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rockets and rainbows
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[*] posted on 6-8-2010 at 02:43 PM
Story Excerpts


Hey everybody! I don't know about you, but a lot of times when I write stories, there will be some scene in my head that I really, really wanna write...but I'm not at that part of the story yet.

So this is where you can write excerpts from your novel that you just had to write down early, or maybe some deleted scenes, or just a part of your story that you feel proud of and want to share! :)

(note to the Mods: if this isn't allowed, my bad! :embarrassed: )
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[*] posted on 6-9-2010 at 03:16 AM


Haha, nah, it's allowed. Great thread. I can't post just now, but many those who do can comment (nice comments) about the other posts. Do you have an excerpt for us rockets and rainbows?






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[*] posted on 6-9-2010 at 12:00 PM


I have one in mind, but it's not written down yet. Once I do, I'll post it. :)
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[*] posted on 6-23-2010 at 09:41 AM


Once I get to writing I'll post mine too :)
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[*] posted on 6-23-2010 at 10:31 AM


God there are so many scenes in my head I want to write. I'm pretty sure I'll do those early and get WAY ahead of my word count and then slow down to write the more boring stuff in between. :D I'll most definitely post here.



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[*] posted on 6-29-2010 at 03:34 PM


I wrote a story about a bunny with the Write and Die- can I post it here?



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[*] posted on 6-29-2010 at 11:33 PM


Okay i'll give it a try this is an idea i got the other day i was thinking about using since i only have a day or so till WriMo starts so I'll put this thought on here tell me what you think

"Fang walks out of the closet to Tony's workshop door and leans over cuffs his hands and exhales on the key pad showing his options for what the code is. Using the chimes he heard from the closet as a guide he punched in the code.
Gets it on the first time to his surprise "cake" he smirks.
He opens the door and walks in surveying the room.He starts to look in one of the old iron man suites when...
Sniff! Sniff!
He wiped around Shink!claws drawn.
"So your my gargoyle"Tony said sarcastically."You made it threw my defenses without so much of a beep;congrats" he said clapping.
Fang ran and sprang in a attempt to do a flying tackle.
When he came within reach in one smooth motion Tony grabbed fangs wrist and swung him into the wall hard"




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[*] posted on 6-30-2010 at 05:22 AM



Great thread! I might throw a few paragraphs in here come July. xD

Wingman - nice passage. If I may just say - beware of your grammar though. (: For example...

"So your my gargoyle"Tony said sarcastically.
"So you're my gargoyle." Tony said sarcastically.

Your - possessive
You're - you are
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[*] posted on 6-30-2010 at 12:31 PM


okay thanks for pointing that out



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[*] posted on 6-30-2010 at 07:21 PM


Wrote this using the write or die tool.

--

“So what in the world are you doing?”

Jan spun her heel to glare at Jason – no, actually Prince Jason d’Arthas to be exact. Hector had been write to not trust him. She should have listened to Hector, but she didn’t. Why was it that the one time she doesn’t listen to Hector is the one time she gets in some kind of trouble? And this kind of trouble is not easily fixed. After all, she was trapped in the past – during the dark ages of the kingdom. Funny, she thought. Judging by the way the people of the court were dressed in the ballroom, she wouldn’t have thought these times were dark. It was as if the people of the court didn’t know what was really going on outside the palace walls. They were too busy trying to kiss up to the queen and marry off their children to the prince and princess.

Speaking of the prince, Jan’s glare did not soften – even when she noticed Jason was a little speechless. She knew that stare. It was a stare she was often teased about. Boys always did this to girls in the academy. She was being checked out and by the prince himself. Honestly, if she was back home, she would have hit him by now. But then again, Jason wasn’t Hector. Hector could take a few hits whereas Jan wasn’t sure if Jason could…in front of the entire court.

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m trying to look for a way home, you idiot.” Jan hissed at him, as he took her hands. He placed one on his shoulder and one in his hand before placing a hand on her waist. She shivered involuntarily due to their contact. She silently cursed Amara for putting her in this accursed dress and makeup. She needed to go home! She didn’t have time to dance! What was that woman thinking?!

“Look, I’m sorry.” Jason quietly replied before sighing. When they started to sway back and forth, she closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose. She had to bare it now. Dancing was the only way they could talk. And the prince would get an earful. “All I wanted was to go home. Now look at the mess I’ve made.”

"Yes, look at the mess you've made." Jan spat. "Now, your highness, you shouldn't talk so casually. What will the women think? Wouldn't they gossip of how idly we're speaking."

"You know how to handle these situations." Jason then twirled her. They were a few feet away from the middle of the ballroom. Jan opened her green eyes to look directly into his hazel eyes. Her lower lip twitched as he twirled her again. She didn't fancy being twirled, but he was leading.

"Of course. I've had practice with Hector. You remember him, don't you?"

At that, he stopped swaying to the music. Jan followed, her left hand slipped from his shoulder, but Jason would not let her hand leave his. If she struggled against him, it would look bad. And who knows what he would do? He had the upper hand here. Jan looked around in search of her help, but Amara was nowhere to be found. Jan cursed her rotten luck.
Too bad it was about to get worse.

Jason's right hand moved from her waist to cup her cheek. Jan's jade eyes widened as he leaned in. Her thoughts began to scream at her, telling her move away. She wasn't supposed to have the prince, not Jason and not Hector either. She wasn't supposed to have either one of them. She could feel his warm breath tickle her face; he smelled like peppermint. His lips were too close for comfort. Her heart skipped a beat when he spoke. "Of course, I do, but I was hoping that you'd forget your friend."

That was when he dove in for the kiss. His soft lips pressed against Jan's lipstick-stained, chapped ones.

Her head began spinning.

No.

No.

No.

NO!

It was all wrong. Jason was from the past. And she...was from the "future". Jason knew that better than anyone else in the ballroom. Jan had been the one who had taken him home. When she had taken his hand that sunset, she made a promise to take him home. And she had taken him home. He had failed to mention that he was from the distance past, as a prince born before the Mithrandir's rebellion. It was all wrong, yet...she liked the feel of his lips against her. She could almost...fall into it and want to stay there. It felt right.

NO! Her mind yelled at her again. She was getting too deep. Jan needed to go home. Her home was not here, but where her family and Hector were, not here in this time or place, not where Jason was. She needed to leave. Her presence was already messing up history as she knew it. Time travel - or whatever Amara called it - had its consequences.

Her free hand moved to Jason's chest, where she gave him a slight nudge. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Jason pulled himself away from her. Jan moved her gaze to the floor as she felt her cheeks burn. This was how she felt when Hector kissed it; the feeling was the same. It was ironic considering Jason is most likely Hector's ancestor. Jan mentally hit herself. She was already attached to Hector back home. Now here with Jason, she was starting to feel the same...and she hated herself for it.

She didn't belong in his world either.

Subtly, she shifted her weight, leaning away from Jason. His hand still held hers when Jan mustered the courage to look up again. That was when she noticed that everyone in the court was staring - including the Queen herself, who stood from her throne and clapped. "At last, my son has found someone worthy of his affections."

Jan hated herself when Jason whispered, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Hector had said the same thing.


[Edited on 7-1-2010 by Reizna]
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[*] posted on 7-1-2010 at 05:05 PM


This is my favorite scene so far:

