A/N: From my old NaNo document. I wrote a bit of this and never posted it... Don't really know what I'll do with it. It's a piece with far too much stream-of-consciousness and italics, but hope you enjoy it anyway. :)
(In case you're completely confused, here's the little summary: If he's not careful, he'll start daydreaming. If he starts daydreaming, he'll fall into his fantasies. And if he falls into his fantasies... Well. They aren't the safest places, to say in the least.)
Crack. Crack in the ground. Crack on the wall. Crack on the ceiling. Little slither of black, just a slash, whispering, calling, murmuring Philippe... Phillip... Sir Phillip, Mister Phil, Phil-of-the-West, Song Weaver, Wretched One. Whoever you are.
Crack.
Crack in the ground, crack on the wall, crack on the ceiling.
Crack in the boy.
Not quite here. Not all of him here. A crack and a vacancy in his mind: a reminder of the him out there.
“So, Phil. Are you ready to begin?”
The boy's head snaps up quickly, blue eyes wide. Guarded. Like an animal ready to bolt.
But no. That's not him. That's not Phil. Phil can't do that. He's in a – a psychiatrist's office. That place. Where they send the crazy, the loony, the insane. He's not insane. He doesn't belong there. But that doesn't mean he can run. He can't, shouldn't, won't. The Lady – Mom? – told him not to. Besides, he likes the cracks in this office. They have stories to tell.
Just like he has stories to tell.
“Phil?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles.
“Good. My name is Dr. Stenson, but you can call me Miss Sophia. Alright? Good. So, Phil...”
My name's not Phil. Stop calling me that.
“... I hear from your family that you've – ”
Gone insane?
“ – been hearing voices lately?”
Like it's the most natural thing in the world.
He shrugs. Keep it neutral, keep it vague. Eyes on the ground. They can't torture it out of him. Can't. Never will. He'd keep their secrets to the end of the world.
“Would you mind telling me a bit about them?” the doctor asks.
“They won't shut up,” he replies immediately, and collapses into laughter like it's the funniest thing in the world. And it is. They haven't shut up for how many years? Ten. Give or take a few.
Unperturbed, the good doctor – no, she's not good until she proves herself, isn't that what Mav always says? – doctor nods and writes a bit on her clipboard. “I see.”
She says that exactly because she doesn't.
“What do they say to you?”
The boy ponders a bit. “Which one?”
“Whichever one you'd like to start with.”
“Well...” the boy trails off, tracing the scars on his wrist. Should he? Should he risk it – again? Because last time it worked so well... “There's Hadrian,” he started, hesitantly. Just – just throwing it out there. What she does with it is her problem.
“Hadrian?” Scribble, scribble. “And what's he like?”
“He's – a lot of things. He likes swords, but doesn't fight. That's just because his dad is... was… the king, and he was always getting into fights with his brothers until he accidentally hurt his sister in one of them. So he stopped. Um...” the boy pauses, gauging the doctor's reaction.
She looks up from her clipboard and smiles at him encouragingly. It’s so obvious it’s just a mask for her disbelief. “Go on,” she presses.
“He... he's exiled right now because of Rydian. Rydian's always – ”
“Rydian? Is that another one of your voices?”
“Um, no, he's the king's magician. He... doesn't talk to me. I wouldn't want him to.” The boy shuddered.
“Why not?”
“He’s… weird. He’s always doing weird stuff. Casting spells, making potions. That stuff. He spends all of his time in his dungeons. And he gives us a creepy feeling.”
The doctor’s good, as in well-trained. There’s only a flicker of the eyes when she hears the plural pronoun. “Okay. But he’s not one of your voices, so how do you know about him?”
“Hadrian told me,” the boy says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s been investigating Rydian for years.”
The doctor nods slowly. Maybe she isn’t sure she believes him. She probably doesn’t. But she hasn’t gotten out the phone yet, so that’s a point in his book already. “Okay. And what about your other voices?”
“There’s Solena. She’s kind of quiet, since she moved to a new school. And I think she likes me.” He wrinkles his forehead, just a little. “I don’t know why. And then there’s Chase, he lives on a spaceship called The Infinity. And…”
He stops. What is he doing?
“Phil?” the doctor prompts. “Is there something wrong?”
“You don’t believe me,” he states.
She looks taken aback. Unsure. Uncertain of what to say. “Well,” she says slowly. “I’ve never met them before.”
“No. But you didn’t know me before, and you believed I existed.”
“But I had proof of you,” she says as gently as possible. “I had reports, papers, pictures. I only have what you tell me for them.”
He stares at her, then grunts. “Whatever,” he says. “Believe me or not. I don’t care.” He doesn’t. He doesn’t care. Once, he did. Not anymore. He doesn’t care about this world anymore.
She puts the clipboard on lap. “I’m trying to help,” she tells him quietly. “That’s my job.”
“What if I don’t need help?” he snaps.
“Then just tell me like you’d tell anyone else,” she replies. “I’m not your psychiatrist right now. I’m just your friend.”
“I already have friends.”
“I believe you,” she says, so utterly serious that she shocks him into silence. “Would you mind letting me into that group of friends?”
He stares at her for a long time. She’s asking for his trust. She’s asking for his friendship. Why would he even consider…
But she’s the first one. The first one who cares. Does she really believe him? She might not – that’s most likely. She probably doesn’t. No one of this world does. But if she did –
“Okay,” he mutters. And shrugs like it isn’t a big deal. It isn’t, it isn’t.
“Good.” She smiles, but doesn’t pick up her clipboard again. “Alright. Now, who else’s in your head?”
Kicking off his shoes, he pulls up his legs onto the chair and folds them. Cross-legged is the position he’s most comfortable with, ever since Mahawa – that time. “I don’t really have voices,” he begins.
“No?”
“But they are my friends.”
“How so?”
His blank, solid black eyes bore into hers. “Do you… Have you ever daydreamed?”
She laughs. “Of course I have. A lot more when I was younger, and even more in college during my professors’ boring lectures, but yes, I have. Many people have.”
“Okay.” He pauses. Here it comes, here it comes. “Then will you believe me when I say I fall into my daydreams?”
She blinks. “Pardon me? Did you just say…”
“Yeah,” he affirms. “I fall into my daydreams. Sometimes I’ll just be sitting there and some kid with a Harry Potter book will go by, and I’ll think – ”
He stops abruptly.
“You’ll think wiz– ”
“Don’t say it!” he barks suddenly. “I told you, if I think – ” His expression was tormented, pained, stiff. For a long moment he remains frozen and blank; then finally he relaxes and sighs. “I told you,” he mutters. “If I think anything, I’ll start daydreaming. And if I daydream, I’ll fall into it.”
The doctor is pale and shocked. Her eyes are wide; he can just see the thoughts running around in her head: what do I do with this crazy kid? She’ll probably report him as a nutcase. Insane. He’s not insane. He’s never been and never will be, but people don’t believe him anyway. This is the truth. Sometimes the truth’s crazy, Mav says. And Mav’s usually right.
See what your blathering has done? A little voice sneers. You should have known better than to trust someone from this world.
“Oh,” she manages finally. Suddenly she looks reluctant.
He bites his lip. That’s probably the end of the game for them. “Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t know why he’s apologizing. It’s not like he said anything bad. It’s not like he cursed or raved or hit her. But sorry just feels like the right word to say right now.
It’s hard when you sound crazy even to your own ears.
“It’s okay,” she reassures him, her composure back. “I was just a bit surprised. Go on.”
But he doesn’t now, because he sees clearly that she wasn’t just a bit surprised. So he keeps his mouth shut.
“Go ahead. I believe you.”
“No you don’t,” he spits out, almost startled with the amount of disgust in his own voice. “No one does.”
“I can’t help you if you won’t talk.”
“Maybe I don’t need help.”
“Phil. If you’re falling into your daydreams, you do need help.”
She says it so utterly seriously that he looks up, wide eyed and disbelieving. And sees the truth in her eyes.
Truth? Truth? Why does she believe him? She should be laughing, or scowling, or shaking her head at him. No one believes him. No one.
“Why...” the boy whispers in disbelief. “Why do you believe me?”
She smiles and crosses her arms. “I used to do it myself, pretty often. When I was a child.”
“What?”
She shrugs. “Had a big imagination. I’m guessing you have the same. I used to black out for days in my early teens – had to take weeks of sick days and even repeated a year.” She chuckled. “Those were hard times. But then they stopped.”
