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Author Topic: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!  (Read 18806 times)

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Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #210 on: February 16, 2020, 02:08:20 PM »
Day 7

Black Rabbit

The girl in the bunny-costume stood on the rooftop, knife in hand. She observed the student walking home under the full moon. He always took this route. And as always, she was ready.

She smelt the shadow monster before it materialized behind the boy. As always, he was unaware of the danger. It would eat his shadow, and the damage would translate to his phsyical form - and that's why she was here.

She jumped, knife ready for the strike - and plunged it in the shadow. It writhed in pain and without a sound, vanished.

She jumped again out of the alleyway before the boy even knew she was there.

She returned to the shadowrealm, until the next day she'd have to protect The Sleeping King - The boy who didn't know the terrible fate and responsibility he had.

Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #211 on: February 17, 2020, 03:07:15 PM »
Day 8

Writers' Block

He had writers block, so he decided to use a jutsu called 4th Wall no jutsu. He asked the reader what they were thinking, what they were doing, what he should do next.

The reader wasn't even remotely interested in playing this game. She shut the book, sighed and continued searching through the library, her little familiar Lylna floated about, casting an ephermal light on the countless ancient tomes in the library

She hated exam period. It always meant coming down to this weird library, and all the books were so strange and... Mind-bendy.

But she'd do her best to make her wizard family proud.

It was the burden of being a Caster.

Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #212 on: February 20, 2020, 05:36:59 PM »
Completely utterly out of steam

Day 9

Summer for the Ugly Duckling

She decided she'd just accept that she was ugly, and work with that instead. There was no saving the fact that the left side of her face sagged like melted wax . There was no putting fat on her hips, there was no fixing the fact that one of her teeth was busted. She'd learnt to put on make up well enough to hide all of that, but she noticed one day with such freeing disgust how pathetic everyone else seemed with their smart phones and puckered lips, and to be honest she preferred not spending hours in depressed hazes fantasizing about life later. This life was hers and now, and if people had a problem with her she'd not whisper or look away dammit.

So she pepped herself up enough to go to the door, to open it, to face the day. Summer was in full swing. Everyone would be out and happy. Jogging, laughing, smiling.

What could she possibly do out there but ruin everyones' mood?

Wasn't it better to just stay inside and not be a bother? Society existed for a reason. Humans were communal creatures - she wasn't supporting the community, so it was best she stay inside.

She hovered at the door.

And thought.

And thought...

Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #213 on: February 21, 2020, 12:12:33 AM »
Day 10

Zebra Man

"Help!"

A man screamed, shielding himself from the large piece of rubble falling through the air. He was too frozen in fear to react. He was going to die.

the flash of a cape, a large impact - a huge crushing sound

and the rubble smashed into the concrete. more pieces fell down, destroying roofs, crushing cars. Others were most certainly injured or worse.

But the man was saved.

"Th-thank you!"

The hero responded with a quick nod and grin. He ran along the street,

"Get out of here! Everyone help who you can! Stay away from the building!"

Those who listened rallied themselves. The hero helped up those who were down and using the Hero App pinged positions where emergency services could come along. He didn't try to enter the skyscraper - it would be too dangerous, and he had to focus on evacuating the nearby facility.

The other heroes were helping too, fellow street-level heroes.

He risked wasting a second to look above. A shockwave exploded as the two of them clashed - Crawford and Skyglider. He hoped it would be solved.

"Hey Zebraman!"

Zebraman looked over at Piledriver, the beautiful long haired low-level telekinetic hero who always wore a construction outfit for some reason,  She levitated some rubble above a couple who were trying to get out of a car.

"Good job!"

Zebraman nodded, continued his work.

He appreciated the gesture.

Being a hero was tough work, sometimes pointless, but he did his job.


Synopsis: Zebra man was blessed by a shaman with the powers of a zebra! He has moderately better eye sight than most and is faster than the typical human! He wears stripes and is known in corners around the city, but not too much. People generally say, "He's a good hero. Does good work."

And that's enough for him

Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #214 on: February 22, 2020, 12:42:13 PM »
Day 11

The Change


The Change came faster than anyone expected. Everyone waited with baited breath. They'd look for the morning paper, but everyone knew all media had been silenced: The new dictator alien from out of space had made sure of that.

Not only had he toppled all governments on the planet single handedly, he'd also forbidden all form of telecommunications and media.

Other than the military he decimated in seconds with his black blade, no casualties had been reported.

It was said that even the smallest rebellions were immediately quashed: Instantly the dictator teleported to any significant gatherings, disarmed them or locked them away then returned to The Eiffel Tower, a place he seemed to prefer to sit at.

