WRITING SURVIVAL!!!

[Suuper-san]

epic stuff lego! I'll give feedback when I get a spare moment.
Good to see you productive around here :P

[legomaestro]

Haha trying, trying. Fell off the wagon majorly because I got so super busy haha.

Day 1


I definitely want to expand upon this idea to make it a short story at least. Definitely didn't work for a flash fiction, which is my aim for the next couple of days to get back on the horse. CLiff-hanger ending but I like the ideas and hope to develop it later.



Gestiny
---

Director Fadley stood in his grey mantle that made his shoulders twice his width, and he looked comical but as he stared them down with with huge spectacles,
"As you know."

Marcus yawned as he played Tetris on his Datpad, mockingly miming the assembly speech he and the other students were forced to hear every morning before the classes. Tim knudged him in the gut,

"Dude you aiming for solitary this week?"

"Meh." Marcus said. Still, he put away his Datpad and pointed at the metal collar around his neck,

"What the worst they could do, execute me?


***

Director Fadley stripped off the bothersome regalia with much patience in the Staff Office, all the while fantasizing of getting his hand on a rifle, a good old school relic from the Wars with lead bullets and leading a charge right here and right now against the government. Better to die obliterated by laser pistols than to have to recite that accursed morning greeting.

"Excellent, as always, Director." Said Mel-44, his assistant droid and for all intents and purposes, his warden. Through the eyes of the thousands of cameras throughout the school, Director was only but a pawn to the government.

"Ah but of course, Mel. It's like scripture to me, and always feels me with such purpsoe."

He smiled as he adjusted his own metal collar - white, to stand out from the students and staff, but for the same purposes all the same.

"May I have a ration of coffee, please?" He asked. Mel smiled - so lifelike, these androids - and went off to make him coffee. Fadley was dreaming of parashooting into the roof of Central Government. His fantasy ended with him being melted by the dome-shield.


***

Tim ushered Marcus in the toilet, the only place that was free of monitoring for 10 minutes, something all students used to their advantage.

"Dude, I don't want to smoke." Marcus groaned, bemoaning the highscore he almost got.

"Shh.  This is better." Tim said.

Marcus saw five other students clamouring around someone - Jerris, a geek. A really haughty and legendary geek who never fratenized like this. For him to allow people to crowd around like this must mean something.

"This looks like something that'd get us worse than Solitary."

Tim grinned as he came over the the huddle "And all the more worth it. He hacked the timer. We have 20 minutes. You want to see your Destiny File?"

Marcus froze , "What the hell is the point-"

A student exclaimed and groaned loudly. His friend laughed at him as he pat him on the back,

"BAHAHA YOU GET BALD ALONG WITH EARLY DEMENTIA. JEEZ ILL TAKE MY STROKE ANY DAY OF THE WEEK."
Marcus stopped at the doorway,
"I'm not looking, man."

"Why? No one leaves school alive anyways, dude, and we're graduating next year so what's the harm?"

"It's bad enough I have to carry this around without knowing exactly how my inferior genes will get me killed."

"Knowledge is freedom, Marcus. Come on, where is your artistic spirit?"

"Just no."

Marcus stormed out. Tim shrugged and went over to Jerris to check up his Destiny File.


***

Marcus played his violin and forgot the world for a moment, for several moments, for hours in fact and only woke up when he noticed Director Fowley standing in the room with him.

Marcus jumped to attention, "Director."

Fowley waved him down. "Musician. The only one this year. You're good." He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a bona-fide cigarette and started lighting it.

Marcus expected the cameras to flash alerts, gun-turrets to appear, security droids - "What are you-"
Fowley waved him down,

"Jerris is really good at what he does. Besides, what's the worst that could happen, they execute us?" He grinned as he exhaled,

Marcus was dumfounded, then gathered himself, "What do you want, Sir."

"I want someone to graduate and prove everyone wrong. Either that or a real plate of steak and potatoes, or maybe
I'll make a militia out of the students here, don't really know."
Marcus had been enrolled from birth in this school for 14 years. He'd known Fowley forever. Always following protocol,
always non-commital. This is the most he'd heard of him. Ever.

"Is this a test, Sir?"

"Stop calling me Sir. I'm only 40." He stubbed the cigarette and checked his watch,

"You see, I've tried to play by the book, tried to beat those depressing Destiny Files, you know? I've had many
promising students. The greatest of hard workers, the most fanatical, heroic, dedicated students and even quite a
few genuises. One of them even got to graduate and had a trial residence in the main population. He watched porn
and executed in the first week, just as his genetic profile predicted."

