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Post by teleport on Aug 11, 2014 5:41:03 GMT
username on CS: teleport
identity of protagonist: The protagonist (or antagonist, in a sense) is referred to only as 'the employee' that the letter is addressed to.
Story:
Dear employee,
We regretfully inform you that your employment has been terminated at this research facility.
It may or may not surprise you, ex-employee, that this is a decision that management has been mulling over for close to three months now, when you first joined our ranks of hopeful yet underpaid young scientists. You seemed like a good match for the facility when we looked at your master's degree in biotechnology; however, it became apparent upon arrival that our research center simply isn't the place for you. We had several complaints when you first arrived with your pet crocodile 'Punkin' on a rhinestone-studded leash, claiming it would 'get lonely' if you didn't take it with you to work. Considering your high-profile research and quirky sense of humor, we may have let it slide if you hadn't started leaving the beast unattended. Throughout your first month at the facility, we found at least seven interns hiding in the janitor's closet from the hungry creature while you were taking some of your all-too-often coffee breaks. The only reason you were not fired after your first month was due to the crocodile's disappearance in early March. One of the mentioned seven interns would like to come forward at this time, and tell you that she is responsible for the disappearance of your pet. (She's not sorry.)
This brings us to a more long-term rule that you have breached multiple times throughout your employment here- testing on other employees, specifically our hapless interns. Us at management will always remember the time three new volunteers came running in a panic to our office before switching off the lights. They all had glow-in-the-dark tongues, which they acquired after drinking some pink lemonade you had offered them an hour before. If we remember correctly, your only defense on the matter was that it was 'for science'. With effects varying from uncontrollable laughter to instant and wild fur growth, you have truly terrorized our working force. We might as well get rid of the water coolers in the building, for nobody is willing to take a sip of the liquid, as it more than likely contains some chemical concoction added by you for another 'experiment'. While research is our primary objective here, we like our employees to have some sort of moral standard, as well. It is important to us that our employees don't have to fear for their well-being while at work, and it's become obvious that safety is not important to you.
Finally, we have the deciding factor in your expulsion from the facility. While you are technically only a major in biotechnology, it's no secret to us how much you like big, fiery explosions. Regretfully, this love of big, fiery explosions did not extend to our cafeteria last week. We liked our cafeteria, we really did. It was probably the best part of this dumpy biological research facility, if only for the food. Your accident with ammonium nitrate during lunch may have been, well, an accident, but there was no denying how happy you looked while standing in the smoking remains of the cafeteria. It kinda scared us, actually. In any case, you won't be coming back. Your belongings can be picked up at reception.
This isn't to say it wasn't at least a little bit fun having you here. All of management can agree that you were one of the smartest scientists we've ever hosted, even if that intelligence didn't extend to your common sense. You were also very good at coming up with jokes, especially puns (sometimes too much, actually). Finally, your courage and dedication to the cause of science blew us away (literally, once or twice). You never said no to a challenge or question, even when it seemed virtually impossible to you. I'm not even sure you knew the meaning of the word. You were undeniably a fabulous mad scientist. However, mad science and... our science don't mix well, as I'm sure you've realized by this time in the letter. We wish you the best of luck in future endeavors, provided they're at least partially legal, and hope you can find yourself another paying job.
Good day,
Hollenbeck Research Facility Management
word count: 700/1000 w
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Post by Moonskye on Aug 11, 2014 5:49:10 GMT
username on CS: Moonskye
identity of protagonist: The Thief
story:
Calculating.
That was the best way to describe what I was doing, I was calculating. The distance from myself to the cart, the soldiers to the cart, all of those wonderful details. It’s not like I would be doing this if I didn’t have to… or would I? These days I’m not quite sure…
Back on track, I have to get back on track. The soldiers are moving away from the stand, now’s my time to shine! I feel my muscles contract just as I had expected them to do, and I landed on the tarp spread above another stand. It makes everything so much easier with those tarps…
I was still calculating as I made my approach, successfully hiding from most anyone. That’s what a street kid would do normally anyhow. Nobody suspected a thing. Crouch, skitter… calculating some more- This was not in my calculations! I’ve bumped into another kid, just as scrawny as myself. I was so not expecting that. Never mind that…
So I shoved the kid out of the way. You got a problem with that? If I had a lawyer I’d tell you to go work it out with him. I don’t have time for kids, just food. Unfortunately, being jostled confused me. I made the mistake of stealing food right in front of the stall owner, as well as spilling some of his goods. All I heard was “Thief!” but I was already run- wait, no footsteps? No shouts? Stopping abruptly, I whipped around. The guards were approaching the scared little kid. Why did he have to look so much like me?! I contemplated my options. Go home happy and with bread, or risk my skin for some kid and have less of a chance of enjoying my bread…
Remind me why I’m a good person? Thief and good person don’t usually align, but I decided to risk it for the kid. I bade a tearful farewell to my loaf and took off towards the kid. Once again, I was calculating. As I neared the street I heard the pounding of footsteps and watched the kid take off. I bounded after him, catching up with him and roughly shoving him into an alleyway. At least there was one thing that had worked today… The guards saw us turn but weren’t as quick, and thankfully I had been in that alley in a similar situation before. I guess you could say it was typical?