Across the courtyard Edith marched. She let herself into the Educator's Keep and counted the doors until she came to the one with Professor Clington's name on it. She knocked on the door which was opened almost immediately, “Edith!” The old man exclaimed when he saw her. He was the oldest of men she had ever met- how old she wasn't sure- but his back was severely bent forward over a cane. Instead of a tunic and breeches he wore the customary educators' apparel- a robe with a simple belt and hood. Today the old man's robe was purple velvet with fur lining the inside collar and cuffs. His head has bald with sickly spots to prove his age. His beard was white and thin, but long and crinkly. His eyes, with fading color, were always scrunched but Edith wondered if that was just for show, because she new the old man's sight was that of a hawk. Even though he had a cane he moved agilely which was quite the entertainment to a younger onlooker. “What is all that banging about?” He crackled. “I'm not deaf you know! Now get in here, you're letting the cold in.”
“Sorry Anastas,” She apologized stepping in, “I wasn't aware I was pounding.” She ignored his comment about the cold- it was a scorching spring day, the first of the season. Anastas was always complaining about the cold, even if it was the warmest of mid-summer days.
“Sit down, sit down,” He said pointing to a chair by a lit fire, “Let me get you some brew.”
Edith swallowed what little moisture was in her mouth and sat, inching her chair away from the fire. She had asked before if his 'brew' was tea and he retorted by saying “I said it was brew, didn't I?” Edith didn't know it this meant if was tea or not. She did not mind what it was, because no matter what mood she was in it hit the spot every time, even after her beloved, early drink outing with Gavin and Winnie.
“So, what brings a youngster to the likes of me on such a brutal day?” He asked. “The King, or the Princess?” He cackled at his own answer. Edith smiled.
“Both, I guess,” She accepting a cup from him. Today it was kept cold, and smelt of lemons and honey. She sipped and let the relief it brought seep to her toes. Edith didn't ask why he kept it cold if he thought it such a chilly day, he probably had his excuses though. “And the brew,” She added.
He cackled again sitting down across from her, “That's what they all say.”
“Have you heard?” She asked him. “We're leaving for Cumry tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, yes,” He stroked him beard. “I do believe I heard something like that. I'll finally be rid of the little brat for a few years.”
Edith chuckled, then remembered why she had come, “Anastas, I know what you've been trying to do with her and I don't think it will work- I don't want it to work.”
Anastas looked at her strictly, “And what might that be?” He asked all serious. He stood and tapped his cane twice then sat again.
Of course, Edith thought watching a glimmer of his magic race across the floor and to the ceiling, the King probably has spies on anyone close enough to Cynthia to be a threat. When he nodded for her to answer, she knew it was safe.
“You've been trying to convince Cynthia to think seriously about Rynith,” She began. He said nothing and she continued. “I don't think she's the key to the plan. She's as bad as her father. There's no way she can change in four years to be the kind of ruler we need to hold this country together. You need to find another noble, someone that the Kingdom already trusts.”
Anastas shook his head, “I'm sure you've noticed by now that I see more than people think I do. What you don't know is that I see more in other people than I do with my eyes.” Edith's brow scrunched, what was he babbling now? “I have made my choice- Princess Cynthia is the right choice-”
“But just a moment ago you said she was a brat!”
“It does not take a good person to do good things,” He explained. “I have faith in the little brat. Part of the her being a brat is why my plan is so brilliant. If I had chosen someone that everyone trusted, it would suspicious don't you think? Yes, Princess Cynthia is the right choice,” He nodded looking out the window.
Edith would have argued longer but her brew had calmed her down so much that she believed him, and forgot how aggravated she had been just ten minutes ago, “You are a sly old man,” She tilted her cup toward him, “You drugged this with magic, didn't you?”
He looked at her with humor in his eye, “I beg your pardon, young lady! I put no magic nor alcohol in my brews- it's pure love,” He pulled a small, wooden table from the corner in between them, on the flat of the table was a chess board scratched into the wood. “Now, do you prefer white, or black?”

((Rynith is their country))



[Edited on 7-1-2010 by juliajreams]




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[*] posted on 7-4-2010 at 06:12 AM


Most important scene in the whole story:



Reese stares at the large machine in front of him with a mixture of fear and admiration. It's nothing more than a large metal box with an oval chamber, but it looks so sinister, especially as he knows what it's going to do. Along the room if the wall is a large control panel with dozens of screens, switches, buttons and levers. The technician leads the two boys over, pointing out various aspects of the machine, but both Reese and Riley are too scared out of their mind to listen. Reese wraps his arms around Riley waist, holding him closely against him, and running a hand through his hair. Riley hugs back tightly, refusing to let go, as if this is the last time he'll ever get to hug him. And it very well might be. It must be an ingenious design, with him knowing so little about how the Bond works, and not the first thing about breaking it. And it looks so simple…

"It's time, boys," one of the nurses says, and the boys exchange glances, terror in both of their eyes. Riley takes Reese's hand and whispers a soft "I love you. If this doesn’t work out, I just want you to know that I love you."

Reese nods in agreement. "I love you too, Riles... no matter what."

They both climb inside the oval chamber, sitting on opposite sides. The metal is smooth and cool, with a gap going down the middle, and Riley runs his fingers over it as he looks around. Both of them were told that breaking the Bond would be excruciatingly painful, and they can't be sedated for it, and so they're both scared out of their minds. Reese pulls his knees to his chest and hides his face in them, as Riley gazes about in terror.

A clear barrier that looks like glass is lowered between them, Reese presses his hand to it. Riley joins him, lining his up with his Master's, and their eyes meet. A nurse comes around and puts a cuff on each of their wrists that she says will monitor their vital signs, and then a metal blind is drawn. Since Riley won't hear him through the wall, Reese mouths 'I love you', and when the boy says it back, his heart breaks.

The process begins with a hiss. It starts slowly at first, and then the pain hits, like a bullet through the chest. "Riley!" Reese screams, writhing in pain as he feels desperately around on the glass, desperate to touch his boy, but his screams are lost in the metal chamber, pounding inside his head, Saying he feels as if he's been shot would not be a exaggeration.

Riley, because he's younger and smaller, has it even worse. A blade zips through his body, cutting through every muscle, every limb, and there's no escape from it. Especially the burning in his chest - it's like being stabbed over and over with a dull blade that goes just a bit deeper every time, until it hits his heart and he blacks out.

____________________________________________________________________

Dizzy awareness comes to Riley in a hazy fog, a black cloud, wrapping itself around his head and not letting any thoughts in or out. There’s no pain, no regret, no shock… no part of his body is capable of producing such an emotion or feeling; so much pain that there is no pain at all. He, at the moment, can choose life or death – to let himself slip away painlessly and quietly, or to grasp onto his thoughts and memories and hold on tight. He has been through so much that it would be a waste to let it all go now.

Despite how weak he is, despite the hardships and sadness of the life around him, Riley chooses life. His body slowly reboots, and he becomes dully aware of the pain in his chest, building and building slowly, then suddenly hitting himself with a jolt that is unbearable, shooting through every limb. Fire on his skin, and then a dull ache that goes all the way down through the bone. He coughs weakly as he tries to get air to his lungs, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. He tries to sit up, but he's unable. Too weak. Limbs won’t move, muscles won’t clench. He hears rhythmic beeping coming from the darkness, until light starts to force its way into his eyes, stabbing at his pupils. He sees the machine in his mind’s eye – the little square box with the oval cage-like chamber. He remembers it, but his brain doesn’t find the significance of it or piece together what has happened to him. He sees a figure moving by his bed through thinly squinted eyes. His wrist is picked up, the only way it can move. His hand hangs limply, and he tries to speak, but his lips do not move. His eyelids are growing heavy. The figure fiddles with something that is sticking up out of his hand, and then he is asleep again.

When he wakes up again, there is no light in the room, and he can not think or move, so it's no different from being asleep. In moments, he's back in dreamland. If he could dream. And the next time he awakens, the pain is not as great, and he feels a dull pressure in his hand. He touches it, and realizes that it is an IV needle. Attempts to pull it out, but he is too weak, and when something beside him starts beeping, the nurse once again hurries over and injects him with something that causes him to lose consciousness once more. This time he tries to fight it, but it’s futile, and the mattress gives way underneath him for him to fall into the blackness.

He doesn't know how much time goes by as he constantly drifts in and out of sleep, and the states are not too different from eachother. When he’s awake, he’s too weak to move, too tired to keep his eyes open or even think. Sometimes he just lies there, still, until the darkness swallows him again. Sometimes he’s in pain, sometimes he isn’t, sometimes it’s unbearable and he cries or whimpers, and sometimes he can stand it. Almost every time, though, one of the nurses puts something in the IV in his hand and he drops back off to sleep, for an unknown length of time. And every time it feels like he's dying.

One time, though, he wakes up fully, finding himself in a warm hospital room. His mind slowly begins to wake up as the light barges in as the unwelcomed guest, and shapes and figures form blurrily. The only way the pain in his chest could be described would be having a sword shoved clear through, being alive to feel every bit of it. Those long expanses of unconsciousness had been a blessing, he now realizes. He rolls over and hits something - the body of another. Everything hurts, and his chest burns. "Riley?" he hears a soft, female voice. "Riley, are you awake? No, don't try to move... stay awake for me, Riley." A hand on his shoulder, his body rolling back to lie flat. The back of the bed behind his head moving upwards until he’s in a sitting position. Someone talking. Peering around at everything. Not understanding.

He's growing tired again already, losing his energy. No will. But the voice tells him to try to stay awake, so he struggles to keep his eyes open. The memories start to come back - him... Reese... the big machine... the pain.... oooh. He groans, shifting closer to the Master's body. The large machine appears in his mind’s eye and he cringes, latching onto Reese’s arm.

"Reese should be waking up soon," says the voice, and now she has a figure to match, as light begins to find its way into Riley’s dilated eyes. A light is shone into them, causing him to wail. "You have slept through the worst part of this. Are you in pain?"

