Macbloggery

Story Time: Chance Perspectives

2011-05-08T14:26:00.003-04:00

So, here's a short that is completely unrelated to Mother's Day. Yeah. Oh, and 'Happy Mother's Day' to all the moms. Yeah. I should probably post more often here.

I won't, but it's nice to have that in mind.

Enjoy.

“Aha!” a shout rang out. “I knew I'd find you here!”

Ponis had gained many things during her tutelage under the infamous spellslinger, Alaric Godking. Chief among these was an acquired distaste for certain phrases. Phrases like “Get them!” or “Guards! Guards! Over there!” were probably her least favorite. However, “I knew I'd find you here” was just as bad, especially when prefaced by “Aha”.

As Ponis began to turn and face what she assumed would be the beginning of another long chase sequence, she noted how her life was filling with all sorts of troubling surprises. This had become especially true since she began her travels with Alaric. In the time since his path had unfortunately derailed into hers, Ponis had been attacked by no less than two celestial deities, been swallowed whole far too often, and had been chased by so many angry mobs that she no longer understood what was the big deal with marathons.

Ponis also realized that most of these things started the same way: a loud yell, some drawn swords, and then running. Never strictly in that order, of course, and on occasion there would be some large explosions tucked in between.

Still she took a deep breath, and readied to face the usual cliche bounty hunter clad in dark leather or an upstart wizard here to challenge the “legendary” Alaric to some insane duel. Secretly, however, Ponis hoped it was a young swordsman of noble origin here to avenge a great wrong or fulfill an ancient duty. There hadn’t been one of those in some time, and she liked a break in the routine.

Instead, what Ponis had laid her eyes on was something completely different. Before her stood a small dog, barely young enough to be thought of as a puppy anymore, panting audibly. Its tiny tongue hung playfully from its mouth, as its tail wagged with joyous disregard. Behind the dog, Ponis noted, was a knight of some kind.

“I…,” the knight said, hunched over as she gasped for breath. “Finally caught up to you! You’re Ponis, right?”

Ponis blinked.

“I’m Dominique,” she said breathlessly. “Dominique LaChance. This is my partner, Ser Barks A Lot.”

At first glance, it was easy to assume Dominique was a knight of Odicea. The coat of arms on her tabard, though marred in soot, was unmistakable for anything but Odicean. Dominique’s armor was also the typical knight's affair. Though it had the look of something that fought a rust monster twice – and lost. The rest of her was in no better condition; much of her attire was torn, tattered, and might not have seen a wash since before Ponis was born.

If she was sent by the Odiceans, Ponis thought, then maybe they weren’t as big and powerful as everyone said. Or, at the very least, not as hygienic.

“We've come a long way and...” Dominique began.

“Well, if you’re here for Alaric,” Ponis blurted in defiance, “you’ll have to go through me first!” She immediately started to question why she would even say that.

“He’s here?” Dominique replied, her tone rising to a fevered pitch. “Alaric’s in this town? Right now?” The beggarly knight made a strange humming noise. Then hopped up in place, while she undid a tattered sack from her back and dropped it onto the ground. She began to enthusiastically dig through its contents as she muttered a high-pitched Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh.

Ponis blinked, and thought of something to say. She looked down at Ser Barks A Lot, hoping to find a notion of what to do and saw the dog also caught in a period of disbelief. After a moment, Ponis decided that silence was probably the best course of action.

“It has to be here somewhere! Whereisitwhereisitwhereisitwhereisit?!?” Dominique muttered. She continued to dig through her satchel, tossing out a variety of scrolls of and notebooks. Ponis looked beside her, and could hear a small whine escape from Ser Barks A Lot as he buried his head under his tiny paws.

“What,” Ponis began, and quickly stopped. She pondered a bit on how to approach the situation. There hadn’t been any occasions when a new face didn’t lead to a fight or screaming. It made the whole ordeal a bit unsettling to her. Putting the thought aside, Ponis decided to just continue, “exactly does a knight of Odicea want with Alaric?”

Dominique rose to her feet with a book in her rusted gauntlets. It was small, blue, or at least could have been in a former life, and had a picture of a cow-bear jumping over something. Maybe the moon, Ponis wagered.

“I’msosorryIdidn’teventellyouwhyI’mhereI’mjustexcitedthatAlaricishere,” Dominique said uninterrupted and without pausing for breath, “ohmygoshAlaricishereAlaricishereAlaricishere!”

Ponis coughed.

Dominique composed herself enough to finally start breathing again. Though she continued to bounce energetically, her wide smile beaming and her eyes still lit in excitement.

“I know this may sound strange, but destiny brought me here to you.” She said, bouncing slightly less.

Ponis stared, scratching the top of her head.

“I'm not a knight of Odicea,” she began. “I was sent here from the Grand Library. You must've heard of it!”