“How?” he rasps out, hope daring to kindle in his chest. If only. If only if only if only. He doesn’t know what to think – could he dare hope?
“It’s torture, isn’t it? To have to control every thought you think. To shut down your brain so you won’t zap to another world. It’s hard.”
“What do I do?”
“It’s easy.” She reaches opens a drawer in her desk, pulls something rectangular and black out, and places it in his hands.
It’s a notebook.
“Write it down,” she tells him. “That helped me more than any drug I took, any of the stuff doctors forced down my throat. You’ve got to write it down. It’s the only way to get them out.”
He doesn’t speak a word, but gratitude is there. Clutching the notebook, he nods at her as she tells him that the session’s over, and see you next week. Doesn’t look in her eyes, because maybe she’ll see his eyes and the shine in them. Doesn’t talk to the Lady as she escorts him out of the offices, doesn’t speak when she asks him how thing with the psychiatrist went.
Breathe. Don’t think. Don’t think at all.
As they walk out to the car, he keeps his eyes on the ground, still clutching the notebook she gave him. Keeps his eyes on the cracks. So reliable, cracks. Don’t lie, don’t tell people there is nothing wrong with you.
Cracks.
Cracks in the asphalt, cracks in the sidewalk, cracks in the boy. Cracks where reality ends and dragons begin. Spaceships shuttle colonies. Giant machines run the entire world. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.
“Mom,” he says. “Do you have a pen?”
-
Once upon a time. Onceuponatime. There was..
“Whatcha writing?” Hadrian asks.
The boy looks down in his hands. Oh. The notebook followed him here. Can’t think why. Maybe it’s because he was writing in it when he…?
“Dunno,” he says. “Something. I don’t know yet.”
“Hm,” Hadrian says, flopping down onto the grass and stretching out like a cat. The boy sits down next to him. Cross legged as always. “How did your psy – what did you call it?”
“Psychiatrist session,” the boy reminds him.
“Right, that. How did it go?”
Somehow, when Hadrian asks him, it isn’t as hard to answer as the Lady’s questioning. “It went okay,” the boy said. “She gave me this book.”
“Ooh. A lady. Was she hot?”
The boy shrugs.
Hadrian sighs. “Theila is being a pest right now,” he says amiably. “Can’t buy the dresses she wants, can’t go out with her friends, can’t stand to be stuck in the palace – ” He sat up suddenly. “Can’t she understand that we’re in a war right now?”
“She’s only sixteen,” the boy says. “She probably can’t.”
“You’re only fourteen,” Hadrian points out.
“No I’m not.” The boy stares at him. “I’m not ‘only fourteen.’”
Hadrian lets out a breath. “No,” he says. “I suppose you’re not.”
-
Onceuponatime onceuponatime the world fell into chaos and disorder. Only a percentage of mankind escaped with their lives, braving the perils of galactic travel and establishing rudimentary colonies on Mars.
Once upon a time, there was a –
“Spaceship,” the boy mutters, letting the ball of his pen drag over the paper deliberately.
“What did you say?” Mav swivels his captain’s chair around and gives him a look.
The boy shrugs.
Exasperated, Mav swivels back to his controls. “I’ve told you a hundred times,” he says. “It’s not a spaceship. It’s a – ”
“Highly esteemed transport for use in high space,” the boy murmurs, letting a ghost of a smile drift over his face. “I know.”
Mav snorts. “Sure you do. Everyone does. Never mind that I hear that word every day from some snot-nosed newbie who thinks he can call this beauty of a transport a spaceship. That’s the word they teach toddlers for the letter ‘S’!” He swears loudly. The boy lifts his pen from the paper. Maybe he won’t put that in.
It’s comforting in Mav’s cockpit. Usually there are other pilots in the chamber, but late in the night – like now – it’s just them. Mav’s a bit like a father to him – well, maybe more like an uncle or godfather. For all his rough edges, Mav likes to spoil him. In general, the boy likes the people of this world. Mostly they’re pilots or crewmen. They were intimidating strangers before, but now they’re like family. This world’s one of the ones he most likes.
“Mav,” the boy says after staring at the blank pages of his notebook for a while. He hasn’t gotten further than spaceship. “Do you have any stories to tell?”
It’s a redundant question. Mav grins slowly. “Who do you think you’re asking? This is the captain of The Infinity speaking, Phil. Now which one do you want to hear?”
-
Once upon a time, there was a castle forgotten by many, even by the most avid of historians. It had no name, no ruler, and no rules to govern its domain. No human ever entered and came out alive without its permission. Those who had been unfortunate to stumble upon its gates disappeared as soon as they crept through the castle’s barriers. One day, a boy, brave and blessed with the protection of nature itself, ventured into the castle and its maze of corridors and rooms in search for the rumored treasure, the Ruby Penchant of Angolin…
“Hullo, Phil!” Tyr exclaims, looking down at him curiously.
The boy looks up at the other, pausing his scribbling. He felt something cold and familiar against his back a while ago. It’s just the stone walls of this castle. The two of them are in a long, dark hall that smells damp and moldy. Tyr’s dressed for the weather, but Phil isn’t.
Shivering a bit, the boy pulls into himself and balls up.
“Hang on a bit, I think I’ve got a blanket.” Tyr rummages in his light backpack and pulls out a thick, wool blanket that looks too big to fit in the backpack. He tosses it to him. “’ere you go.”
“Thanks,” the boy mumbles.
“So what’s in the book?” Tyr asks, sitting down next to him.
The boy shrugs and hands Tyr the notebook.
After reading a bit, Tyr leans back and smiles. “Nice!” he says, and passes it back. “Here. I’ll narrate and you can write it down. That way you won’t miss out on the stuff I’ve been doing while you weren’t here.”
Phil nods and places his pen on the paper.
A/N: This is my experiment to combine messy narrative and fantastical worlds in one story. Except I haven't finished it. I hope this wasn't too messy to read. o.o;;
Showing posts with label to be continued. Show all posts
Showing posts with label to be continued. Show all posts
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Heroism has gone Commercial
Just an excerpt. Will probably continue this... I like the idea. It's from a prompt at the NaNo boards, from the famous Adopt-a-Plot thread:
"Heroism has gone commercial. There's really no such thing as real heroes any more. They're all just paid to go around and stop evil villains and save the princess and so on. But, to do this, they need villains to endanger the population. As such, the NVA (National Villain's Association) was formed..." (RoboPhantom)
-
“The name's Nix,” Nix said, and stuck out his hand.
“I'm Klaus,” the other replied, taking it. “Why are you named that?”
“Don’t blame the kid, Klaus. My mom liked Star Trek, decided to name her kid something spacey. Besides, half of the time people don’t even use my name.”
“Why not?”
“You’re pretty curious for a kid,” Nix said, giving him a wry look. “It’s because the other half of the time they call me ‘The Black Deceiver.’”
“‘The Black Deceiver’? The villain? Really?” Klaus frowned. “Didn’t he die two weeks ago?”
Nix snorted. “Die? Is our acting really that good? Sorry to burst your bubble, Klaus, but no one dies. No one dies. The last time someone even came close to dying was in ‘76, when some stagehand had one too many glasses of beer and fell into the lava pit reserved for Sugo the Swindler. And he just got away with juice in his lungs.”
“Juice?”
“Mmhm. Juice, the stuff you see in the lava scenes. Some mix of ten different chemicals and red food dye. Stings the eyes like crazy and tastes like puke, but otherwise harmless.”
Klaus looked suspicious.
“So, if villains don’t die... so what happens?”
“Only the names die. The people get recycled. ‘The Black Deceiver’ is my last name and my most favorite, since I got to land a good one on Heero the Magnificent’s nose. They still use computer effects to touch his nose up. But I’ve also been ‘Felix the Unlucky,’ ‘Smitty the Bandit,’ Don of ‘The Demon Duo,’ and a couple of no-name villains you probably wouldn’t know.”
Klaus’s brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t have thought ‘The Black Deceiver’ would be the same person as ‘Felix the Unlucky’...”
“Start thinking it, kid,” Nix said, ruffling the kid’s hair. “There are a whole bunch of villains out there that are actually played by the same group of people. Just don’t tell anyone, yeah? I lose my job if they find I let the word out. Can’t have the public’s delusions crash yet. This hero-villain stuff stinks, but it makes good money.”
“Who gets paid more, heroes or villains?”