''Y-y-y...ee...s’m..."

"On a scale of one to a ten, how much?"

He has never felt any pain like this before, but he's sure it could be a lot worse. So he whispers a meek "Seven" as he tries to latch himself onto Reese's arm. He feels the older man stir, and he whispers "Master.... Reese..."

The older man slowly rolls over, his eyes opening little by little. He winced as he moved, the pain in his chest still great. "Ruh… Riles?" he whispers, and the younger boy immediately squirms over to him. Pain shoots through his limbs with the smallest movement, and he barely has enough energy to lift his finger, but he manages to wriggle into Reese's arms, kissing his cheek, gripping his shirt with loose, weak fingers. Even after everything they've been through, they're still attached at the hip.

Reese raises his head to look up at the nurse. "Has the Bond been broken?"



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[*] posted on 7-4-2010 at 11:27 PM


Oh man! These excerpts are awesome! Here's one from my story:

Tom blinks slowly, his eyelids so heavy it takes all the effort in his being to keep them up. He rubs his eyes tiredly, berating himself for falling asleep at the metaphorical wheel. Dreaming, no less. He has no business dreaming. If nightmares refuse to plague him for once, that's great, but he'd appreciate it if his brain would just shut the hell up instead of chucking more useless images at him.

With a yawn, Tom puts the ship on autopilot and stares out the window, into the stars, thinking of his dream. He chuckles wryly to himself - a man in green flying around in the void of space like he doesn't even need oxygen, really, Tom? But it's better than the nightmares, Tom will agree to that.

Tom realizes he's dozed off again when a light pang echoes through the cockpit, jarring him back into consciousness. He looks around for the source of the sound for a moment before sighing. Time for bed.

Tom stands, his bones creaking wearily like he's 60 instead of 33 when he stretches, scratching the back of his head sleepily. Another light pang bounces off the metal walls in the cockpit, coming from out the door to the rest of the bridge, like someone is out there. Tom pauses, waiting for someone to come in, but no one does. Tom can't bring himself to care about the noise. He wants to sleep. He opens the door and sees no one.

Tom is thinking about his daughter - I hope Gwen's asleep when I get there, hope she fell asleep alright - when he hears another pang, light and echoing all around him, and then another, sharper pang right behind him. Tom turns around.

Nobody is behind him. Tom rubs his hand over his face, exhausted. The thought of his bed seems so wonderful as he turns back around and takes another step.

A pair of bright green eyes are less than two inches from his, a smiling face upside-down in front of him. Tom staggers back with a startled shout, and his eyes grow wide when he actually sees the person before.

A young man - the one he'd seen outside the ship, when he had dozed off - hovered upside-down, bare feet touching the ceiling, a grin on his face, eyes that seem a bit too wide and bit too green staring down at him. Tom took another clumsy step back and fell right on his backside.

"Haha!" His voice was a bit too loud, a bit too sharp, a bit too clear. "Scared you!" Before Tom can scream for somebody - or maybe just scream the obvious, "You're on the ceiling!" or something equally as intelligent - the man pushes off the ceiling and whirls lightly, coming down like he weighs nothing in front of Tom. Tom leans back when the man leans forward, right into his face.

"You definitely weren't what I expected to run into out here in the stars!" the man says in that too-strong voice, a tone of voice that reminds Tom of when Gwen was a toddler and talked like she knew she was in charge because at two years old all she knew was that Tom and Eve spoiled her and that made her the boss. "I was gonna look for a Wendy!" Suddenly his hands fly up to clap against Tom's face, and he leans forward intensely to ask, "Are you a new Wendy?"

And then his hands are gone and Tom watches in shock as he flies up and over him and says with a look of manic excitement, "Oh man, you look like you could use some adventure. I've got this place, mister, and it's called Neverland. You take this spaceship and you follow me!"

[Edited on 7-20-2010 by rockets and rainbows]
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[*] posted on 7-5-2010 at 12:28 AM


Ooh. I can't wait Rockets and Rainbows!

Edit: Was just thinking... none of mine so far are good enough to post up here... though I do have a thread in the Progress Reports Subforum if you'd like to be kept updated... There are a few quotes...

[Edited on 5-7-2010 by cheyenne.r.trumbo]




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[*] posted on 7-6-2010 at 08:22 PM


Excerpt from chapter one:


If he drags this out much longer, my omelet is going to burn.

I wiped the blood (his, not mine) from my face as... Steve, or whatever his name was, looked down at me triumphantly.

"Is that all you've got?" he asked, with a smug little smirk on his face.

"Shut the hell up," I panted, putting one hand on the counter for support as I struggled to my feet. "I was just trying to cook breakfast."

Being a hero, he gave me enough time to catch my breath before coming at me again.

"Yeah, I can see that," he said (uppercut to the jaw; elbow block, shove him back into the island at the center of the kitchen). "What's in that omelet? Souls?"

"You -- need -- to work -- on your dialogue." I let him hit me once, square in the nose, and staggered back towards the stove.

"So do you, doctor." I swung for his cracked ribs, groping with one hand for the heavy frying pan I knew had to be there. "No monologue? I'm disappointed."

He grabbed a handful of my hair and banged my head against the front of the microwave -- I heard the plastic crack. Oh, that was the last straw -- personal injury I could take, but property damage was unforgiveable. "I can muster a one-liner if you'd prefer," I said.

I swung my knee up, aiming for his nuts -- I missed and hit him in the upper thigh. He grinned. I could smell mint on his breath. He used Crest toothpaste. "Go ahead, doc." I was trying to twist away as he kept using my head as a drumstick on the microwave front, but he had a good grip on my hair -- and scalping isn't my idea of a good way to wake up. "Make my day."

I was getting dizzy, but I did close my hand around the handle of the frying pan -- cast iron and trustworthy, especially when called upon as an improvised weapon. "You can't make an omelet without breaking a few heads."

I brought the frying pan around and clipped him on the arm, wiggled my other hand under his arm to get a better grip on the handle, and whacked him on the top of the head.
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Savara
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[*] posted on 7-7-2010 at 08:35 AM


A scene that made me giggle :)

Quote:
One of the Cleoran myths had to do with counting stars at night. The stars that shone brightly counted twice, stars that were barely visible were not counted at all. Cian stared at the sky and held Dorinne tightly, it had been too long since this dream had been reality for the priest. His wife had been one of the first to fall to the epidemic that had swept through the land over fifteen years ago. All but four of the Cleorans of his village had passed away during that awful time. Cian had been one of the lucky ones, or unfortunate ones if you were to ask the priest himself. The sight of the forest filled with Giant Trees kindled a strong longing for his home, a place long lost to the elements after it had been abandoned.
As long as this is not all for nothing. Cian had tried to push the doubts away, but a nagging feeling remained no matter what he did. We won’t find enough people here to make any difference whatsoever. Pessimism was not generally one of his more prominent characteristics, intellectually he knew that even a small number of fighters could make all the difference in any conflict. Still a reluctance remained when it came to facing his fellow countrymen. And this wasn’t without reason.

Azur Tennander appeared from a make-shift hut in the woods. His nephew seemed to have developed a preference for loneliness.
“Uncle Cian.” The young guy had been transformed since Cian had last seen him, and he had to adjust his mental image of the man significantly.
“Little Azur... How you have grown.” Both Cleorans smiled and Cian let go of some of his doubt as he embraced his fellow name bearer.
“I see you have brought company.” Azur stepped forward and bowed low before taking hold of Brynne’s hand and kissing it. The Dariun snatched her hand away and wiped it on her trousers.
“Careful with those limbs of yours, Azur.” Cian chuckled. “If you’re interested in keeping them, that is.” Brynne’s eyes flashed angrily at Cian before focusing on Azur once again.
“Brynne.” She said curtly.
“Azur.” He replied, unable to keep a twinkle from appearing in his eyes.
Cian let out an exasperated sigh. Youngsters... really.


Brynne is such a loveable character, and she would hate me for saying that about her, too :D




Weakness and strength are so closely related, it is hard to discern which action indicates which characteristic. - Empress Eiliana of Kayga

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[*] posted on 7-7-2010 at 07:31 PM


Oh the joy of translating.