Marcus blinked.

Fowley showed him a Datpad, and before Marcus could look away he saw his face along with all the gruesome details
of his future,

"You're going to, like any good musician, be interested in drunks, alcohol, delinquency, the whole nine yards. Heck,
you'd be a Guerilla in the right conditions."

Marcus looked away too late, wanted to block his ears, "Damn you! Why!"
Fowley leaned back, "I'm betting on you to beat the system, because you're one of the laziest, most apathetic
students I've ever had. Your violin is good, but average at best, and you've only barely surfed through all of your studies, but hilariously enough, you're the most reliable. You never get reprimanded enough to get expelled, and you never get so low a grade you won't pass into next year. Maybe instead of caring for blazing fires that burn themselves out, I can work with someone like you, who's slow and steady."

Marcus looked out the window, at the simulated sunlight, the one the main population got to enjoy, the one denied to those lesser than those perfect elites, those condemned to this prison, this ghetto of a school ,

"What the hell do you want me to do, concretely, SIR." 
Fowley smiled, "We've got 5 minutes. Listen carefully."

[Suuper-san]

That was a pretty cool read, definitely would want to read more. might even make a good manga.
a super distopian feel as always.
pretty sure I've seen the future determined by genes in some film...ah yes, Gattaca. I never saw the end for some reason.

quick question, for character design, do you sort of start with a generic stereotypical character and then add details to make them unique or do you just think them up like from scratch? I'm struggling to figure out any method for character development at the moment.

[legomaestro]

Dystopia is my bread and butter haha thanks. And I haven't watched Gattaca quite yet. It was definitely on a film-list back in the day, and you know what? I want to check it out now.

Stereotypes are bae. Actually to get real grounded and epic characters you should probably steal from life and remix and match (exagerration is key) but I usually start with troupes and work my way up from there. Not consciously, but if I have to think that's what I do. Film and manga are of course inspiration, but after the first prototypical 'cute girl' 'desenfranchised teacher' 'haughty bastard' 'delinquent' I let them react as they possibly would in situations reacting with other characters, and go from there.

I can't say that I make particularly unique characters though. If I could analyze my stuff I'm pretty sure you could see the same speech patterns show up again and again. And oh gawd my fatal weakness is writing women. I just don't have it right haha.



Day 1 again. Funny enough same universe.



Gestiny II

Cliff was pissed, and terrified. His son Tim even more so at his reaction. .

Tim had never heard his father shout this loud before.

Never heard him curse. Curses cost Civilian points and seeing his watch deduct point for point after every single expletive, hearing his father ask him again and again 'what the *beep* he was *beeping* *beeping* thinking smoking like a *beeping* *beep* when there were plenty - PLENTY of other *beeps* a *beeping* *beep* could take, were beyond him.

Cliff calmed down, held a face to his hand, glanced at his watch, groaned, pulled up his burner phone and dialed a number. The in-house survelliance shut off. He had 5 minutes.

"Listen..." Cliff cleared his throat. His teenage idiot of a son was staring at him like he'd grown tentacles on his face - disgusted and terrified.

"Tim listen. LISTEN. I'm only mad because you left your cigarette stubs, and I'm sorry to say you're in bad, bad trouble. Do you hear me?"

"I know about carcinogens dad-"

"OH SHUT THE *BEEP* UP! THIS ISN'T ABOUT THAT EVEN WE CURED CANCER DECADES AGO. This... Is Worse."

Cliff shivered. 

Tim shut up.

Cliff looked out of the window of their beautiful high rise apartment. Avalia. City of the Chosen, City of love, light and extra-punctual zero-carbon footprint maglev trains and busses. Flying cars, endless mood-enhancing lighting and most importantly peace - endless, mild, beautiful elite peace. And money. Always the money.
4 minutes. Cliff sighed,
"Kid, we're probably going to get a phonecall now from whatever scum picked up the cigarette butt, and they're going to ask for a lot of money."

"W-what?"

"Your DNA. We're Elites. We've been born and bred to be perfect. Everything we have here..." He waved vaguely at the coffee machine, the Omni-headset that played whatever you felt like watching and tuned in to your ocular implants and iFeel system (so long as it was government regulated)

"... Is because we've got the right blood. The right genetic code. And it's not only cooperate property, it's your password, your education, your everything."

"Dad, what the hell are you-"

"You just gave a scavenger a backdoor to duplicate your code, maybe make his own Timothy in a stolen vat, maybe he'll just drain all our accounts of money, or if he's feeling particularly like an ass, maybe he'll just report our family, and that means getting kicked out of the city: ALONG WITH OUR ENTIRE DAMN LINEAGE. Our neighbours, our *beeping' cat."

