There was a writing contest held in December 2010 where a species wrote a letter to Santa, in their point of view, asking for 25 items. The items could be tangible or intangible, as long as the items did not distinctly describe appearance. To my knowledge afterward, the list leaned more toward telling, but I still tried the "showing" element more. Out of five winners, I placed fourth, and a nice comment was given to me (and you can believe me when I saw that made my day!) along with a little prize. Anyway, I conjured the list in about an hour and didn't expect the nice outcome at all.
The character behind the items I was thinking of was a lonely girl who lived alone in a stone tower. Others often used to visit her, but then they would "mysteriously" stop showing up to play with the girl. The girl, confused over why all of her so-called "friends" left her, came to the conclusion that her ugliness was the reason why she was so alone. What she failed to realize was that her appearance played absolutely no role in the disappearances, it was her own violent tendencies that drove them away. So the girl, lonely and sad, wrote to Santa asking for new toys to seduce new playmates, material gifts to better her social skills, beautiful decorations for her house to entice others, modifications to her own appearance, and hints of a more violent side that yearns for objects with a bite to them. Blair surprised me by placing so high; after all, she was fabricated in an hour.
Perhaps one day this idea will be blown up until chunks splatter the walls of my brain.
NOTE: None of the content of stories for Aywas belong to me.
[Christmas Wishlist]
Dear Santa,
I hope I've been good enough this year to get presents because that accident with that one Melo wasn't my fault. What I'd love for Christmas is:
1. A playmate of any species. Just someone to play with. I get lonely sometimes.
2. A new rainbow ball. My last one broke, and it was my favorite toy.
3. A dollie with dark hair. I've heard these were beautiful.
4. Multi-colored roses to decorate my room with. They would be so pretty!
5. Vine wallpaper. Literally, vines streaming up my walls with all the prickly thorns exposed!
6. A coloring book. A long one with many pages if you could.
7. A bird-like Fauna. I'm not picky about them because all creatures with wings are stunning.
8. A pair of wings for myself. How I wish I could fly!
9. A garden that wouldn't die. My "garden" needs to stop dying, so maybe you can help me.
10. A live beehive outside in said garden. To make my own honey!
11. A glass orb for my room.
12. Glassware in the gothic fashion.
13. Tragedy novels that are bound to make me weep.
14. A membership to the nearby theatre. I've always wished to attend the plays there.
15. A record player.
16. Classical records for the record players. I want to hold balls for my... friends!
17. A dangerous plant. One that have the tendency to bite.
18. A harp, even though I don't know how to play it. I can always learn.
19. More houses in this area so more inhabitants can live near me.
20. Life-sized dolls, one of each species. Unlike the smaller dollie I mentioned before.
21. A large mirror to hang over my desk of personal items.
22. A pretty chair so I can sit and look in the mirror. I don't want to stand too much to see myself.
23. Pearly white teeth. Because pretty things have white teeth.
24. An exquisite bird cage. For the Fauna, but if I don't receive that, the cage can be decoration.
25. Beauty. I wish to appeal more to others instead of making them flee.
Thank you very much Santa. I would love to receive these items, and I would forever be grateful.
Love, Blair.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
Aywas: Walter Walruskat
Written sometime in September, I'm sure.
There was a contest on Aywas regarding a pet to be described with 500 words (max) of their personality and 500 words (max) of a super short drabble that further deepens their character. I entered using an idea that my best friend had, and I admit that at the time, the character felt good for aDr. Seuss -esque style. It's not a copy of Dr. Seuss nor does it sound that much like it, but he inspired this entry.
JUST AS A NOTE: None of the content of stories for Aywas belong to me.
[Walter Walruskat]
[Personality.]
Walter Walruskat is nowhere near a complicated walruskat, but the exact opposite: a simpleton. He was easy to please, for in everything he could find beauty and likeness. Everything was sunshine and daisies for the optimistic animal.