My favorite (funniest) scene so far (from chapter one):

Katrina allowed herself a nap - she had sat in this extremely comfortable limousine in the middle of the night to start driving from West-Virginia and arrive to the Wyoming nothingness at the right time. She had been on the road for so long that it seemed like forever, and it was already bright outside... "I feel tired, my hair's so curly, why'd I have to be there early?" she murmured displeasedly, when stretched and hit her fist against the ceiling of the car. No matter the fact that the ceiling was covered in velvet, it still hurt - the cheerleader characteristics showed themselves again.
Katrina took her light pink bag from the seat and pulled out two red and white pom-poms, shook them and declaimed lively: "That's allright, that's okay, I'm gonna own the camp today!", smiling happily - her sparkling I'm-so-happy-I-could-die-smile that she could do even in her sleep - nine years of cheerleading had left its mark.
Her mother, so sweet, had made a box of self-made sushi what she had probably made the whole day. But she knew well that her daughter loved Chinese and Japanese foods - riceballs, sushi, noodles were perfect. And a bit of Italian cuisine - she found in her bag a box of tiramisu cake as well that sge oved the most. See ow good it is when your parents know you best. After taking the chopsticks from the box, she started eating. Oh, there were shrimps in the rice! Delicious.
"Are you awake, miss?" a calm voice of the driver came from the car radio.
Katrina smirked, put the chopsticks away and pushed the button next to the radio speakes, saying: "But of course, how did you know?"
As an answer a laughter came from the radio, and a voice said: "Your cheer reached me and made my day a lot brighter."

Sorry for any translation mistakes, English isn't my mother language.

[Edited on 7-8-2010 by TakuyaKenzo]




"Close your eyes and pretend it's all a bad dream." "Then write it down!"
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[*] posted on 7-10-2010 at 10:51 AM


@cheyenne.r.trumbo : Thanks!XD

Is it dumb of me if I grin insanely reading everyone's excerpts? :D Everyone just seems to be doing so well on their novels!

I'm about to type up another excerpt (everyone feel free to post more than one!) so I'll edit it into this post once I do. ;)


Quote:

Tom looks up at the sky and it takes him a minute to realize that it isn't blue. Clouds are boiling high above him, so gray that they're almost black. Tom has always liked thunderstorms, and he hasn't seen one since he escaped Earth, but these clouds aren't just crackling with familiar electricity; something heavy, foreboding, dangerous is pressing intangibly down on him, setting off instinctive run signals in the very back of Tom's brain. He has to concentrate not to obey.

What's going on?

A black dot against the rumbling storm clouds catches Tom's eye. He tilts his face up to squint at the dot and feels a raindrop hit his forehead. Vaguely, Tom takes note that it's much warmer than normal rainwater. The speck in the sky may be a bird or something, but upon closer inspection, Tom can see and arms and legs, and he knows it's Peter Pan.

He's flying strangely, Tom sees, his motions quick and jerky, darting back and forth like an angry wasp. The first flash of lighting startles Tom when it splits the sky apart, an earsplitting roar of thunder following without hesitation. More strangely warm drops of rain hit Tom's skin as he stares up at Pan in the sky and watches him angle himself down. Pan is rocketing sharply in Tom's direction. Tom wants to get out of this rain, but he might as well see what Pan wants.

Pan doesn't seem to be slowing down as he draws nearer, and Tom barely has time to think he might crash into me, I should move before he's flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him, a pair of hands knotted in his shirt, and a pair of livid, blood red eyes glaring down at him.

"P-Pan?" Tom wheezes, barely able to suck in a breath with Pan on top of him.

Pan leans in closer, and Tom is alarmed by the pure, untarnished hatred in his expression. Pan lifts Tom a bit by his collar to hiss into his face, "You."

"What are you doing - "

"Get off of my star!" Pan roars suddenly.



[Edited on 7-10-2010 by rockets and rainbows]
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[*] posted on 7-10-2010 at 08:22 PM


So many good excerpts!

I have no idea where I can fit this in yet. It is a childhood memory of one of my characters and I like it quite well. It explains a peculiar (for his people) preference and I might be able to put it in as a story he tells when asked about it. But I don't know where it will come yet.
.....

It was my sixth summer. My father was a horseherder and would be gone, herding the horses, many months at a time, but in my sixth summer he came home early. He brought with him a mare, heavy with foal. All the other mares had foaled, but this one had taken late the year before and the foal had not yet come. She was lame, and the herders did not know what had happened, so my father took her home to care for her until she foaled.

My father was never home that early in the summer.

That spring I had finally been allowed to learn to care for the horses, and I wanted to show my father how much I had learned. How good, or so I thought, I had become. So I asked if I could care for the mare.

"No," my father said. "She is not like the horses on the farm. She is young and has never seen anything but the Great Plains, the herd and the herders. She is half wild, like many of the brood-mares, and her foals will become war-horses for the king's men."

I only nodded and said: "Yes father." I never dared argue with him, but in my pride I thought that he was wrong. I could handle any horse, even a wild mare, heavy with foal.

For many days I watched the pen she had been put in. She stood alone, and she was restless. Every night my father would watch over her, to see if the foal would come, but every morning the mare would be alone in her pen, and my father would sleep to midday.

On the sixteenth day of waiting, my father was so tired that he stumbled when he came in to break his fast. We all sat at the table, and my mother helped him to his chair. He said nothing, too tired to speak.

"Has the foal come?" my mother asked. She sat the bowl of gruel before him on the table, and he picked up the spoon to eat, but all he did was to stir around in the gruel with it. He shook his head.

"She will not foal," he said. "She is not used to pens, and so many people so close. If not for her injury, I would have taken her back, but the plains are dangerous."

He let the spoon fall back into the bowl, his food untouched.

"Go sleep," my mother said. He nodded.

"Wake me at midday."

"I will wake you when you are rested," she replied. "You have slept too little for too long." He did not answer, but rose, and stumbled off to bed.

My chance had come.

That day I stood outside the pen, watching the mare. She stayed away, but I fetched hay, and grains, and tried to lure her closer. Nothing worked. She had grass enough, and no interest in a small boy's attics. She would pace along the fence, as far from me as she could get, swishing her tail. She was more beautiful, I thought, than any of the horses we had at home. A bay, with coat almost as dark as the tarred timber of our home. Unusual among the greys.

I failed to see the sweat that darkened her colour so. I failed to see the twitches and the jerky turns of her head. When she as last stood still- the sun had reached her midday-height by then- I thought she had at last grown used to my presence, and full of joy I pressed between the planks that made the fence. I ran, all lessons I had learned forgotten, the short distance- long for six year long legs- that separated me from her. Ran right into blackness.

I woke inside. They had put me on the kitchen floor, the only place where fire burned all days and nights. My father stood above me, taller than I ever saw him before, or after. My mother held me, pressing lightly on my chest to see if I was hurt.

I could not see my father's face.

The summer-sun shone through the open door, lighting up behind my father's form, and I, I feared what I would see, what I would hear, when he moved and spoke.

"He is awake," my mother said.

He bent down.

"You scared us, son." My father's voice was soft. He spoke to foals and frightened colts thus; with that same calm, soft voice. "Are you well?"

I tried to nod, but my head was sore and when I moved, the room moved more than I. He said no more to me, but rose and turned, and walked out the door.

Three days, the healer said, I had to lay inside and rest. No lights, no loud noises and no talk. I waited, bored as boys would be, until I could come out. At breakfast that first day that I could go out, my father fell asleep over his food.

"You cannot go on like this," my mother said. "Let me fetch the neighbours; they can help."

"It is one day's ride," my father answered. He did not say anything more. Even I, at six years, knew it was too far.

"Please," I said. "Can I help?"

"Do you know how to make a mare foal?"

"No," I said. I hung my head; he had not spoken of my foolishness, but now I feared it would come.

"She should have foaled three days ago; all the signs were there. If she waits any longer, I fear for foal, and for her."

"Can you not make her foal?" I asked. In my childishness I thought my father could make horses fly, if so he wanted.

He smiled. "A mare has her own mind," he said. "A gelding, or even a stallion, may be forced to do your bidding, but not a mare. The mare has her own mind, and must be gently asked. If she consents, she will grant your wish, and she will give you all, but if you try to take, you will get nothing. It is nowhere clearer seen than when she is to foal. She'll choose her own time, and even stop her labours if she is disturbed."

I did not know then, as I do now, that with my foolish wish to touch her, I had stopped her labours. But still I knew that I had done her some injustice when I tried to force my presence on her.

"I want to help," I said. "I don't know how. I thought I did, but I did not."

"There might be one thing," my father said.

"Yes! I will do it!"

"You have not heard what it is," he said.

"It does not matter. I will do it. Please. Please let me."

"I need to sleep," my father said. "If you will promise me that you will not go in to the mare, and that you will come and get me and your mother if the mare begins to foal, then you can help me watch her."

"I’ll do it!"

"It is dull work," my father warned. "But not hard."