Ponis raised an eyebrow. She recalled hearing of the Grand Library on the island kingdom of Honacia before. She was sure Alaric had mentioned it during their travels. It was supposed to be some sort of magnificent place made of marble and gold. A place where the world's history and knowledge was kept to be preserved for the future. At the very least, that's what she remembered.

“That doesn't really explain--”

“Wait. Wait, wait,” Dominique said as she began flipping through the pages of her book. “Here it is! This is a passage from the most sacred book of my village. It's been passed it down from grandmother to granddaughter for generations. Please, if you'll hear me out this will explain why I’m here.”

Ponis couldn’t help but wonder if she had any say in the matter. She sat down next to Ser Barks A Lot, who looked at her with apologetic eyes.
Dominique plopped down onto the grass, which was followed by a cloud of dust escaping from her incredibly aged attire, and read:
Listen now to a story old, / brought from time dark and cold.
Of when Dread Mt'zen once did lurk / to till an evil work

“What does this have to do with--” Ponis tried to interject to no avail as Dominique continued:

But while souls of good weep and pray / he came to save the day
We soon rejoiced, our hearts did soar / in sight Hero of Lore.
His face like angels, hair black like coal; / he'll exact Mt'zen's toll.
The stage was set for destiny; / as we wait breathlessly
Tentacle death met lord of boom...

Dominique closed the book, and smiled triumphantly.

“Okay,” Ponis spoke. “That doesn't explain anything.”

“That's the story of my village! No one at the Library thinks it really happened, but I know it did!” Dominique shouted, her voice raising in excitement.

Ponis and Ser Barks A Lot exchanged glances.

“Now that I've found you, I can write the real account from the Hero of Lore! I can ask Alaric--”

Dominque stopped and stood silent with mouth hung agape. Ponis turned around to see what had caught the knight’s attention. There standing in all his exaggerated glory, hair whipping in the breeze, magical power crackling in the air around him, was the man Dominique had searched for so long – Alaric Godking.

The knight placed her hands over flushed cheeks, and her mind raced for an appropriate action. What would she ask? How would she address him? Would she call him Alaric the Mighty? Mighty Alaric? The righteous protector of the weak? Defender of the Poet’s Will? Slayer of Mt’zen? Savior of the Millions? How does one present themselves to such a great hero?

Dominique turned to Ponis and asked, “Is my hair okay?”

Ponis and Ser Barks A Lot rolled thier eyes.

She decided the best thing to do was to simply introduce herself and state her mission. Dominque laid the book on the ground and cautiously stepped toward the “Great” Alaric. Her mouth opened slowly and let out a muted squeal.

Ponis exhaled deeply and began wave to over her tutor, when she notice that Ser Barks A Lot had taken initiative for her partner in greeting Alaric himself.

“Barks,” she yelled. “Wait, no!”

Ser Barks A Lot approached the infamous spellslinger, and let out a polite bark. Alaric peered down at the miniscule ball of fur beside his boot. Ser Barks A Lot looked up with large playful eyes and replied to the spellslinger with another bark.

Alaric answered with a low growl.

“Stupid mongrel. You're in my way.” Alaric said, as he pulled back his heavy boot in a wide arc.

The dog's eyes widened at the response.

Alaric smiled as his foot crashed down with a thunderous intent, vaulting the dog into the afternoon sky, its tiny howl fading into the distance. Ponis slapped her forehead and sighed. She walked off into distance to find Ser Barks A Lot, leaving the “Hero of Lore” to admire his latest feat.

Meanwhile, the knight stood silent, fixing her hair in awe struck amazement.

You know, I think I may have posted this before. Did I? Who knows?

Demands.. always with the demands...

2010-11-12T18:07:00.002-05:00

So certain jerks think I should continue the previous poem, and I am nothing if not easily coerced by peer pressure. So, back to work on the Shield's Lament. In the mean time, here's what I think of said jerks.

Story Time: A Shield's Lament

2010-11-10T18:23:00.004-05:00

It's only been three months, don't give me that look!

Ok. My bad, I'm sorry. Here's a poem.

Here stands on watch these one hundred sixteen seasons
This humbled shield long left and forgotten.
In days passed endured for single reason,
Against steel, spell, and those vile and rotten
To protect those who would wield its burden.
Though no dent or tear could break its resolve,
What now when all enemies are beaten?
Who to protect without battle’s involve?
Shall it wait always ready ‘til peacetime dissolves?

Anyway, in case you're wondering what the hell happened, I got burnt out on writing trying to finish my novel AND my Spookhunting Anthology. I have no ability to handle any kind of workload. I apologize.

Let's make amends.

Next week (for real), Spookhunting #1 Remixed!

Hola, ocelots!

2010-08-03T16:46:00.004-04:00

So after much guilt-tripping from this asshole, I'll be committing to posting up a new short on a relatively regular schedule. For now, it's looking like a monthly new story will be the norm. If I'm feeling cheeky there might be one sooner.

Who knows? I don't. That's the fun.