So as the guards finally made the turn, I grabbed this kid’s neck fur and pulled him to the side. With a “listen here,” I broke it down for him in a matter of seconds. It only took “tarp” and “box” before it looked like he knew what we had to do. He scrambled on the box and began bouncing up the tarps as I would, using his teeth if need be. I followed him, and soon we were on top of the roof. The soldiers’ discouraged shouts died into murmurs as they left, and we stayed collapsed for quite a while…
When I woke up, the boy was gone and my bread was in his place. I suppose it was his way of showing gratitude, and it was rather effective. I was significantly happier with a full stomach than an empty one after devouring the bread, and began to make my way home. It doesn’t take me that long, using the stall tarps and the tarps above windows to figure out a way home. Upon reaching home, I realized that the kid had followed me, and I somewhat grudgingly agreed to let him stay in my tiny abode. He didn’t look like me, and he explained that he did have a family and had just become lost during the day. I was skeptical, but offered to help find his parents with him…
The next morning he was up before me, eager to start our search. I didn’t understand why he craved for parents, I had fared extremely well without them for a long time. They obviously weren’t a necessity, were they? I had no clue, but the young boy wanted his back. He explained where they had been staying, and I began my trek towards said location…
So apparently his parents are archaeologists. They thanked me in a heavily foreign accent and I almost laughed. Foreigners were so strange, but they looked happy together. It’s a different kind of happiness, I could tell. It’s not the happiness of freedom or adventure, it’s more of a binding happiness of family. It spooked me a little, so I left and promised to visit again. I’m not sure if I’m going to stick to my word…
I went back, nonetheless. The relationship between the family is interesting, and I wanted to observe it more. I’ve begun to wonder if there was ever a time that I had a family. The archaeologists assured me that I had to have had parents, and I’ve begun to do less calculating and more dreaming about how different life could have been. Calculating is way easier than dreaming…
They gave me a nice soup and some food to take home. These people are different than the soldiers or the people at the market, and I’ve decided I want to meet more like them. They’ve offered to take me with them and it scares me… I’m so used to what I do that anything different is weird. Maybe I should go back to what I’ve always done and calculate…
I... I decided to go with them. I don’t know what compelled me, but I’ve decided I want to travel with them. Their son says they go many places worth exploring, and it was enough to convince me. I still plan on calculating, I’ve just decided to leave room in my heart for a little dreaming…
word count: (977/1000 words)
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ralonica
New Member
I've been expecting you...
Posts: 11 
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Post by ralonica on Aug 11, 2014 8:06:05 GMT
username on CS: Ralonica Thorondor
identity of protagonist: Fletcher Vexton
story:
Sometimes when I'm up here, I almost believe I can see England.
Then I get distracted and search for Scandinavia. Would they recognise me as a girl?
But I remind myself I'm an English lad now. And to be English, you have to be from England. So, perched atop the skyship, I dutifully turn my eyes back towards my new mother-land, and smile. Because sometimes the things you love come at a price. Personally that was leaving home and cutting away what defined me as a girl.
I gladly paid that price.
The bell’s ringing – all hands on deck. With a practiced hand I clip myself to the rigging through the harness on my back, letting myself go. I slide down at a recklessly fast speed, wind whipping through my beautifully short hair as I enjoy the momentary adrenaline of flying. Hitting the deck, I stumble for a few steps and unclip myself before tossing my head and striding up to Officer Redding.
“Scout Fletcher Vexton reporting for duty, sir!” My heels click, my hand coming up in a sharp salute. I may be on the shorter side but I make up for it with snappy salutes and a flourishing ego.
“Gotta hand it to you, Vex. Seven months and you’re still as spiffy as ever. Jameson sighted pirates to the south. You’re going ahead with Carter and Tanner.”
“Yes sir!” I take off at a jog towards the back of the ship, the crew buzzing into action. After we left England we were left sailing aimlessly around the sky. Formalities dropped with our morale, everybody thinking I’m egotistical when I stay sharp. I love it.
I just wish I had spotted the pirates.
I reach my destination in good time – an expanse below deck where six cages line the wall, a wyvern residing in each with one empty. I walk into the closest cage, snagging my scouting gear on the way – the wyvern examining me like some big, scaly bird. Sliding a harness over the beastie, I lead it on deck. The other scouts greet me with rough shouts and I grin.
“About time, Vex. Finally decided to stop shirking,” Carter teases, and I raise an eyebrow towards him.
“We’ll see who the shirker is when this’s over. I guarantee it won’t be me.”
Carter laughs and we vault onto our wyverns. I clip myself to the beastie, pulling on thick gloves and securing my bow over one shoulder before checking I’m armed, my aerial bombs, flintlock pistol and rigger’s knife all present. I urge the beastie into take-off and we hover in the air for a precious moment before shooting into the sky.
It’s in moments like these that I truly love this new life I lead. Once I was terrified someone would discover the truth of my body. But that fear has dissipated with my love of the sky
I’m brought back to reality by the sound of gunfire, the wyvern swerving to avoid being hit. I urge the beastie into a downward swoop, pulling out my bow and taking shots at the pirates below. Several fall but I don’t flinch – I’ve seen what these pirates do. So as the beastie finishes its descent, I let loose the aerial bomb. The wyvern soars out of range as a blast of splinters shoots into the air and I loop around, ready for another run.
Suddenly my steed lets loose a high-pitched wheeze and jerks to the side. It’s been hit. We lose altitude quickly, descending in a rapid downward spiral that would be exhilarating if there wasn’t the probability of imminent death. In one sharp manoeuvre I twist the injured, panicking beastie towards the ship, hastily unclipping myself. Just before we spectacularly crash-land I leap onto the deck, turning away from the dying wheezes of the creature. But no sadness comes. I see my ship slowly gliding towards us and I know I have about five minutes to get out of here – once we open fire I’m cactus. Carter and Tanner are still wheeling above. Unfortunately are only strong enough for one rider.