He taught me, then, what signs to look for in the mare, and when to fetch him out to help. And while he slept at day, I watched the mare, and when she at last, five days later, in the middle of the day, decided that her foal should come, I was there. I ran, and called my parents out, and hurried back to see; and when I came back, the foal was almost out.

It was so small, so thin. A mare that bore her mother's colour, and no marks. And though my people favour stallions to ride, for work or war, I have, from that day, preferred the mares.




Practising Dyslexic. Do not let ortographical digressions interfere with the intentions of this statement.

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[*] posted on 7-17-2010 at 03:19 AM


Well, here's Spanner chapter 1. I've been planning to use the "Macintosh '1984' commercial turned inside out" plot for at least a decade, and of course it's gone through multiple very different versions over the years. All the cyberpunk swipes and homages, though, were in the plan from the beginning. I originally envisioned this version (with Apple chairman Steve Jobs in the role of "Big Brother") for an anime promo for the manga edition, but I decided to make it the "official" version. Needless to say, it is bound to become infamous. I hope you like it. (@rockets and rainbows: prepare to grin insanely.) ;)

(Note that I switch tenses. Since the main story is told in present tense, past tense signifies a flashback. Another note: all geographical errors will be corrected using Google Maps in the edited version; I may even include some other famous Manhattan landmark if I can squeeze it in. Also, when Jennifer says "Fake Steve Jobs got disappeared", she's referring to how the authorities "disappear" dissidents.)

Spanner
1. Spanner in the Works

spanner — Brit for “monkeywrench”

25 august 2014.
The vision starts unambiguously, almost clearly: the meeting, the assembled Corporates in the arena, the figure of World Bank president Richard Becket on the platform beneath the huge screen to the thunderous unified applause of his people, preparing to welcome one of their own into the ranks of the Chosen. This man is greater than most of the Corporate aristocrats in the arena for the ceremony of Acceptance, for his true body is a corporation, the first of the tech corporations to join the Cartel. He shall be called...

But then the vision dissolves into chaos. Men die and live. The arena is destroyed and reassembles into bizarre expressionist antiforms. Angels and demons cut each other to ribbons overhead. A shoggoth attacks one of the precogs, and she screams. Suddenly the shattered vision goes black—

The alarm klaxon screams; the monitor room goes red. Doctor 56 cries out into his microphone, onto the PA: “Emergency! Precog 18C has gone mad! I repeat! Precog 18C has gone mad!” Two white-clad interns drag the screaming, writhing Precog 18C, a gaunt middle-aged woman, out of the lab and past the security monitors.

Doctor 42 slips in behind Doctor 56. Doctor 42 is the head of the Pre-Security facility. Under his breath he quietly emits the un-Scientistic epithet: “Damn...” To the Doctors watching the security monitors in front of him: “Untank all the precogs! We can’t lose any more of them! Hurry!” He runs out of the monitor room into the office, making sure to close the door tight.

The Pre-Security office is dark. That’s because Dr. C. Henry Becket (M.D., Ph.D., D.D., Lt.Col. [U.S. Army, retired], Incorporated: fight the future), Pre-Security’s founder and the Chief Executive Officer of Dictel Corporation, insists on personally commanding this PreSec operation. He only does that if he judges it crucial. This Acceptance ceremony is too important for him to leave it to anyone else, for it promises to shift the balance of power massively toward the Cartel. In the darkness he sits, behind the huge main desk. Even in near total darkness, Chief Becket is huge and intimidating, for he was a super soldier in the Cold War; his vision was damaged in his battle with the Proletarian in Vietnam. Darkly he growls: “You know what this means, do you not, Doctor 42?”

Doctor 42 trembles. “Yes.” He takes a deep breath to regain his courage. “Chaos is coming.” Even his fear of the terrifying CEO of the world’s largest security conglomerate cannot mask his terror of Chaos.

He is coming.”

“Spanner?”

Chief Becket picks up his com receiver. To the Dictel security chief he barks: “Double the guard! No, triple it!”

Agent 6 can’t disguise his alarm. “You can’t be serious, Chief. He isn’t coming. Isn’t he?”

“He is,” says Chief Becket grimly. “You have no choice but to stop him. He’ll ruin everything.”

“Yes sir!” The signal disconnects.

To Doctor 42, Chief Becket commands: “Dis-missed!

Doctor 42 salutes. “Yes sir!” He runs out the door and closes it.

Henry Becket, second most powerful man in the United Corporations, sits silently at his huge desk for a seemingly endless moment, trying to assimilate the fact that the dreaded Angel of Chaos has targeted this.

“Spanner,” he finally says. Then, in an un-Corporate moment of uncontrol, he slams his mighty fist down on the desk. “Damn!”

Spanner perches atop the building [which one?], watching the Pre-Security men panic below her through her helmet’s heads-up display. She rests her foot on top of her hoverboard, between the mounted tear-gas guns. She grins wickedly. Pre-Security: pwned. A window appears on the HUD. Jennifer’s beautiful gold-framed face appears. She says, “They’re almost ready now. They’ve just established the comlink to San Fran.”

“Gotcha. I’d rather rickroll ’em, but this is war.”

“Rock ’em for me. Rock ’em hard.”

“For Tal,” Spanner says grimly. A large pipe wrench lies at her feet. She picks it up, grips it hard, and raises it in front of her.

Earlier, while they were still in Seattle, in the basement they used as their impromptu situation room, Jennifer Richter-Thomas (15, pale, blond, wearing circular rimless glasses and a white loli dress she looks too tall for) told her cousin Shira (14, copper-haired, cinnamon-skinned, wearing a yellow-striped black short-sleeved and -legged dive suit and an ear-mounted compact headset that blinks blue): “It’s not official yet, but clearly Apple’s joining the Cartel.”

Shira turned her head to Jennifer. “Why Apple?”

“Why not? That way, they get an enforceable monopoly on phones and set-top boxes.”

“So when did you figure this out?”

“When Fake Steve Jobs got disappeared.”

Spanner wields the wrench like a katana. She thrusts it forward, then spins it to form a virtual shield. She then sheaths it into the holster hanging from the left side of her belt. This one’s for you, sister.

Down below, the armoured hordes swarm around Madison Square Garden. They are heavily armed with the latest antipersonnel tech. All of midtown Manhattan has been evacuated and security-locked for the ceremony. One can’t sneak in at ground level. Infiltration has to be from the air, and fast.

The swarm allows only approved stretch Hummers and Strykers inside. Those armoured limos contain the top executives of entire sectors of the Cartel, particularly the tightly locked telecom sector into which Apple is being initiated. Steve Jobs isn’t one of them. For security reasons (read: to keep Spanner away from him), he’s staying in his corporate office at the core of Apple Arcology, which is being built in a secret location in the mountains outside the Bay Area and its regulations. Still, despite his physical absence, he remains Spanner’s prime target. He will appear on the giant plasma screen inside. Spanner wants to wipe that arrogant expression off his face in front of the world.

Jennifer asked, “Why did they pick an urban location? Doesn’t the Cartel hate cities? And why Manhattan, of all places?”

Shira replied: “To show the city people who’s boss.”

“Part of the Moravec Plan?” Jennifer sighs in frustration.

Shira shrugs. “Who knows? But first, the Moses Plan.”

Inside the arena, one entire side of seats has been removed and replaced with a platform dominated by the giant screen behind it. Seats fill the basketball court and the floor constructed in front of the platform. Each seat contains a black-suited Corporate aristocrat wearing a mask with the All-Seeing Eye emblem of the Cartel. The catwalks above are manned by Delta Force snipers, prepared for the expected terrorist invasion. Outside, Spanner cocks her flaregun.

Shira said, “So what happens if Apple succeeds in joining the Cartel?”

Jennifer stared at the screen before her. “The Cartel will assimilate the Technosphere.”

“Then nothing will be able to stop the Moravec Plan.”

“Unless we stop it.”

The arena lights go down. Spanner fires up her hoverboard.

Shira put on her VR goggles. She wanted to see the Technosphere from within; it might be the last time anyone would be able to. Right now a beautiful kaleidoscope of lines and nodes of data surrounded her. Small companies, crowds of independent and team users, and a few large corporations holding out from the Cartel and shielding the Technosphere. If she failed, all this would be quickly reduced to perfect stasis, the all-consuming Apple logo subjecting it to the totalitarian icelock of Corporatism.

The countdown flashed on her HUD. Time was running out. She took off the goggles and left Jennifer to plan the support operation. The young blond scientist was so much better at that than she could ever be. They made the perfect team: foresight and action.