Tim was shivering now. He was piecing together the bits.
Cliff looked at his watch. One minute, then the survelliance went on. He sighed. He pat Tim on the shoulder,
"If I believed in God, I'd say you should pray nothing went wrong right now."

His burner phone beeped. The signal-block was deactivated, and they waited for minutes there, over the white table.
The call never came.

***

Director Fowley smiled as Marcus walked passed him and passed him a plastic baggie with a cigarette butt. They palmed it, walked passed smoothly.

Director Fowley smiled to himself. All according to plan. This was going almost too well.

[legomaestro]

Day 1

She Tried to Make My Head Explode


I hate humans, but I love to be in their company.

I sit on a bar stool drinking my lager, looking at through the haze of smoke, at the neon signs. Bartender is hovering near me again, seeing if I'm going to be trouble tonight or just quiet. I never go too overboard, and besides, there's always a nice idiot who makes me look as tame as a kitten.

I look at a group of very loud guys. Football bravado, or a Bachelor party. The shameful envy of youth bites me again, and I go for my cigarettes.

Not before a girl - so blonde it's almost white hair, in her late 30s, pretty in a tired sort of way - pulls one of out my jacket pocket, lights it and smokes. She stares at me as I look at her, annoyed.

But she only just stares and pulls on the cigarette, blows the smoke in the air. Stares at me.

"What gives?" I ask.

"I'm trying to make your head explode."

"And what pray tell-" I take a cigarette for myself, "Would I do to deserve that?"

"I dunno, you just seem like that kind of guy that hangs in ther background judging everybody. Sort of like a regular ass, you know?"

"Oh my ass isn't regular." I regret the words even as they come out.

"Nice." She stands up, "Thanks for the cigarette."

"You didn't ask."

"I don't need to." And she turns so gracefully and walks away so smoothly I've got to agree in some sense of the term.

I'm almost returning to my lager when she calls from across the bar, a fur- jacket halfway on,

"You coming or what?"

I look at her, I look at the bartender and he shrugs. I pay my bill, get my jacket and follow.
She's spinning on a carousel and I'm freezing my butt off on a see-saw.


"It's too damned cold for this." I complain.

"Live a little, old man!"

It hurts because it's true.  I suffer the see-saw, and the walk along the pier, and the walk through the streets. I hurry her along when she stares at certain people, I'm both on her leash and her protecter, and I cannot make heads or tails of what this is all about. Somewhere along the line we end up at a train station, and I know she's got to go.

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Oh, don't ruin it."

I guess I have my answer.

"If you happen to be around these parts, you can always try to explode my head. I'm around a lot."

"And that's why you're miserable."

I shrug. She smiles. "Thanks for indulging me." And it's so sincere I almost believe her.

She gets in a train to who knows where, and I decide it's too late to continue the night, and too darned cold. I head home.

[legomaestro]

Day 2

Not Their Story

Samuel picked up the flowers at the shop with the reverence of a priest before a relic, even as Commander Brolev gave the green light to launch the nukes.

Samuel skipped through town, feeling like a back seat driver to the culmination of a narrative he felt in his bones was the start of a love story. Theresa, beautiful, quiet Theresa. He was going to dance with her tonight at the local festival. And as he thought these things Brolevs' superior Director Walcolm pulled out his own key and walked up to the console. The soldiers had already locked in the target locations.
 
Samuel waited for the red tram to pass, then started climbing the cobblestone street, passing the quaint squeezed-together houses, imagining her scent, imaging her waiting for him (and indeed she was). And the soldiers turned the keys, and Brolev flipped the red switch, exposing a red button.

And Samuel looked up at a beautiful sunny sky, and Brolev pressed the button, and Samuel saw Theresas' house, saw her silhouette there in her bonnet and white dress and frills - so old-school but so perfect. And the rocket rose and fired a thousand decoys, too fast to track, too fast to hinder.

And Samuel saw Theresa, and he smiled, revealing the roses, and turned to ash in that posem and the shadow of his love was heat-smeared into the cobblestone street below, along with the impression of a woman in a bonnet and white dress.

"Hit." Reported a soldier from his headphone.

Brolev and Walcolm nodded at eachother. Brolev closed the switch, pocketed his key and left the room. A war was ended.

[Suuper-san]

another good couple of stories.
each has its own charm and I could definitely see them becoming larger stories.