First Line #11

Ooh, two posts within a week something interesting is going on. Not really, but I did write this story and I happen to really like it so before I forget I decided to put it up now.

The story is a first line that I did in my creative writing class and is part of the competition hosted by thefirstline.com

I actually decided to put some effort into this one and wrote this in my usual style of randomness. So we got a good story with an extreme twist at the end.

Title: The Visitor

George pressed the call button and said, “Mrs. Whitfield, you have a visitor.”

Though Mrs.Whitfield has no inkling as to who her visitor might be she accepts him none the less with a single buzz as a reply back. The man who wears a pair of khaki’s, held up by black suspenders, and a white button up shirt tucked in (an outfit that is, while stylish, completely out-of-date) slips past George on silent loafered feet.

After the man disappears from his sight George soon forgets that he was ever there to begin with, he only has the faint impression of the bell above the door having been rung as if someone had in fact entered the apartment building, but it’s only faint and he chalks it up to his imagination. He returns to his unending game of solitaire while Mrs. Whitfield receives her visitor.

Mrs. Whitfield is an old lady whose husband had actually died last year, but she had never gotten out of the habit of being a ‘Mrs.’ so the title never changed despite becoming a widow. The apartment that she lives in holds echoes of her previous life, the one before she grew old and alone. Along the mantle our sporting shots of her and her late husband, much younger and holding the arrogance of youth in their eyes as the camera immortalizes them in each daring escapade that they dared to venture on. Nestled in between these old memories are the cherished photos of children, grandchildren, and great children.

While Mrs. Whitfield loves these pictures and the children themselves dearly she held the old fashioned opinion that many of her generation might, that she was perhaps not old enough to have great grandchildren yet, but she’d wave the thought away as soon as it come with a sigh and just murmur to herself: “That’s just the way it is now, I guess.” and she’d turn away from the mantle to go find something else to occupy her time.

The apartment isn’t large. It’s a simple one bedroom, one bathroom, with a small kitchen and living room. Mrs. Whitfield doesn’t require much space especially since it is only just her now. Mrs. Whitfield when not reminiscing on old memories or thinking about her children she can often be found sitting in her chair in the living room with a radio on the small stand beside it playing NPR while she knits various things. Her most recent work happens to be a blue and green baby blanket for one of the aforementioned great grandchildren.

This is where she had been before being told about her visitor. At first Mrs. Whitfield had thought that maybe it was one of her children, but had crossed out the notion upon thinking that one of her children would have called first before in advance so she could be prepared because Mrs. Whitfield did like to be prepared for such matters. Unless of course something had happened and there had been no time to give her advance call. This worried her so to soothe herself she said, “It’s probably just a salesman.” And it if is a salesman she thinks, she hopes that it’s a bible salesman because she is in particular need of a new bible.

When finally the knocking arrives Mrs. Whitfield answers it with what she perceives as a graceful and welcoming smile. Her visitor steps into her living room and while he is doing this Mrs. Whitfield has the impression that she is taking a step back in time for his outfit brings back many memories from her childhood. The years where people dressed respectable and held high regard towards acceptable and fanciful fashion.

The man looks down at the old woman with his own warm smile.

“How do you do?” He asks like a try dapper gentlemen and then continues on without waiting for a reply, “I’m Death and I’m here to take you to see your husband.”

Mrs. Whitfield’s smile fades, “Oh,” she replies in an understandably shocked manner, “I thought you might be a bible salesman.”

Noragami AMV #2

So I finally got around to finishing another AMV.

Note I put finishing and not creating, I’ve actually been working on another AMV (one that I started before this) and I just haven’t gotten around to completing it because I realize now that the song I chose is a really bad song for an AMV.

Anyway back to this one: this is my second Noragami AMV, please watch the first one if you haven’t already- literally, please, because it’ll kind of make more sense… to me anyway. If you start off by watching just this one you’ll be kind of confused because I made it as more of part 2 or sequel, they’re meant to be watched together. Okay, now that I got that.

Here’s a link to the first one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BXohb7afixc

and here’s Noragami AMV #2

The Finisher by David Baldacci (Vega Jane #1)

Book Review of The Finisher by David Baldacci. YA-MG. Published 2014. Action, Fantasy.

Welcome to Wormwood: a place where curiosity is discouraged and no one has ever left.

Until one girl, Vega Jane, discovers a map that suggests a mysterious world beyond the walls. A world with possibilities and creatures beyond her imagining.