On the other side of the basement was a bedroom that once was Talia’s. Tears began to run down Shira’s face when she saw the photo portrait of Talia. She picked up the beautiful smiling face and kissed it on the lips.

Spotlights light up the platform. The United Corporate Anthem begins playing. Spanner switches on her cloaking device.

Before Shira left for SeaTac to take the plane to Newark, she summoned the notorious Skeleton Krewe to a vacant house on the far western edge of Bremerton for a ceremony of their own. Six years ago, the Krewe came together to stop Dictel from destroying America.

First, the libation. All the hackers and monkeywrenchers held their bottles of Mexican cerveza high. Shira cried out: “For Talia!” In unison the entire Krewe echoed her: “For Talia!” They poured out the cerveza onto the overgrown grass.

“Now for the sacrifice!” Every Krewe member took out an iPhone and raised it. Jailbroken or otherwise, these iPhones had to be sacrificed to Eris, goddess of discord and strife. They are Apple products, and Apple defected to the Enemy. All of them were on, for Eris demanded a live sacrifice. The Krewe took their sacrifices to the clearing they made in the center of the backyard, in the middle of which they built a mound of compressed dirt. They embedded the phones into the mound, kicking them into the hard dirt if necessary. They reached for their holsters and pulled out their pistols. These pistols were illegal: they all had oversized magazines and were all silenced so the sacrifice wouldn’t bother the neighbors.

“Ready!” The Krewe surrounded the mound.

“Aim!” They aimed their guns at their intended victims.

“Fire!” They unleashed a hailstorm of bullets. Screens shattered, chips flew, cases bent and distorted spasmodically. The iPhones were quickly destroyed. Soon the guns ran out of bullets and started clicking. The sacrifice was complete.

Shira raised her pistol. “Hail Eris!”

The Krewe raised their guns in exultation. “All hail Discordia!”

Richard Becket, Incorporated, all-powerful President of the World Bank and Secretary General of the Cartel, walks onto the platform. All the Corporate princes rise. Chairman Becket raises his arms barely above his shoulders (why he can’t raise them higher: war wound). The Corporates raise their hands into a V-for-victory above their heads and emit a collective howl of affirmation.

Discordia’s chosen launches her hoverboard and flies down to the service entrance.

Chairman Becket solemnly intones into the microphone, “O my brothers, we are gathered here today...”

The guards and workers in the cargo bay are suddenly hit by an unexpected strong gust. One guard says to another, “What was that?” One worker says to the worker next to him, “Was it Superman?” The other answers, “I hope to God not!”

Chairman Becket exults: “Soon the Technosphere will be ours!” The Corporates rise in unison and cheer loudly.

Why 2014 is not like “1984”: if the runner from the original Macintosh commercial had tried to destroy the image of Big Brother today, she would have quickly been neutralized by the sonic boom from the latest model of Dictel-made high-powered sonic disruptor. Then power-armoured guards armed with machine guns would have immediately surrounded the fallen runner and blasted her into bite-size bits. Thirty years make all the difference in the world. Who would have guessed thirty years ago that Steve Jobs would become Big Brother?

Two years ago, that runner was Talia Espinoza. She died trying to prevent the assassination of President Obama. Richard Becket murdered her himself. Tonight, her youngest sister will avenge her.

Chairman Becket looks up at the screen. The spotlights shut off, restoring darkness to the Garden. The screen turns on. The assembled Corporates stand up in unison and let out a deafening cheer as their newest initiate appears on the screen. The face of Steve Jobs, gaunt and ravaged by recurring cancer and yet undiminished in its arrogance, looks down on them like the epiphany of a god. Indeed, he is a god: Apple is his true body.

The face of Jobs is visible from the hallway. When Spanner sees it, she fires a battery of foul-smelling smoke bombs out of the hall and into the arena. The Corporates duck and try to cover their noses. Cloaked by cloak and smoke, she whips out her flaregun and fires exploding rounds at the catwalks to knock them down. Counterterrorist snipers fire wildly at the whirlwind as they fall to the floor. Their team commander, Lt. Cmdr. William Becket (a Navy SEAL, and Henry Becket’s son) watches in horror. “Spanner?”

His father watches the scene unfold from the safety of security central, protected from the light by wraparound sunglasses. He pounds the table in front of him in rage. “Spanner!”

The Chairman stares at the chaos in front of him, watching as a dead man emerges from the swirling cloud of black smoke. He himself had slain the Monkeywrench two years earlier during the coup, and yet here he is, standing before him in mid-air.

The Angel of Chaos himself.

The Chairman grits his teeth.

“Spanner.”

The Angel of Chaos takes out her monkeywrench and begins to spin. She spins and spins, and then throws the wrench directly at the screen above the Chairman. Time slows down: the Chairman tries to run away from the screen, the Corporates below panic and run and trample each other to death, the catwalks crash and bring death to Corporate and counterterrorist alike, the face of Steve Jobs watches impassively in the blissful innocence of unknowledge...

And then it hits. The wrench hits the giant screen at the exact spot of Jobs’ third eye. The reinforced glass cracks and splinters as the wrench enters its body. The superhot plasma escapes through the cracks in hot flares of light. The screen explodes in a burst of blinding light and splintered glass that shoots into the crowd. And the face of Big Brother vanishes in a supernova that consumes the entire inside of Madison Square Garden.

Taking advantage of the chaos she has caused, Spanner disappears.

In a memory that could have been a dream, Talia Espinoza rode in on her Kawasaki Ninja, wearing the same flight jacket her sister wears now. She parked it and got off. Her adoring young half-sister, Shira Thomas, all of ten years old, ecstatically cried out “Tal!” and rushed into her arms. Talia spun her kid sister around and kissed the giggling girl all over her face. Then Shira planted her lips on Talia’s...

Talia, I’ve avenged you at last. But it isn’t over. Not as long as there’s still a Cartel.

“Find Spanner! Now!” screams Chairman Becket, his face contorted with pure hate. “Put him out of my misery! Kill him!”

The surviving Corporates and counterterrorists are being evacuated. Soon all the hospitals in Manhattan will be overcrowded with them, and they will take priority over everybody else because they are the System. Police and military helicopters, personally commanded by Will Becket under his uncle the Chairman’s direct command, search and scour the city for signs of Spanner. Chairman Becket orders the entire metro area put under martial-law lockdown and total surveillance, but still there is no trace of Spanner. All they find is the logo from the back of her jacket, tagged with fluorescent spray paint in random spots throughout the city.

Shira Thomas leaves the helmet, hoverboard, and weapons in an abandoned subway station. She gives the datasuit to a group of mole people and tells them to burn it. She sneaks aboveground into an evacuated apartment building where she takes a shower, gets the jacket auto-drycleaned, and slips into a new set of clothes. She leaves with the now clean flight jacket, leaving no trace except for the absence of a few clothes and a little food.

Even though she wears the same flight jacket she wore in her assault on the Corporate initiation inside Madison Square Garden, with the same logo she tags in her bombing runs, no one will suspect her. No one except the Beckets, and they’re longtime personal enemies who have a bad habit of blaming her for everything. So they don’t count — yet...

She evades the killers and cameras searching for her with ease, and slips back into the nearest subway station. She blends in with the scattered stragglers on the train to the World Trade Center site. There she transfers to the PATH train to New Jersey, and from there to Newark Airport. And then she is gone.

[Edited on 7-17-2010 by DennisJernberg]

[Edited on 7-17-2010 by DennisJernberg]




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tis_be_sarah
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[*] posted on 7-17-2010 at 10:05 AM


Here is a small part of the 8th chapter. I like it, alot actually :)

“So do you know Annie Rhodes? Yes you do. She is like, good at photography or something, all of her pictures are in that display case. She has the reddest hair in the school, for gods sake! Trust me, you've seen her around. Ok, anyway, her brother, you know, the one who was in all of those plays when he went here? Well turns our that he is capital G Gay. Gay, gay, gay, gay, gay. Disgusting. They do they let them live here, anyway? I heard that our priest kicked the Rhode’s out of church. Serve them right.” I overhead one of Anna Paul’s groupies, Sydney Wallace say this a few seats back from me, on the bus.

I stood up and turned to her. “Excuse me. Would you like to repeat what you just said?”

She popped her gum. A gross habit. It smelled strongly and falsely of berry.
“Look, I wasn’t trying to insult your hair. There is nothing wrong with it being the reddest in the school. It is just a fact.” She twirled her own, blonde, perfect beauty pageant hair in her fingers.

How dumb is this girl? I rolled my eyes and started to walk back to my seat. The other girl who she had been talking to, Kelly Jackson, yelled to me.