Intelligence was not a strong point. Though it didn't hinder him, Walter Walruskat is extremely slow when it came to jokes and divine information. Not only was he slow, he was dumb in a manner. He didn't know why, but there were some things he just could not understand. His mind quickly registers if this information is needed (nearly always, if something confused him, his memory dumped it in the mental useless bin and was forgotten) and acts accordingly. "How profound, I must say!" he would exclaim in the situation, smiling with his tusks shining. "A smile a day keeps the shyness at bay!" he would say.
He had a love for the concept of a gentleman. How gentlemen were sincere and kind, who were models for growing males, the top of the top in the society chain! Walter Walruskat added a tiny top hat and grew accustomed to a monocle over his left eye for daily wear, wanting to look the part. The reason wasn't for popularity (though he never turned down a friend!), more because it clicked to him. It worked. He felt good carrying the air of a gentleman. "Always better to be a gentleman than a robber!" he would say.
So he worked at it. Walter Walruskat was naturally friendly (though too naive) and donated much for the welfare of the poorer citizens. He made an adequate amount of money by volunteering and gathering donations for the community. Indeed, he became a role model for the others; to display kindness to your neighbors, to take care of the community, and love nature. He strolled the streets and gave everyone a bow with a flick of his top hat. "Good day to you. And you. And you!" he would say.
What Walter Walruskat loved along with his beautiful, prosperous community were the moments of peace and silence at home. The solitude was refreshing after hours around other friendly faces. He soaked in the newspaper to gain more awareness of the world's success with a teeny tiny cup of tea. Watching the goggle box was also a luxury, enjoying to see what others could come up with. "Such a talent we all have in ourselves, we must put it to good use!" he would say.
By far his innocence disabled the ability to see the wrongness with the world. To some, it was a blessing, and to others, it was a curse. Walter Walruskat was content as can be, totally blind to the shadows lurking around. He was the kind of walruskat whose happiness was powered by ignorance and the fact he was plain dumb. The sweet dumb. The caring dumb. "Always be kind to your fellow mother nature, including all those who thrive on her rich love!" he would say.
[Story.]
The land where Walter Walruskat inhabited could only be described as "strange." It was not the appearance of the outdoors that was so weird; shared with the stereotypical image of Britain were eloquent buildings, a surrounding ocean, and a memorable culture of high class. The culture was not strange, for it was the creatures who earned that title: the protagonist a dapper walruskat, who held a gentleman air about him, wearing a small top hat and a monocle. He was only one of the hybrid animals that lived about the land where no man panned.
His life wasn't exciting in the least. It wasn't driven by risk or rebellion, full of dangers, thrill, and adrenaline, nor kept up a fast pace where everything moved quicker than his mind could follow. But Walter Walruskat was nowhere near depression--he was miles away from it. The calm lifestyle suited him.
"I must say," he often chuckled when he had company, raising his cup of tea to gain attention, "this peace is just splendid. How about it, chums? Anyone for a nice conversation on the policies of the new fishing laws?"
Adoring the still, quaint life he had control over, Walter Walruskat pleasantly stayed home most of the time, watching the goggle box with a nice, freshly-heated cup of tea (his utmost favorite of all beverages). The soft couch made his home feel snug, with a fireplace, smoking up the chimney with recently fed flames, adding to the homely effect. Adjusting his monocle frequently, Walter Walruskat could only emit an aura of love for the beauty of his land. The sun shone. The rains nourished. The sea tickled beaches. "Absolutely splendid, I must say."
Only one day of his life so far could be called "different." Walter Walruskat had just finished the front page of the newspaper, so he flipped the switch on the goggle box. The weatherman had reported a possibility of a crushing storm passing by. Walter Walruskat just smiled, dopey as he was, and said, "The gardens will be sprinkled with natural water today, I must say!" His soul was not discontented at all, for even storms could be beautiful. And how could they be dangerous? His mind became sluggish as his danishes from breakfast slowly made his eyelids heavy. "A nap sounds good right about now," he said to none.
Walter Walruskat awoke to a shock--what a messy stock! The bricked fireplace destroyed, the goggle box's pieces strung across the floor, pellets of mixed materials gathering about. The beauty, the comfort, all destroyed! The only article intact was the very couch he sat upon. He looked around, still not sure of what exactly happened at all. The gears in his head would not turn. "Oh my, I must say. What a mess! It shall have to be cleaned immediately, for this is unfit for company!"