I’m too vulnerable here on deck. So I sprint through the smoke, trying to get my bearings. My body jars to the side as my feet are kicked out from beneath me, and a rough hand shoves me back against the edge of the ship. A blade is pressed against my throat and I catch a glimpse of a wrinkled face with yellowing teeth. My overactive imagination fancies I smell blood.
“Why, yer barely more than a lad!”
I silently curse my height – I don’t take pity from anyone, especially not pirates. Carter wheels around for another bombing run, my ship nearly in range. If I stay I have moments left to live. So I lean back, hook my foot around the pirate’s knee, and tip over the side.
There’s something unbeatably awesome about freefall if you get over the fear of dying at the end. I certainly can. I push away the pirate and hear the colossal BOOM as the ship is blown into oblivion, stretching out to enjoy my few moments of hurtling uncontrollably through the air.
I’m pulled up by the firm grip of a crew member and thrown onto the back of his wyvern. Looking up, I see the friendly face of Carter and throw him a mischievous grin.
“Lovely weather, ain’t it.”
“You gonna thank me for saving your sorry hide?” he jokes, struggling to keep his wyvern airborne as we head to the ship.
“Nah, I knew you’d come. I’m too brilliant to be left behind.”
“Vex, you got shot down, got your beastie killed, and jumped off a skyship to escape an aging pirate. Hardly brilliant,” he scoffs.
“Sod off.”
Soaring over the ship, Carter dumps me on deck before preparing to land. My eyes find Officer Redding and my heels quickly click together in a spectacularly spiffing salute.
“Scout Fletcher Vexton reporting for duty, sir!”
word count: (998/1000 w)
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~Stormfly
New Member
Just won my first Kiamara, Lari/459!
Posts: 4
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Post by ~Stormfly on Aug 11, 2014 8:44:56 GMT
username on CS:
~Stormfly
identity of protagonist: (name or alias or feature that distinguishes them from others in the story AKA how we will know who to design)
story:
Korea, the first person
word count: (940/1000 w)
"Hello, Las Vegas police department speaking. How may I help?"
I swallowed nervously. Why was I doing this? How could I do this? I wanted to just slam the phone down, to give up, but the anger bubbling through me urged me on. Twenty letters made into six words instead of five had changed me forever. I cleared my throat and spoke in a dull, defeated voice.
"I open at the close,"
I pictured the officer in my head. Perhaps he gave an involuntary shudder or a disgusted glance at the piece of filth he was talking to. His voice betrayed nothing.
"I'll pass you over to Superintendent Aaron."
I heard a bit of a scuffle over the phone as the said officer's name was called repeatedly, and again guilt flooded through me, followed by anger. I tried to clear my mind in any way I could - it had to be clear. I could have no excuse for what I was doing. I grasped for a thought that would restrain my emotions, and remembered the lyrics to a song I once heard,
'It didn't kill me, but it didn't make me stronger at all."
There was so much truth in those words, no matter how much I would like them to be false. That everything that didn't kill you made is stronger. It isn't true. I learnt that the hard way.
A sly, drawling voice interrupted my thoughts.
"So you came round, did you? I knew you would. All you party animals care about is fun - never loyalty, never trust, never-"
I cut across him, my anger like a blade dicing his words.
"I came because I realised that was true, not to hear you gloating."
The man sounded surprised at my humility combined with rage. He decided it was best to cut to the chase.
"I need you to tell me your story."
I knew at once what he meant. So I did.
"I was born in Las Vegas seventeen years ago, and have lived their since. I hated elementary school. I was too loud, to bright, too bubbly, too everything. Which made me a perfect Middle Schooler. I was in with the 'cool kids', and I loved partying and clubbing from as young as thirteen. I was a great dancer, and was considered 'hot' by many guys. Middle School was great, and increased my expectations for High School greatly. However, most of my group left for another school, and so a new group took over. They were strict on who joined them - you had to be incredibly funny, pretty, sporty, smart and a total party animal. Or you could be very, very rich and bribe them. The latter was no option for me, but I was too proud to allow myself to be examined in such a way. I joined a small group of the 'unpopulars' instead, and remained with them until I the end of Junior year. Next year would be Senior year, and Senior year meant party year. I was desperate to be involved - parties were my thing. So, after so much time of resistance, I finally asked to take 'the test' to get in. Most of it was the leader asking around as to what people thought of me, and when she heard I was a past ringleader in both Middle School and of my last group she was immediately suspicious of me. She made me take an extra test - the 'party test'. I had no idea what it involved, but I agreed to take it. That probably sounds stupid, but I was scared of being a High School failure. I wanted to be cool, to end my year on a high in both emotions and alcohol. The test was planned for nine pm this evening, at the big summer bash to celebrate another school year down. I arrived half an hour late, as I always did for parties, but no one was there. I checked my watch - yes, definitely nine thirty pm.
As I looked around, the door swung open and in came a band of old kiamaras and their knitting needles and balls of yarn. I cursed under my breath - I must have taken a wrong turning. I sprinted out of the door and jumped into my car, checking the address the leader had given me. This was definitely it. Suddenly I realised I'd been tricked. I texted a girl in my class for directions from the town hall I was at, pretending I was just lost, and it was an awful thirty minute wait before she replied, luckily with information. I followed her instructions and arrived after forty five minutes. A glance at my watch told me it was eleven pm. I was so late! I rushed in, forgetting to groom my fur or adjust my headband as I approached the cool group. The leader laughed her fake little laugh and persuaded the group to leave her for a second. She walked over to me, wrenched the headband from my head the the flowers from my hair.