“It’s all over town, you know. Your parents must have told friends and it got out.” She insisted.

Kelly was the sophomore class’s gossip machine. If anyone were to know, it would be her. Her face is always fixed in a constant scowl. She has mousy brown hair that she gets red highlights applied to once a month (So she can NEVER say anything to me about being a ginger.) She actually doesn’t even like Anna. She wants to be Anna, to yield all of the power that Anna holds over people, to be able to boss people around.

“My parents told our priest, yes. They wanted advice about how to deal with the situation. He did not kick them out of church.” My voice was raising.

“Well, he should have. Gays have no place in Catholicism.” She said, examining her fingernails.

“Why don’t you just keep your own damn opinions to yourself? He is my brother and I don’t want anyone talking about him like he is some kind of defect person who isn’t equal to the rest of ya’ll!”

I am extremely ashamed that I used the word ya’ll in public, looking back on it. I become increasingly more southern when I angry.

“Look, there is no need to get in my face for.. We just don’t like the fact that your brother is a sinner. That is what he is. It is a sin to be gay.”

“And where does it say that?” I snapped at her.

“Check the bible, sweetie.” She said, with such a fake sweetness I wanted to punch her in the face and knock out those perfect, pearly white teeth.

“Shove that bible up your ass. There is NOTHING in it that says being gay is a sin. I read it in Sunday school, just like you did.” I clenched my teeth. “No, better yet, I will shove it up there for you if you EVER insult my brother again.” And with that, I turned to leave. I could see the Stanley Brown students’ mixed reactions as I walked back to my seat. Some were laughing at me. Some were laughing at them, who were standing with dumbfounded expressions on their faces. Others were gasping because suggested that Sydney and Kelly put the bible up where the sun doesn’t shine. I passed one meek little freshman with huge glasses who hardly ever talked, her name was Maya Fields. She looked up from the book she was reading and said “Way to go. I hate them to.” and smiled at me.




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Wingman
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[*] posted on 7-17-2010 at 06:49 PM


Here's one i typed up using write or die i just basically jotted it down so here it is

In flight across Europe Fang few in the darkness where the only light was the moon lit night. the moon was a gold spear in the sky it had a orange tent to it you could see the face in it. Clouds gracefully flew across the surface in the dark starry night. The stars brightly twinkled. Fang after flying the most of two days decides to stop for a rest in the forest some where in Germany. He is heading in for a landing when he hears a blood herding scream. AAAAAAHHHHHHH coming from a damsel in distress. He rushes over and sees a woman being mauled by a wolf of some kind. He has to act fast he aims it up just right and feet first he pounces on him. In this movement he shouts "Tag!!" Bouncing off doing a back flip landing on the ground his knees bent and his claws down on the ground in front of him. When Fang hit him the wolf dropped her hitting the ground himself. Growling he looks up at him in the position to tackle him he gets up and starts running towards him. Murder in his eyes on the surface the beast. he lifts his head up and howls. it howls a spin chilling howl.Just before it charged. It was definitely on the hunt. Fang realizing this does a rapid about face and starts running threw the trees the beast tries to tackle him he jumps up on a tree branch dodging it. Just seconds before he hit him causing it to smack into a tree it glared up at him growling and scowling. It starts jumping up smashing the tree branches as Fang jumped from one to another he jumped off of the branch a few feet from the wolf. Down into a patch of leaves. SNAP!!! the sound of a metal bear traps slamming clamping down on Fangs foot. Fang closes his eyes and yelps and cringes in pain. Minutes later the sound of hounds are heading his way the beast ran away knowing whats coming. AWOOOOO!!! AWWOOOOOOO!!! wrinkled blood hounds the sound of they're distinctive vocals aroused getting closer and closer nearing his location. Fang hearing them starts prieying at the trap around his ankle knowing they could arrive at any moment and it wouldn't necessarily be a good idea for them to find him. One thing that he was certain of was those hounds weren't being summoned over some small animal they were probably after that beast that chased him that ran off when it heard the sound. The trap made Fang cringe in pain it was tough he new he wasn't going to be that easy to get out of. He is a master of getting out of traps and sticky situations but this was ridicules he couldn't figure out this somewhat new type of bear trap they were not used that often in the war for him to be experienced in removing these type of traps. The images of three men with they're hounds approached him out of the fog.
"Boy" "Boy what are you doing out here." One of them said.
Fang quickly devised a explanation to tell them. "I... I just arrived in town moments ago and i ah... stepped in this... trap is it yours?" he said trying to remove the trap once again then pearing up at them and asked them about the trap in a sarcastic reverse irony type of tone.
"Let me help you with that" One said "You men take my dogs and go on ahead" he said handing them his dogs and they headed off.
"What are you huntin' those rifles yawl are welding aren't some two bit hunting rifle those are pretty sophisticated rifles what are ya hunting some Lions,Tigers and Bears hybrid."
"Not exactly" the man said peiring up at him "we are hunting WereWolves"
"Werewolfs get out of town you got to be pulling my leg i thought those only exist in just legends." Fang said sarcastically.
"So did we till we saw one for our selves." The man said seriously.
"So your sayin or rather assuming that beast i saw was a wolf man" Fang said curiously.
"I'm not assuming nothin I'm supposing that beast is what they speak of" The man said.
"Could ya tell me more about this ah ...legend" Fang said interested.
Well..." the man gulped "okay they say "Even a man who is pure at heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the moon is full and bright." All evidence... the evidence we've found points to one of them monsters, beasts what ever you want a call it that thing is the wolf man what we can tell any ways and we aren't that superstitious at least till now." The man said fear in his tone of voice. Fang shook his head showing that he understood the serious ness of this event happening.
The man released Fangs ankle from the trap and Fang lifted it out quickly and tried to stand on it then he fell back in pain the trap had cut a deep gash in Fangs ankle. It had severed an artery and is bleeding out fast as well as cut some ligaments and tendons. He ripped part of his shirt and tied it around the wound, pulled his belt off and raped it around his wound and tightened it in an act to apply pressure to the wound to slow the bleeding. The man looked at him interested.
"You seem to be skilled in first aid for your age" the man said to Fang some what suspicious of him.
"I...I my father was skilled in first aid and he taught me a trick or two about wounds medicine and quick first aid to do some quick ways to stop or at least slow bleeding" Fang said in a nervous tone thinking about and recalling how he was taught in weapon X and with those Marines he visited a while back.
The man shook his head and shrugged off the thought from his mind as if it was just a suspicion resolved. "Alright young one whats your name by the way?" he asked standing up.
"Fang" he answered
"Alright young Fang lets get you to town and lets get your ankle looked at" The man said putting his hand out for Fang to grab on to. Fang took his hand and stood up trying to avoid putting any pressure none at all on his ankle. He knew that he could make things worse trying to stand on it. Doing a balancing act Fang put his arm over the mans shoulder and they marched back to town. "So whats your name sir Fang asked as they walked back.
"Me names James... James Markus Christophe. you can call me any of those or just sir works too some of the nicknames i get called by the towns folk are Smitty, quack I'd prefer you not call me by that one, Van Helsing Jr.,doc,doctor, Sciif man it varies you you can call me Smitty or Joe if you'd prefer" The man said walking with his rifle as an extra balance to their unsteady walk. They occasionally would hear that same howl of the beast... The Wolf Man. After the first one they started to ignore them when they heard the first one Fang assured him by saying its no where near by it would be louder if it was closer.
Once they arrived at the town the man had Fang lean against the wall as he knocked on the door no answer then he grabed some small stones and threw them at the window Click!! Click!!! Click!!!. A man opened the door in a night cap, a night coat and some bifocals on his nose.
"What..Who is it the mans said yawning loudly in a stretch.
"Its Smitty sir"
"Smitty... What is it"
"This boy needs help hurry"
"Don't you have a key why can't you treat him your a doctor too"
"I'm not the type that this child needs your the one that's skilled in this category and i lost my key" the man said
The doctor shook his head and said "Hold on I'll be there in a moment" and he left the window.
A light came in the window down stairs then the door opened and to the doctor. Smitty and the doctor walked Fang over into the room and sat him on the examination table and had Fang lay back and the man looked at Fangs injury.He started by undoing the belt and unwrapping the wound. "A severed artery, ruptured tenant and some torn ligaments;" he said "Boy what did you do step in a gators mouth and let it close on you" the man asked.
"doc...I... I stepped in a hidden bear trap; that just so happened to have extremely sharp teeth" Fang answered sounding a bit discussed that he didn't see this coming.
"Minor damage i assure you boy; it could have been worse you are lucky who wrapped the wound" the doctor said patting Fangs leg walking to get his instruments.
"I did doc" Fang said surprising the doctor who wasn't used to coming across children let alone adults that wrap their own wounds.
The doctor sterilized the wound and went to work."The wound wasn't as serious as i thought" the doctor said sewing him up after finishing the final touches. He wrapped the wound up and told Fang he couldn't get to much blood pumping till it heals and that he'd need to come back by later to change bandages. Fang knew that he wouldn't have to come back by he thanked the doctor and walked out. Smitty started home after offering Fang a room and Fang replied saying he had a place to stay and he walked out in the opposite direction as Smitty. Fang decided to stake out and watch for the beast if it so happened to come back his way and he was right closer to dawn the beast walked by his tree the beast seemed to look a bit sick. Fang decided to fallow it and see where it was heading. The beast started to transform or metamorphic what ever you call it it was changing. It started to take on more human features as it climbed up a wall to a open window. It transformed completely back to a human and laid down and went to sleep. Fang watched the whole thing from the roof top of a building next door to him. He watched the beast now a man wake up and he looked down at the tracks and started to rub them out with his bare feet. Then he walked out of the building and rubbed those tracks out as well before any one could notice them. Fang just watched and tailed the man. Hoping to find out more about this man who wears the mark of the wolf. The man walked to a near by restraint in the town and had some eggs and beacon. Then left and started out of the area. He recognized he was being fallowed but didn't let on to it till he was out in the forest. then he sat down on a log till he was sure what ever was following him was near by. "I know your following me" he said not turning around in an almost cold emotionless voice.
Fang jumped down from the tree and walked over to him cautious, but curious at the same time he felt some what at ease though looking at him as he walked over. He went and sat down on the log next to him. The man peered over at him "boy... Why are you following me" he said. Fang could tell the man was troubled with a burden that only he could possibly understand.
"My name is Fang and i think you and i should talk" Fang said to the man in a some what mysterious tone of voice "Whats your name?"
"Lawrence Talbot" the man answered "Why would you want to talk to me what is it about me that intrigues you?" he asked in a some what depressing tone.
"I saw you last night Mr. Talbot when i arrived here and i think you and i have something in common" Fang said to Larry.
"What do you have in mind kid that we could possibly have in common" Larry answered looking up from the soil.
"Well you are a..." Fang looked down for a moment then continued "Wolf man. right."
"Yeah what of it kid" Larry answered glaring up slightly.
"I...I know your burden Mr. Talbot I've grown up knowing what kind of burden you carry on your shoulders. Do you feel alone and that you can't trust that many people?"
"Yeah; What type of burden do you carry that gives you a reason to think that you are just like me" Larry said to Fang looking him in the face.
"I'll show you" Fang said standing up a few feet away from Larry. He unfurled his wings and extended his claws. Larry watching in fear and astonishment as he transformed.
"what are you" he said not quite in a scared tone but a tone of more astonishment than anything.
"I'm what they call a mutant" Fang said "I was born with this a similar burden to yours the out come is the same and for that reason, burden i am hunted quite similarly to you" Fang said as Larry was listening intently.
"Do they hunt you like a animal forcing you to run for it from town to town until that unfortunate time of the month" Fang asked "I know they do me like that quite often its not too comforting is it, but one difference is they know me by face majority and they have folks that can sniff me out" Fang said in a wise tone.
"Yeah how do you cope with it?" Larry answered feeling he's found some one that shares his feelings.
"I...I kind of think on the positive side and try to keep my thoughts on the present and on the good things that could or have happened. I suppose" Fang said not too sure what or how he copes with it , but he answered the best he could.
"It pains me to even think about what the beast has done" Larry said starring into nothing slightly teary eyed. "Nobody understands...Nobody the only person that understands me I'm trying to find"
"Larry I know what you mean; i...I don't really have a happy past I'm not exactly proud of in my child hood i was taught to kill whether it went against my feelings and thoughts or not. Now looking back at it it puts me in pain. I had no control of it I have nightmares to this day about that dark time" Fang said looking wise beyond his years and a bit teary eyed him self.
"You called me Larry" Lawrence said. "I haven't been called that in a long time" he said smiling as tears ran down his cheeks."how'd you know?"
"Lets just say i can tell" Fang said smiling a soft grin.
"Speaking of names whats yours?" he asked.
"Fang" he answered.
"Fang what" Larry asked.
"I don't know the rest my mother died before i could commit my name to memory" Fang said.
"Okay Fang" he smiled.
They talked a bit longer when. SNIFF!!! SNIFF!! A all to familiar sent flew across Fangs nostrils with a snarl on his face he stood up