And now, kitten long jump.

Story Time: Up on the Roof

2010-08-01T00:21:00.003-04:00

What's this? A short story update? Impossible!

On the serious, here's a new short story for the two of you that follow this site. Sorry I haven't actually posted any of substance in so long. I can only blame myself, or EJ. I prefer the latter, honestly.

As for the story, you might notice that it's set in Darktown so is by default a Spookhunting story. I really like that setting. One day I should commit to fleshing it out more. Oh well. I hope you like this story. It's very much on the short side and the ending isn't nearly as strong as I'd like it to be, but... wait I think I supposed to sell it more.

Must stop babbling. Read now!

His name was Nemo Carbonado and every day, before the crack of dawn, he came to this place. For as long as he’d called Darktown home, he’d climb the rickety stairs of his apartment to its dilapidated roof. High above the squalor and hustling crowds on Darktown’s streets, Nemo sat quietly waiting to watch the light of day rolled over the veil of dark.

There was no other time of day when the city laid as still as this; just after the wails of the night faded away and before the noise of the rat-race below clamored anew. In his mind, it was almost the perfect moment.

It was just missing one thing.

“You’re early.” A young woman called, as she stepped out from the stairwell.

He turned, and upon seeing her, smiled the only kind of smile he could muster – a nervous one.

“Work wasn’t very busy tonight,” he replied. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be.” She answered with a laugh and brushed her hair behind an ear.

Nemo stood and quietly watched her graceful approach, his goofy smile still beaming with nerdy energy.

He remembered the day they first met. It still stuck so freshly in his mind. It wasn’t so long, that morning he first climbed the stairs to the roof. His reasons were so different then, it might as well have been a lifetime ago.

It was a Sunday morning. Nemo had just only arrived in Darktown, trying to outrun the life behind him, and he was already sick of it. He was tired of running, tired of hiding from the inevitable, tired of being alone in a city of millions. He was tired of being tired.

Nemo made up his mind. The only thing left to do was give up. So, he scaled the fifteen flights of stairs to the roof of his building where he would find his release. There a young woman stood unnoticed. She saw Nemo trudge across the snow covered roof, and then clumsily attempt to pull his body over the metal railing. She raised an eyebrow as Nemo failed to get over the final obstacle of his mission, and laughed.

It was the sweetest laugh he had ever heard.

Nemo watched at the woman standing by the stairwell door in bewilderment, as she held up a bag of donuts and a coffee cup. She approached Nemo, still visibly giggling.

“Before you go,” she began, “maybe you could join me for some breakfast.”

Confusion was his only response, and remained quiet unable to answer.

"Everyone should die happy, or at least with a full stomach." She said smiling.

As light of a new day blanketed the still empty streets, they sat down and watched the sky brighten and warm just as they have every morning since.

“Well, I better get going.” She said.

“Tomorrow, again?” Nemo asked.

“Until you stop coming to visit.”

The morning sun rolled onto the roof of their dilapidated building, as she waved goodbye to Nemo and slowly faded away.

“See you tomorrow.” He whispered softly, and walked downstairs to get some sleep.

See you next... time. Yeah.

I'm back...

2009-09-12T01:58:00.002-04:00

Posting again.. but now at my own site.

www.macreyes.com

EDIT: Yes, I misspelled my own name. Shut it.

Story Time: Claude and the Bag (Part I)

2009-06-21T11:42:00.003-04:00

Happy Father's Day to any dads you read this blog! Today I'm posting the first part of a, hopefully, two part story. This story was meant to be a bit longer at publishing time, but Father's Day preparations and other home issues ate away at writing time. Oh well, I hope you like what I have so far.

Claude sat pensively in his study and chewed on the end of his favorite pen. He swiveled back and forth in a worn leather computer chair, while his eyes remained affixed at a large photograph of a cave painting on the far wall. In his many years of archaeological study, he had never seen a depiction like it. Rectangular shapes that gave way to long trails at their tops decorated the painting. These trails stretched from each rectangle into a small figure at the center, while people ran away in ever direction.

Claude rose from his chair and turned to a brown satchel placed sloppily on his desk. He stared at the bag with a smile at first, which sulked to a frown as he continued to peer at it. "Was it you?" He asked with a laugh. "Were they running from you?"

"Dad, I'm home!" An adolescent voice bellowed from the living room.

He ignored his daughter's call and peered closer at the bag. What bothered him so much about it, he wondered. It looked so ordinary, no different from any bag he had owned before. Shabby leather exterior, almost rusted metal buckles, and weakened stitches that were on the verge of expiration. Just an old worn out bag, so why was it at the center of the excavation?

Claude's daughter peeked into the room. She watched her father, who appeared locked in a staring contest with an old bag, with a quizzical look.

"Umm... dad?"

"Wha?!?" Claude shouted in surprise. He took a moment to gather himself, and then turned to see his incredibly startled daughter. "Oh, Lourdes, it's you. What are you doing home?"

