies in her stomach--again, attempting to ignore them. "Let me try it. Fixing things is a man's job, after all."

She rolled her eyes and smacked the cartridge into his hand. "You can be a real pain sometimes, you know?"

"Kindness is a two-way street, Leah. Sure, I like getting you mad," he grinned, "but you take your snipes at me, too. Admit it--you totally love it."

"Maybe, she allowed, "but only when you're not acting like your sole purpose in life is to send me to a mental institution," she finished with a smirk, flexing her stiff fingers.

Sonnet X, Pain

Alone in shadowed solitude,
Above Earth's blood in molten veins,
Imprisoned in a platitude,
Waits noble girl - the Princess Pain.
Her vestment pulchritudinous,
Adorned with but a drop of Fear.
Her face holds beauty treacherous,
For with it, she draws mortals near.
Her sleeves conceal each wicked claw,
Her lips her wretched, gnashing teeth.
The first to bring Man to her maw,
The last with which his soul to eat.
A still wind blows, a cold heat falls
As thunder forth her silent calls.

Agron Ball

I made a pokeball that looks like Agron. I got this idea from a website that had a bunch of special pokeball designs for certain pokemon. I thought it was sort of cool, so I tried making one.

Ommatidia

Twisting, turning, macabre terrors of the night undulate in a mad, writhing dance to the devil’s song of the Carnival. The entrance fee, paid once ensnared, is Comfort and Sleep. The games cost Dreams, but Nightmares are the prize and everyone is a winner. The bloated tents sit in corpulent decadence, soured by time and horror. Ignore the stains of blood. There’s plenty of time to leave more, and everyone takes a turn. Yes, the grounds seem empty, but don’t try to leave. There lurks a new Terror in every shadow, and besides, the gate is locked. 

Good night, my child.

Red Sees a Flying Shadow

Yeah, so this is the part where Red sees the flying shadow. What could it be? I don't know, this is just half a ninjask painted black. It could be anything.

A Break In The Action (Continuing a Trend)

Today I bring you more news. Reogan is on leave and so am I. Operational Catalyst will continue soon, but I've been busy with my own projects. Recently I've put together a few audio edits that consist of sound bits and quotes over music, particularly music by Sefiros (OCR Profile). So far I've used Reunited, Interlude.2 and Oh as tracks with audio over them. I could use suggestions if you've got other music that you think would sound great with audio overlays.

The Surprise Before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring—except for this mouse.

The mouse traps were laid by their small hole with care

In hopes that a mouse soon would be caught there.

The mousebabes were nestled all snug in their nests

While visions of cheese and stuff danced in their heads.

Mamma Mouse in her Kleenex, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap

When outside the hole, there arose such a pong,

I sprang from my nest to see what was wrong.

Away to the mousehole I ran like a flash.

That horrible smell smelled a bit like burnt hash.

When what, to my small, beady eyes should appear

But a enormous rat—and eight tiny reindeer!

That fat, evil driver, not lively and quick,

I knew in a moment that it must be Rat Nick!

More rapid than cats, his coursers they came,

And he squeaked, and he squealed, and he called them by name;

“Now Slasher! Now Basher! Now Crasher and Witchy!

Now Bomber! Now Putrid! Now Evil and Bitchy!

To the bottom of the floor! Now the top of the tree!

Now run away, run away, run away, flee!”

As dry leaves that 'fore the wild tornado fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the tree the coursers they flew,

With a sleigh, some dead mice, and Rat Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard with great awe

The prancing and scurrying of each little paw.

As I drew in my head and was turning around

Through that small hole Rat Nick came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his tip to his tail

And all of the fur told the horrible tale

Of mice that had given their valuable lives

Yet so seemingly worthless, as written by scribes.

His eyes, oh so evil! His paws, oh so scary!

His face was a nightmare, his nose a black cherry.

His rotten black teeth all fell out one by one,

And the fur on his body gave off a bad pong.

The tail of a mouse he held tight in his teeth,

And the stink, it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a thin face and an over-sized bulge,

That obviously, Rat Nick liked to indulge.

He was awful and bad, an evil old elf,

And I squeaked when I saw him, in spite of myself.

A glint in his eye and a twist of his head,

Made me feel so scared that I wished I had fled.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all our stockings, then turned with a jerk,

And putting a paw on the side of his snout,

He gave a small nod, through the hole he was out.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him squeak as he drove out of sight,

"Be glad that I spared you, mouse, now good night!"

"Miracles do not defy nature; rather, they defy what we know of nature." St. Augustine.

Thoughts

Every word


is

abused.



The

extent


of the


damage




was overlooked.




Do not


forget.



Understanding



each


line.




There is




something more



here


in



Thoughts.

Fog

This is my rushed attempt at the bird-ish thing mentioned in the Golden Apocalypse. I did not have a lot of time, but I kind of like it, as it works.