"So you made it here. What a waste of petrol," she hissed. "You may be pretty, and you may be clever, but here's the problem. You'll never be one of us," She laughed again, and left me there. I ran out of the party and called you. I'm your snitch now. I've opened at the close of my dreams."
The officer paused so long I thought he'd hung up. But he hadn't.
"I knew you were a b****, sweety," said the voice, suddenly girly and sickly and sweet. A tinkling fake laugh ended the call.
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rockpelt
New Member
Mi piace il gatto. (I like cat)
Posts: 4
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Post by rockpelt on Aug 11, 2014 9:09:21 GMT
username on CS:
-Rockpelt-
identity of protagonist: The Winter
story:
Dear Diary,
This feels so...weird, jotting down my feelings and records into some inanimate object. I guess I should say my name in case I die and someone finds this and needs to know who I am and what I did.
My name is...well, I can't remember my real name. But I have taken the alias of Winter (or The Winter), and I would say that it describes me well. I am considered by others to be rather cold and lonely, and that I can snap at any given time. I am a scientist, and I prefer to work in the lab without anyone else around me. I can't say that I would have many friends even if I was social. I can't stand other anyones (being Kia or otherwise), so I'd probably end up murdering them and pinning the blame on someone else.
Anyways, I must dash. I'll write again soon. I promise.
Dear Diary,
I apologize for not spilling my feelings to you for a few days. I was stuck at the lab for three of those five, and then I got into a fist fight with some bad looking Kias. My body aches all over yet I still feel the need to tell someone about this instead of taking painkillers. Huh, I must have something wrong in my head. Anyway, I could hardly move and spent a night on a bench before making it back home, explaining my absence and dirty dishes. I'd lost my wallet, and my keys, and my safety glasses. Luckily, I keep a house key hidden in my mane, just in case something like this ever happened.
Dear Diary,
I spent today in the local park instead of going to the lab. A shock, I know. But it was lovely and so very, very peaceful. I took with me some food, of course, and a drawing pad the sweet young Kia that helps at the florist gave to me a while ago. She really is a sweet one, and I slightly don't want her to ever grow up. I drew everything that I saw, being Kias, nature, and everything in between. I also met this strange guy, but not a bad strange. He donned very rugged clothes, and asked me if he could join me for lunch. Yes, I don't like Kias, but I would never leave someone to starve. We shared the lunch of assorted sandwiches mainly in silence, but then he told me that I was cute. I couldn't help the blush that had adorned my cheeks. It saddens me that I can't remember the poor Kia's name...
Dear Diary,
Someone had locked me out of the lab today, and with my absence of keys aside my house one, I decided to run home and make up some sandwiches and go to the park again. Between you and me, I was just hoping to see Mr. Mysterious again. Luckily for me, I found him laying under a tree near the pond. I startled him when I through down the basket of food, but he didn't seem to upset that I had awoken him. In between bites, we discussed things about each other, but never stepping too far out of a comfort zone. We told me how he used to play for a band, but they kicked him out when they found out that he liked men. I could only sympathize. I mean, I have never 'crushed' or 'fallen in love', so it was hard for me to say anything. I told him how I worked in a lab and did things with chemicals and things that go BOOM. He seemed impressed. When I told him I had to leave, he gave me the lightest peck on the cheek. I couldn't speak. He left, and I could only smile at what had happened.
Dear Diary,
I, once again, traveled to the park in search of my new-found 'friend'. I couldn't find him anywhere; even under the tree where he sat. I stayed there for hours, but to no avail. I hope he's okay...
Dear Diary,
No sign of him again. I hardly know this amazing, perfect, wondrous man, but it kills me to not see him. Is this what love feels like? If so, I have some questions.
1. Why would anyone in their right mind go through such mental pain because of someone else?
2. Does 'love at first sight really exist?
Dear Diary,
I've been crying for the last few days. My hearts been snapped in two because of this stupid letter. Apparently he's going to jail very, very soon. I would never believe that he would do anything so bad that jail was the consequence. I don't want to see him in such a terrible place. My mind hurts; my body hurts; my everything hurts.
Dear Diary,
I called the local police station and they told me that I could visit him. I was so ecstatic to see him once more. I ran down there as quick as I could, and I almost burst into tears when I saw him again. He was covered in scars and bruises, but still had a smile on his face. I tried to keep a brave face, and to possibly show no emotion whatsoever, but as soon as he opened his mouth I collapsed in a puddle of tears. I can remember our conversation clearly. And for anyone else who cares to read this, I am written in italics, and him in bold.
"What happened to you?"
"You know that band I was talking about? The one I was in?"
"Of course I do."
"Well, we sort of got into a fist fight, and the drummer accidentally killed the lead singer with a well aimed punch."
"Doesn't explain why you're in jail."
"They framed me. Told the police I killed him. I won't be coming out for a long, long time."
"I-I can't believe this..."
"I know. I'm so, so sorry."
word count: (1000/1000 w)
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42
New Member
I like coldplay and fedoras
Posts: 14
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Post by 42 on Aug 11, 2014 9:30:27 GMT
Username;; A Sky Full of Stars
Protagonist;; 'He' and 'Him'
Story;;
I don’t think I knew what to say when I was asked to describe him. What could I say? He was more than the fur that covered him head to toe and more than the useless words they labelled his physical looks. Perhaps that was why such a struggle I was met with when asked to sum up the Kiamara; such infinite lengths of something existed in his mind. They were like sparrows the thoughts and I could almost see them dancing about his mind with a secretive glee. There was always a stray thought perched upon his mind and seldom was a day when the conscience inside his head was cloudless, or when the sparrows had finished their chirping. That was just what it was about him though, he was so vague at times and at others he seemed to shine with a bright brilliance. Even those who knew him most seldom knew the major part of the curious mind he had. You could see it. See the sadness glimmer behind his eyes, perhaps there too was many a part he couldn’t even find himself. I admired him I did, but I would never wish to be the dreamer, for thoughts so vast flooded his conscience that a cloak of never-fading despair was always draped upon his shoulders as he struggled not to drown in himself.
