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Quote from: sciborg2Awesome. If that was a prologue to a book, I'd be at the cashier.Heh, thanks dude. I've had a vague idea for this super-synesthete character for a while now, but the general concept of that opening just came into my head last week and I felt the need to get it down. I've got a lot potential ideas for it swirling around. I definitely want there to be a slight sci-fi bend to it (I mean it basically already is, since no one in real life is as intense of a synesthete as the main character is -- tentatively named Carson Crane). I'm also thinking of giving him an eidetic memory as well, although how the hell I'm going to depict both that and all of the synesthetic stuff...well it's a little daunting, to say the least. I'm still going to focus on editing my short story, plus rewrites of Blood and the Moon, and starting my epic fantasy, but this will definitely be something I chisel away at here and there.
Awesome. If that was a prologue to a book, I'd be at the cashier.
Sci Story #30It's hard not to laugh. To look afraid. These are professionals, and while they're human they've gotten used to the stink of fear.I shake, I cry, I even shit myself for the sake of my torturers.Have to keep up appearances, just a few hours longer. Have to play this game of charades until the full moon fades into sight, unveiled by the passing of daylight./Story
Sci Story #31Unseen, he raised his rifle, took aim at the Hierophant writhing in the top floor of the brothel.For the sake of vengeance, he triggered his own damnation. Because how could he walk away to the country, accepting the Paradise offered by Baptism, knowing that somehow in leading The Faith his enemy might repent and thus find salvation?/Story
Sci Story #31So many days where I pretend you're still near me, that I engage in a sort of spectral necrophilia.What scares me isn't that I pretend you're still here, pretend you didn't change.What scares me is even though I know it's a lie, I look back on the weeks, months, soon to be years and the happiest moments are the ones when I close my eyes and will myself to believe you're not gone. Masturbating to thoughts of you feels like the recovery of Innocence. It could never be passed through words without inciting disgust, but I really really believe that if you could somehow know that touching myself while pretending you're here is better than fucking anyone else......that somehow you'd know how much you hurt me.I wish I could put out the eye of God./Story
Seclusion. A distance crossed only by letters...if she could. She disdained greeting visitors or even leaving her room in latter years. Death and immortality. Through poems and sheets sent, by not lowering to the meat and meander of these scrawny eyes and habitual tongues, she crafted herself more semantic than woman. Hovering, swooping across a landscape, the final mortal remnant now only making kite of her. Caught like a photograph, across sheets, the momentum of her soul sealed like sea monkey dead awaiting waters. Is my verse...alive? She escapes death (or simply obsoletes it?), becoming the goddess who moves behind eyes. But with but light touch as this is not, never was her realm. Goddess of doors.~~~Something I thought of when I read the Emily Dickinson wiki article after reading the poem at TPB.
Good stuff Callan! I got a little tripped up at the sea monkey part.But good rhythm there, IMO, could feel it as a I read.
Thanks, Saajan! I know 'sea monkeys' just triggers so many out of the context things, but it's suitable for a life form which can essentially be dead and dry as dust, but return to life if given water. And Bakkers a bad influence - I kinda like that sea monkeys disrupts! Sea monkeys! Vs all caps dragon! Fight!
What would you think about adding the word "new" so "awaiting new waters" would end the line?Maybe my ear is off, but that seems to fit better? As always just one dude on the 'net making suggestions.
Mmm, I'm thinking about it and I want to keep that primal lack of demarcation. There are no 'new' waters and other waters. Just waters. Narrowing down the semantic to base elements, no divisions. If it sounds off, try to hear it in a more primal part of your brain. Besides, the lass used some pretty at first jarring language herself, like 'And I, and Silence, some strange Race, Wrecked, solitary, here -'. That link - its really striking to me - it feels jarring, and yet it feels kind of like instead of taking us down a grove, she's slammed us into the wall of the grove - yet even as the protest comes, suddenly it's smooth. It's like she moves us across to another grove. Moves sideways. Or am I off topic? Anyway, I shouldn't pretend to be able to do what she enacts, but I will say I will try it on all the same.