But she will be forced to fight for her freedom. And unravelling the truth may cost Vega her life.” -Goodreads

Most YA books you read that are told from a girl’s perspective (and this is a large majority) the girls in question are either whiny, annoying little twits who need everyone to help them achieve their goals or they are in the complete opposite of the spectrum and are a powerhouse of energy that is so completely unbelievable it’s stupidly unrealistic. And of course, since we’re talking YA here there’s always a boy which the previously stated powerhouse will fall in love and become completely useless without said boy, the whiny girl on the other hand won’t have a boy, she’ll have boys because love triangles are so popular and are an actual thing in real life. In The Finisher the main character Vega Jane is neither of these, kind of.

In the beginning Vega is very average considering her situation. And I can actually say this with complete honesty. She is average. She is not some whiny girl wanting to rise up against the government, she’s not some completely unrealistic powerhouse who is actually plotting to achieve something. She’s a girl who’s taking care of her little brother in their parent’s absence, she’s going to work at a factory as a finisher (Ha, look it’s the title), but wait, what is this her best friend is a guy, oh no!, but not really, because if you can imagine it for a YA she’s not in love with him! OMG, I think the world just broke.

Now you’d think that with all of this normal, realistic stuff going on she would be boring, but you’d be wrong. Vega Jane is actually pretty interesting and I have to hand this Baldacci, he did an excellent job at creating a character that is both realistic and awesome. Vega’s got some spunk and she’s not afraid to throw down with the men if they insult her or her friends. My only beef with her is that she’s actually pretty naive and trusting with the people she knows are lying to her. Her council people persons, them, yeah, you know what I mean. She know’s that they’re lying about some things but then she still believes and trusts everything they say and I’m just like “Are you a complete moron?” but then I just kept reminding myself that she has only had schooling till she was like thirteen and she’s grown up admiring these councilmen so why would she not trust them? It still annoyed me though when it seemed like Baldacci was purposefully dumbing her down. But by the end she wisens up and kind of becomes one of those aforementioned powerhouses (it has yet to be seen if this will actually come to pass)

Speaking of Baldacci, the writing in this book was pretty awesome, okay scratch that, what he’s writing about is pretty awesome. The setting and storyline that he invented is completely wow. The creativity and imagination he used for this fantasy novel really rendered it well. However, his actual writing style, that was confusing as fuck. Listen, if you have to have a glossary in the back of the book then you’re doing something wrong. If you’re glossary isn’t actually helpful in anyway you’re definitely doing something wrong. Trying to decipher this guy’s made up and (I think) british lingo was super taxing. It was like trying to translate Gavin speak except an entire books worth. (Gavin Free from Achievement Hunter for those who don’t get the reference.) But despite that I still enjoyed his writing, Wormwood was so vividly described I can imagine it and it’s inhabitants to the tee, and the impressions are definitely long lasting (considering I’m doing this review half a year after I read it) I can still remember all of the character and places, albeit not exactly the names… This book was really well done.

However, that ending filled me with a certain sense of foreboding. Dare I say it, there might be a love triangle on the horizon. Uh! But Baldacci might continue to amaze me and not do that at all, I’ll just have to wait and see. Overall this story was really good. The plot was interesting and held my interest pretty well. The book is actually intended for MG so I think the author did a good job making it enjoyable for people who are not in MG. The writing, a bit confusing, but worth it to read about the unique characters, creatures, and places that Baldacci describes with first class imagery. The book left me, while at a cliffhanger, not about to weep or throw the book against the wall, but still excited and anticipating the next book. That’s a good way to end a book.

Final Verdict: 4/5

Object, Character, Place #6

Haha I’m back if anyone bothered to miss me 🙂

Today I bring you another object character place because my teacher really likes these and so that’s what we’re always doing in her class.

The three things are: An empty cookie jar, in an abandoned house, with a folded, dusty note at the bottom. The edge of the realm between reality and fantasy. An infant who looks 80 years old.

I titled No Names Necessary, one because I couldn’t of a proper name for the piece and two none of the characters here have names, though that’s not too unusual. Anyway, here we are, one of my newest short stories. I think you’ll get a good laugh.

No Names Necessary

Drowning is not fun, almost drowning and ending up on the of the realm between reality and fantasy not very fun either. Forests everywhere. Everywhere. The world is just like one giant forest and then bam! An ocean.

That’s how I got there. I crawled out of the ocean like a bedraggled cat coughing and hacking up seawater as I went. In front of me was… you guessed it, forest. It stretched on for miles and seemed to have no end. I don’t know what happened, I was like “Ah! I’m drowning!” and then I was caught in this janky place. This is not heaven and it doesn’t look like any type of hell either. I always knew I’d end up in purgatory. I now had no doubt that I was about to be eaten up by some awful, creepy monsters.

