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)

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“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.”

Here comes NaNo 2010...

Yeah. Still trying to decide what I'm going to do. :P School has bogged me down, but I'm willing to undertake the challenge again, even if that means more late-night sessions of writing and coffee. Lots of coffee. And tea and cookies. Yum.

I haven't decided for sure yet, but I think I want to do an anthology of short stories, most of them based off of the NaNo plots I've collected here and there. Of course, all of the plot givers get their short stories :)

Well, it's just an idea. I'm still not completely sure I don't want to do a novel.

What are you all doing for NaNo, if you are doing it? (And if you aren't, why not? :D http://www.nanowrimo.org)

Did a meme/survey thing... wanna give it a try?

1. Introduce yourself?

Hi, I'm insanity. I mean, Misamiera. At least, that's my pseudonym, my code name for my writing exploits. I'd like to think I'm old enough to be an adult, but much of what I do is childish. I'm not an adult yet physically, which is fine by me since it's probably not that fun, anyway. (But then again, I've never been one.) I'd like to one day travel around the world and eat real Chinese food from China and real Swiss chocolate from Switzerland. I'd also like to actually finish a novel one day, too. One of these days.

2. Describe Madness

Madness? What's there to be mad about? Madness is acting any way you want in your own little world, regardless of social standards; madness is letting your mind run free with ideas.

3. Describe Insanity

It's madness, only to the extent that people can't even follow what you're thinking anymore.

4. Describe the difference between Insanity and Madness

Like I said: insanity is a brand of madness that's gone so far that people can't even begin to understand you anymore.

5. Do any of these descriptions apply to yourself? Why, or why not?

Well... that's a hard question. Aren't both of those opinions? The sane man says to the another, "You're insane." And yet, the "insane" person thinks that he is sane, and the other man is insane.

I don't think I am; I much prefer staying down here in earth.

6. Tell me about your all-time favorite Fantasy book.

I have so many favorites, but I'll choose Lord of the Rings. It's not a classic for no reason. Tokien's imagination has not led to just a book but an entire world which any fan can venture into. He's done so much work with Middle Earth. I love venturing into the world and imagining my own scenarios.

It also helps that there are three fantastic movies, too. *grin*

7. Give me names for characters, ones you havent used yet. 2 for a boy, 2 for a girl.

(This includes First and Last names.)

Karr Ashwood and Quint Netherfield for male names. Anmerlyn and Alix for the girls. Don't know why I made last names for the males and not for the females, but somehow I can't just say "Karr" anymore. I have to say "Karr Ashwood"...

8. Your all time favorite song, and why?

I've got so many favorites the list could run ten pages, but one of them I'd have to say "Set the World on Fire" by Britt Nicole, which is a Christian song (and I'm Christian). It's mainly because of the lyrics, which remind me of the Great Commission. Ah, but I could go on and on...

9. Your Rolemodel, and why?

Probably my mother. I know that's weird in an age where teenagers often complain about their parents and their restrictions, or are closer to their friends or others than their parents, but I've got a classical perspective. My family is really important to me; we stick together--even though friends may come and go, your family's always there. My mother has always been my best friend and guide throughout my life; I may sound biased, but she's a wonderful, caring person and a great Christian with her own experiences and such. Whenever I don't know what to do, I ask my mom. And she always gives me wisdom.

10. a sentence that you will always remember? (motto, life lessons...)

It changes as I read different things that remind me of different sentences, but at the moment, it's a quote: "If I had eight hours to chop down a tree, I'd spend six hours sharpening my axe." It's by Abraham Lincoln.

11. Give me a sentence or minimal 10 words, containing the word ‘breaking’

It's not the sound of the door creaking or the desperate wail of ghosts upstairs that frightens her; it's the sound of her own heart breaking...

12. Give me your opinion on radio stations. (atleast 5 sentences.)

I don't listen to the radio that often, but I do think that they're a great invention. It's nice to have music on in the background as I do my work or drive in the car. Of course, like anyone else I wish I could fast-forward the commercial breaks or skip annoying songs, but that's what mp3 players are for. Besides, when can you switch channels and listen to completely different music, check the traffic or weather report, or even political commentary in a split second? It's useful to have a radio, and I hope we'll never eliminate them in our quest for new technology.

13. Describe light to me (Atleast 100 words.)

Some have argued that light is an absence of darkness, but I don't agree with this. Light is a force in its own. Metaphorical or literal, it's something that breaks through darkness, giving insight or sight into something formerly unknown. Light generally carries a sense of positivity; it brightens and gives comfort. It’s taking the blindfold off your eyes and seeing everything you never saw, or couldn’t see, before. It’s discovering something new, realizing that your life isn’t (or is) as bad as you thought, or coming to the knowledge that you aren’t the only person in the world; it’s opening your eyes.