the onomatopoeia's i just guessed on until i figure it out




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syaffolee
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JulNoWriMo Title: Bone Mountain

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[*] posted on 7-18-2010 at 02:24 PM


Here's an excerpt from my latest complete chapter on some, ahem, spiked lemon drops.

___________

Wyrd frowned and briefly closed her eyes. The tapestry of time winked into existence and she easily found the thread of the Witch of the Ironwood. She followed the thread back to the point when she had made the lemon drops. She could see the witch mixing the ingredients for the lemon drops into a large bowl. There was a spell book propped up on the table. She took a closer look at the spell. And covered her mouth when she opened her eyes to prevent a laugh from escaping.

“What's wrong?” asked the Midgard as he ushered her toward the door.

“It's definitely not poison,” said Wyrd. “But the Witch of the Ironwood did use a unique recipe, which I think your brother will find just fine.”

“I suppose I'll try one then if it's not poison,” grumbled Fenrir. He opened the bag and popped a lemon drop into his mouth. When Wyrd and the Midgard stepped over the threshold, he suddenly shouted, “Sweet holy gods, I'm going to strangle that witch the next time I get my hands on her.” He was staring off into space, griping the edge of his desk. Claws had emerged from his fingertips and were making gouges on the wood.

For the first time, the Midgard looked at his brother in worry. “What's wrong with him? I thought the witch just added some nice smelling ingredients to her sweets. What did she really put in those lemon drops?”

“A vision spell,” Wyrd replied giggling.

“He sounds like he's in pain,” the Midgard said as his brother moaned and dropped his head to his desk. He made a slight movement towards the office. “It must be some terrible visions.”

Wyrd shook her head as she firmly closed the door to Fenrir's office. “Oh no, they're quite the opposite. I don't know if the witch made them because she knew that you would get them for your brother, but I'm sure they're quite the bestseller in Windermere, especially among the couples who, uh, need to put some fire into their relationship.”

The wyrm gave her a horrified look. “She didn't.”

“Yes.”

They could hear Fenrir howling in his office. A blush reddened the Midgard's normally ascetic expression and with a decisive stride, he hooked his arm around Wyrd's and dragged her down the corridor. The secretary was rushing up to meet them.

“Is Detective Fenrir all right?” the portly receptionist huffed.

The Midgard glared at the receptionist with his hypnotic gaze and motioned for the receptionist to go back to his station. “Don't bother Fenrir for the next hour. He just needs to work out some anxiety after some news that we brought him.”

“Some news,” said Wyrd, smiling.

“Don't say anything else,” the Midgard warned her as he took her out of the police station.

She raised an eyebrow. “I didn't think that you would be such a prude.”




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nathan_p
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[*] posted on 7-19-2010 at 02:04 AM


Quote: Originally posted by Wingman  
Here's one i typed up using write or die i just basically jotted it down so here it is

(snipped for length)


Hey neighbor :D Sorry to creep, but uh... ever read the <i>Maximum Ride</i> series by James Patterson?
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ColinCreevey
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JulNoWriMo Title: My Summer Vacation

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[*] posted on 7-19-2010 at 10:29 AM


The weight of the water was incredible, and soon we were skimming the bottom of the sea. Light was limited down here. There was, also, an odd feeling of being followed like I had in the forest. No more woods men, please. I thought to myself, and as we floated along the feeling vanished. Rea, Kay, Lei, and Mae were leading us to Dumbledore; I was in immediate follow with War T. flapping uselessly from my hand while Tony and Benedict brought up the rear. “Let’s try that cave.” One of the girls in the lead pointed to a dark hole one could only associate with caves. I signaled back “you lead, we’ll follow” and we set off to explore the cave.
The water was considerably cooler in the cave, and the light was even less. We were able to see because I was carrying large underwater flashlight, or whatever they’re called. It was still extremely eerie even with the light. A green glow was resonating from the walls and sea weed was floating around us like a drowned man’s hair. There were fish all around us, some big, some small, yet all were staring at the intruders. Unease soaked me to the core as if I had been dropped in a big vat of unease soup.




Under every sentence there are the dull shadows of what were before.
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