And now, they waited for him to say something, to explain something.

But he was mute. He had a mouth that was stitched together. Although he was caucasian and had long black hair and wore what could be explained as gothic clothing, he only seemed intent on controlling the planet.

People photographed him, asked him questions (They'd long since stopped trying to attack him, an invisible shield bubble blocked all such attempts.)

And after a week of observing him sitting on the Eiffel Tower, the world went on as it did, without governments, without direction.

Bearocracy still survived, but anything military and to do with government was shut down immediately. The dictator did not kill indiscriminately, but he made it clear what he liked and did not like by instantly locking away those who seemed to attempt to reach for power.

Eventually, something happened.

The whole world noticed as four gigantic red giants appeared in Paris, and the dictator drew his sword and faced off against them.

He planted his sword next to him and raised his hands outstretched, He spoke in a booming voice that carried across the whole city. It is said that everyone who heard it heard it in their own language.

"This planet is subjucated! Leave it in peace! I, Asimov, speak for it!"

The red giants, glimmering formless things with white blazing eyes seemed to pause for a moment, and then one by one, they winked out of existence.

The dicator - the man named Asimov - picked up his sword and without announcement, vanished from view and the planet forever.


After his departure, they built a statue in his name. Thousands of millenia later, his legend still reigned.

Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #215 on: February 23, 2020, 05:14:44 PM »
Day 12

Sitting in the galaxy train, Ford thought to himself he really needed to find a bounty, or he'd starve to death.
It was moments like these that he remembered why he still bothered looking for Valence.

The rumble of his gut reminded him that despite all he had lost and all that he had suffered, there were simpler, baser desires to think about.

He was a cowboy travelling the stars, a lone ranger looking for sweet vengeance.

He wondered if he'd be satisfied at what he found in the end.

Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #216 on: February 24, 2020, 05:07:08 PM »
This might be too early to call it anything, but I'm going on a journey of writing 1,000 Flash Fictions that I'll churn out and then collect eventually. At one fiction per day I'll be finished in 2 Years and 8 Months

I really want this to becomes something I just do rather than talk about, so I'm looking forward to the first milestone at 30 days.

Already getting that unhealthy 'pre-success excitement' so that needs to be toned down, but I'm sort of done waiting for a collection of my unfinished projects.

Pessimist that I am, I'm looking forward to my next horrible day to see if I can write even then but yeah, here goes nothing.



Day 13

Blue Screen


Toby stared in horror at the blue screen of death, and knew that his life was over. In a mad cocaine driven rush, he'd sat on his dissertation and written for 5 hours straight, clocking in a whopping 10,000 words of pure inspired beauty on the Theoretical Applications of Cartesian Mathematics on Agriculture in developing countries. The deadline was in 12 hours.


He decided that his life had not been worth living anyway, and so promptly went to the pawn shop to sell his now dead computer in exhange for a pistol. Yes, he'd shoot himself over the bridge near the water. It would be a nice last view to see.


The pawn shopper was easily amendeable to the exchange, and Toby played it off as easily as he could - not that the man needed any moral push on the matter, but it helped that Toby was great at communication.


He thought of the blue screen and how he should've backed up his work as he walked over to the bridge. It was a shiny, sunny day. The days that made you wistful and weepy. A truly beautiful day. Toby almost missed the fact that a man was stepping out of an unmarked sedan with an assault rifle and aiming it at a car before him.


Toby withdrew his pistol with almost police-like reflexes and emptied three rounds into the man before him. The attacker let off one  shot before crumpling to the ground. The car reversed and sped off, leaving a shocked traffic block in the vicinity. Toby looked at his gun like a foreign object, and only let it drop when a Police officer screamed at him to do so.


Later, after the interviews on the Channel 10 News he learned he was lucky he hadn't got shot. The cop had seen everything and given him the benefit of the doubt. The Royal family - particularly The Prince and his new girlfriend - were even more thankful, knighting him for his work.


He got an honourable Doctors' degree and a knighthood, making him Sir Dr. Toby McWall.


Years later when he died he let his son get his ceremonial sword - and the pistol. It became a sort of family heirloom down the line.

Offline suuper-san

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #217 on: February 25, 2020, 09:06:06 AM »
pre-success excitement is a pain. I think that's why I'm only 50% productive at my very max.
And seeing 1000 of these compiled would be fabulous, I'm looking forward to it. We'll have to print a book. Maybe an illustration to go along with each one as well and bam! you're published.

awesome stories as always. very inspiring how you can take a completely random thought and turn it into a thing.
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Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #218 on: February 25, 2020, 09:27:18 AM »
It's seriously safer that day. I've burnt so many projects because I doubled down on a single project and forgot other things and threw myself out of wack for months. True story repeated over and over again even here on MR haha. Slow and steady wins the race.