Nix snorted. “What, you want to be one? Heroes, of course. But that’s only because the NHA gets paid billions because of all the action figures they sell. The NVA, not as much--I mean, who wants to buy figures of Sugo the Swindler?”
Klaus grimaced.
“Yeah, exactly. Bit ridiculous if you ask me. A villain does more work than three heroes combined, mostly since they keep dying. Heroes just have to stand there and look pretty. But who do the people like?”
“The heroes.”
“That’s right, kid. The heroes.” Nix paused. “At least, until now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s going to change. And I’m going to be the one to do it.”
"Heroism has gone commercial. There's really no such thing as real heroes any more. They're all just paid to go around and stop evil villains and save the princess and so on. But, to do this, they need villains to endanger the population. As such, the NVA (National Villain's Association) was formed..." (RoboPhantom)
-
“The name's Nix,” Nix said, and stuck out his hand.
“I'm Klaus,” the other replied, taking it. “Why are you named that?”
“Don’t blame the kid, Klaus. My mom liked Star Trek, decided to name her kid something spacey. Besides, half of the time people don’t even use my name.”
“Why not?”
“You’re pretty curious for a kid,” Nix said, giving him a wry look. “It’s because the other half of the time they call me ‘The Black Deceiver.’”
“‘The Black Deceiver’? The villain? Really?” Klaus frowned. “Didn’t he die two weeks ago?”
Nix snorted. “Die? Is our acting really that good? Sorry to burst your bubble, Klaus, but no one dies. No one dies. The last time someone even came close to dying was in ‘76, when some stagehand had one too many glasses of beer and fell into the lava pit reserved for Sugo the Swindler. And he just got away with juice in his lungs.”
“Juice?”
“Mmhm. Juice, the stuff you see in the lava scenes. Some mix of ten different chemicals and red food dye. Stings the eyes like crazy and tastes like puke, but otherwise harmless.”
Klaus looked suspicious.
“So, if villains don’t die... so what happens?”
“Only the names die. The people get recycled. ‘The Black Deceiver’ is my last name and my most favorite, since I got to land a good one on Heero the Magnificent’s nose. They still use computer effects to touch his nose up. But I’ve also been ‘Felix the Unlucky,’ ‘Smitty the Bandit,’ Don of ‘The Demon Duo,’ and a couple of no-name villains you probably wouldn’t know.”
Klaus’s brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t have thought ‘The Black Deceiver’ would be the same person as ‘Felix the Unlucky’...”
“Start thinking it, kid,” Nix said, ruffling the kid’s hair. “There are a whole bunch of villains out there that are actually played by the same group of people. Just don’t tell anyone, yeah? I lose my job if they find I let the word out. Can’t have the public’s delusions crash yet. This hero-villain stuff stinks, but it makes good money.”
“Who gets paid more, heroes or villains?”
Nix snorted. “What, you want to be one? Heroes, of course. But that’s only because the NHA gets paid billions because of all the action figures they sell. The NVA, not as much--I mean, who wants to buy figures of Sugo the Swindler?”
Klaus grimaced.
“Yeah, exactly. Bit ridiculous if you ask me. A villain does more work than three heroes combined, mostly since they keep dying. Heroes just have to stand there and look pretty. But who do the people like?”
“The heroes.”
“That’s right, kid. The heroes.” Nix paused. “At least, until now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s going to change. And I’m going to be the one to do it.”
Monday, May 17, 2010
Sprinkler
One bright Saturday morning, George noticed an oddly shaped sprinkler in his front yard. He didn't remember installing one, and didn't think anyone else would have. Who would install a sprinkler on artificial grass? It wasn't April Fool's or his birthday. And his nieces and nephews hadn't visited for ages.
He stared at it, munching Cheerios thoughtfully, and stood up to get a clearer look. Now, isn't that an odd one? Never seen a sprinkler with that big of a nozzle. Promotion, maybe? No, they wouldn't install without his permission, and Dorothy was on a retreat. And besides, she wouldn't pull a prank like this. Maybe some rotten teenagers? Yeah, he'd go down to the Kenny's later and see what the twins'd been doing lately. Should probably check it out. After breakfast--definitely suspicious.
One more glance--hang on a moment. George froze in mid-glance, mouth, paused, open to receive another milk-soggy bite. Hang a moment, his eyes were perfectly fine, weren't they? Right, right. Not delusional, certainly, but maybe he was just tired--yeah, that's all. Just tired. There's now way it could have--
It shivered.
It was too quick, and he wasn't sure he'd seen it. But--hey! Did it again. Kinda like a wet cat shaking off water.
He went outside in his bathrobe and bare feet, nearing until less than five feet away from the... thing. How'd he think it was a sprinkler, anyway? Didn't look anything like one, now that he could see it up close. Looked like one of those ancient pyramid things, with the boxes stacked on top of each other? Yeah, like a little pyramid. Except green.
He nudged it with his big toe--just poked it slightly--and hey! It shivered again! And dug further into the grass. Sank till there was one layer less. And it looked at him--two little beady eyes he hadn't noticed before blinked at him. Some sort of animal? What animal was that?
"Well--" George said. But he couldn't think of anything to say after that. Should he call animal control? Or maybe the yard guy? Or the zoo? Or maybe the alien society (there was one, right?)? Couldn't make up his mind. Maybe he'd just try all of them. He ran inside, grabbed his cell phone, and ran back out, to make sure the little guy didn't get away. And waitasec! He'd forgotten the phone book! He returned back inside for the phone book and came back out, huffing. Man, he really had to get back into shape.
He called animal control first, since it was 'a' and in the beginning.
"Hello, this is Muller Animal Control. If you would like to learn about our prices and rates, press 1. If you would like to leave your address and phone number, press 2. If you would like to talk to an employee, press 3."
George pressed 3. Waited while the cheesy classical music played.
"Hello, how may I help you?"
"I've got a... thing." Words failed him now, of all times.
"Pardon?"
"A thing. I've got this thing. It's ah..."
"Is it a snake?"
"No, no, no, it's not a snake. It's kind of like a box."
"A box, sir?"
"Well, actually, like..."
Heck, the little thing kept staring at him! How was he supposed to focus?
"Like what, sir?"
"Like a couple of boxes."
"... Excuse me?"
"It's like one of those ancient things--you know, the pyramids, except like boxes stacked on each other. And it's green."
"I'm... sorry, sir, I don't know of any animal that looks like that."
"Neither do I."
"Are you sure it's an animal?"
"Yeah--well, no, but it's got eyes."
"Maybe you should call somewhere else, sir."
"Maybe I should."
"Well, thank you, sir."
Click.
That wasn't helpful. Couldn't animal control do its job around here? Maybe he should call the zoo. Tell them that there's a weird new animal on his front lawn. Yeah, that would do it. That would take care of the problem. He flipped open the phonebook to zoo--that's 'm' for 'Mulberry Park Zoo'--and dialed the number.
The thing made a weird noise, like the cross between a squeal and a snort. He imagined that you might get the same sound if you tickled a hedgehog on the stomach.
"One thing for certain," George said. "I can't keep you."
It just looked at him.
A/N: Was that weird or what? I DON'T KNOW WHAT SPURNED THIS.
He stared at it, munching Cheerios thoughtfully, and stood up to get a clearer look. Now, isn't that an odd one? Never seen a sprinkler with that big of a nozzle. Promotion, maybe? No, they wouldn't install without his permission, and Dorothy was on a retreat. And besides, she wouldn't pull a prank like this. Maybe some rotten teenagers? Yeah, he'd go down to the Kenny's later and see what the twins'd been doing lately. Should probably check it out. After breakfast--definitely suspicious.
One more glance--hang on a moment. George froze in mid-glance, mouth, paused, open to receive another milk-soggy bite. Hang a moment, his eyes were perfectly fine, weren't they? Right, right. Not delusional, certainly, but maybe he was just tired--yeah, that's all. Just tired. There's now way it could have--
It shivered.
It was too quick, and he wasn't sure he'd seen it. But--hey! Did it again. Kinda like a wet cat shaking off water.
He went outside in his bathrobe and bare feet, nearing until less than five feet away from the... thing. How'd he think it was a sprinkler, anyway? Didn't look anything like one, now that he could see it up close. Looked like one of those ancient pyramid things, with the boxes stacked on top of each other? Yeah, like a little pyramid. Except green.