I spoke with him on occasion. He was brilliant it was true, and we sat around the fire while the sparks and embers lit up the places of him I had never seen before. He liked to hum he did, and the low notes came from deep within and reverberated through my soul with an odd peace. Aye, he wasn’t peaceful but he was wise and a note of calm was always threaded through his busy mind. The fire changed us both that night as we hummed and we talked the night away, but it could not dry a drop of the endless ocean that formed him, and not a way better could that have been.
He ran with the wolves too. I think he always dreamed they would take him away and not a moment more of thought he would have to stand and not a moment more of time would wear upon his bones. But he was no wolf, and in the glimmering night he shone like starlight while the wolves became one with the moon. Oh, find your place I prayed, but what could hear me but the divine heavens, and what would they do to change it?
He feared the future’s cunning heart and walked upon the ground with a natural trepidation akin only to the foxes and the deer that he strode so fittingly alongside. He was more wild than tame, a lost creature searching for its soul among the twisted lies within its head. His eyes showed all; they were wild yet peaceful and fought for the light with a casual determination. What pity I felt for him, but no pity would he take – what distance would it shorten for the Kiamara?
I always imagined him flying away in the night on the fragile wings born from his dreams. He wasn’t a realist or an optimist or even a pessimist; something else. The length of the string wasn’t important so long as the string would hold. He was strange like that, everything that existed in his world was a puzzle and it was his ambition to solve it until the ends met and all was well. He was no fool though, and many a puzzle was left untouched – as it should be – a slightly complex moving system based upon the stars and the land and the universe. He worked with the ways of life he did, and not a finger too far did he push those that were not his to meddle with. He seemed so wise to me in his ways, so calm and tranquil and natural. He was such a curious soul that I knew not of what to do with him, and so I stood by his side and watched him. He knew, but didn’t acknowledge my presence in his life. He appreciated these things I think, but knew not of how to show it.
His teardrops were silver when I saw them falling, they were like raindrops on greying days. His smile was weary when I saw him sleeping and his face was overrun with a long fought peace. His tread was light when I saw him joyous and he sung for the birds and they sung back. What could I make of him? What could I tell those who wished to know? He himself was the puzzle at the core of a world of puzzling lies and he himself was the one who walked alone with footprints that scarce left a mark. He was the one that played to the night-time and hid from his shadow in the daylight. Oh I wished so hard to fix the little broken mess he was. But I knew that he was whole, even if faulted and it would take someone of a complex understanding to fill his faults. Whether it was curiosity that mastered him or perhaps just the vast expanse of the wide universe; he was only himself and as he himself he was whole.
You always smelt like the wind on an overcast day and you always moved like the deer through the forested complex of life. Ah, what a blessed soul you are and what a broken world we occupy.
May the sunlight shine upon your shadows my friend and may the starlings’ dreams bring you peace.
Word Count;; 945
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Post by quantumnightmare on Aug 11, 2014 9:52:30 GMT
username on CS: QuantumNightmare identity of protagonist: Faery girl/Sweetie/Taint story: "This is a story about me. The one they call faery girl, among other things that is. It's a name I... tolerate. To be honest I'm not entirely sure where it came from, but it probably has something to do with my tattoos. Or maybe it's something to do with my ability to vanish. I won't trouble you with my actual name, or my appearance. I'm that girl, you see. The overlooked one, the one you'd dismiss without another glance. Street trash. Lucky for me that's just what I need."
"An unbelievable phenomenon, I seem to have turned invisible." I mutter with a smirk as I wander through the early morning streets, hiding my muzzle behind the collar of the coat I'd decided on that morning. Indeed, for those brisk walking commuters, briefcases and purses in hand, it was as if their gaze simply slid off me. Sometimes I felt too good at this. No-one gave a second glance to the young Kiamara who walked silently and yet with purpose, features hidden. It was remarkable how the brain could be deceived with things as little as gait and clothing, and I walked like the street people, the most invisible of them all. Sometimes I hated my job and the metaphorical invisibility it had granted me, but today was not one of those days. The fog gave the street the perfect level of mysterious ambience, without that zombie apocalypse feel to it. I waved to the distinctive pale form of the informant, half-obscured by shadow in the alley by the pub up ahead, and he smirked bemusedly back. "Hello, faery girl. What's up?" His tone was light but I easily detected the discrepancy in his sentence and sighed internally. Of course he'd picked up that stupid name. Was there nothing the guy couldn't 'stumble across'? I picked my response carefully as to not give anything away. "Nothing much, angel. Got a job to run this morning and then I'm free." That was perfect. Just the right level of non-information and sass. I beamed brightly at him. "You've sure got a lot of names now." His eyes only briefly narrowed at his own nickname but that unsettling smile remained as he replied. I shook my head in an overdramatic manner and barely caught sight of Furfur's darker smirk as I walked by. "You're not one to talk. Catch you later." An informant and a peacemaker consigliere were unlikely friends, but it worked.