Thanks man. They'll definitely need editing but I'm good with just getting things done. Two word prompts are a pretty fun baseline. I'll think of layering a new idea generation method after I hit 30 days.

And heck yeah illustrations would be great! I guess I should try out some more anime-esque ones too



Day 14

Cup of Oil



Revenge is a cup, best served boiling hot.


But I don't deserve this revenge. I really don't


It's hot. They shot out my left knee with an AK 47. It hurts to all hell but I've already screamed so much in the past week it doesn't matter anymore. I don't remember where I am. Sometimes I'm in the office accepting my job to leave -


"It's safe there, Jerry. Just get in, close the deal and get out."


- and sometimes I'm perversely on the beach with Tiffany, enjoying a Pina-colada and talking about african penguins and Antarctic penguins


And then I'm back to hell, being slapped in the face. Foreign voices. Boots. Camo coveralls. I don't know their language.


"P-" I can't speak. They busted my lip, "Pleaase." My voice sounds alien in my head.


One of them laughs and grabs the back of my neck. Forces my mouth open.


One of them has a pot thats' steaming and full of oil, and I know they're going to make me drink it.


I think of the dentist and how the syringe eventually absolutely will go into my gums and the pain will hurt beyond any of the pulsations of my body, that no muscle contraction or scream could ever truly hug or encapsulate that pain, that I'd be feeling something beyond expression.


And when it pours the only thing I'm thankful for is that I know I'll finally, finally be dead.



And when I die I think of the cup of coffee I took on the plane heading out to the oil fields. New job, new career - and about how proud my grandfather would've been.

Offline suuper-san

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #219 on: February 26, 2020, 05:59:36 AM »
Would be great to hear what your new idea generation method is :P
can't wait XD
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Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #220 on: February 26, 2020, 02:26:13 PM »
It'll take some time. For now two word prompts is the name of the game.

Day 15

Red Paper



The envelope itself was white, but the paper was red. It was written in neat cursive script, printed black,


"You are the new sacrifice. Get your affairs in order and go out a week from now at 12:00 midnight  if you wish to save your city."


Thomas McCobey was unsettled by it, to say the least. He'd heard and seen many strange things as a priest and was utterly convinced of the supernatural, and this felt like one of those times where he was in contact with the Devil himself.


He made a short prayer and meditated over the letter every night before the fateful day.


He walked out at 12:00 midnight and found a group of men in white hoods, each holding a golden sword. They were glowing faintly.


"Thomas McCobey. Father of Lost sheep. Pastor of Dreadtown."


"Yes?" Thomas was afraid, but he was calm.


"You have been a righteous man all of your life. No matter what temptations have come your way, no matter how dire the straits, you have proven yourself to be holy. The evil and the good alike come to you and you offer them water. You have been beaten for your faith but have never wavered. You are pure."


Thomas McCobey took a moment, "I am but a man. Nobody is pure."


"Except, in this singular case, you are. Now, McCobey. We are an ancient order who are intent on creating a haven for the righteous on the earth. We practice White Magic. We have already captured 100 virgins and will sacrifice them tonight to save this city. If you wish, you may continue your duties and ignore them. But if you want to save them, then you will die here tonight, and we will practice a spell to save this wretched city."


"All magic is an affront to God."


"Magic is every bit a fabric of the material world as are the robes on your skin, the bricks that built this church. We are only using a tool that is available to us. Now, McCobey, make your decision. Will you die tonight, or will you live? Either way, this city shall be saved."


Thomas McCobey was saddened.


"There's a boy: Peter. He's struggling but I see he has a good way ahead of him to become a leader some day. If your oder exists and is as ancient as you say, do you promise to take care of him until he is of age?"


The foremost hooded man nodded.


Thomas McCobey kneeled down and said a prayer. He did not feel it when the blade severed his head, and he did not see them hum their spells and prayers. He did not see the tendrils of lights that floated from the blood of his body, nor did he see how the murderers, the rapists, the drug dealers, the cheaters, the dishonest were plagued by nightmares so terrible and convicting they flocked to the church the next morning in a sudden wave of remorse and repentance.


He did not see Peter grow up to become a member of this church, nor did he see the media circus that the ex-mining town and all round hellhole Dreadtown became.


He did not see it, but it did happen, and nobody ever forgot.

Offline Echo_River

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #221 on: February 26, 2020, 11:36:33 PM »
This one hit me in the feels man Q-Q Oddly unsettling and even a little chilling. It almost felt like justice was achieved through injustice??  I don't trust dem White Magic peeps...

