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Other Writing Efforts 
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Post Re: Other Writing Efforts
Here is another short bit by me. It is for one of My characters I am going to put in the Comic I am working on...

The Party


'The world looks very different from behind a Carnival mask. It is less harsh, less dark, and much more fun. It really helps if you want to see things differently....'

This was the though that was running through the head of the tall man as he slowly walked out on the balcony overlooking the ballroom. He had donned a mask for the first time in honor of this event. It was the biggest party of the year and his first time hosting it. His father had done only a mediocre job of it, Finding the running of the city-state more important. He was not his father though, The city state would still be there tomorrow, Right now this was the most important thing he had ever done.

He walked along the balcony, his boots clicking and his long buckled black coat swishing behind him, The high collar protecting his neck from the cool breeze. He reached up and straightened his wide brimmed hat on his head making sure the bright green feather was secured behind the turned up half of the brim. Once he was satisfied the headed for his destination quickly and pointedly.

Once he reached the largest balcony the turned toward the open floor thinking to himself.

'Well, Here it goes. This is my big moment. It is time to step out of the shadow of my father's legacy. I will be better than he was! I will show them, that I am not just another slacker like him. I will be the ruler this city needs! I will make this city great and it's people happy, it all starts tonight!'

He then took a deep breath and walked forward to the balcony railing. The music stopped and the crowd of hundreds of colorful, happy masquerade goers looked up at him. He was surprised at how calm he felt, how happy and excited. He cleared his throat and then began.

“Welcome one and all to the grandest party in the lands! Tis wonderful to have you all! I have spared no expense to ensure that This will be the most memorable and Enchanting evening That you will ever experience! I know that in recent years, this event has been neglected. Tis a travesty most grave and shall not continue. I am here to prove that I am not the man my father was! I am So very much Better! I am Octavio Olivairie Your Viecount, and now, With my blessing, Let the Party BEGIN!”

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Thu Mar 31, 2011 11:22 am
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Post Re: Other Writing Efforts
The Saving Letter
By Marshall Stevens

The hummer rumbled and rattled with the uneasiness of the road. Dust was being stirred up all around the transport. Most of the soldiers in the back were singing along with the rap that was blaring over the radio speakers. They were telling each other about their lives back home, sharing a smoke, and in general disarray, unsuited to be ready for battle. Some soldiers were nervous and sat at the ready for any disturbances in their trip. Sgt. Danton was among neither.
Danton sat in the back near the closed doors of the hummer. He had his automatic rifle held in between his knees with a strap. His helmet was off and dangling from the barrel of the gun. On his knee was a small pad of paper, crumpled and wrinkled. His hand worked hard to keep the lines he wrote straight. Nothing else distracted him as he wrote. He didn’t hear the blaring rap music, he didn’t hear his fellow comrades, and he didn’t even hear the roaring engine. Nothing mattered except the letter in Danton’s hand.
He was just jotting down the end of the letter when a loud noise came from the back of the vehicle. A small sharp noise, like the popping of a balloon, came from the back right wheel. A hiss was heard by all the soldiers in the transport. Up front the drivers turned down the blaring bass of the rap music. The hummer slowed down to a complete stop. Everyone was wondering what had happened, but even the newest recruit had an idea. Every soldier geared up quickly and expected an attack at any moment on their stationary vehicle.
The soldiers clambered out of the vehicle timidly and set up a defensive position. They were stopped in the middle of a craggy, dirt road with no cover from incoming fire. A sand storm whipped past the faces of the soldiers. The stirring winds and heated sands made it hard to see a few feet in front of the nervous Army Rangers. One of the soldiers that were certified in mechanics went to inspect the wheel.
As he looked down at the tire he saw a shiny shard of metal. He called to the drivers to roll forward a little bit so he could see exactly what it was. The drivers called back a signal of affirmation. As the tired rolled over the broken road the soldier suddenly realized what the metal fragment was. He started to yell back at the drivers to stop the vehicle, but too late. An IED that had been attached to sharp slices of metal had lodged itself deeply into the tire. When the tire rolled forward, the device triggered causing a massive explosion.
When the dust settled and the wind had blown the thick smoke away from the wreckage their beheld an unsettling sight. The soldiers that had been set in a defensive position had caught a great amount of shrapnel, along with the other soldiers. No one had survived the unfortunate encounter. On the outskirts of the defensive circle lay Danton’s body still clutching in his grasp the letter he had been writing. The wind raged and blew very violently, but nothing could shake the hold on Danton’s letter.
Maybe sometime later, a search and rescue team would find the place where Danton’s body lay. Maybe they’d pick up his letter and read what Danton had been focused on with all is heart minutes before his untimely death.



