First and last one for the day, don't worry about it, M-D.

quote:

Originally posted by Trogdor:
That's not fair. You wrote it. It's very good. It's true. Wait a month, at least before you look at it again.

I think it is wonderful. Rich. Rich, is what it is. Full of meaning.

For God's sake, is everything that conjures a little emotion sappy these days?

No, you're right.

Really, thanks.

Worth narrating over a re-enactment, striv. Girjess.

what do you mean?

I meant a filmed reconstruction of the events described by you, with your own voice & words recorded over it.

Okay, I was being a little silly when I suggested it, but that's what it meant.

I like what you wrote.

Howard was staring at the television, but Annie could see that his eyes were unfocused.

"Howard, are you ok?"

Slowly, labouriously, he turned his head to look at her. The flickering white glow from the screen reflecting off the CNI jack sockets still set in his neck. The doctors had said that the sockets were the only thing holding his nervous system togther these days. Annie smiled in encouragement and pleasure as Howard raised his had, all the time fighting the involuntary twitching and gave her a thumbs up.

Howard had been one of the first pilots to use the Cyber Neural Interface. They'd installed circuitry directly into his spinal cord and plugged him into his plane. He was a pioneer, or maybe just a guinea pig. He was thirty-five, but looked much older. His faced lined and weathered, his hands thin and gnarled, old before his time.

"Would you like something to eat?"
"I-I-I-I-I w-w-w-w-w-wwwwould," he pause, clearly exasperated, "I-I-I w-w-wwould l-l-l-like a-a-a s-s-s-sssand-w-w-wich p-p-p-please." Annie nodded and went into the kitchen. She kept the smile on her face until she was sure he couldn't see him, then let it evaporate. It was only his motor fuctions that didn't work. He could still see and hear and think, but he could barely move. He'd never walk again, standing was agony for him. Without her, he'd wither away and die, unable to feed him self. Sometimes she'd find him gasping and convulsing, fighting for breath, those were the days she really wondered if his surviving had been lucky at all.

For the first time he saw a different path...
There was a monster out there and it was set free.

He'd spent an entire life keeping his in check, heavily shackled. He knew its' nature, had seen it growing up, how it could consume you; especially the unaware. Most others like this he'd met were unaware, liable to feats of madness and blind to the damage they left in their wake.

But he was cursed. He was aware and so denied its' nature to survive... He lived a half life keeping his true self dormant.
That's why this was a surprise.
A monster just like him, aware but free. Absolute consciousness!

I need to write it down. I need to start writing things down. I'm starting to forget.

Start at the beginning. I drove to work this morning. So familiar. Like I'm on rails. I could drive with my eyes closed; every lane change, every signal memorized by my hindbrain, leaving me just ticking over on top waiting for the coffee to kick in. This morning there was a street sweeping machine rolling down the left lane, huge arrows in flashing orange lights telling me to get in the other lane, go around.

So I did. I pulled into the other lane and around. No big deal. But that reminded me; reminded me of how I take the same route every morning, like I'm on rails. It reminded me how I need to be reminded. That's it. That's what I needed to remember. I need to remember how I keep forgetting things. I need to start writing this down, before I forget.

Start at the beginning...

quote:

every signal memorized by my hindbrain, leaving me just ticking over on top

Yes!

quote:

But that reminded me; reminded me of how I take the same route every morning, like I'm on rails.

It's called 'becoming a stable, productive member of organized society', Colin.

*sigh*

Forqua crouched over the tinker-toy framework and rubbed the wad of filmy white tissue over something.

"Seven years bad luck if you break the mirror." Tanis was sitting with her back in the corner. She counted out 14 strands of hair, and wrapped them around the end of her smallest finger.

"It's a seleneostat," mumbled Forqua. "Not mirror. Terminology is always important."

"We've got all four kinds of bat-shit crazy here," I pointed out, "not that it's going to make any difference in the end."

"Do it!" Mario added a final loop and squiggle, and put the pen in his pocket. The maze of thick and thin black black lines spread up the wall and onto the ceiling. "It's just getting dark enough now."

Tanis reached up the wall and turned off the light.

I pulled the cord that opened the blinds. Lights outside, just darkness inside until my eyes adjusted.

Forqua started the clockwork, and an image of the full moon shone on the wall.

As we watched, it tracked across the curves and spirals. There should have been music.

SRu, you really don't write enough.

quote:

Originally posted by prometheus:
SRu, you really don't write enough.

So true.

Fresh!

Glory!

Thanks for the encouragement. It makes me feel better about killing the definition 2.0 thread.

Ari tells me it's my fault he doesn't know where we're going, even though he's the mapper and burns it out before we leave. By the time it's to the point he's blaming me for being lost, we're too far outside the map to get back in. What I do is map a surrounding grid and familiarize myself as best I can with primary byways, noted landmarks, play it cool as Ari steams, pretend to use logic off the cuff to get us back on course. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. Today not.

Ari seems pleased, not exasperated.

Nice. I like the narrator's voice in this one.

'So, what's that about the spiders?'

'What do you mean?'

'I read that thing you wrote; how everytime you put on a new paper roll at the bathroom, you hate to look inside the tube, for fear of finding a spider nested in there...'

'Where did you find... eh, read that?'

'I have my resources.'

This message has been edited. Last edited by: fuldog,

naw mate, is fucked. he says it slow, langorously, and in a particularly unhelpful manner. i sigh, leaning against the side panelling. reflecting that i shouldn't have gunned the engine so hard when it started snowing. well i say snow, but that iridescent sludge that falls from the sky doesn't have anything to do with what we expect water to do back home. we're still getting used to driving in those conditions, the sudden unpredictable resilience the sludge forms - cross chain molecules bonding under pressure, instead of dissolving with just the right push. the guy stands up straight, wobbling as he does so. looks like yer stuffed, ah could lift you to nearest town, you want? he says it while whiping digestive fluids from his bristling mouth with his tool tentacle. naw, naw, your awright, i sent out a message, no doubt my team will be here any minute, naw worries. slow blinks of those snake eyes, head rotating and back, sure mate, sure, his voice drips with doubt. doubt and hunger. i climb back inside and lock the doors.

Jack Stephens
Human Sacrifice Technician

“What kinds of complaints did Cindy make?”

Oster leaned farther back in his chair.

“She said that Terry got very angry, that they argued sometimes.”

“Just argued?”

“I believe so. But Cindy can be a difficult woman, Mr. Stephens. Her wifely duties do not come naturally to her.”

“Is Terry deaf?”

"Why, no, why would you think-"

"Because unless he's signing, he should stop arguing with his hands."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you do, pastor. And you can let him know for me: I've got a sharp knife and a roll of duct tape in my car. If he ever touches her again, then I'll make another visit. And I'll take his hands home with me."

Oster's eyes widened in shock, his mouth gaped.

"I'll put them in a jar in my pantry," Jack said. "And if he's nice, he can come say hello to them now and again."

Jack stood, leaned forward, and snapped his card down on Oster's desk.

"Go with God, pastor," he whispered.