"It's five. Are," she paused, "you ok, dad?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Claude took a long exaggerated exhale, and placed his hand on his chest. His heart still raced, but he forced a hearty laughed and smiled at his daughter. "Just working a bit too hard, I guess. I'll get dinner started in a few."

"Alright." Lourdes said unconvinced. She glanced at the leather bag on her father's desk, and it's cover slipped open. "What's that?"

Claude eyed the bag. "This thing? Just something, we found at a dig. I'll call you down when dinner's ready."

"Ok," she replied. Lourdes continued to spy the bag, as she slowly marched up the long wooden staircase to her room.

Next week with part two!

Bad news sports fans...

2009-06-14T23:30:00.002-04:00

Looks like today's update isn't going to happen. I'm really sorry about this, but I refuse to rush a story again and post something that isn't ready to be read. With that said, I'll try my best to publish it this week. In the meantime, check out EJ's stories. They're a hell of a lot better than mine.

Next week!

We interrupt today's radio silence for the following message...

2009-06-14T11:36:00.002-04:00

Hey all!

Today's update will be crazy late, as I'm still writing it. Check back later tonight to read it. Sorry for the delay!

Story Time: And Another Thing!

2009-06-07T15:46:00.001-04:00

Just a quick little ditty for you guys while I work on bigger things. Sorry for the short and late post, but I'm pretty deep in a new story. Don't worry, I promise next week will be awesomer--I swear!

And what I said was true, watching out for yourself keeps you out of situations like this. Look at what helping people got us--no treasure, no reward, and now we're being chased halfway around the world by God knows how many thugs who intend to stab us. I said let's grab the gold and run. But no, you wanted to save the little girl trapped in the dungeon. Do you even know where we're taking her? Of course not, because you never think these things through! Now Creepy-Von-Wizard Guy and his army of stab-happy goons are after us. Man, I could be back at the tavern right now; drinking beer and giving gold coins to loose women. Instead of running around, knee deep in swamp shit, with a mute little girl on my back! I mean, no offense kid, but these guy right here--he's an idiot.

Next week!

Story Time: Diary of Adrian Kinglier

2009-05-31T10:37:00.002-04:00

Hey all. Today's update isn't bad poetry. Hooray! Instead, we have bad prose. I wrote the following piece for the novel I'm trying to write. At first, I wanted to integrate it into the actual story, but it didn't make sense to do so. So, I kept it as character reference and now I'm sharing it with you.

Awesome, right? Enjoy.

Entry for Day Fourteen.

It is with genuine conviction that I declare my utter contempt for these massive collection of buildings that these cavemen referred to as cities. They are nothing but open sores on the world, where every crevice bleeds waste and every inch of earth screams in agony. None of the crew can hear it, but I can. It is deafening, that dreadful noise; always drumming, always beating, always roaring beneath this concrete skin. I can never escape it, the wails echo through the ears to assault the mind.

Unbearable.

Though, if only this offense would belong to the ears alone, I might survive--albeit begrudgingly. No, I am at siege from every front and at every angle. My breath is choked with the foul odors of burning and decay. Everywhere there are openings that cough more muck into the air to assault my nose and claw at my skin. Oh, my beautiful skin, this oozing grime covers everything. I can feel it crawling over another inch of me as I write this. It is too much to bare.

The captain seems unaffected by these crimes against decency. She and the crew wait patiently for this treasure to arrive. As if the will of God is worth than our health. This is madness! Insanity! To sit idly here and cavort with these disgusting beggars. They reek of the smell of depravity and poverty. It clings to my clothing, and I can taste their vile stench in every bite of food.

I will not stand for this any longer! The captain will hear of my discontent.

Tomorrow, after a bath and tea.

Adrian Kinglier, Third Officer under Captain Noel Rodes
Angsana Ship, Rizal

Next week!

Story Time: For Mr. Pascua

2009-05-24T10:35:00.002-04:00

So this is the first week of updates that aren't being forced to fruition by my creative writing class. I wonder if I can keep it up?

I hope so.

Anyway, this week I'm putting up a quick poem I made. It's dedicated to my good friend, who never reads my blogs, over in California. Enjoy, and leave a comment.

I crave feedback. :)

Though, if you're going to actually leave feedback, leave it on one of my other stories. Unless you really liked this poem.

He was so frightened to watch
the Circus
and the Monsters in the Ring
and the Clowns themselves

The circus brings its own terror
which he would feel
in his cold sweat

There is no escape from it
Things in the Circus have shapes
All of which are very strange
That is because the Circus is strange
The clowns are strange
Also the acrobats
the ringmaster
elephants
All are strange

If there was escape, he fears
the clowns will follow
Will they?

Musical Sharing Day!

2009-05-06T11:05:00.000-04:00

I’m starting a new thing on this blog. Every Wednesday I’m going to post a YouTube video of a great song that you probably don't know about. This week I'm starting with Psyche Origami’s Direction from 2003. It's an awesome hip-hop song that's a throwback to the older style of the genre.