"Oh well," he chuckled. And with that, he set off to fix his homely home to return to his boring but peaceful life, always unchanging.
There was a contest on Aywas regarding a pet to be described with 500 words (max) of their personality and 500 words (max) of a super short drabble that further deepens their character. I entered using an idea that my best friend had, and I admit that at the time, the character felt good for a
JUST AS A NOTE: None of the content of stories for Aywas belong to me.
[Walter Walruskat]
[Personality.]
Walter Walruskat is nowhere near a complicated walruskat, but the exact opposite: a simpleton. He was easy to please, for in everything he could find beauty and likeness. Everything was sunshine and daisies for the optimistic animal.
Intelligence was not a strong point. Though it didn't hinder him, Walter Walruskat is extremely slow when it came to jokes and divine information. Not only was he slow, he was dumb in a manner. He didn't know why, but there were some things he just could not understand. His mind quickly registers if this information is needed (nearly always, if something confused him, his memory dumped it in the mental useless bin and was forgotten) and acts accordingly. "How profound, I must say!" he would exclaim in the situation, smiling with his tusks shining. "A smile a day keeps the shyness at bay!" he would say.
He had a love for the concept of a gentleman. How gentlemen were sincere and kind, who were models for growing males, the top of the top in the society chain! Walter Walruskat added a tiny top hat and grew accustomed to a monocle over his left eye for daily wear, wanting to look the part. The reason wasn't for popularity (though he never turned down a friend!), more because it clicked to him. It worked. He felt good carrying the air of a gentleman. "Always better to be a gentleman than a robber!" he would say.
So he worked at it. Walter Walruskat was naturally friendly (though too naive) and donated much for the welfare of the poorer citizens. He made an adequate amount of money by volunteering and gathering donations for the community. Indeed, he became a role model for the others; to display kindness to your neighbors, to take care of the community, and love nature. He strolled the streets and gave everyone a bow with a flick of his top hat. "Good day to you. And you. And you!" he would say.
What Walter Walruskat loved along with his beautiful, prosperous community were the moments of peace and silence at home. The solitude was refreshing after hours around other friendly faces. He soaked in the newspaper to gain more awareness of the world's success with a teeny tiny cup of tea. Watching the goggle box was also a luxury, enjoying to see what others could come up with. "Such a talent we all have in ourselves, we must put it to good use!" he would say.
By far his innocence disabled the ability to see the wrongness with the world. To some, it was a blessing, and to others, it was a curse. Walter Walruskat was content as can be, totally blind to the shadows lurking around. He was the kind of walruskat whose happiness was powered by ignorance and the fact he was plain dumb. The sweet dumb. The caring dumb. "Always be kind to your fellow mother nature, including all those who thrive on her rich love!" he would say.
[Story.]
The land where Walter Walruskat inhabited could only be described as "strange." It was not the appearance of the outdoors that was so weird; shared with the stereotypical image of Britain were eloquent buildings, a surrounding ocean, and a memorable culture of high class. The culture was not strange, for it was the creatures who earned that title: the protagonist a dapper walruskat, who held a gentleman air about him, wearing a small top hat and a monocle. He was only one of the hybrid animals that lived about the land where no man panned.
His life wasn't exciting in the least. It wasn't driven by risk or rebellion, full of dangers, thrill, and adrenaline, nor kept up a fast pace where everything moved quicker than his mind could follow. But Walter Walruskat was nowhere near depression--he was miles away from it. The calm lifestyle suited him.
"I must say," he often chuckled when he had company, raising his cup of tea to gain attention, "this peace is just splendid. How about it, chums? Anyone for a nice conversation on the policies of the new fishing laws?"
Adoring the still, quaint life he had control over, Walter Walruskat pleasantly stayed home most of the time, watching the goggle box with a nice, freshly-heated cup of tea (his utmost favorite of all beverages). The soft couch made his home feel snug, with a fireplace, smoking up the chimney with recently fed flames, adding to the homely effect. Adjusting his monocle frequently, Walter Walruskat could only emit an aura of love for the beauty of his land. The sun shone. The rains nourished. The sea tickled beaches. "Absolutely splendid, I must say."