He nudged it with his big toe--just poked it slightly--and hey! It shivered again! And dug further into the grass. Sank till there was one layer less. And it looked at him--two little beady eyes he hadn't noticed before blinked at him. Some sort of animal? What animal was that?
"Well--" George said. But he couldn't think of anything to say after that. Should he call animal control? Or maybe the yard guy? Or the zoo? Or maybe the alien society (there was one, right?)? Couldn't make up his mind. Maybe he'd just try all of them. He ran inside, grabbed his cell phone, and ran back out, to make sure the little guy didn't get away. And waitasec! He'd forgotten the phone book! He returned back inside for the phone book and came back out, huffing. Man, he really had to get back into shape.
He called animal control first, since it was 'a' and in the beginning.
"Hello, this is Muller Animal Control. If you would like to learn about our prices and rates, press 1. If you would like to leave your address and phone number, press 2. If you would like to talk to an employee, press 3."
George pressed 3. Waited while the cheesy classical music played.
"Hello, how may I help you?"
"I've got a... thing." Words failed him now, of all times.
"Pardon?"
"A thing. I've got this thing. It's ah..."
"Is it a snake?"
"No, no, no, it's not a snake. It's kind of like a box."
"A box, sir?"
"Well, actually, like..."
Heck, the little thing kept staring at him! How was he supposed to focus?
"Like what, sir?"
"Like a couple of boxes."
"... Excuse me?"
"It's like one of those ancient things--you know, the pyramids, except like boxes stacked on each other. And it's green."
"I'm... sorry, sir, I don't know of any animal that looks like that."
"Neither do I."
"Are you sure it's an animal?"
"Yeah--well, no, but it's got eyes."
"Maybe you should call somewhere else, sir."
"Maybe I should."
"Well, thank you, sir."
Click.
That wasn't helpful. Couldn't animal control do its job around here? Maybe he should call the zoo. Tell them that there's a weird new animal on his front lawn. Yeah, that would do it. That would take care of the problem. He flipped open the phonebook to zoo--that's 'm' for 'Mulberry Park Zoo'--and dialed the number.
The thing made a weird noise, like the cross between a squeal and a snort. He imagined that you might get the same sound if you tickled a hedgehog on the stomach.
"One thing for certain," George said. "I can't keep you."
It just looked at him.
A/N: Was that weird or what? I DON'T KNOW WHAT SPURNED THIS.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
NaNoWriMo excerpt
Synopsis:
Oh no! All of the cliches in Happily Ever After Land are disappearing! This means witches are suddenly beautiful and good, frogs are no longer princes, and happily ever afters... are disappearing. Thyan Braveheart, a cliched prince who has diminished into a bumbling, awkward average teenager, is on a mission: to return everything back into the cliched way they were and most importantly, get himself back. But as he continues, he wonders if returning everything back to cliches is what is actually best...
*Note: A fair amount of tongue-in-cheek.
In a wonderful kingdom in a far away land called Happily Ever After Land, there lived a wise and gentle (and not to mention handsome!) king called King Lyon Everheart, who was the sole ruler of this land. He was a king beloved by all, and his decrees were just and impeccably accurate. Although his wife had died a few years into his kingship, he had a daughter, Meridian, who he loved more than life itself, and lavished upon her great gifts and presents to be envied by all of the kingdom’s ladies. She was as good looking as he, and together they were a father daughter pair which ruled the kingdom with dignity, justice, and gentleness.
In another kingdom a little further away from the kingdom far away, there lived a prince whose name was Thyan Braveheart. He was as brave as his name suggests, and had already surpassed all of history’s greatest heroes; for although heroes here and there might have saved one or two princesses, he had already saved his fiftieth princess, with many more to come, because he was still a young man with years in front of him. He was fearless and smart and had little problem defeating the greatest of giants and dragons and monsters. With his faithful sidekick Gil, he conquered the east and west and all of the land surrounding his father’s kingdom, building and expanding its domain.
Occasionally, Thyan visited King Lyon and his daughter Meridian in between his conquests because his father and Lyon had been great friends and classmates in the Hero’s Academy, the central and necessary school for every aspiring hero. As Thyan and Meridian were of the same age and mind, they grew closer and closer until there was very little doubt that they would marry some day.
Here in the world of bright summer days and easily obtainable success, they lived happily—but not happily ever after, because their story was far from over.
-
“Help me! Oh, someone, help me!” The cries of the captive princess echoed harshly against the dungeon walls, and the huge dragon cackled at its prisoner’s screams.
“It’s useless,” it told her. “No one can save you now!”
The dragon opened up its mouth, wider and wider, to engulf the hysterical, kicking, struggling princess. “Princesses always taste the best,” it cackled.
“Stop right there!”
“Who—what?” The dragon stopped in the midst of its eating and turned. “No way!” it gasped. “No one should have been able to get into my cave! I made sure of it!”
Thyan grinned and tossed his ever shiny blond hair, like a model. “No dragon can prevent me, Thyan Braveheart, from rescuing a princess in peril! I will stop you!” He rushed towards the dragon, sword unsheathed, and gave a hearty battle cry worthy of a Grammy. “I’ve come to save the day!”
The dragon breathed in deeply, preparing to incinerate the prince into ashes, and the princess screamed. “My prince!”
“Gil, now!” Thyan ordered, and the huge, muscular Gil came down from a hole in the roof of the cave and landed on the dragon’s head.
“I got ‘im, sir!” Gil shouted, but it was an early triumph, and one hastily made.
The dragon tossed and turned, trying to fling the boy off, and finally managed to fling Gil straight across the cave—but in the meantime, Thyan, with his great sword, The Hero’s Sword, hacked and struck at the fearsome dragon’s neck.
“Oh, why did I ever steal a princess?” moaned the dragon as it collapsed onto the ground and loosened its grip on the princess.
“My hero!” exclaimed the princess, who flew upon Thyan and hugged him and kissed him gratefully.
“Yur sure the best hero in all the land! No one can stand up t’ya!” exclaimed Gil, rubbing his own wounds and staring at his master admiringly.
Thyan laughed, and the three exited the cave. All in another day’s work for Prince Thyan Braveheart, the hero of Happily Ever After Land.
- - - -
Gil heard his lord’s scream from down the hall, where his bedroom was conveniently positioned in the case of an emergency. This could hardly count as an emergency, but neither did getting Thyan a cup of tea in the night, giving him a backrub in the morning, or getting a plate of mid night snacks for him.
“What now?” Gil muttered, and rolled over in his bed. He listened to the scream for a couple of more moments, suffering in agony over the sound. But he realized that Thyan was not the one to solve his own problems and, giving a disgusted sigh, he rose and walked down the hall to his master’s room.
“Sir?” he asked, pushing open the door.
His first thought was Woah, Thyan sure got a makeover. “Hey, Thyan!”
Thyan stopped screaming and turned to him, nearly in tears. “Gil!” he cried, and launched himself at the giant, who caught him awkwardly and tried to push him off himself.
“Uh, yeah?”
“Look at me!” Thyan gestured to his face.
Gil looked at his face. It was strangely normal, he thought. Thyan’s blond hair stuck up in every direction unlike the perfectly brushed it always was. His face was pale and wait a minute, was there—acne on his face? His eyes were still their sapphire blue, but not as bright as Gil remembered—but maybe that was because of the redness from all of the crying.
“You look ridiculous,” Gil said finally, and meant it.
“I know!” Thyan cried. “My face is pathetic! It’s un—un handsome! It’s horrid! I hate it! This is horrible!”
“You know, it’s your own face,” Gil said.
Thyan burst out crying.
Feeling that he was with a complete idiot, Gil gave a weak attempt at consolation. “It’s... it’s not that bad.”
“Yes it is!”
“No it isn’t. Just look at yourself!”
“I already did!”
Gil steered Thyan over to his huge mirror and they stared at the two figures there: a tall, dark haired boy and a somewhat lanky blond boy with swollen eyes and tears.
Gil turned Thyan back. “Nevermind.”
“You see? You see?” Thyan asked hysterically. “I’m—I’m ugly!” After hearing it from his own mouth and the realization of it all, Thyan wordlessly collapsed onto his bed with an arm over his eyes. “Just leave me. I’ll die in my bed, ugly and pathetic.”
Gil stared at him. “You are pathetic,” he observed. “But I can’t have you like that forever. Come on,” he said, and pulled at his master’s arm.
A muffled refusal came from the bedcovers.