The hard-eyed Kiamara that stood, rather conspicuously, at the door of the repurposed apartment complex, watched me approach all the way down the street with wariness clearly evident in his stance, that was, until I grinned brightly at him and stated, "I'm expected." "Name?" When I simply shrugged and smiled, recognition suddenly dawned on his features. "You the consig?" The shortened title sounded ridiculous, but at least I recognised it. I nodded, hands in my pockets and my posture slouched to hide my muscular frame, though it was harder to hide how tense I was. No use frightening them before it was necessary. After all, no-one expected Sweetie the peacemaker to be an ex-military girl. The motion he made to clasp a hand over his earpiece made me wonder if the thing really worked. "Go straight up." Okay, clearly so. Thanks!" I called back over my shoulder as I rushed for the elevator, hearing the distant response: "No problem, Sweetie." Though I guessed it fitted most, I hated that nickname. Lucky it was only this lot that knew me as it. To the other gang I was Taint, and to everyone else the ever popular faery girl still remained their name of choice.
Stepping through that door seemed just as daunting as jumping out of a plane, and that was hardly my usual reaction to a job. The fact the Fallen Angel had told me a few days prior that someone in this particular gang was really pushing the idea of all out gang war to a suspicious degree made me a little afraid. But these common criminals would likely be little danger to me even if it did go wrong. I hoped, at least. Pushing the heavy wood door open with my shoulder, the deep tones of the gang leader immediately greeted me. "Hey, Sweetie. Seems you have some kind of offer for us?" My face lit up in a wide smile for the little consig Sweetie to take the floor.
Peace, once more, and by my hand. The plan had been unconditionally accepted and so it counted as a job well done. As I almost skipped back through the door that had made me hesitate earlier, the feel of cold metal to my head simply prompted a backwards elbow strike to knock the firearm from my assailant's hand, then a perfectly transitioned shoulder throw that sent them hurtling down the flight of stairs situated in front of the door. What a stupid place for an ambush. I guessed that was the warmongering dissident Furfur had warned me of. Turning to shut the door, I felt an irrational surge of pride as I saw the entire room staring in disbelief at my feat, but it was definitely Sweetie who grinned back at them and said in a tone of mock worry. "Awful place for stairs... You didn't need him, did you?"
The fog from earlier had lifted, revealing bright and sunny skies as I walked back through familiar streets towards the pier, my favourite place to think. Though I tended towards favouring the misty weather, the way it had cleared felt significant in some way, like it was symbolising how I could now remove my 'invisibility' and join the ranks of the normal everyday Kiamaras. The problem is that I just don't know how. word count: (965/1000 w) |
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Post by paintedpawz on Aug 11, 2014 10:07:25 GMT
reserved.
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Post by mordacious on Aug 11, 2014 16:42:01 GMT
username on CS: Mordiarty identity of protagonist: I // Little pigeon // pigeon story:
Trees are used as grave-markers, and galaxies live within us.
Swirling, twirling, spinning fast down the drain, the bubbles escape me. I am sitting in a tub, filled with warm, soapy water, and the air smells of honey, oats, and dirt.
Dirt. If I think hard enough, I am outside. One, two, three, four-- dirt flies out from beneath me and lands in quiet thunks against the grass and nestles into fur messily. Four- no,- five, six, seven --fingers now massage though my mane, in quick, frantic attempts to untangle and free it of the 'filthiness' that is the (now) mud.
But my father doesn't understand. I don't fully understand, really, but I know. I know I need the dirt. Soft and colorful, soothing and homely, trickling between my fingertips and tangling my fur. The smell forever with me, twisting into the air, around and around before finally finding it's way to my nose. Yes. The smell of upturned dirt, damp and earthy- I need it.
Father is vexed. Frustration radiates off of him in tiny smoke clouds, and I believe if I were to squint my eyes he would look like Tom Cat. Tom Cat, of course, looking comically down at Jerry Mouse. I don't mind my father's anger towards me, not anymore, but I still have yet to completely fathom it. Did he not want to be close to her, too?
Oh- focus-! Eight, nine, ten-- Father spoke of times when he had lost loved ones, before. I hadn't listened. Loss wasn't something I liked. Once, when I was smaller, I had lost my favorite red boot. The left one, of course. Without my left boot beside it, the right boot just seemed lonely and sad. I didn't get how it could be so sad, but still I had tried to wear my left purple boot with the red. Walking to school with my hand wrapped around her finger, I had stumbled in the puddles more times than I could count, until finally the red boot gave in and sent me flying down, down, down into a puddle. I decided it did not like it's new friend, left purple boot.
But, she had been there to help me up. Hands finding mine and tugging me back to my feet, wiping off the mud from my raincoat and telling me it was going to be alright. "Come along, little pigeon, it'll be okay."
I know for a fact she hadn't dealt with loss very well, either. I didn't blame her, though, I always blamed myself. Those mornings when she would wake up before the sun and go off to check her flowers, and fruits, and vines, and herbs, I knew. Father told me she helped make people feel better. I thought that maybe, if I had peered out form behind her coat for maybe a moment longer, to catch another cub's eyes, that they would smile and feel good and happy. That maybe if I had just.. tried to be like her, I could make them feel better, too. But it never worked out that way. I could never tear my eyes away from from my boots, speckled with tiny ducks saving hello, long enough to say hello myself.
"Pigeon, you know how I feel about you trekking mud through my house." Father was talking again, and I had stopped counting long enough to listen to his words.