Only one day of his life so far could be called "different." Walter Walruskat had just finished the front page of the newspaper, so he flipped the switch on the goggle box. The weatherman had reported a possibility of a crushing storm passing by. Walter Walruskat just smiled, dopey as he was, and said, "The gardens will be sprinkled with natural water today, I must say!" His soul was not discontented at all, for even storms could be beautiful. And how could they be dangerous? His mind became sluggish as his danishes from breakfast slowly made his eyelids heavy. "A nap sounds good right about now," he said to none.
Walter Walruskat awoke to a shock--what a messy stock! The bricked fireplace destroyed, the goggle box's pieces strung across the floor, pellets of mixed materials gathering about. The beauty, the comfort, all destroyed! The only article intact was the very couch he sat upon. He looked around, still not sure of what exactly happened at all. The gears in his head would not turn. "Oh my, I must say. What a mess! It shall have to be cleaned immediately, for this is unfit for company!"
"Oh well," he chuckled. And with that, he set off to fix his homely home to return to his boring but peaceful life, always unchanging.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
A breather (& of Aywas).
My week of setting personal projects aside to work on an online community in a team for little prizes and communication's sake is over (as of January 22nd), and I'll admit, that week was fun, not to mention I did talk to others. Thankfully I've been able to write during that week, although all writing was related to the site. Nonetheless, the week allowed me to retain some work ethic. One piece, a short story, written for the week-long activity seemed bland and forced at first, but as I continued to write it, the intentional idea morphed into a mutilated beast that I enjoyed tackling and reigning. And damn did I dominate that beast. In all seriousness the story had a nice ideological cycle, so once I polish it, I'll post it here.
I'll also go ahead and throw in all other writing related to that site (no the first piece of April 2010, God forbid that waste of 2k words) to fill in space because my thoughts are all over the place right now. They need to be straightened and organized before I make any moves, not to mention there are little loose threads hanging all around me that need to be tied up.
I'll also go ahead and throw in all other writing related to that site (no the first piece of April 2010, God forbid that waste of 2k words) to fill in space because my thoughts are all over the place right now. They need to be straightened and organized before I make any moves, not to mention there are little loose threads hanging all around me that need to be tied up.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
A milestone.
So the last post was the last of my currently finished exercises. Besides those, I have two other completed works, one a short story of an event that inevitably happens to my main characters in "Heartfelt Folly" and the other the possible prologue. Other unfinished stories are floating around, one of them too long and too neglected. I've never taken writing as seriously as I have been now, for the better! So I only really have what I've posted, two short stories, five old, old, OLD fanfiction that I'm not that proud of, and unfinished stories (including the novel from NaNoWriMo).
The milestone? My laptop's RAM memory encountered problems earlier this month, and the laptop cannot go past the login screen. The furthest it was able to last without freezing was me being one character away from putting in my password. After looking around online on the other computer, I learned it's from the RAM because of the blue screen that popped up once or twice. Because this is an old laptop (Dell Inspiron 1150, that model that overheats), one 1GB RAM costs $90 on site and $50 online. Currently, the laptop has two 512MB, equaling 1GB total. Having one 1GB RAM replacement should do for now, and I can test if it's one or both of the RAMs that are acting up. Whatever the case, the laptop is not getting fixed soon because even if ordered online, the delivery would take a while.
How is this related to writing? I'm picky with my work environment, so this was a blow on my work ethic. November and December gave me time to enjoy sitting on my bed typing away as long as I wanted to, so now I don't want to use much else. I used a certain program to work on my NaNoWriMo novel, Q10, and I want to use it with the certain settings I had it on. This month was planned for finishing the novel, but now I'll have to push that into February. This month, I'll finish an exercise I'm working on and possibly work more on a separate short story I started in October. I regret how picky I am.