I think also, I'm so used to seeing you write stories with the amazingly gifted and OP main character that the death of a pretty ordinary man here is kinda mortifying. Why Lego?!

Still, good stuff here. Keep it up!
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Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #222 on: February 27, 2020, 05:18:11 AM »
Haha I'm sorryyyyyyy it just happened!

Thanks a lot Echo. And yeah it was super uncomforteable to write. I have no idea where that came from.

And I do love me some OP characters. Here is some more haha

Day 16

Lullabye Moon
 
 
Babe. Sweetcakes. It's a lullabye moon tonight, and I think you would've loved it. I've still got the Suzuki - she's holding up well. The katana is even better. I can't believe I'd ever be holding these things that were such you as mine. I can't believe time is so merciless that now you're just a memory and I'm just here, just here.

Why does life go on like this. Why does it sell me dreams in neon and pictures of simulated nirvana while at the same time ignoring the fact that you are just vapor and ash now. It makes me think of the soul. It makes me think of the stuff you said, that because life in this city is so godless you believe there are gods out there, that there's something beyond even the dataverse, that there is something written in a code we acn only hint at, but never get to.

Babe. I hope you're right. I hope that layer of existence has enough justice or friendliness to not just anhilate the both of us when we die. I don't think I'll live that much longer, seeing as who I'm going up against, but I think, I hope that when that end comes, i'll find you.

I know I will, Babe.

Till then, I'll make them bleed.

+++

And Marius King jumped off the Suzuki Blitzer Model 4458, drawing his Gomua Heavy Industries Grav-Katana, smashing through the glass facade of Terryman DataCorp, the multi-trillion conglomerate which he intended to visit violent vengeance upon.

And many, many people died that night.

Offline suuper-san

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #223 on: February 28, 2020, 04:16:41 AM »
Man your story themes are all over the place for variety! Loved the priest one as well.
Good work, keep it up!
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Offline legomaestro

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Re: WRITING SURVIVAL!!!
« Reply #224 on: February 28, 2020, 01:26:47 PM »
Cheers suuper! It's actually why I didn't start on my project ages ago. Technically I'm at the same stage when it comes to drawing : No theme and way too many ideas but I figured in terms of writing I might as well use it to my advantage and always have a lot of stories to write. Who knows, maybe i'll be able to retroactively see what I like writing the most after getting to 1,000

Day 17  Nobody



He stood there in the middle of conversation and realized that he'd never be important.


The cup of soda pop almost slipped from his hands, and for a moment Sue thought he'd seen something behind her and she giggled and looked behind her, then turned back at him, puzzled at what he was looking at.


"Josh?"


He smiled and said, "I forgot to tie up the dog. Moms' gonna kill me."


Sue pouted "Mom told you to do it before the party!"


Josh was already running to the house "I know!"


He weaved between the older kids, the younger kids, the men and women invited to this massive family bash that happened every start of the Summer. A good ol' family Benson Family Grill. And it wasn't a Benson Family Grill if they didn't invite half of the neighbourhood: The Mayor and local Milkman included.


Josh ran into the cool of the house. The kitchen was for now thankfully quite empty, so he closed the door behind him on the mild hub-bub of people talking to eachother, and started hyperventilating.


He was only 10 for Godssakes. Why did he feel ancient all of the sudden? Why did he know for a fact that he wasn't super  man anymore, that all those BMX tricks he'd been doing were dangerous as hell, stupid as hell, that all the sugar he stuffed down his throat wasn't healthy, that it only took one bad day for him to be dead and gone?


Why did he know all of the sudden how mortal he was?


He walked up to the kitchen sink and pulled himself up. Stared at the blue Gordon The Engine wall clock and watched it tick-tock on the wall. Its eyes wagging left and right. Of course Josh only saw time. Time written down mercilessly.


He closed his eyes and the panic sort of faded away, and with it came a clarity he knew he'd never forget.


He knew nobody would every write a story about him. He knew he would never particularly excel at anything. He knew that even his death would be as every day and pedestrian as anyone elses. It was going to be like that. A perfectly normal life spent utterly unobserved and unanalyzed. He was neither hero nor villain. He was just Josh Benson, first born twin brother of Susan Benson, son of Mr. and Mrs. Benson, the Bankers who lived in Littlebug Lane.


He opened his eyes and looked out the window at the neighbourhood talking about all sorts of things and sighed. He didn't think he'd have any epiphany like this again, but it was nice to know what to expect, as sad as it was.


And with that he slid off the kitchen sink and headed outside again.



To talk. To live.