I didn’t know what to do so after my heart stopped pounding a mile a minute I got up and shook the water off of me. I decided to brave the forests and try to find some type of path. This is the stupidest idea ever, but I was all still jangled up from my near drowning. I just wanted to find my way back home, okay, and I didn’t feel like almost drowning again.

I walked forever, my feet felt like dead bricks by the time I found this abandoned house. Obviously, a haunted house, so obvious. If there were monsters in there or witches like in Hansel and Gretel I would definitely die, but they might have food. The witch from H&G had lots of food. I wanted pizza, okay, don’t judge me.

I went and instead of finding pizza (dammit!) I found instead a cookie jar sitting on a small table right in front of the entrance. Cookies, hell yeah! I hurried over there and opened the jar only to find it empty with only a folded up note inside of it. I reached in and took the note out, when I unfolded it I found out that it was actually a picture of baby.

This baby looked like eighty years old and just as I was thinking this the baby looked up at me and said: “That’s because I am eighty years old.”

The End

Object, Character, Place (#4 technically)

This is a story where an object, character, and place are preselected for you and you have to incorporate them into your story. I’ve done others like this, but this will be the first one I’ve posted here, hence my title. If I don’t put that #4 there I’ll get confused later on if I decide to post the ones that came previously.

The Object: A crystal ball that belongs to an old, sad, fortune teller

The Character: Black haired, blue eyed girl, average height

The Location: A train boxcar stuck on a deserted track

This story actually made me laugh at the ending and then I had my sister read and I got her to laugh too. My teacher hasn’t read it yet though so I don’t have her opinion on it. Hopefully, I will someday in the near future.

Is there an End?

The girl fell, fell, fell. Her black hair, tied neatly in two twin braids, whips about her face. Her blue eyes are wide and filled with panic. As she falls a horrid scream understandably falls past her lips, however it is stolen by the wind before anyone can actually hear it.

The girl falls till it becomes past tense as it already technically has. She lands with an ‘umph,’ on the hard packed dirt ground. Her clothes are immediately covered in the fine, dusty dirt, but she is not actually worried about that because she just fell like a million feet and is wondering if she’s dead and if not how? She lays there in the dirt staring at the sky and this sky is something to stare at. It is a bright blue that burns with intensity that our sky only has after a heavy storm has made it such. What’s in the sky though is what really captivate her attention, there are planets in sight. Not moons or stars (there is a small sun though), but what really holds her gaze are the magnificent planets.

There are three in the sky that she can see and all of them are of differing colors and size. They swirl with greens, reds, and purples; yellows, oranges, and pinks; blacks, browns, and blues. Where is she? Who the hell knows?

Slowly, after maybe an hour, maybe more, the girl stands up. She has an average height. She’s wearing a pair of maroon tight, jean overalls, and a band tee underneath. Her small frame wobbles as she makes her way to her feet. On her feet she wears light pink converse, high-tops of course.

She notes her surroundings. Dirt and grass, it’s a field. The sun overhead blazes with a weak glare, just a small itty-bitty star to light up this world. The girl stumbles forward a step and then realizing she has nothing else to do continues with another step.

She walks for miles, or whatever metric system they use there, until she comes up to an old railway. The iron is rusted and brown and the wooden slats have practically turned to dust. The girl changes her direction until she’s walking parallel with the tracks. Hours later and with much fatigue she finds an old boxcar. The wheels are as rusted as the track it stands on and definitely isn’t going to be moving anytime soon. The girl however climbs in regardless. The shade greets her and makes her shiver in her not-very-warm clothes. When she settles in she finds before her an old lady covered in dusty robes and cloths covered in holes.

The girl quickly surmises that this is a fortune teller, albeit a very old and sad looking one. However, when the fortune teller sees her through near blind eyes, she starts to laugh madly. A cackle that makes the girl full of fear. She realizes that she, for no reason, has landed on a strange planet and the first person she meets is a crazy person.

This thought is proven when the fortune teller takes her crystal ball and bashes in the girl’s brains. Blood goes everywhere and the fortune teller continues to cackle madly.

The End

Tell This Story

On the board of my creative writing class a close-up picture of a figure wearing a pink dress and holding a large axe. In this picture you can only get the side view and only from neck down to to the hips. Next to this image are the words “Tell this Story.”

The prompt: Write a story about this figure.