Enjoy!

Story Time: Stop & Look

2009-05-03T10:35:00.005-04:00

Stop and look at how great I am
          With my stocky build and wide design
          Unmovable by men even twice my height
Stop and look at how no buffet or ice cream truck brings my defeat
          While thinner people must crawl away for relief
          And only tiny Japanese men can boast the same
Stop and look at how easily I block the doors and halls
          And see that I control who stays and goes
Stop and look at what I can do that tiny men cannot
          Play on seesaws with uneven groups
          Hold down Thanksgiving Day Balloons
          Save cities from raging rivers
          And give you more to love
Stop and look at how great I am
          With my wide design and stocky frame
          While I sit in victory on top of the likes of Jennie and Jarrod

A Season of Anime...

2009-05-01T19:58:00.004-04:00

I forgot when I actually watched regular TV. Oh well, I was planning on writing up a list of what anime I'm watching this season. However, I got bored half way through and started working on my actual stories. So, instead here's my list of anime, YouTube style!

And now, back to work.

Editing Notes

2009-04-28T02:05:00.001-04:00

A made some changes to “Somewhere”. I think it tightened the story up more. Check it out and leave a comment if you’re awesome.

Story Time: Somewhere

2009-04-26T10:28:00.004-04:00

[EDIT on 4/28] - Added some additional parts to the story. Nothing huge honestly, but I thought there was some clarification needed for the bag. I really liked this story, and I plan to expand it more for EJ's Turota book.

Kimi planted the rusted steel shovel into the dusty, dry earth and pulled back her blue hair into a ponytail. Kimi looked down and stared blankly at the two mounds of dirt she had labored on through the day; the very thought of what they were brought tears to her eyes. She breathed deep to compose herself, and wiped the long sleeves of her shirt against the sweat and dirt stained surface of her face. She sat down silently between the graves of her mother and brother, and looked across to a brown satchel that lay innocently before her.

“You were supposed to lead us to some place better,” she said flatly and kicked the ordinary looking bag over. The bag rolled to its side, its flap unhinged, and it yawned lazily open. The sweet smell of grass spilled out from the maw of the brown container. Kimi clutched her fists tightly and pounded them furiously on the bag as tears streamed down her face.

Kimi was not born in the desert wasteland where her family now rested. She was born and raised amongst the endless green fields of the countryside, where livestock outnumbered people and the concerns of the civilized world seemed far away. Kimiko Wells lived with her mother and younger brother in a small, meager cottage just outside the view of the town proper. Their possessions were few, such that things like clothes and food were rare, and fancy luxuries were even more foreign to them. However, in spite of their limited belongings they had each other, and that was always enough.

Kimiko’s father was rarely at home. He was a merchant of sorts, and traveled the country peddling artifacts of varying uselessness to clients of varying naivety. On birthdays and odd numbered holidays he would return home, and stare wistfully out at the world beyond the cottage until he departed on another business venture. On one of his many endeavors, he came across a strange man with a most rare of item. It was a rather plain looking satchel, not any bigger than other bags of its type, but Kimi’s father was assured it would lead him away to somewhere more exotic than he’d have ever been.

Before he returned home he had peeked into the bag many times. Each glance into the endless depths of its opening revealed a vision different from the one before. With every gaze he saw wondrous worlds that were full of such color and shape he had never dreamed. He knew that a better world could be found in the mysterious bag, and urged his family to journey with him into a perfect new world.

Kimiko had her doubts about his idea. How did he know these worlds were safe? What kind of monsters roamed in lands they nothing about? How would they survive? What would they eat?

“Kimi,” he explained with a look on his face that belonged on children during Christmas morning, “this bag can lead us far away from here! We’ll find an even better place to call home, somewhere perfect, and when we do, we can live happily ever after - just like in the stories.”

She put aside her concerns and watched as her father lifted the flap of the bag, then pried wide the opening of its gullet. Kimi saw her father stand with his feet inside the bag, and then sink as if swallowed into the endless dark within. Slowly, each of them followed her father and sank into the depths of the bag’s interior.

They awoke beneath the purple sky in a land that was confusing and strange; filled with creatures of explainable shapes and dimensions. Kimiko’s father laughed in sheer delight.

“Look at this place! It’s paradise! It has to be!” He screamed and ran smiling towards the closest beast he could find. He threw his arms around it and hugged its soft green fur.

“Daddy, don’t!” Kimiko protested in a muted tone. The creature was strange to her, almost frightening. Though it seemed like nothing more than a humongous stuff animal, she knew it wasn’t wise to pet a strange animal in a even stranger world.

The giant beast raised its fuzzy head; its long floppy ears drooped down onto the ground, and looked to the father. Its fang bared and in an instant its massive jaws snapped around the father, swallowing him in a single bite. In horror they ran. They ran and ran and ran. They ran for days, until days became months, and months became years. They ran until they could run no more, and in the end only Kimi remained.