“Come on. You’re being childish.”
“I don’t care.”
Groaning, Gil dragged Thyan off of his bed and onto the floor. “Get up.”
“No!”
“Okay, you’re getting up.” Hoisting Thyan up, Gil set his master none too carefully onto a nearby chair.
Thyan was still hiding his tear stained face. “Don’t look at me!”
“I’m not,” Gil said, looking at him.
Looking up slightly, Thyan glared accusingly at him. “You are.”
Gil looked away. “Am not.”
“You were.”
“I was not.”
Thyan stared at the mirror and his frail, shivering form. “I hate it!” he cried, and threw a nearby hand mirror at the mirror.
It hit the mirror and bounced off harmlessly.
“What is wrong with me?” He stared at his hands.
“Come on, Thyan,” Gil said, and pulled him to his feet, which thankfully, he stayed on.
“What are you doing? H-hey, stop! Let go of me, you jerk!” Thyan tried to retrieve his arm from Gil’s steel like grip, but it was in vain.
“I don’t know what’s happening, but let’s take you to someone who does know.”
Thyan hesitated. “Kirina the fairy?” he asked.
“Yep.”
He stared at Gil, and then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Hey! How come you’re suddenly thinking?” Thyan demanded.
“I don’t know, I just did,” Gil said, “and I can’t believe I didn’t start sooner.”
Oh no! All of the cliches in Happily Ever After Land are disappearing! This means witches are suddenly beautiful and good, frogs are no longer princes, and happily ever afters... are disappearing. Thyan Braveheart, a cliched prince who has diminished into a bumbling, awkward average teenager, is on a mission: to return everything back into the cliched way they were and most importantly, get himself back. But as he continues, he wonders if returning everything back to cliches is what is actually best...
*Note: A fair amount of tongue-in-cheek.
In a wonderful kingdom in a far away land called Happily Ever After Land, there lived a wise and gentle (and not to mention handsome!) king called King Lyon Everheart, who was the sole ruler of this land. He was a king beloved by all, and his decrees were just and impeccably accurate. Although his wife had died a few years into his kingship, he had a daughter, Meridian, who he loved more than life itself, and lavished upon her great gifts and presents to be envied by all of the kingdom’s ladies. She was as good looking as he, and together they were a father daughter pair which ruled the kingdom with dignity, justice, and gentleness.
In another kingdom a little further away from the kingdom far away, there lived a prince whose name was Thyan Braveheart. He was as brave as his name suggests, and had already surpassed all of history’s greatest heroes; for although heroes here and there might have saved one or two princesses, he had already saved his fiftieth princess, with many more to come, because he was still a young man with years in front of him. He was fearless and smart and had little problem defeating the greatest of giants and dragons and monsters. With his faithful sidekick Gil, he conquered the east and west and all of the land surrounding his father’s kingdom, building and expanding its domain.
Occasionally, Thyan visited King Lyon and his daughter Meridian in between his conquests because his father and Lyon had been great friends and classmates in the Hero’s Academy, the central and necessary school for every aspiring hero. As Thyan and Meridian were of the same age and mind, they grew closer and closer until there was very little doubt that they would marry some day.
Here in the world of bright summer days and easily obtainable success, they lived happily—but not happily ever after, because their story was far from over.
-
“Help me! Oh, someone, help me!” The cries of the captive princess echoed harshly against the dungeon walls, and the huge dragon cackled at its prisoner’s screams.
“It’s useless,” it told her. “No one can save you now!”
The dragon opened up its mouth, wider and wider, to engulf the hysterical, kicking, struggling princess. “Princesses always taste the best,” it cackled.
“Stop right there!”
“Who—what?” The dragon stopped in the midst of its eating and turned. “No way!” it gasped. “No one should have been able to get into my cave! I made sure of it!”
Thyan grinned and tossed his ever shiny blond hair, like a model. “No dragon can prevent me, Thyan Braveheart, from rescuing a princess in peril! I will stop you!” He rushed towards the dragon, sword unsheathed, and gave a hearty battle cry worthy of a Grammy. “I’ve come to save the day!”
The dragon breathed in deeply, preparing to incinerate the prince into ashes, and the princess screamed. “My prince!”
“Gil, now!” Thyan ordered, and the huge, muscular Gil came down from a hole in the roof of the cave and landed on the dragon’s head.
“I got ‘im, sir!” Gil shouted, but it was an early triumph, and one hastily made.
The dragon tossed and turned, trying to fling the boy off, and finally managed to fling Gil straight across the cave—but in the meantime, Thyan, with his great sword, The Hero’s Sword, hacked and struck at the fearsome dragon’s neck.
“Oh, why did I ever steal a princess?” moaned the dragon as it collapsed onto the ground and loosened its grip on the princess.
“My hero!” exclaimed the princess, who flew upon Thyan and hugged him and kissed him gratefully.
“Yur sure the best hero in all the land! No one can stand up t’ya!” exclaimed Gil, rubbing his own wounds and staring at his master admiringly.
Thyan laughed, and the three exited the cave. All in another day’s work for Prince Thyan Braveheart, the hero of Happily Ever After Land.
- - - -
Gil heard his lord’s scream from down the hall, where his bedroom was conveniently positioned in the case of an emergency. This could hardly count as an emergency, but neither did getting Thyan a cup of tea in the night, giving him a backrub in the morning, or getting a plate of mid night snacks for him.
“What now?” Gil muttered, and rolled over in his bed. He listened to the scream for a couple of more moments, suffering in agony over the sound. But he realized that Thyan was not the one to solve his own problems and, giving a disgusted sigh, he rose and walked down the hall to his master’s room.
“Sir?” he asked, pushing open the door.
His first thought was Woah, Thyan sure got a makeover. “Hey, Thyan!”
Thyan stopped screaming and turned to him, nearly in tears. “Gil!” he cried, and launched himself at the giant, who caught him awkwardly and tried to push him off himself.
“Uh, yeah?”
“Look at me!” Thyan gestured to his face.
Gil looked at his face. It was strangely normal, he thought. Thyan’s blond hair stuck up in every direction unlike the perfectly brushed it always was. His face was pale and wait a minute, was there—acne on his face? His eyes were still their sapphire blue, but not as bright as Gil remembered—but maybe that was because of the redness from all of the crying.
“You look ridiculous,” Gil said finally, and meant it.
“I know!” Thyan cried. “My face is pathetic! It’s un—un handsome! It’s horrid! I hate it! This is horrible!”
“You know, it’s your own face,” Gil said.
Thyan burst out crying.
Feeling that he was with a complete idiot, Gil gave a weak attempt at consolation. “It’s... it’s not that bad.”
“Yes it is!”
“No it isn’t. Just look at yourself!”
“I already did!”
Gil steered Thyan over to his huge mirror and they stared at the two figures there: a tall, dark haired boy and a somewhat lanky blond boy with swollen eyes and tears.
Gil turned Thyan back. “Nevermind.”
“You see? You see?” Thyan asked hysterically. “I’m—I’m ugly!” After hearing it from his own mouth and the realization of it all, Thyan wordlessly collapsed onto his bed with an arm over his eyes. “Just leave me. I’ll die in my bed, ugly and pathetic.”
Gil stared at him. “You are pathetic,” he observed. “But I can’t have you like that forever. Come on,” he said, and pulled at his master’s arm.
A muffled refusal came from the bedcovers.
“Come on. You’re being childish.”
“I don’t care.”
Groaning, Gil dragged Thyan off of his bed and onto the floor. “Get up.”
“No!”
“Okay, you’re getting up.” Hoisting Thyan up, Gil set his master none too carefully onto a nearby chair.
Thyan was still hiding his tear stained face. “Don’t look at me!”
“I’m not,” Gil said, looking at him.
Looking up slightly, Thyan glared accusingly at him. “You are.”
Gil looked away. “Am not.”
“You were.”
“I was not.”
Thyan stared at the mirror and his frail, shivering form. “I hate it!” he cried, and threw a nearby hand mirror at the mirror.
It hit the mirror and bounced off harmlessly.
“What is wrong with me?” He stared at his hands.
“Come on, Thyan,” Gil said, and pulled him to his feet, which thankfully, he stayed on.
“What are you doing? H-hey, stop! Let go of me, you jerk!” Thyan tried to retrieve his arm from Gil’s steel like grip, but it was in vain.
“I don’t know what’s happening, but let’s take you to someone who does know.”