Now I'm finished being self-centered, just felt the need to post about the wide gap. I'm also going to be inactive from January 15th until January 22nd because of some stuff in real life as well as an event I'm going to try out. If I get my dream exercise done during that time period, I will post it.
So, sorry for the self-centered post, even if I'm talking to myself.
The milestone? My laptop's RAM memory encountered problems earlier this month, and the laptop cannot go past the login screen. The furthest it was able to last without freezing was me being one character away from putting in my password. After looking around online on the other computer, I learned it's from the RAM because of the blue screen that popped up once or twice. Because this is an old laptop (Dell Inspiron 1150, that model that overheats), one 1GB RAM costs $90 on site and $50 online. Currently, the laptop has two 512MB, equaling 1GB total. Having one 1GB RAM replacement should do for now, and I can test if it's one or both of the RAMs that are acting up. Whatever the case, the laptop is not getting fixed soon because even if ordered online, the delivery would take a while.
How is this related to writing? I'm picky with my work environment, so this was a blow on my work ethic. November and December gave me time to enjoy sitting on my bed typing away as long as I wanted to, so now I don't want to use much else. I used a certain program to work on my NaNoWriMo novel, Q10, and I want to use it with the certain settings I had it on. This month was planned for finishing the novel, but now I'll have to push that into February. This month, I'll finish an exercise I'm working on and possibly work more on a separate short story I started in October. I regret how picky I am.
Now I'm finished being self-centered, just felt the need to post about the wide gap. I'm also going to be inactive from January 15th until January 22nd because of some stuff in real life as well as an event I'm going to try out. If I get my dream exercise done during that time period, I will post it.
So, sorry for the self-centered post, even if I'm talking to myself.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Exercise: Your Personal Hell - Level 1
This exercise is called "Your Personal Hell," which can be found on The Periwinkle Pen. Copied and pasted from the thread (because I'm feeling lazy right now):
"Like Dante's Inferno, a fictional Hell is created. In Hell, according to Dante, there are separate levels labeled by numbers, and sinners are sent to the level that corresponds with their worst crime (1 being the least horrible to 9 being the most intense). Certain types of people are sent to said levels.
The task of the exercise is to build your own personal Hell. It doesn't require 9 levels ("circles," Dante called them). It needs, however, as many levels yours would hold, be it three, five, seven, nine, or eleven. Describe what lies in each level with the scenery, the punishment, and the people that are sent to the level. Be as creative as you wish with the scenery and punishment, even if it's stuffed with gore that surpasses the average morbid scale. It's Hell, after all!"
The theme I'll be using is the seven sins. I've arranged the sins in order of which I personally find to be least evil to greatest offense. The first level is Gluttony. I attempted to write this exercise in second person because I felt second person would be more effective. This particular level was written on November 21, 2010, during NaNoWriMo, and the other levels haven't been started yet.
[Your Personal Hell - Level 1]
An imp takes you by the hand and leads you down a corridor with luscious walls licked by hungry flames. At the end of the corridor, you see a door labeled "1" in splotchy red, some areas darker than others, the bottom lining of the number having a dripping effect. You wonder to yourself if it was painted with blood--it's Hell, after all.
You watch as the imp opens the door with ease, its red tail flicking back and forth, purposefully hitting your legs. Luckily you are unaffected since the tail is not a great mass, so you show no expression of pain on your face, which naturally displeases the imp. Nonetheless, almost ignited by your actions, the imp tugs you into the room.
The first thing you notice is that this room is misty and murky, blurring your vision to the point of obscurity. It doesn't help that there is little to no light in the entire room, making the task of observing most difficult for you. One step into the room and you step on something, and it does not take long for your ankles to be submersed in the same mushy material. The uncaring imp continues to pull you along, distracting you from watching your feet drag in the substance, and it directs you to one of the walls. A shape starts to emerge, and from what you can tell, the object is hanging. A few steps later and you see it's not only one object, but numerous of the same one. The same shape even appears away from the wall, and you deduct that the hanging masses are in more than one place.