Kimiko stood above the satchel, and placed her feet within it. Wherever it would bring her, she thought, it had to be better than here.

No post for today....

2009-04-12T00:01:00.002-04:00

I'm on spring break, so no creative writing for you guys this week. I know, I know. What ever will you do? Well, have no fear, you can watch Bugs Bunny instead.

See you next week, and Happy Easter.

Story Time: Clockwork City

2009-04-05T11:17:00.004-04:00

Look, look I tried a poem! It sucks!

Grinding gears signal the day
As chimneys cough and belch
From steel horses dragged away
To depths of New Commen

Underneath they toil and work
Miles below northern sky
Where ash and coal exhale murk
And the captured wait to die

[edit] So, I messed up and didn't post the last line. Ha-ha posting fail.

Story Time: Arguing Semantics

2009-03-29T11:02:00.004-04:00

Duran had taken notice of all the derisive talk about his profession while in the bars he’d frequent for a new gig. He smirked and got another beer whenever he heard them. He was called all sorts of names, none of which were accurate – burglar, grave robber, and bandit. Duran was not a common thief; he was a treasure hunter and was darned adamant about the distinction. Comparing him to some petty scoundrel or robber was insulting. He’d been a treasure hunter for 15 years and never once had he ever taken something that belonged to someone else. That would be stealing. A treasure hunter, a professional one at least, never stole anything. To be a treasure hunter was to be part of an honorable and fascinating profession. They rediscovered artifacts that were lost and forgotten, and hence were devoid of ownership.

Treasure hunters were explorers of lost ages and mysterious histories, and Duran believed that was proven in the locations his occupation took him. His search for gold-laden artifacts and large wooden goodie boxes had taken Duran to far-off locations; from the birthplace of humanity to the ruins of unknown civilizations. Every job brought him to one maze of underground tunnels after another, where the dank halls always reeked of history and decay.

Duran would often wonder how anyone could confuse this with thievery. Certainly it couldn’t be from the goal of his adventures. The jewels and relics he procured were often scattered and unguarded. If someone had intended to keep these precious commodities, they would’ve put more thought into their safekeeping. Most of these ancient tombs had, at best, a flimsy lock on the front gate that Duran could open with a rusty lock-pick and a few moments of concentration. A simple lock on the entrance didn’t prove they desired to keep anyone out, Duran thought. In fact, those very locks might have been setup to prevent the entrance of vermin. The same could be said about the poison darts that shot out from the walls, or the floors that collapsed to reveal deep pits with spikes at the bottom, or even the occasionally enchanted statue that awoke to crush whoever was unlucky enough to be around. None of those fixtures could definitely suggest that these riches were not meant to be found, and they were never good enough to actually prevent him from doing his job. Logically, they must been designed for another purpose then. These primeval holes in the ground were rife with so many problems that their designers were probably attempting to prevent any number of future hazards – zombie infestations, scavenger hordes, or rats. Any half-intelligent person could avoid the occasional trapped hallway with a slowly lowering roof, but a zombie would just shamble about and be dealt with. That rat might do a bit better though.

If the dead really thought that treasure hunters were trespassing on their property and preferred for people of Duran’s profession to not leave with their left behind shiny heirlooms, they shouldn’t be so ambiguous about it. He always felt that a letter would be the best way to do it. Duran had never cheated in cards, didn’t hit someone who didn’t deserve it, and usually followed the rules if they made sense. If he encountered a politely written note hung at the entrance of his current workplace that asked him not to enter, is wishes would be respected to the letter.

That would be the civil thing.

Story Time: Field of the Dairy Cows

2009-03-22T11:15:00.001-04:00

I had something different written up for today, but I finally had an idea of how I wanted to start off my book. So, I thought I'd share it for today. I really liked the vibe of it even if it's incredibly rough around the edges.

Day break had come for the endless blue grass fields of northern Cerauno as the golden sun rose brilliantly over the horizon. The rain, which had poured ceaselessly for days, had finally lifted and drifted away from the western plains. As the warm rays of the new rising sun met with the wet foliage, every drop of water and each bubble of dew awoke and transformed the countryside into a shimmering field of blazing crystal and light.

From the nearby ranches came the local herd of dairy cows, who feasted every morning on the fresh grass. Like each morning before it, the cows slowly made their way to a lonely rock on the far side of pasture. Every morning they would find her; a young woman who would sit quietly and wax philosophical with whomever she could. Her name was Ponis; she was a young knight that had been stationed nearby to protect the border from invaders in the north. To the cows, she was fabulous company.

“Look at you,” she said as she chewed on a long blade of grass. “I come here every morning to make sure the bunch of you are safe, and not once have I ever heard even a word of gratitude.”

The cow, whom Ponis had been named Mooesha, continued to chew her cud respectfully as not to give the impression of being rude.