Thyan hesitated. “Kirina the fairy?” he asked.
“Yep.”
He stared at Gil, and then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Hey! How come you’re suddenly thinking?” Thyan demanded.
“I don’t know, I just did,” Gil said, “and I can’t believe I didn’t start sooner.”
Friday, October 9, 2009
Coincidences... not really
Challenge: Failing at a ridiculously simple task.
Extra points: This turns out to be a positive thing.
Word count: >1000 words
---
"So how have you been, Mack?"
I turned. It was George, a man with a simplistic view and enough stupidity to not notice my annoyed expression. He had always been the Curly of our Stooge trio back in highschool. I hadn't seen him since, and frankly I'd forgotten about his entire existence until he addressed me.
"What? Fine," I said. "Just dandy these days."
"That's good." Apparently he still couldn't read the sarcasm in my voice. "Still in the business?"
"What business?"
"You know," George said, making an odd gesture I did not recognize. At my blank face, he was shocked. "You aren't in it?"
"In what? I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh. I was sure I'd heard... well, nevermind."
George was not making any sense, and I dared not to be near him any longer. I of all people knew how clingy and irritating he could be.
"Let's walk outside," he suggested. "You're turning right, aren't you? I"ll go with you to Market Street."
I stared at him. "How did you know that?"
"Eh, no reason," he said, but there was an odd gleam in his eyes.
We reached the door. I pushed against it, expecting it to swing open easily, but nothing gave way. I rattled the handle, but it seemed securely locked.
"Must be locked," George said, not sounding dismayed at all.
I risked looking back at him and saw an expression I'd never seen before on his face. It was some sort of demented amusement; eyes squinted and laughing, smile wide and bland. It made me furious.
I grabbed his necktie. "What'd you do?"
"Me?" asked George innocently. "Nothing at all. Absolutely nothing. You saw me; I've been standing by you this whole time. And I was also in the conference you were in just now."
"You - no you weren't. I would have remembered."
"I was right behind you, Mack," George said quietly with his same huge, stretched smile.
It was creeping me out.
"Shut up," I said, and rattled the door's handle again as hard as I could. I was so close that the handle might have broken out of the door itself, but it was useless. The door remained closed.
I looked at George. He had the same infuriating expression on, as if I was his plaything or something. "George, you - "
A lady screamed.
I turned back to the door and stared as a massive balcony came crashing down right in front of the door, literally three feet away from my face. Pieces of concrete flew towards the door and little spiderwebs cracked all over the glass. Dust flew everywhere, clouding our entire view of the outside.
At that moment, the door swung open.
I stared at George, who shrugged. "Divine intervention, perhaps?" he said, passing me and walking outside as if nothing had happened.
I felt a chill up my back and it wasn't from the cold.
Extra points: This turns out to be a positive thing.
Word count: >1000 words
---
"So how have you been, Mack?"
I turned. It was George, a man with a simplistic view and enough stupidity to not notice my annoyed expression. He had always been the Curly of our Stooge trio back in highschool. I hadn't seen him since, and frankly I'd forgotten about his entire existence until he addressed me.
"What? Fine," I said. "Just dandy these days."
"That's good." Apparently he still couldn't read the sarcasm in my voice. "Still in the business?"
"What business?"
"You know," George said, making an odd gesture I did not recognize. At my blank face, he was shocked. "You aren't in it?"
"In what? I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh. I was sure I'd heard... well, nevermind."
George was not making any sense, and I dared not to be near him any longer. I of all people knew how clingy and irritating he could be.
"Let's walk outside," he suggested. "You're turning right, aren't you? I"ll go with you to Market Street."
I stared at him. "How did you know that?"
"Eh, no reason," he said, but there was an odd gleam in his eyes.
We reached the door. I pushed against it, expecting it to swing open easily, but nothing gave way. I rattled the handle, but it seemed securely locked.
"Must be locked," George said, not sounding dismayed at all.
I risked looking back at him and saw an expression I'd never seen before on his face. It was some sort of demented amusement; eyes squinted and laughing, smile wide and bland. It made me furious.
I grabbed his necktie. "What'd you do?"
"Me?" asked George innocently. "Nothing at all. Absolutely nothing. You saw me; I've been standing by you this whole time. And I was also in the conference you were in just now."
"You - no you weren't. I would have remembered."
"I was right behind you, Mack," George said quietly with his same huge, stretched smile.
It was creeping me out.
"Shut up," I said, and rattled the door's handle again as hard as I could. I was so close that the handle might have broken out of the door itself, but it was useless. The door remained closed.
I looked at George. He had the same infuriating expression on, as if I was his plaything or something. "George, you - "
A lady screamed.
I turned back to the door and stared as a massive balcony came crashing down right in front of the door, literally three feet away from my face. Pieces of concrete flew towards the door and little spiderwebs cracked all over the glass. Dust flew everywhere, clouding our entire view of the outside.
At that moment, the door swung open.
I stared at George, who shrugged. "Divine intervention, perhaps?" he said, passing me and walking outside as if nothing had happened.
I felt a chill up my back and it wasn't from the cold.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Repercussions
A/N: Inspired by Raksab's plot bunny in the Adopt a Plot thread at the NaNoWriMo forums.
For Neil Jackson’s third grade introduction, he said, “Hello, my name’s Edgar Moncherant, my family consists of ex-Mafia members, and I have three snakes and a zebra for pets. Nice to meet you.” For his fourth grade introduction, he said, “Hello, my name’s Alexander Christy, I’m a model and singer when I’m not studying and I’m secretly on the list for the next Grammy award.” And for his fifth grade introduction, he said, “Yo, I’m Black Jack Red, and I come from the alleys of New York City. The part you don’t even wanna know about.”
No one knew quite what to do with him. They told him lying was bad, of course, but that had no effect on him. His lying habits seemed to have no basis—he simply found lying fun. His family, a perfectly normal family, tried punishing him for lies, but that seemed to tell him only one thing: it’s only bad if you get caught. So Neil started disguising his lies with the truth, and soon even his own family couldn’t tell what was what.
He had few friends; no one liked the idea of a friend who wasn’t completely trustworthy. He had sworn a total of seven different times to seven different people that he would never tell a lie again, and proved all seven promises to be lies. And he kept lying through his teeth with a smile on his face, all the way to the beginning of his sophomore year.
Neil started the year off by responding to other students’ friendly introductions, “Hey, my name’s Neil Jackson, and oh—is that a spider in your hair?” There hadn’t been, but it had created a lot of panic and resentment for Neil in the classroom.
The next school year was going to be just like previous years, he thought. Full of gullible and uninteresting classmates.
Neil had no idea that this next school year would be stranger than any lie he could ever tell.
******
“Neil. Are you listening to me?”
Neil snapped his head up so quickly the teacher flinched. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be listening?”
“I just asked you a question.”
“Oh,” said Neil. “I was trying to figure out the best answer to your question.”
The teacher stared at him expectantly. “Okay,” she said. “Tell us your answer.”
He paused. “Yes.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes,” Neil said slowly, his mind racing back to their class lesson. What had they talked about again? “That is the answer to my question.”
“Yes,” repeated the teacher, giving him a strange look. “Elizabeth the First became queen in yes.”
A few classmates snickered.
“Yes. November 17, 1588.” said Neil.
Her lips quirked in an effort to conceal her smile. “Well, Mr. Jackson,” the teacher said, turning away from him. “I hope you’ll pay attention in the future.”
“Yes… ma’am.”
As the teacher resumed her lecture, he sat back and let his mind drift. History was easy enough if you were good at memorization. Neil glanced at his watch and sighed. Twenty-five more minutes to go.
***
After the class ended, Grant, a bleached blonde with thick glasses and enough personality to fill a shot glass, caught up with Neil as he was walking out the door.
“That was a close one, Neil!” said Grant. He was also arguably the only friend Neil had.
“I know!” Neil said. “If I hadn’t known the date I would’ve been in big trouble. Miss Brady has seriously been out for me ever since school started. Actually, I bet all of them are out for me,” he joked.
“Well, your lies certainly don’t help. You’ve got to admit that.”
“Didn’t you see back there? My lies saved me!”
“Sure,” Grant scoffed. “Although I bet ‘What was the question again?’ would have worked just fine, too.”
Rolling his eyes, Neil shrugged. “You know that’s not my style.”
“I do believe you have no style,” announced Grant.