"I was bringing the plants dirt." The brightly colored pots that lined out windows and guarded the edges of our tables once held towering stalks that I could have sworn even Jack (from Jack & the Bean Stalk) would be proud of. Now they were empty. Stripped of their dirt, empty dishes now lined the walls- ready to be stuffed in a box and hidden away.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen-- I stopped listening again. Father lifted a pitcher slowly, placing a large hand over my eyes and pouring the water onto my head. Water trickled down the back of my neck, making me sit up and lean back. Eyes closed, I saw the stars. Tiny, sparkling, dancing stars. They glittered across the inside of my eyes, flashing in weird shapes and directions if I dared move my eyes. She had always told me that we were each our own galaxy (a sky for the sky, she later explained), and that when we closed our eyes we could see bits and pieces of it.
I only had ever seen the stars when my eyes were closed tightly, with a hand pressed against them, or when I had hit my head. Once, when we were driving in the snow, I had hit my head. She had hit her head, too. One moment, I was in my seat in the back of the car, watching the snow fall like little sugar plum faeries, and the next... stars.
Fourteen, fifteen, six, seven, no- I messed up- ten, eleven, eighteen?-- The next time I saw stars I was outside with father. My gloved hand curled around his finger, my eyes locked on my purple and red boots. My eyes were starting to hurt, the sun was bright on the meting snow, piled around a newly planted tree. Reaching up to rub away the pain, the tiny stars lit up as a man began to read.
Trees are used as grave-markers, and galaxies live within us.
word count: (898 w/1000 w) |
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Post by versicolor on Aug 11, 2014 20:14:44 GMT
username on CS: versicolor
identity of protagonist: Faye
story:
They tell me I'm a nervous wreck, that my anxieties consume my life. "Stop worrying so much!" they insist, like saying that is some magical cure for whatever is ailing me. Yet here I am, slumped against a gritty wall in some loud-as-hell club, zoned out and fretting about absolutely nothing. Apparently this is a problem too. "You zone out too much, you need to focus!" The familiar phrase echoes in my ears. There's just no winning. I crush the cigarette in my hand, to hell with 'em. I was never really the same after I turned 17 anyway. I've always been a little bit off these days.
They don't see me for what I really am. I'm independent, I'm strong, I'm free-spirited. They are refusing to see the whole picture. What they choose to see is a small fraction of the colorful mosaic my personality creates. I am an artist, a dreamer, a spiritual individual. They find the worst parts of me and focus solely on those traits. I'm selfish, distant, and painfully idealistic. I believe that people are inherently good, despite what the media wants me to think. I'm rebellious, volatile, and I live for excitement. When others think of me, they picture a girl totally wasted, throwing her life away on questionable choices. My past has a way of rearing its ugly head. It's a shame, most will never know who I truly am.
I am completely and utterly alone.
I sit silently on my stone cold balcony, overlooking the vastness of the sprawling city before me. Staring at the city skyline, I feel small and meaningless. My legs dangle over the edge dangerously, each shoe begging to jump off into the street below. My shaky hands rake through my hair before I pull out a cigarette and fumble with my lighter, trying to light it hastily. A curse falls from my breath as I take a drag; I told myself I was going to quit. Just another thing I can't seem to do right. It's justified though, right? I mean, all my family and friends have just alienated me and refuse to even speak a single word in my direction. There is nothing within me. I am a hollowed out shell of my former self. This is what I was afraid of. They don't want to see me anymore, I screwed up again. I need to talk to them, to set things straight. However, I do nothing. I am frozen. My eyes dart upward and I'm staring at the sun. The immense light blinds me, but I can't look away. I stare for a few seconds, completely numb to the pain. Finally, after it becomes unbearable, I tear my eyes away and blink rapidly. My focus is waning. I scan the area for absolutely anything to study. Anything to keep my mind off the fact that I'm alone in this world. My worst fears are coming true.
They hate me.
My eyes close for a prolonged blink. When the darkness fades, I see my past boyfriend, right there in front of me. He has no discernible emotion that I can pick up on. A goofy grin appears on my face. It was nice to see him, even though I knew how he felt about me. I reach out, but he steps away from me. His eyes are still that sparkling blue I admired so much. I swear his smile could brighten up an entire room. God, I miss him.
"Why are you here?" He asks, in an accusatory tone. My smile fades abruptly.
"I live here. This is my home." This was an odd question to say the least.
"Don't you get it? We don't want you here anymore. You need to leave." He spits the words out with disdain.
"...What?"
"Do I need to spell it out for you? Leave. Now." He sneers, utter hatred seeping from his voice.
"Where did this come from?" The words come slow off my lips. I cannot wrap my head around this. He laughs, but it's twisted and ugly, not the lighthearted laugh I came to love.
"When will you realize that you are alone? We've abandoned you Faye." He inches dangerously closer and a snarl escapes his lips. He bares his teeth in a menacing way. It's been three months since they left.
"I am not alone." I need myself to believe this.
"It's that kind of thinking that will make you insane." He snickers. He knows what's really going on in my head. He could always read me like an open book.
"I won't let my loneliness consume me."
"Wrong. It already has. You're unraveling at the seams." His tone is condescending, he almost feels sorry for me. Almost.
I shake my head in disbelief and squeeze my eyes shut once again. I feel like screaming, but I can't. I tell myself I never want to see them again, but that would be a lie. Without them, I'm worthless. Tears start to form in my eyes but I resist the urge, I cannot show weakness. I open my eyes and he's still there, a triumphant look on his face.
"Oh, and sweetheart, I never loved you in the first place."
Those words sting worse than all the ones he said before. I can't fathom to understand, and quite frankly I don't want to. I give up. What was the point of trying to reconcile with them if they didn't even want to see me in the first place? As I am about to get up, I can see the image of him starting to fade into a dark, billowing smoke and I curse under my breath. He dissipates, and tendrils of smoke lash out and lick my feet as it falls to the balcony floor. It twists and turns in a grotesque manner before rolling off the balcony and disappearing completely.