The imp lets go of your hand and roughly pushes you forward, and you almost fall--only barely catching yourself by flailing your arms about like a maniac. Once you are completely balanced, you squint at the silhouette in front of you. As the image becomes clear, your eyes grow wider and wider until the sight is completely revealed, and you turn heel and run from the grotesque sight of a decaying, bloated human corpse gutted with its intestines spilling onto the floor.
Then the squishes and splunks of the floor material (after seeing the corpse, you now know they are more intestines) become unbearable as well. You immediately stop running and stand in place, eyes welling up in horror as your body trembles from the trauma. You cross your arms and clutch onto your opposite elbows, trying to comfort your stomach; to no avail, as everything currently in your stomach now joins the intestines on the floor. Your body continues to convulse when the imp returns to your side, gripping a shoulder and pushing you ahead.
You shake your head violently, shouting out no in protest, but the imp's hold is unbreakable. From the distance, the sounds of cracks, chewing, and complaints reach your ears. The mist clears, and what lies before you is a field of humans shackled and bound like farm animals, their leashes held by dark red devils with sprouts for horns, laughing maniacally. In their other hand you see a whip of which they struck at the humans. They barked commands at the humans, ordering them to eat, eat, and eat. Eat the intestines, eat the innards, and eat the remaining flesh on the corpses. While staring at the sight you chance upon someone biting into a succulent chunk of purpled intestines.
Your stomach empties once again, but unlike the other chunks of your disgorgement the fresh batch is not alone. Other patches of human regurgitation spread out like puddles. You completely sympathize with the tortured gluttons, for you understand that the corpses and viscera is by no chance a pleasant sight to see, that anyone, in your opinion, would feel their stomach churn and choke in this atmosphere, not to mention the scent, of which was heavy with decay and rotten materials.
This place, you are sure of, would be the most horrible place to wind up in, but as you know, you are not a glutton. You are not required to walk through this level, but even though you don't know exactly why, you just suppose sadistic Lucifer wants to revel in your misery, and indirectly gets his kicks by commanding this imp to give you a grand tour of the evil lord's palace.
Finally you cannot bear to look anymore, so you turn your head from the suffering. The imp grins and pushes you in a different direction, and your feet keep trudging through the human entrails and waste until another door is approached. This door, you see, has the number "2" scrawled upon it. You then realize this room is only the first level, and if you thought this level was bad, how would you fare with the rest?
"Like Dante's Inferno, a fictional Hell is created. In Hell, according to Dante, there are separate levels labeled by numbers, and sinners are sent to the level that corresponds with their worst crime (1 being the least horrible to 9 being the most intense). Certain types of people are sent to said levels.
The task of the exercise is to build your own personal Hell. It doesn't require 9 levels ("circles," Dante called them). It needs, however, as many levels yours would hold, be it three, five, seven, nine, or eleven. Describe what lies in each level with the scenery, the punishment, and the people that are sent to the level. Be as creative as you wish with the scenery and punishment, even if it's stuffed with gore that surpasses the average morbid scale. It's Hell, after all!"
The theme I'll be using is the seven sins. I've arranged the sins in order of which I personally find to be least evil to greatest offense. The first level is Gluttony. I attempted to write this exercise in second person because I felt second person would be more effective. This particular level was written on November 21, 2010, during NaNoWriMo, and the other levels haven't been started yet.
[Your Personal Hell - Level 1]
An imp takes you by the hand and leads you down a corridor with luscious walls licked by hungry flames. At the end of the corridor, you see a door labeled "1" in splotchy red, some areas darker than others, the bottom lining of the number having a dripping effect. You wonder to yourself if it was painted with blood--it's Hell, after all.
You watch as the imp opens the door with ease, its red tail flicking back and forth, purposefully hitting your legs. Luckily you are unaffected since the tail is not a great mass, so you show no expression of pain on your face, which naturally displeases the imp. Nonetheless, almost ignited by your actions, the imp tugs you into the room.
The first thing you notice is that this room is misty and murky, blurring your vision to the point of obscurity. It doesn't help that there is little to no light in the entire room, making the task of observing most difficult for you. One step into the room and you step on something, and it does not take long for your ankles to be submersed in the same mushy material. The uncaring imp continues to pull you along, distracting you from watching your feet drag in the substance, and it directs you to one of the walls. A shape starts to emerge, and from what you can tell, the object is hanging. A few steps later and you see it's not only one object, but numerous of the same one. The same shape even appears away from the wall, and you deduct that the hanging masses are in more than one place.