14. Describe music to me. (atleast 100 words)

Music is creativity; it is, and always will be, an expression of our character and who we are and so much more than that. When we play music, we sing a song so sweet no lyrics can ever fit; or when we play music, we rage and rant feelings speaking can never say. When we listen to music, it tells us something old, or something new; maybe a feeling of nostalgia or inspiration, sorrow or joy. The person composing music is no different from the writer or the artist, since they all express their feelings and thoughts in their arts. Life becomes dull and dreary without the creative arts. Music is important to humanity.

15. Describe pain to me. (atleast 200 words.)

Pain. It's what you feel when you're broken inside. When everyone's disappeared. When no one listens. When the world seems to fall to pieces, and all you can do is stare. When the shards of your heart dig deeper into your chest. When someone stabs you, and walks away. When life doesn't seem so important anymore. When everything is raging all around you, and you feel like you're the only one standing still--and for that, they say you're insane. When wretched feelings grip your heart with icy fingers and squeeze. When you're trying to keep breathing, keep filling your lungs with air, and you're up to your neck in water. When you trying to reach for the heavens and end up drowning in the sea instead.

Pain is what you feel when your best friend leaves you. Pain is what you feel when someone dies and a part of your heart is ripped out. Pain is what you feel when you’re too dry to cry, too tired to live, and too powerless to do anything. Pain is what you feel when it hurts, deep down, like a worm eating at the edge of a hole in your heart. Pain is what you feel when the birds won’t sing, the sun won’t shine, and the earth won’t move.

Not hard, is it? Prove yourself to me, they’re simple questions.

Good luck!

One-sentence menace

Yep, it's one of those stories again. Those stories that are just one sentence. The problem with those is that they often don't make sense, or they're too hard to read. I hope mine's neither...

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“My dear child,” she says, fluttering her eyes and grasping at his cloak; “my dear, dear child, surely it’s unthinkable that you would even imagine the rude, wretched, heartless possibility of leaving me here in this dark, unforgiving hell of a prison; after all, these past two weeks-—or two months, I can’t even remember since I’m so wrecked beyond reason; oh, and never mind what I think, since of course I’ve already forgiven you for putting me in here, dear-—these past two weeks have wreaked havoc on my poor nerves and my poor soul, and have nearly rendered me into a numb and helpless woman--you’d take me back to that wonderful, grand castle of yours, wouldn’t you, if I promised to not do anything to your dear little princess girl again and be a very good mother, my dear child… wait, wait, you’re--you’re not leaving me are you?--”

Inkpop!

For those who are interested in a writing community and writing contests (where you actually win money), here's a website to bookmark: http://inkpop.com. This writing community focuses on teens, like many other websites. But what's special about this website is that it is linked with the publishing company HarperCollins, which means that when they hold challenges or contests (which they do just about every few weeks), you get pretty awesome stuff. For example, the current big contest is on forbidden love--write about forbidden love, any type of it, any setting, place, you name it. You get entered into the contest, cool. You can vote on other submissions, too. But the prizes? Among iTunes and Amazon gift cards, there is a grand prize of a $2000 gift certificate to H&M.

Doesn't that make you drool?

The only thing I dislike about it is that, since Inkpop is for teens, the challenges it holds have popular themes from contemporary teen fiction. For example: forbidden love, the supernatural (and more love!), etc. So if you absolutely abhor writing those topics, well, you might not be able to do as many challenges as you'd like. But otherwise, you might want to try your hand at it and maybe get cool prizes, too.

So check it out if you have time! And if you do join, I'd love to connect with you (my user is Misamiera).

Aquamarine

“Uncle Reuben?”

“Hm? Nat, is that you?”

Natalie smiled. “It’s me, Uncle.”

An man, slouched on a broken couch, turned his weary face towards her. “Aren’t you early? Come closer, so I can see you.” She knelt down next to him, taking one of his thin hands in hers. “Why,” he whispered, smiling. “You look like you’ve brought the sun in with you.”

She laughed. “Uncle, it’s nice to see you, too.”

“So what is it this time? What story would you like to hear this time? That is, if you’re not getting too tired of this old man’s ramblings.”

“Uncle, you know I love hearing your stories!”

“I know, I know. So what do you want to hear this time?”

“Well, I love all of them, but do you have anything new?”

“New? New stories? Hmm... Nat, did I ever tell you my story?”

“Your story? No. What is your story?”

He smiled. “Well...”




“It all began when I was about... oh, eight or so. Did you know my family lived in the same house you and your mom live in now?”

“I know, Uncle. You told me last time.”