For your enjoyment: The Pink Gown

A cow’s skull stares at me from the darkness of the forest. It has to be the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen. Below the skull is the body of a girl in a white dress. She’s holding a humongous axe, it looks heavy as hell, I’m not even sure how she’s able to hold it one handed.
The black eyes of the cow skull stare deep into my soul and I’m frozen in place. I watch in almost slow motion as the axe rises above the strangers head and then comes down onto my chest.
My blood flies grotesquely all over the pristine white gown, staining the pearly material pink. I collapse onto the ground in a sudden heap, time seems to speed up now.
My breath comes out in ragged gasps. I watch as my blood flows freely over the ground, too fast, too fast. My heart pounds like a hammer in my cavernous chest. I cling to myself desperately as if that will somehow bring my life back, but then in seconds I’m dead.
The girl in the pink stained gown watches the man’s final moments of desperation with a serene indifference. She has no heart and no soul, all of her being had been consumed by the gods long ago. Now she is nothing more than an empty shell.
She wretches off the cow skull that served no purpose other than to scare her victims and then kneels down on the ground next to the dead man. Like an animal she rips the flesh off his bones with her bare teeth and chews it savagely, letting the blood drip down her chin onto her already ruined dress. She’s apathetic though to her appearance and everything around her. The girl is methodical and almost clinical as she eats and chews her food. She finishes the meal and then puts the cow skull back on. There is nothing but scraps left of the man. She isn’t hungry, she never is, but would still kill and eat anyone who chanced upon her wandering form.

Rainy Weather

My prompt on this one had to follow strict guide lines, three characters, an animal, and rainy weather. Seemed easy enough to turn into a weird, messed-up story.

Once upon a time there was a sweater. On the sweater lived a creature, he was a black and white penguin who had been stitched with love and care on the sweater by a machine.
The machine had been the first of it’s kind and in fact the penguin was the first penguin it had stitched on a sweater, it was also its last. Upon finishing the very last stitch for the black and white penguin the machine mysteriously stopped working. No matter how many mechanics came and looked at it, declaring it in perfect working order, it refused to make any more handsome penguins.
Unbeknownst to the owner of the machine, the machine silently thought that it could never make a sweater as beautiful as it had that first time, and the machine didn’t want it’s first penguin to feel cheapened by creating a thousand more in exact likeness, and so it had decided that it would simply never make another.
A year later, after the perfectly working, but stubborn machine had been scrapped for parts (it regretted nothing), the penguin had it’s first thought. The thought was this, “Ow!” The penguin thought this because at that very moment the little girl who owned him had folded him up uncomfortably, right down the middle, and shoved him in her dresser, preferring instead to wear the unthinking, but more colorful giraffe sweater for the cold and rainy day.
This did not upset the penguin, being disregarded for the giraffe, because he had another miraculous thought that giraffe was better looking then him, as the girl also thought.
So the pretty penguin laid there in the dark and thought upon things which he had never been able to think upon before. At first his thoughts were small, and inconsequential to anything. The penguin was like a child trying to discover what the world meant the very first time it opened its eyes. Steadily, though, the penguin’s mind began to age and grow as any persons would under deep reflection. Within an hour the black and white penguin had developed from a child’s mind to a full grown and philosophical mind. After reaching this state of being the penguin took to depression, because even though an hour earlier he hadn’t minded the giraffe being chosen over him, but now it caused him great pains knowing that he was not as good as the giraffe sweater and could do nothing to change this.
Three hours later when the little girl came home, and discarded the brightly colored giraffe sweater into her dresser the penguin committed suicide by spontaneous combustion and burned down the entire house killing everyone inside, including the little girl and her mother and father and destroying the sweater.
Coincidentally the giraffe sweater was created by a machine that was hated by the machine that had stitched the penguin, why the machine hated the other was a mystery.

The Flower King

Story I wrote at Two in the morning. It’s definitely got the quality of a story written while half asleep.

The Flower King
There one was a king who ruled over a garden of beautiful flower people and he loved all of his subjects dearly. The king was always very happy until one day he looked outside his castle and saw that all of the flower people were crying inconsolably.
The king ran down to them and asked what was wrong, but none would answer because they were all too busy crying. The sight of his subjects so sad made the King sad too so he set out to try and comfort them.
To them he whispered kind words and sweet songs and it was his love and tender care for them that made them grow. All of the flower people grew twenty times in size and this made them very happy and they stopped crying. This made the king happy too, so he ran all across his kingdom and did this to every one of his subjects until they were all swaying in the breeze, high in the sky.
When the great king was done he went back to his castle and cried, even though he loved his people very much, and was glad that were no longer upset, now that they were so far away he missed them terribly.
But the flowers knew nothing of his sadness because they couldn’t look down and see him all they could do was to look to the bright blue sky.
The flower people had been sad because they couldn’t feel the sun, but now they could feel that warm light on their petals and they were happy.