“If not for me, you’d be speaking Victorian right now,” Ponis exclaimed. “The least you could do is say thanks -- ungrateful cow.”

Mooesha, who still chewed diligently on her cud, watched young Ponis stand and stare at the northern border. The sky over the north was unlike anything she had seen before. It was darkened by pillars of black cloud that spewed from monsters of steel and fire. Ponis’s green eyes were wide and darted from side to side as she surveyed the vast territory that encompassed the northern border.

“It isn’t… your fault, you know.”

Mooesha raised her head.

“It’s not your fault that you’re helpless,” she said and rubbed the back of her hand against her eyes. “Someone… I’m… I’ll protect you.”

Ponis grew quiet and looked away from blackened clouds to the north. Cows were not known for saying the correct things in situations like these, in fact cows were never known for anything in the realm of conversation. However, even with that said Mooesha stepped towards the young knight and rested her head gently on Ponis. Ponis looked down to Mooesha, took a quick deep breath, and then rubbed the cow’s head lovingly.

“I know you’re scared,” Ponis explained, “but you don’t have to be. Not while I’m here. I’ll make sure they never step off on this land. I’ll make sure each and every one of you is safe.”

I need meaningful non-writing posts...

2009-03-19T01:13:00.003-04:00

However, this won't be it..

Story Time: At Least I Ain’t One of Them

2009-03-15T11:57:00.001-04:00

They always talking about that it ain’t fair. No, it ain’t fair, but better in here than out there. We all trapped in this plastic prison, and all huddled and cramped together, wondering when the end is gonna come. That’s the life though. These other Q-Tips, the ones that holler and complain all day, they don’t know what they asking for. I hear them, they pray to both Johnson and Johnson to get them of their prison - to free them.

Free them? Oh, yeah, they’ll be out soon.

One day, the hand will come on down and pick of one them. It’ll raise them high on up, too far for anyone of us to see. Then it’ll dig that fool straight into some weird hole my grandpappy call an ear. You know what happens in one of them places? I’ll tell you - cause I know. That hand, it twists you round and sticks you in deep, so it can dig out the most disgusting yellow stuff you’ll ever see. That hand, it hates Q-Tips, cause it always makes sure to cover you from swab to swab in that gunk. Then when you all choking from it, covered so bad you can’t even see; the hand leaves you on top of the sink to lay there. You just waiting to die, while those damn toothbrushes just stare at you and laugh. If you lucky, the hand takes mercy on you and drops you into the porcelain throne filled water. They say when the water drains it sends you to Heaven.

Sometimes you get real lucky, and the hand never comes. Heard of this one Q-Tip that stayed in his box for a whole year. One day, was sent to Heaven without ever being used. I’ve sat in this box prison for Johnson knows how long, but I don’t think I’ll be that lucky. The hand comes for everybody. Course, it could be worse. I look at them toothbrushes, standing tall at the top of the sink. I hate to be one of them. They stand there all proud, but after the hand chooses me to scrape and clean that yellow gunk out of an ear I’ll be done. Then I’ll get sent to Heaven, or wherever that porcelain throne goes. Wherever it goes, I know it’ll be better than here. One and done, yes sir. Not like those toothbrushes, they gotta pay their dues over and over.

Thank Johnson and Johnson I ain’t one of them fools.

One day, I'll post these while I'm not in class. Then I'll have the time to properly write out some author commentary. Who am I kidding, that's never happening. XD

And now, kitten fighting..

2009-03-11T01:32:00.001-04:00

Story Time: Doughnuts and Douchery

2009-03-08T12:06:00.004-04:00

We're back! This week it's a piece on dialogue. I'd do more for setup and explanation, but I'm tired as hell today. Maybe tomorrow, if you're good.

"You'll never believe what I just read!" Drake shouted thunderously as he entered Dunkbuck's Coffee Shack and Doughnutry. He marched with a crumbled newspaper clinched in his greasy hand towards the front counter at the far end of the shop, shoving aside customers that stood between him and his destination.

"God, not now Drake. Can't you see I'm busy?" Noelle said while she handed a hot mocha latté to an older, clearly irate man.

"This is important!" he roared, which caused the elderly woman behind him to leap back in shock. Noelle glared at Drake, a vein visible in her neck. She stared long and hard at Drake. He was filthy and smelled of alcohol or urine. Maybe both. Drake slammed his hands hard onto the counter top, and spread the crumpled newspaper across for Noelle to see.

"The Knicks lost again? So what else is new?"

"No! Not that," Drake said and pointed his grimy finger, which sorely needed a good nail clipping, towards the headline. "Can you believe this?"

Noelle avoided staring too long at his filthy fingernail. She stepped away to pour a cup of coffee for another customer, and slowly recited the headline aloud.

"City approves bill to give jobs and financial support to underprivileged families."

"Can you believe this horse manure? I don't think I've ever read a worse thing in the paper!"