“The best style is no style,” Neil said philosophically, shaking his head and trying to fight a smile that threatened to break out.
Grant laughed. “But seriously, Neil,” he said. “I really think you need to cut the lying. Or at least some of it. You’re gonna land in hot water someday.”
“As if I weren’t already?"
A/N: Definitely needs some work, but that's the beginning. Hope you liked that.
For Neil Jackson’s third grade introduction, he said, “Hello, my name’s Edgar Moncherant, my family consists of ex-Mafia members, and I have three snakes and a zebra for pets. Nice to meet you.” For his fourth grade introduction, he said, “Hello, my name’s Alexander Christy, I’m a model and singer when I’m not studying and I’m secretly on the list for the next Grammy award.” And for his fifth grade introduction, he said, “Yo, I’m Black Jack Red, and I come from the alleys of New York City. The part you don’t even wanna know about.”
No one knew quite what to do with him. They told him lying was bad, of course, but that had no effect on him. His lying habits seemed to have no basis—he simply found lying fun. His family, a perfectly normal family, tried punishing him for lies, but that seemed to tell him only one thing: it’s only bad if you get caught. So Neil started disguising his lies with the truth, and soon even his own family couldn’t tell what was what.
He had few friends; no one liked the idea of a friend who wasn’t completely trustworthy. He had sworn a total of seven different times to seven different people that he would never tell a lie again, and proved all seven promises to be lies. And he kept lying through his teeth with a smile on his face, all the way to the beginning of his sophomore year.
Neil started the year off by responding to other students’ friendly introductions, “Hey, my name’s Neil Jackson, and oh—is that a spider in your hair?” There hadn’t been, but it had created a lot of panic and resentment for Neil in the classroom.
The next school year was going to be just like previous years, he thought. Full of gullible and uninteresting classmates.
Neil had no idea that this next school year would be stranger than any lie he could ever tell.
******
“Neil. Are you listening to me?”
Neil snapped his head up so quickly the teacher flinched. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be listening?”
“I just asked you a question.”
“Oh,” said Neil. “I was trying to figure out the best answer to your question.”
The teacher stared at him expectantly. “Okay,” she said. “Tell us your answer.”
He paused. “Yes.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes,” Neil said slowly, his mind racing back to their class lesson. What had they talked about again? “That is the answer to my question.”
“Yes,” repeated the teacher, giving him a strange look. “Elizabeth the First became queen in yes.”
A few classmates snickered.
“Yes. November 17, 1588.” said Neil.
Her lips quirked in an effort to conceal her smile. “Well, Mr. Jackson,” the teacher said, turning away from him. “I hope you’ll pay attention in the future.”
“Yes… ma’am.”
As the teacher resumed her lecture, he sat back and let his mind drift. History was easy enough if you were good at memorization. Neil glanced at his watch and sighed. Twenty-five more minutes to go.
***
After the class ended, Grant, a bleached blonde with thick glasses and enough personality to fill a shot glass, caught up with Neil as he was walking out the door.
“That was a close one, Neil!” said Grant. He was also arguably the only friend Neil had.
“I know!” Neil said. “If I hadn’t known the date I would’ve been in big trouble. Miss Brady has seriously been out for me ever since school started. Actually, I bet all of them are out for me,” he joked.
“Well, your lies certainly don’t help. You’ve got to admit that.”
“Didn’t you see back there? My lies saved me!”
“Sure,” Grant scoffed. “Although I bet ‘What was the question again?’ would have worked just fine, too.”
Rolling his eyes, Neil shrugged. “You know that’s not my style.”
“I do believe you have no style,” announced Grant.
“The best style is no style,” Neil said philosophically, shaking his head and trying to fight a smile that threatened to break out.
Grant laughed. “But seriously, Neil,” he said. “I really think you need to cut the lying. Or at least some of it. You’re gonna land in hot water someday.”
“As if I weren’t already?"
A/N: Definitely needs some work, but that's the beginning. Hope you liked that.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Lilies
“Look at them,” Tanthos muttered. “Aren’t they despicable, Arktos? Promising love and money one day, and running away the next? Trying to stay young forever? And love—what is this love? It’s hardly love at all!” His gold-tinted eyes gleamed in disdain and amusement.
“Indeed,” agreed Arktos.
“Humans,” Tantos snorted.
“Mm. Which is why I fail to see the reason of your dragging us down here when we could have gone to Xysensia for vacation. Earth is such a vile place.”
“Why, I wanted to laugh at the little Earthlings, of course. Xysensia’s environment is beautiful—it is, after all, the tropical center of the universe—but it’s so terribly dull. Here, my dear little brother, one may watch all the soap opera drama you want!”
“Unlike some undignified creatures, I’m not amused by watching Earthlings fight amongst themselves.”
Tanthos laughed. “You always were the serious one. Perhaps you are suited to Xysensia: you’re both so dull.”
“And I suppose you fit Earth: you’re both irrational, idiotic, and smelly."
A mock frown spread on Tanthos's face. "Why, how rude! I thought you were supposed to respect your elders!"
Arktos's golden eyes stared at the people below their third-floor apartment window. "Look at that man! See him?"
"See what? I was busy weeping over the fact that my little brother no longer respects me."
Arktos ignored the hint. "He's an imbecile, like they all are."
"Why? What did he do?"
"He's trying to convince the clerk he paid for those items."
"Really?"
"Here's how it works: if the man can argue heatedly and semi-reasonably enough, the clerk will let him keep it, under the thought 'It's only a small item and I don't want to deal with it.' Then, the man thinks 'Since I got away with that, I'll try something larger next time.' And it escalates."
"Won't the owner have something to do with it?"
"It's a cheap stall. That clerk is probably the owner. Oh--see? Just like I said."
"True, true. They should just arrest the man. Humans are far too merciful. That's why they have so many troubles!" Tanthos laughed. "They are an amusing race."
Arktos stretched and flexed his arm. "And of all infuriating matters, we have to look like the idiots as well."
"Well, can't let the humans see our true forms. They're so overreactive that we'd be all over the--what is it?--the Internet, and we'd never be able to return again."
"I'd like that," muttered Arktos. Tanthos patted his shoulder comfortingly, but he didn't mean it and both of them knew it.
A/N: Yet another beginning of a story I may do. The story's plot is not what it looks like here, but I don't have anything else written yet so here is the first part.
“Indeed,” agreed Arktos.
“Humans,” Tantos snorted.
“Mm. Which is why I fail to see the reason of your dragging us down here when we could have gone to Xysensia for vacation. Earth is such a vile place.”
“Why, I wanted to laugh at the little Earthlings, of course. Xysensia’s environment is beautiful—it is, after all, the tropical center of the universe—but it’s so terribly dull. Here, my dear little brother, one may watch all the soap opera drama you want!”
“Unlike some undignified creatures, I’m not amused by watching Earthlings fight amongst themselves.”
Tanthos laughed. “You always were the serious one. Perhaps you are suited to Xysensia: you’re both so dull.”
“And I suppose you fit Earth: you’re both irrational, idiotic, and smelly."
A mock frown spread on Tanthos's face. "Why, how rude! I thought you were supposed to respect your elders!"
Arktos's golden eyes stared at the people below their third-floor apartment window. "Look at that man! See him?"
"See what? I was busy weeping over the fact that my little brother no longer respects me."
Arktos ignored the hint. "He's an imbecile, like they all are."
"Why? What did he do?"
"He's trying to convince the clerk he paid for those items."
"Really?"
"Here's how it works: if the man can argue heatedly and semi-reasonably enough, the clerk will let him keep it, under the thought 'It's only a small item and I don't want to deal with it.' Then, the man thinks 'Since I got away with that, I'll try something larger next time.' And it escalates."
"Won't the owner have something to do with it?"
"It's a cheap stall. That clerk is probably the owner. Oh--see? Just like I said."
"True, true. They should just arrest the man. Humans are far too merciful. That's why they have so many troubles!" Tanthos laughed. "They are an amusing race."
Arktos stretched and flexed his arm. "And of all infuriating matters, we have to look like the idiots as well."
"Well, can't let the humans see our true forms. They're so overreactive that we'd be all over the--what is it?--the Internet, and we'd never be able to return again."
"I'd like that," muttered Arktos. Tanthos patted his shoulder comfortingly, but he didn't mean it and both of them knew it.
A/N: Yet another beginning of a story I may do. The story's plot is not what it looks like here, but I don't have anything else written yet so here is the first part.