Dear Jesus,

A man once told me that the best thing you could do when you don’t know what to do is pray. I’ve never been one much for prayer, but given the situation I’m in, it couldn’t hurt to do a little prayin’. I’ve been here in this desert for a good while and nothing seems to make sense to me anymore. I don’t know who the natives are or what their intentions may be. They just seem to blend together. I can’t tell which ones are the bad ones and which are the good. I’m scared here, this place is unsafe. I can’t even go to the bathroom without a spotter.
It shouldn’t be this way, you know? People shouldn’t have to go off to foreign lands and die for such a clouded purpose. Why can’t we all just lay down our guns in the sand and agree to a little peace? I know that many of the locals, as well as the Rangers, would appreciate just a bit of down time.
You know, come to think of it Christmas is just around the corner, Jesus. I know it’s your birthday and all, but do you think you can just do us a little favor? Maybe you could drop in for a Christmas visit. I bet even gunny sarge would soften up a bit, but don’t tell him I said that.
Things back home aren’t that great either. Everyone’s worried sick about us. My wife, Elizabeth, and my daughter, Anny, just asked when I was getting leave of duty. I don’t know how to tell her that I’ll be missing Christmas again. I probably won’t make the next one either. I already missed three birthdays and Anny’s starting kindergarten soon.
I’d be a real nice thing to see you this Christmas, Jesus. And to get that ticket home would just give me such a leap of joy. I’d probably even dance in front of the whole mess hall. Now don’t go through all the trouble if you can’t make time. I’ll understand, and so will Elizabeth and Anny. I hope you have a happy birthday Jesus. I love you.

-Love,
Sgt. Sam J. Danton.

.

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Thu Mar 31, 2011 3:07 pm
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Post Re: Other Writing Efforts
The sniper had been in his nest for two days watching the line of defense. He had slept very little and had eaten as much as he could ration. He had a nice little bunk under the snow. The front line soldiers had dug him out a foxhole of which he could store all of his necessary supplies while building the other trenches further down the small hill. He had wooden sidings instilled in the sides of the foxhole and had even constructed a small roof. The falling snow landed on his makeshift house completely concealing him from the enemy. His munitions were stacked to his left with an open box of bullets at the ready. His food and radio were to his right; these were carefully placed so that the food would keep fresh in the frigid cold. He was wrapped in two woolen blankets that kept him from freezing while laying there. A white cloth was draped at the opening overlooking the battlefield. A parting was cut into the cloth so that only the barrel and his scope showed through the opening. He was very tired.
Though the frontlines were expecting an attack the generals could not say when the attack would happen based on the information given. He was placed there to be a surveyor and was to report any oddities in the tree lines ahead of the snow covered plains. Nothing had moved, not even the leaves of the trees which were heavily laden with snow. He had begun to think that the informant that had revealed the location of the attack had been misinformed himself.
The sniper was tired, cold, and extremely lonely. He had nothing to console his uncomfortable disposition except the snow flakes that feel all around him. He had wished that he could have been assigned to the front lines at the moment. Having seen that there were friendly games of cards and warm water boiling in the pots below through his scope he felt a bit jealous.
He scanned the forest line a few minutes more and then turned inward in his cramped working space to do something slightly more productive. He took out a small, nearly broken pen and a crumpled piece of paper. He wanted to write and letter to his wife back home, he would send it off later on, but his fingers were too cold to grip the pen correctly. He fumbled over the pen a few moments until he realized that she wouldn’t be able to read his hand writing if he wrote anything in this condition. He hadn’t much paper either. He decided he would wait for the next ample opportunity to write her a letter. Feeling very frustrated and an ever growing depression he returned to his post.
He gazed through his scope looking for something to inflict his aggression out on. He didn’t want to be away from home anymore. There were no changes in the trees opposite the field except that two of three of them had spilled their snow from their branches. He was growing very sleepy. The snow had a mesmerizing effect on him as he stared at it. It made everything seems so still, as if nothing could go wrong. He new the importance of his position and resolved to stay awake until the enemy arrived. He waited with his eyes peeled awake; bloodshot and tired.