"Isn't this a good thing?" she asked, and then stared at the clock. It was 9:50; her break was in 10 minutes.

"If they want to give handouts and jobs to every damn minority in this city, whose pocket do you think it'll come out of? These people?" Drake screamed and pointed to the patrons who stared in bemusement while guzzling their morning coffee. Noelle eyed the clock again. It was 9:52.

She ducked below the counter to rearrange cups and supplies that were never moved, and only poked her head back above to stare at the wall clock. Drake continued on about the government's theft from the working rich to give to the undeserving and lazy poor, getting louder with every passing minute. His tirade reminded Noelle to check her bank account, to make sure it hadn't been overdrawn.

"9:59,"she said and her glum morning expression gave way to almost a smile.

"Huh?" Drake said confused. He pushed back the sleeve of his stained denim jacket, and stared at the gold Rolex wrapped around his hairy wrist.

"It's break time," Noelle exclaimed, already halfway out the front door.

"Oh, fine go ahead take your break. You got a half hour," Drake said as he reached for the name-tag stashed in his jacket pocket. He fumbled with the pin and attached the tag onto his shirt. He polished it with thumb, so the printed text could show clearly - Drake Dunkbuck, Owner.

Random Distraction

2009-03-04T16:32:00.001-05:00

I need to get back to work. Damn you, Coulton!

Story Time: Burden of Greatness

2009-03-01T11:58:00.004-05:00

Ha! I thought I wasn't going to post anything. I definitely showed you.. myself. Yeah. So, for today I'm posting an assignment I had in Creative Writing. The goal was to write from the persona of someone else, to use their voice. For the assignment, I started with a particular douche-bag who's perspective I thought would be fun to write from. As I worked on it, I just started to meld in every pompous jerk I'd ever met into it.

To say this wasn't slightly cathartic would be an outright lie. XD

So you want to hear about my life now, do you? Well obviously, you would, for mine is such a tale of grandeur that I have no doubt that scribes will detail my life like the heroes of old. Now how to embark upon this tale? I suppose the beginning is the best place to start. It's always best to always show the humble origins of the hero first to give his journey more resonance. Yes, let's begin there.

My childhood was not like yours, as you can surely imagine. No, while yours was most likely a life of wasted potential and simple beginnings; mine was one destined for greatness from its outset. Even at an early age, I was unrivalled in affairs concerning mental faculties and pursuits of the mind. Indeed, the idea that a mark lower than an "A" was even achievable seemed inconceivable. Well, of course, inconceivable for someone like myself. I do not boast or exaggerate this truth; you see I was blessed with a capacity to learn at a rate you are unfamiliar with. My photographic memory allowed me to excel like no other in academics, even the brightest of my peers (if you could call them such) were outclassed by me with little effort.

Certainly, the educational system was no obstacle. The tests and rigors of my early scholastic environment never fazed me or served to provide any challenge. As my formative years continued, I realized that there was little or no resistance to my talents in sight. In every hall of learning I attended, administrators were always concerned of my wasting my talents in their hands, and those talents undoubtedly were. For many years, they would exhaust my time hoping to find ways to confront the depths of my intelligence.

What was it now? Four, Five grades they needed to advance me before they ended their futile attempts?

It was clear that ordinary institutions were not to the standard I was entitled to. After much wasted exertion by my parents on my behalf, I arrived at an establishment they believed was worthy of my effort. However, even here I was a diamond in the rough, a beckon of wisdom in the darkness of the educational establishment. How this pained me. To know I was far more capable than even my so called teachers. It was an insult and a problem I faced daily well into my adolescent years. If it were a crime to confine someone to conditions unbefitting of their mind, then my life was rife with criminals.

You look at me, and the jealousy you harbor for my talents and God-given gifts is apparent. If only you knew what a nuisance it was to be so gifted, perhaps you would not envy me so. Your mind is simple and free of the tragic pain that comes from possessing such a vast acumen. You will never know my torment, and my deepest of shames. It is I, who envy you. You, who will never know the burden of being the bearer of such a great mind.

Until next week.

[EDIT - 03/07/2009] Edited this story for grammar and general improvements. Should suck less now. XD

Yet Another Blog To Update...

2009-02-28T01:47:00.001-05:00

...and eventually forget about.

It's been a long time since I last had a blog. Honestly, I thought I'd never make one again, but I've been hankering for a place to post my thoughts and my terrible creative writing. However, I've been too lazy to go and setup one of own. Recently though, I've been updating a blog for my science-fiction course here on Blogspot. Since I'd already established, I figured I had no more excuses for not creating a place for my own posts. So, why not start up a personal one here as well. And then, yeah. Here we are.

First posts are terrible.

Anyway, I hope to post a new entry here at least once week. Usually it'll be a new creative writing piece that no one will read. Every once in awhile, I'll probably even post something emo about my personal life that I'll regret and delete shortly after. It'll be fun.