“Oh, yes. Well, we lived in that house, all seven of us, and I was the youngest. So when my brothers and sisters were in summer school, I went down and played in the sand, like what you used to do when you were little. All day long, I played, and then one day, I saw her.

“She was the prettiest little girl I ever saw, with hair and eyes the color of bright blue-green sea in summer. We were the only two people on the beach, so of course I invited her to come and play with me.”

“But didn’t you wonder who she was?”

“Well, when you’re a kid, you don’t wonder. I was just happy there was someone my age to play with. I think, deep down, I already knew she wasn’t normal, but I didn’t care.

“We made the grandest sandcastles, Nat. The first one we made had towers and fountains that ran and a little lake, right below a bridge to the castle gate. The next day, I came out to play and it was gone, just one big pile of sand, but she was still there. And we made a better one that day, and the day after.”

“Did you ever find out her name?”

His eyes misted over. “Yes, I knew her name.”

Natalie waited patiently for it, but he continued with his story.

“Summer school ended and fall began, and we still played every day. I started noticing that no one except me could see her, and I stopped telling people about her. When my siblings got out of summer school, they and their friends started playing down by the beach, too. But they couldn’t see her, and for the longest time I couldn’t figure out why. I’d talk to her, and they’d look at me weird, like I was mad or something. Pretty soon they stopped playing with me, telling others that I was this crazy kid talking to his imaginary friend, but I didn’t mind because I had her.

“Once school started for me, I couldn’t see her as much. Still, we played together as much as we could. She didn’t talk much at all, but I always knew what she wanted me to know, and I knew that she was happy. I was happy, too.

“Years went by, and we kept our friendship as strong as ever. Then, puberty hit.” A wry smile lit upon Reuben’s face. “Suddenly I couldn’t stop thinking that she was the prettiest girl in the whole world. It hurt our friendship for a little while, because I was so awkward around her. We even stopped playing together. But one day I went down to the shore and told her how I loved her, and asked her to be my girlfriend. And she said yes. I can almost remember the look on her face. She said she loved me, too. We were the happiest two in the world.” His eyes softened and a wistful expression crept over his face.

“And then?”

“And then I went to highschool.”

“Highschool?”

“In highschool, everything happened. My junior high was in this town, but my parents made me go to highschool in the city. There was so much drama, Nat. So-and-so broke up with his girlfriend, these two became a couple, they did this, they did that. There was so much going on. I don’t know how you deal with it. You’re in highschool, aren’t you?”

“I’m a sophomore.”

Reuben shook his head. “What a crazy time. Nothing hurt our relationship as much as highschool. I was so busy during the first semester that I barely saw her at all. One day I went to the sea and she wasn’t there, Nat. You can’t imagine my fear—I thought—I thought she had disappeared forever. I was so, so scared.

“I searched for her for hours, and when I finally found her, she was lying on the sand, looking pale and thin and scared. Do you know what she said? She said that we couldn’t work out. She loved me, but we—our relationship—couldn’t work out. It wouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“She said that we would die.”

“Die?”

“She wasn’t human. It was the first time that she said it so plainly. She was from the sea, she told me, from the depths of the sea that mankind didn’t even know existed. I was human, and she was inhuman, and she said if she loved me anymore they’d kill both of us. Part of her culture—something stupid like that. I don’t remember clearly. All I remember is that she asked me to understand—how could I, Nat? I was young, and so angry. I was really angry. And I said something that I’ve regretted for the rest of my life.

“In my anger, I accused her of being a liar. I told her, ‘Maybe you aren’t from the sea. Maybe you just don’t want to see me anymore.’ For the first time, I doubted her.”

“And then... what happened?”

He stared into the distance, reliving painful memories.

“She cried, Nat. The first time I had seen her cry and I was the one who did it. I was the one who hurt her, and I was too angry to even see that. She cried so hard, Nat.”

There was something glimmering in his eyes and something wet on her cheek.

“And then, then what happened?” Natalie asked so quietly, wanting and not wanting to hear more.

“There wasn’t much after that,” Reuben said harshly, and rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, muttering about too much sand around the house. “I only saw her from a distance after that, and started dating some girl from my highschool. Can’t even remember her name. I was so cruel, Nat. The more I thought about her just not wanting to see me, the more I believed it, and the angrier I got. I took that girl out to the beach one day, just to rub it in her face. And we kissed.

“I was watching her out of the corner of my eye as we did it. There was such a sad expression on her face, Nat. Like something had died inside of her. And at that moment, something died inside of me. Maybe I was regretting. But I looked at her, and—”

Reuben stopped.

“Uncle? Uncle, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I don’t have to know,” Natalie said quickly.