END

I know it has absolutely no paragraphs but I wrote it two years ago, back when they wre unheard of to me. X3

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Thu Mar 31, 2011 4:08 pm
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Post AFLS Chapter 5
Every morning, I wake up. I take a quick shower, as I've been taught to do (warm water during the winter, cold water during the summer). I chew on a pair of dental tablets and sterilize my paws. I take a quick glance in the mirror (no more than two seconds), walk downstairs, and eat a quick breakfast. I'm able to access a computer from all of these locations. After that I log into my interactive, holographic desktop--which I like to call Center Station Command--and do the day's work. Most of the time I write articles for various sources, but when I'm needed on CNN an alarm would go off and I'd chime in from the comfort of my own home.

It was different on one particular morning on the 1st of February. When I look into the mirror, most of the time I only care about the time, temperature, traffic and crime. One morning I looked into the mirror and noticed something else. There was a message. I usually checked those downstairs, but this one had a rather peculiar title.

Subject: You've Been Invited To Attend Our Convention.

"That's different," I said. I clicked the message and pulled it from the mirror and into my paws. It read:

From: FuzzyCon

To: Henry

Dear Henry,

We have heard of your recent problems with depression on your blog and are here to help. We are proud to say that there is an entire community that is interested in people just like you. We are a community with a shared interest in human-like animals in the media, and are commonly known as "furries." The interest may have been around since the dawn of time, but we haven't organized ourselves into a community until 12 B.W. Many people in the community have been obsessed with your life since you started appearing in the media. You've made many of our wildest fantasies become a reality.

Our convention is located at the convention centre in Winnepeg, Manitoba. We would love to have you join us as our guest of honor and eagerly await your response.

Sincerely,

MariaKitsune, M.B.A.
FuzzyCon Chair

I had the suspicion that this was spam.

"Location," I said. Sure enough it was from outside of Winnipeg. This eased my suspicion. I hit close and then hit reply.

"Dear MariaKit," I said, "I would love to join your gathering, but request more information about these furries. I would also like more information about this particular convention, when it is, and where it is. I am very surprised that I haven't heard of these people before, and wondered why there wasn't such a thing until now. I'm also a fan of animals appearing in the media. It makes me feel less lonely, ya know? I'm glad to know that I'm not the only one. I'll have to tell my employers first, though, and find out what they think." I hit send and awaited a reply.

In what was no more than ten minutes later, I received the following message:

Subject: Con Dates and Schedule

From: FuzzyCon

To: Henry

Dear Henry,

Our convention takes place from July 1-8, an entire week. You can enter our coordinates into the car so that it will turn up at the hotel. You will receive your con badge in the mail. We have also sent a copy of the convention schedule. If something should turn up, let us know. :3

Sincerely,
MariaKitsune, M.B.A.
FuzzyCon Chair

When I told CNN that I wanted to go on vacation, they thought it would be a good idea for me to do an investigation and gather some video. I would be paid for my trip in full and given overtime. I accepted their offer.

I called a car, and it drove into the driveway of my house. I opened the hatch and placed all my luggage. I closed the hatch, opened the door, and got in. I entered the coordinates for the hotel, and decided to get some rest. The car then sped up into an endless river of cars. The river is always flowing and never stopping, never stopping until it finds where it needs to go. There are no more traffic jams, no more signs or stoplights, only endless kilometers of cars on endless kilometers of highways and roads, and just like a river, they went around foreign objects. They went around bikers, pedestrians, animals, and other cars, but never stopped, never stopped until they found where they needed to go.

When the car pulled into the hotel, it opened the door and the hatch. I placed all the luggage and camera equipment on a robotic dolly. It followed me as I went into the elevator and entered the room. My cameraman was already there. "Good to see you've actually arrived on time," I told him.

"You should have called me," said Hassan, "We could have shared the car and saved money and power."

"Sorry, I wasn't thinking clearly," I said, "I just wanted to get here as fast as I could."

"Then you should have taken the Tesla and paid for Express," he said. Unfortunately I did neither.

Maria gave me a call. "Henry," she said, "the opening ceremonies are in ten minutes. There's already a much bigger crowd than we were expecting. You'd better get down here."

"Okay, I'll be right down," I said.

"How should we go about doing this," asked Hassan.

"Record the ceremonies from a far angle at the highest resolution," I said, "and get someone to cut it as soon as you're done. Hopefully Roger's won't screw up on us when it's least convenient."

Somebody started laughing in the hallway.

I got in the elevator, went downstairs and took the shuttle to the convention centre. As I walked in, I felt completely different. I felt like I belonged somewhere and wasn't running in circles. That first step changed my life forever, for better or worse.

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Sun Apr 10, 2011 12:08 pm
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Post Re: Other Writing Efforts
Hmm, how come I've never put anything in this thread before, I wonder?