The imp lets go of your hand and roughly pushes you forward, and you almost fall--only barely catching yourself by flailing your arms about like a maniac. Once you are completely balanced, you squint at the silhouette in front of you. As the image becomes clear, your eyes grow wider and wider until the sight is completely revealed, and you turn heel and run from the grotesque sight of a decaying, bloated human corpse gutted with its intestines spilling onto the floor.
Then the squishes and splunks of the floor material (after seeing the corpse, you now know they are more intestines) become unbearable as well. You immediately stop running and stand in place, eyes welling up in horror as your body trembles from the trauma. You cross your arms and clutch onto your opposite elbows, trying to comfort your stomach; to no avail, as everything currently in your stomach now joins the intestines on the floor. Your body continues to convulse when the imp returns to your side, gripping a shoulder and pushing you ahead.
You shake your head violently, shouting out no in protest, but the imp's hold is unbreakable. From the distance, the sounds of cracks, chewing, and complaints reach your ears. The mist clears, and what lies before you is a field of humans shackled and bound like farm animals, their leashes held by dark red devils with sprouts for horns, laughing maniacally. In their other hand you see a whip of which they struck at the humans. They barked commands at the humans, ordering them to eat, eat, and eat. Eat the intestines, eat the innards, and eat the remaining flesh on the corpses. While staring at the sight you chance upon someone biting into a succulent chunk of purpled intestines.
Your stomach empties once again, but unlike the other chunks of your disgorgement the fresh batch is not alone. Other patches of human regurgitation spread out like puddles. You completely sympathize with the tortured gluttons, for you understand that the corpses and viscera is by no chance a pleasant sight to see, that anyone, in your opinion, would feel their stomach churn and choke in this atmosphere, not to mention the scent, of which was heavy with decay and rotten materials.
This place, you are sure of, would be the most horrible place to wind up in, but as you know, you are not a glutton. You are not required to walk through this level, but even though you don't know exactly why, you just suppose sadistic Lucifer wants to revel in your misery, and indirectly gets his kicks by commanding this imp to give you a grand tour of the evil lord's palace.
Finally you cannot bear to look anymore, so you turn your head from the suffering. The imp grins and pushes you in a different direction, and your feet keep trudging through the human entrails and waste until another door is approached. This door, you see, has the number "2" scrawled upon it. You then realize this room is only the first level, and if you thought this level was bad, how would you fare with the rest?
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Exercise: Text
I made up this exercise out of nowhere, the exercise being: a character gets progressively mad to the brink, but something happens (very vague) that simmers them down, maybe to the point of a happy smile. This is simple, but it was fun to write anger! This exercise intentionally continued from the previous morning routine, to later in the day. There's no "night" routine with these characters because 1) I haven't thought of one and 2) they would just eat and have leisure time, then either sleep or have sexual intercourse, then sleep. The exercise was started around mid-October.
[Text]
Hands clenched into fists, a vein here and there becoming visible. The teeth inside his mouth gritted against the other row. Nostrils flared, and if he were able to, smoke would shoot from them. The laptop in front of him was set to a page of a client’s financial information, but it wasn’t the root of the anger. Abel glared at the screen nonetheless, the screen vicariously suffering unspoken, silent wrath. What Abel wanted to do was to grab the damned piece oftechnology and transfer his anger into it; he wanted to feel it all drain out and let the area be claimed rightfully by content, as it had earlier. And to prevent the anger from doubling back, he would chuck the laptop at the wall and watch it fall apart, bringing the anger down with it.
But that wasn’t rational.