“No, Nat.” He looked at her. “If there’s anyone I’d want to know, it’s you. You’re this old man’s only friend.”

“You’re not that old.”

“Thank you, my dear.” He sighed and gripped the edge of his couch. “Now, I was saying...”

“You looked at her as you kissed that other girl.”

“Oh, yes.” His eyes misted over. “She disappeared, Nat. She disappeared the moment I gave my heart to another girl.”




They sat in silence. Outside, the wind pushed against the side of the shack and swept sand into the air and the sun; the waves sparkled and glittered like gold; and the sun shone on all. But inside the shack, it was dark, silent, and cool. It was only the two of them. The only two who knew his story.

“Why do you think she came?” Natalie asked.

Reuben looked away. “You know, when I was a child, I was looking for a companion. Maybe she was looking for someone, too.” Then he gripped her hand and stared into her eyes, hopeful. “Do you—do you think, if I had broken off the kiss and apologized to her, she would have maybe...”

“Maybe,” Natalie said quietly. “Maybe.”

He slumped back into his couch. “But I didn’t. I was a fool, a complete idiot. A childish act of spite threw everything away. And look where I am now! Just wasting away out here, wishing, hoping for another chance.” Shaking his head, he whispered, “What an utter fool...”

Natalie stroked his hand. “Maybe you will,” she said.

“Not a chance,” he said. “I’ve been looking for her for years and years and years and have never found a single sign. I can’t even remember her name—it disappeared when she did. It’s all over, Nat. It’s all over.”

“What about you? Will you leave?”

He smiled. “No, not me, Nat. I’ll be waiting here until the sea runs dry.” Then, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Here’s a lesson to you, Nat,” he said. “Don’t let anything come in between you and your love. She still wanted to be with me, even if we both died—I know that. Don’t mind those little differences—human, inhuman? We didn’t care. They were the ones who cared. And finally, Nat. Don’t run away. Don’t run away from love.”




Natalie exited the shack and was blasted by the wind, which whipped around her and pulled at her hair. Yet, there was a bittersweet feeling that accompanied it, swirling around and overwhelming her.

Something stung at her eyes and she wiped them away. “Too much sand,” she said, and laughed.

She spread her arms wide open and felt the sun and sea all around her.

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"Come on, Ty. Let’s do this.”

Teal eyes shift uncomfortably. “If you’re sure...”

“I’m sure.”

He sighs and pulls out a shell-like cell phone. “Hey, um. Dad? There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Her name’s Natalie.”

go for the gold

You want to win so badly it’s almost an obsession.

There you are, standing tall and proud as you shake your opponent’s hand. She can’t want it as much as you do. No one can want the win as much as you do. I can win, you think. I can beat her. This is it.

You have never tasted sweet victory before. Always, always there is this bitterness in your mouth, like after sucking on a lemon and letting the taste linger on your tongue. Always, always a lump in your throat that won’t go away and hot, blinding ash in your chest.
Sometimes, you think you might quit and just give it all up. Just let it go. Sometimes, there’s a crushing feeling beating inside you, like hands gripping and squeezing your heart. Fingernails rip— you want to cry. But you don’t, and you deny, deny, deny, and you continue playing.
And you ask yourself: is this perseverance or simply foolishness?

All around you, there are those who began after you and have now far, far surpassed your level. Beyond your reach, beyond the heavens and stars, beyond you.
And you? Where are you?

You toss the ball up. And in a blur, time slips through your fingers, like sand, white grains that you have lost forever.



In the end, she has won, and you have lost.
The bitter feeling swells up inside you again. You shake hands with her— but she is shaking your hand, you are not shaking hers, because your hand is as limp as a rag. You do not look at her. You do not look at her coach. You do not look at her family.
You walk far, far away. Away from her, her coach, and her family. Away from it all. Away from where it all ended badly.

You sit down and wonder what went wrong— no, what you did wrong. Because it was not her fault you lost, nor her coach’s, nor her family’s nor anyone else’s. It was your fault. All of it— your fault. From the first point to the last hit— your fault. It is not your body’s fault, though you try to convince yourself it was in bad condition while in play— that is your excuse for losing.
You know very well that it was in fine during the game.

The ash falls into your chest again and burns your heart. The smoke curls up and chokes your throat, burns it, and stops in your throat— and just sits there. You don’t speak. It hurts, it hurts, but not in the tangible ouch way; it hurts because your heart is cracked. Numb and bewildered, you think: I want to go home. I want to go home and go to sleep and wake up again and do it all over. I want to go home.

You wish with all your heart, but you know very well that no one gets second chances.

A/N: Semi-autobiographical. We all have those times in our lives where we think that everyone else is better than us.
Well, at least I do.