Monday, May 18, 2009
CTRL-ALT-DELETE
The last thing Jordan expected when he sat down and turned on his computer was a black screen with the words "PRESS CTRL-ALT-DELETE TO BEGIN."
"Mom!" he hollered. "What did you do to my computer?"
"I didn't touch your computer! If it's broken, it's your fault!"
Frowning, he stared at the screen, and after a moment pressed ctrl-alt-delete. The computer whirred violently and instead of arriving at the security options screen, more words popped up.
"'Thank you'?" Jordan read skeptically. "What?"
Those words disappeared as quickly as they'd come and were replaced by more. OPERATION 672 PROCESSING... read the screen, with a bar that was halfway full. Jordan stared at his computer and watched as the bar filled up.
OPERATION 672 INITIALIZING
The screen blanked out for a moment and then suddenly burst into a million lights. Blinking furiously, Jordan realized that it was a data graph. A very brightly colored data graph. Various dots were scattered over the plot as a general line led from (0,0) to a rough upwards direction. There was no indication of what the graph was about. Neither of the axises were labeled, and there were no words anywhere.
"This is crazy," he muttered, and clicked on a random graph point.
The point where he clicked on expanded, but not into an enlarged part of the graph. Instead, it expanded into the picture of a city--much like what you'd see on Google Earth or some 3D map.
Staring at the screen, Jordan whispered bewilderedly, "What... what is this?"
He tapped the Esc button and the view expanded out to the full view again. "This has to be a joke," muttered Jordan, and clicked on other dots. Like before, other cities popped up in high-tech 3D vision. "Wow..."
"Mom!" he shouted. "Are you sure you didn't do anything?"
"I'm sure!"
"And no one came into my room?"
"Jordan, your father is out and Sandy is at Phoebe's! No one came into your room!"
Jordan stared at his computer. "Then who...?"
Suddenly, one of the dots on the graph (if he read correctly, the one at (1, 3) and the first dot on the line) began blinking in red. He clicked on it, and the screen expanded to a city.
Jordan's heart stopped. "That's my city," he whispered.
---
Is this the start of a new story? I need to edit it, though...
"Mom!" he hollered. "What did you do to my computer?"
"I didn't touch your computer! If it's broken, it's your fault!"
Frowning, he stared at the screen, and after a moment pressed ctrl-alt-delete. The computer whirred violently and instead of arriving at the security options screen, more words popped up.
"'Thank you'?" Jordan read skeptically. "What?"
Those words disappeared as quickly as they'd come and were replaced by more. OPERATION 672 PROCESSING... read the screen, with a bar that was halfway full. Jordan stared at his computer and watched as the bar filled up.
OPERATION 672 INITIALIZING
The screen blanked out for a moment and then suddenly burst into a million lights. Blinking furiously, Jordan realized that it was a data graph. A very brightly colored data graph. Various dots were scattered over the plot as a general line led from (0,0) to a rough upwards direction. There was no indication of what the graph was about. Neither of the axises were labeled, and there were no words anywhere.
"This is crazy," he muttered, and clicked on a random graph point.
The point where he clicked on expanded, but not into an enlarged part of the graph. Instead, it expanded into the picture of a city--much like what you'd see on Google Earth or some 3D map.
Staring at the screen, Jordan whispered bewilderedly, "What... what is this?"
He tapped the Esc button and the view expanded out to the full view again. "This has to be a joke," muttered Jordan, and clicked on other dots. Like before, other cities popped up in high-tech 3D vision. "Wow..."
"Mom!" he shouted. "Are you sure you didn't do anything?"
"I'm sure!"
"And no one came into my room?"
"Jordan, your father is out and Sandy is at Phoebe's! No one came into your room!"
Jordan stared at his computer. "Then who...?"
Suddenly, one of the dots on the graph (if he read correctly, the one at (1, 3) and the first dot on the line) began blinking in red. He clicked on it, and the screen expanded to a city.
Jordan's heart stopped. "That's my city," he whispered.
---
Is this the start of a new story? I need to edit it, though...
Friday, February 27, 2009
PREVIEW: my NaNoWriYe
"The king's son has been detained again."
"Again? Poor man. His son is absolutely wild."
"I feel for him. How will Ruben ever become the heir? I do believe Lord Danaro's son, Logan, is the better choice!"
"I daresay he is. He is smart, courteous, generous, and humble - and much more well-behaved than his friend is!"
"Is it not strange how good friends they are? I doubt I've ever seen one without the other!"
"Yes, I heard from Ruben's old nanny, a friend of mine, that he and Logan used to get together every day since they met each other. They may still get together every day now, but I doubt that. Logan has become busier ever since he started advising others."
"He is so kind. And additionally, I do hear that the king has appointed Logan as his advisor. What an honor!"
"Yes, it is amazing! He is the youngest advisor in the history of Alvaria!"
"Oh, I want my daughter Celestia to marry him so much, but it is impossible, seeing as he is so desperately in love with Princess Maya!"
"Ahh, but is she not the sweetest girl you have ever laid eyes on?"
"She is! I do not think I have seen a girl more upright and sweet than she is!"
"But poor boy. She must not think much of him."
"Does she really? She has never shown affection towards anyone except her father and brother, but Ruben especially."
"They are so close, how sweet. If my daughters were like that, my house would be ever so much more peaceful..."
"Well, if Logan ever does marry her, he may very well become king. And what a fine king he shall make!"
"That he shall. He is so humble, like King Elderen. He came into the village yesterday morning."
"Yes, we greeted him on his way back. Did you talk with him?"
"Yes, but very briefly. I do think he is the gentlest boy I've ever met. My dear Allison fell in love with him at first words!"
"Oh, the poor thing. She'll never have him."
"Indeed."
"Well, Logan and Princess Maya may be the happiest couple in the world, if Logan can get us out of this depression, which I think he may be able to do."
"I'm just glad my husband has a steady income and a hefty inheritance. We don't have to worry as others do, but we're still cutting back."
"We must sell our house before the weekend."
"Oh! How dreadful!"
"I agree. It is a horrible fate... I can only imagine what will become of us, unless King Elderen or Logan can get us out of it..."
"Indeed..."
The prologue to my NaNoWriYe (National Novel Writing Year). Preview. :)
"Again? Poor man. His son is absolutely wild."
"I feel for him. How will Ruben ever become the heir? I do believe Lord Danaro's son, Logan, is the better choice!"
"I daresay he is. He is smart, courteous, generous, and humble - and much more well-behaved than his friend is!"
"Is it not strange how good friends they are? I doubt I've ever seen one without the other!"
"Yes, I heard from Ruben's old nanny, a friend of mine, that he and Logan used to get together every day since they met each other. They may still get together every day now, but I doubt that. Logan has become busier ever since he started advising others."
"He is so kind. And additionally, I do hear that the king has appointed Logan as his advisor. What an honor!"
"Yes, it is amazing! He is the youngest advisor in the history of Alvaria!"
"Oh, I want my daughter Celestia to marry him so much, but it is impossible, seeing as he is so desperately in love with Princess Maya!"
"Ahh, but is she not the sweetest girl you have ever laid eyes on?"
"She is! I do not think I have seen a girl more upright and sweet than she is!"
"But poor boy. She must not think much of him."
"Does she really? She has never shown affection towards anyone except her father and brother, but Ruben especially."
"They are so close, how sweet. If my daughters were like that, my house would be ever so much more peaceful..."
"Well, if Logan ever does marry her, he may very well become king. And what a fine king he shall make!"
"That he shall. He is so humble, like King Elderen. He came into the village yesterday morning."
"Yes, we greeted him on his way back. Did you talk with him?"
"Yes, but very briefly. I do think he is the gentlest boy I've ever met. My dear Allison fell in love with him at first words!"
"Oh, the poor thing. She'll never have him."
"Indeed."
"Well, Logan and Princess Maya may be the happiest couple in the world, if Logan can get us out of this depression, which I think he may be able to do."
"I'm just glad my husband has a steady income and a hefty inheritance. We don't have to worry as others do, but we're still cutting back."
"We must sell our house before the weekend."
"Oh! How dreadful!"
"I agree. It is a horrible fate... I can only imagine what will become of us, unless King Elderen or Logan can get us out of it..."
"Indeed..."
The prologue to my NaNoWriYe (National Novel Writing Year). Preview. :)
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