Oh, right, because I never write as much as I should.

Anyway, I've made a couple of things, if you want to check them out- they're all on my DA, so I'll link them.

This one is about the Powershower- the crazy machine that some see me use in the IRC. Donno what it is? Then read this simple, mindless short story! ... that's kinda long, actually.
A Very Odd Device: Sneaky's Cleaning Machine

This one is a steam of consciousness- read the description bellow for a little background on it.
Saturated Thoughts

This one... is just silly. And very short.
A 55 Word Story

This one... prepare for a wall of text. And take a deep breath if you read it out loud.
A Single Sentence

Hope you all enjoy!

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Fri Oct 28, 2011 7:35 pm
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Post Re: Other Writing Efforts
I really like that last one. That's basically how I have a tendency to type. :lol:

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Fri Oct 28, 2011 8:46 pm
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Post Re: Other Writing Efforts
Buckdida wrote:
This one... is just silly. And very short.
A 55 Word Story

I'm angry at you for this
mostly because you shattered my illusion that potatoes don't grow on vines.

A botanist I am not.

Blowtorches are the perfect weedkiller.

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Fri Oct 28, 2011 8:54 pm
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Post Re: Other Writing Efforts
There is a beautifal release in a punk rock show. That is why it attracts the dregs and misfits of society, those of us who feel we don't quite belong. For a couple hours a show is a writhing mass of catharsis. Because what we really hate has no face. The pit at a show gives us something to attack, the ability to release all the rage built up in us. There is no pain, no thought, just that release. We don't have to think, we don't need to worrry about the future the past or the present. For a few glorious hours nothing matters but enjoying to music and striking back at a world that was never meant for us by destroying each other. Does this imply our bonds are weak? Are we just a pack of animals devouring each other? I say no, we are willing to allow ourselves to be attacked because we know that we all need to attack something. Because society has no face to strike back at we strike at each other, a beautifal symbiosis.

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Sat Oct 29, 2011 12:40 pm
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Post Re: Other Writing Efforts
Another day

Another day, another dollar…at least that’s what they say in the USA. Not that I care much about any of that bull. I mean, the money’s good and all…but it’s not really what I’m doing all this for. That’s just an excuse if anything, a way of making me feel more moral. You guys don’t even know what I do yet, do you? I’ll start from the start.

I kill for money. Pretty simple stuff. You pay me; point out a guy and very soon he’s dead. Heck, I even do a special offer every so often. Two for the price of one, though only for Christmas and Remembrance Sunday. You’ve gotta be pretty heartless to want somebody dead at that time, though you’d be surprised how often it happens. I just enjoy it since it let’s me see the worst in human life.

Well…you could just read the newspaper to see that, but there’s nothing better then seeing them face to face. I find their eyes always look different. Ever notice how eyes look blank on films like Toy Story and Cars? Imagine that on humans.

You see, I like to imagine eyes represent human emotions. Ever notice how you can always tell how somebody’s feeling from their eyes alone? Well, imagine they have no feelings. You’d expect they have no remorse or pity. Now imagine the eyes of the loveable Buzz Lightyear on a man or woman. Boom, you got a heartless killer.

But I’m getting off topic a tad bit. I just notice a trend in the people who hire me. I mean, you sometimes get the punk kid who hears about me from luck. Those kids have got plenty of emotion, enough to share. Normally they’re filled with sorrow and anger. They’re the guys I pity.



No, I never pity the people I kill. If you pity them, you’ve got a much harder job ahead of you. Trick of the trade is to think of them as targets, though I have a better way of handling it. I always look at them for a good few minutes before I pull the trigger or knife him or anything else I have in my mind.

What’s the point of ending the life of somebody you don’t care about? It’d be like in the army, where you’re being paid to shoot at guys you don’t know. Where’s the fun there? Research the victim. Find out if he or she has any family. Any lovers. Any pets of children…any enemies. Think about how they’ll feel when their relation is dead. Makes everything feel more personal... the emotion’s the funnest bit.

So, look into my eyes and tell me if I’m just a merciless killer. I look into my own eyes every single night, and every night I see emotion. Stess, anger, glee, ramous et cetera… I’m human, and I’m happy with my job.

So…is that all Officers? I’m in the middle of work right now, and I never let a client down.


…oh, and before I forget, you should really carry weapons at all times. You never know if you’ll ever be targeted for anything. Some people are pretty crazy, and have enough money to throw around to do anything.

The crazies’ll want you dead for anything.

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Mon Mar 12, 2012 11:52 am
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