If only people weren’t so dumb, he wouldn’t have to suffer so. Pointless questions (which could be answered with common sense) spiraled endlessly, drilling into his head like a child’s slide hours a day. Dumb looks that reflected no logical skills faced Abel, who was not fortunate enough to have a client who had a vague idea of what they were going to do. Meetings would be arranged and wasted by either cancellation or the client not following advice, pushing them deeper into their own problems. People would screw themselves over and blame him. “Why,” Abel thought to himself, "must I, who issmart and successful and stressed, have to deal with all these imbeciles?!”
They made his job hell.
Abel took a deep breath and exhaled. It'd do absolutely no good to blow up while atthe office . If someone heard, he could get in trouble or fired. Control over emotions was always a struggle. All the emotions wanted to do was to pour out and rebel against the ego's better judgment. Needless to say, the emotions always won, no matter how hard he tried to cage them in. It didn't help that the emotions were always consisted of anger and rage--which is why people believed he had anger issues.
The impulse to destroy circulated throughout his body. How simple would it be to launch the object and watch it shatter? Watch it fall apart? Become broken? Too easy.
"You'd be an idiot to do it," his ego told himself. "You didn't succumb to such savagery any other time, so why now?"
"Everyone's pissing me the fuck off!" the id said, "Why can't I?"
"Because you'd have to pay consequences," spoke the superego.
The ego didn't want one side to be displeased. "Why not take it out on something insignificant?"
Instead, Abel's eyes were drawn to a stapler. It couldn't cause too much damage to the wall, and the noise wouldn't attract roaming people who would jump at the chance to get a co-worker fired. The cost of replacing it wouldn't be high, either. Definitely a step up from the laptop.
He reached to it and grasped it in his hand--
His leg left a vibration, and he released his grip. He withdrew his phone and glanced at the screen. A new text message.
Only one person ever sent texts to him.
Abel slipped the phone under the table--even though he was the only one in his office--and checked his messages. Naturally, as he assumed, it was from Mark:
hope ur having an ok day so far I love u and I’ll be waiting for u when u get home. :)
Somehow, neither the laptop nor the stapler looked appealing to throw at the wall.
[Text]
Hands clenched into fists, a vein here and there becoming visible. The teeth inside his mouth gritted against the other row. Nostrils flared, and if he were able to, smoke would shoot from them. The laptop in front of him was set to a page of a client’s financial information, but it wasn’t the root of the anger. Abel glared at the screen nonetheless, the screen vicariously suffering unspoken, silent wrath. What Abel wanted to do was to grab the damned piece of
But that wasn’t rational.
If only people weren’t so dumb, he wouldn’t have to suffer so. Pointless questions (which could be answered with common sense) spiraled endlessly, drilling into his head like a child’s slide hours a day. Dumb looks that reflected no logical skills faced Abel, who was not fortunate enough to have a client who had a vague idea of what they were going to do. Meetings would be arranged and wasted by either cancellation or the client not following advice, pushing them deeper into their own problems. People would screw themselves over and blame him. “Why,” Abel thought to himself, "must I, who is
They made his job hell.
Abel took a deep breath and exhaled. It'd do absolutely no good to blow up while at
The impulse to destroy circulated throughout his body. How simple would it be to launch the object and watch it shatter? Watch it fall apart? Become broken? Too easy.
"You'd be an idiot to do it," his ego told himself. "You didn't succumb to such savagery any other time, so why now?"
"Everyone's pissing me the fuck off!" the id said, "Why can't I?"
"Because you'd have to pay consequences," spoke the superego.
The ego didn't want one side to be displeased. "Why not take it out on something insignificant?"
Instead, Abel's eyes were drawn to a stapler. It couldn't cause too much damage to the wall, and the noise wouldn't attract roaming people who would jump at the chance to get a co-worker fired. The cost of replacing it wouldn't be high, either. Definitely a step up from the laptop.
He reached to it and grasped it in his hand--
His leg left a vibration, and he released his grip. He withdrew his phone and glanced at the screen. A new text message.
Only one person ever sent texts to him.
Abel slipped the phone under the table--even though he was the only one in his office--and checked his messages. Naturally, as he assumed, it was from Mark:
hope ur having an ok day so far I love u and I’ll be waiting for u when u get home. :)
Somehow, neither the laptop nor the stapler looked appealing to throw at the wall.
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