It was a hallucination. Again.
word count: 998/1000 words
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arrow
New Member
Posts: 27
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Post by arrow on Aug 11, 2014 20:15:23 GMT
username on CS:
~Arrow~
identity of protagonist:
As for now this girl's name is Destiny.
story:
Butterflies are dancing across the sky
“Wow… this is the life!” Destiny said as she ran across the large grassy meadow by her house. For her “life” was running around a grassy meadow, the night sky sparkling above her head, and hundreds of butterflies trailing close behind her. Stretching her arms out butterflies crowded onto them, each trying to claim a spot to rest their wings. As Destiny slowed down, the butterflies slowed down as well. They hovered beside her, landing on her fingers and head.
Destiny had always hated using flashlights so instead she put 15 fireflies’ or so into a large jar for a light source. She giggled, and gave a happy sigh, setting down her “lantern” on the dewy grass and then layed down. She watched the firefly’s gentle glow from inside her jar as they moved around.
“Someday…” She whispered to a bluish butterfly on her finger, “I’m going to have a degree and be a true Lepidoptera (someone who studies butterflies).” She stared at it and gently brought over her jar to get a closer look at the butterfly. “Oh my gosh! You’re a rare Southern White Admiral! I can’t believe it! I’ve never seen one so close. You’re even more beautiful close up!” Destiny said to the butterfly. It made no motion to move, thankfully. Standing up she walked slowly back to her house, the rest of the butterflies were still flying behind it her.
She walked into a large room and each of butterflies she had collected went to their little “homes” where she studied them. Scanning the room for a place to put her little Admiral, a large empty Terrarium caught her eye. Gently she put the butterfly inside and she closed the cage door. She then checked to make sure all of the butterflies had water and food and that the lid or opening was closed. Finally she rushed back to her room and threw herself onto her bed, phone in hand. A message from her friend popped up onto the screen, “Hey secret keeper! I have something that I need to get out. A crush of course!” The message said. Destiny sighed, yes it was true. She was very good at keeping secrets and everybody trusted her with them. One problem though… whenever she knows a secret about someone she gets REALLY shy around them. Luckily no one has figured this out and she hopes to keep it that way. Most people think Destiny is just shy in general but she really isn’t. In fact when she is just her normal self, if there are no secrets about a person, then she is very chatty and expressive, especially with her hands. Destiny shook her head, she wasn’t about to ruin the night by gaining another secret.
Stuffing her phone into her messy desk she took out a faded red journal. Flipping it open, she searched the contents for any history about the Southern White Admiral and its behavior. Not even a sentence. Destiny glanced at her desk. She could always use her laptop… Destiny huffed and pulled open a drawer to reveal her shiny light blue laptop. She had always hated using the Internet to do her research but if she wanted to keep her Admiral friend alive she would have to know what it eats. She found some information and jotted it down in her notebook, drawing a detailed diagram of the Southern White Admiral as well. “There.” She murmured as she finished up the diagram. Snapping the journal shut Destiny set it down and chewed on her knuckles, a habit she gained when she thought. Jumping up she rushed to her calendar and looked for when the moon would be full that month. It was 17 days until the moon was supposed to be full, when she released the butterflies she had collected over the month or so back into the wild. Breathing a sigh of relief she grabbed another journal, this time light blue with a butterfly on the cover. Setting down in her chair she took out a pen and started writing,
“Dear diary,
This evening when I was out running with my butterflies I have collected I found an unexpected visitor joining my group. A Southern White Admiral! These butterflies are known to be rare and I really want to show my friends her (I know by her spots she’s a female), but I am truly afraid of what they would say. I love having lots of friends but I am also afraid to lose them… but I should know better. True friends wouldn’t judge me for what I love and that is butterflies. Why do I have a habit of being afraid to show my passion? Well from this moment forward I am going to be strong and not worry about what others think about me.
Love Destiny”
“Wow. It seems like I had a secret myself I needed to get out.” Destiny murmured to herself as she walked over to the butterfly room. Opening the container to the terrarium she placed the Admiral on her finger and walked back to her room with it. “Little Admiral, you inspired me to be myself, a chatty butterfly lover, and I thank you for that.” She said to the butterfly, before giggling and falling asleep on her bed, the Admiral perched asleep on her forehead.
word count: (899/1000 w)
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Post by three on Aug 11, 2014 20:22:39 GMT
the comp is closed as of right now.
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Post by three on Aug 13, 2014 1:12:08 GMT
Hi guys!
The time has come for this contest to be judged! It was really hard and I loved reading all your stories! However there can only be one winner (and two other places but ehehe)
I had some help from other judges, and the decision we came to was very hard to agree upon!
third placeSoulbridge!
Your prize is 20 quills! Your writing style and concept were amazing! Great job and keep up the good worksecond placeteleport!
Your prize is 30 quills! Your choice of narration was super creative and I loooooved the voice it took on! Sassy but professional. Good luck next time! FIRST PLACE
Ralonica Thorondor!
Your prize is a kia based on your story! Your vocabulary was incredible and very fitting with the environment! I loved your character's personality and overall it just flowed so well! The supporting characters were amazing as well! |
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Little Fish
Junior Member
Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?
Posts: 55
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Post by Little Fish on Aug 13, 2014 1:13:54 GMT
Congrats everyone! <33 can't wait to see that kia c;
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Post by curious on Aug 13, 2014 1:16:40 GMT
Congrats guys. c:
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