Sci Story #32 (Still Saturday here mofos!)The house across the street is inhabited by evangelical Christians, the house next to that one by Muslims. The wife in the second house leaves only her face uncovered, even in the scorching summer heat.I see the children playing in the yard together.The parents go to great lengths to avoid matters of doctrine, as these sessions of close contact are difficult enough.....but all this effort is wasted on the children who remain oblivious the difficulties endured by their parents.One day they'll understand./Story
Sci Story #33As she shuffled down, kissing his chest and stomach as if making stops in a pilgrimage, he expected hesitation upon her arrival to the expected, anticipated destination. Perhaps even a whisper, or at least a quick look of a neophyte seeking approval.Instead, the moment of her breath on his shaft and the sensation of his glans in the warm confines of her mouth mark a near seamless transition.It takes a half hour for him to cum, these minutes filled with a pleasure that demands to be given not just voice but volume. She leads him, again and again, to the edge of orgasm. Her tongue teases, retreats, teases. Never once does he shout "I'm gonna come!", instead his screams are always compliments and nonsensical prayers to a God whose belief in he had shed in classrooms on the other side of the ocean. She has only to read the tide of his musculature to measure his distance from ejaculation.Later that night, with her asleep in his arms, he'll think about well she knows him....and then he'll think that perhaps he is not so unique. That she simply knows men. He knows, from the discussions that preceded this arrangement, that she wasn't a virgin. He himself had simply said the same, said nothing about America and its youth's dedication to liberty.But this...expertise? This mastery. A hopeful voice brings up the educational value of gonzo pornography, but it's an excuse that's quickly dismissed.He doesn't sleep much for the rest of the night. When morning comes, he is quick to rise, quick to shed the foggy remnants of honeymoon dreams./Story
I sought false love. The occluded other, that which seemed absent on the tip of every mind, yet grotesquely obvious by the necessary companion of their wall eyed mutterings. I sought false love. It was not easy. I had to try, and try again. With so many, there was something there between us - that something. I had to look for the one where we didn't really have something between us. That. She hated me at first. Thought me stuck up, proud. False love at first prejudiced sight. Hers, mine. There was never really anything there. And so I pursued.Years, bitter words, difficult times. Even on the day we married, she would scrutinise me. Peer in what way she could into what thing I could manage to be. Children, the difficulties, the fight each day to maintain cohesion and resource. The fight to maintain something. Over the false. Because...years pass...because there's nothing there. It is false. Even after I died first, old, and years latter she took another man to warm her elder years, she would weep it was not the same. Then she died, in time, and our grandchildren being told the stories past the gravel veil.You think it, yet it was not. It was false. And it was love.
Monday (Sci Story #34)I realize there was never any love between us, nevertheless you remain the paramour who has etched me the deepest.In your absence, I have only my own hands to serve as echo to your own. Lacking your patience, I find myself an inadequate lover./Story=-=-=Tuesday (Sci Story #35)A flash of red, as if sunset has been poured through his pupils down into his retina. All sense are swallowed by the intensity of that consuming glare.A moment later and the snow driven darkness of night reforms, the miniscule flakes of ice settling on previously unexposed swaths of flesh. The redness remains, and for a moment his addled mind thinks it is blood. Relief, then to realize it is cloth, the vestments of his station. He stands, gathering his bearings, eyes flicking to the corpses of polar bear lycanthropes. Ambushed. So close to home? And then awareness brings nightmares, as he watches the bestial figures retract into the lithe, almost childlike corpses of the long indentured Sidhe.A red will o' wisp, nuzzling his torn and bleeding arm. Rudolph. He recalls when the majestic figure before him, the very warrior who cleaved his enemies with a natural weapon of light, was a scrawny fawn rejected by the rest of his herd.The stag is right. This is no time for memories or worries.It's Christmas Eve after all./Story=-=-=Wednesday (Sci Story #36)Realizing there was a delay in these daily storiesGot a bit sidetracked by labor but no ToriesWriting was on the mind but the brain couldn't produce thoughtsStruck down by bad luck where my writtens was blockedThought maybe I could use some time offSome time to jerk offShit didn't help, just made me worse offSo here I am back in the game, hoping the return isn't too lame,And if it is then look to the Man 'cause that fucker's to blame!/Story
D&D stuff I made the last few days crossposted for #37, #38 (Thurs + Fri):The Great Lunar DistilleriesIsolated from much of the Wan is a great chasm, deep and wide enough to swallow worlds. Whether discovered or made, the Unseelie who rule this place have used it for this express purpose, over the eons drawing five gas giants into the ravine. These planetary bodies collapsed upon arrival, spreading out into clouds of variegated mists. Through the harvesting of these mists the Unseelie alchemists seek transmutations far more challenging than that of lead into gold.Traversing this worlds engulfing canyon are vehicles the shape and size of moons, spheres crafted from a dark spongy material that respires the surrounding vapors. Within these spheres are mass collections of glass piping and arcane powered gear works, all winding toward the central core of each moon. There the concoctions of condensed gases are stored into various vats from which samples are drawn for the more delicate intermingling of the chemicals.Those wishing to utilize the wares produced by these moons should gather with other potential customers in the cities that dot the lips of the canyon. The center of each city is marked by vast and high reaching scaffolding, landing areas capable of holding a moon. There are planars from across the Multiverse gathered around here, with drug traffickers and universities dedicated to alchemical research a major part of every city.The Hunger in DarknessA sentient forest within the Eald whose inner regions increase the potency of sacrifices and rituals, the Hunger in Darkness represents the empowering aspects of the night that are usually granted to the undead as well as more natural, nocturnal predators.The forest itself possesses a grand, thick canopy through which only the barest glimmers of the sky's illuminating bodies are spied. Much of the illumination comes from bioluminescent fungi and the ghostly wanderings of entrapped souls. Souls that are themselves starving predators whose illumination keeps them from eating anything save for the occasionally wounded sentient. (They gain no sustenance from draining the life force of animals.)The longer one stays in this place, the greater the blessings conferred. But each blessing, while permanent unless subject to disjunction, is also a curse. Alignment begins to shift toward true neutral, and one begins to subconsciously desire to get lost and separated from one's companions, once-fellows who now are seen as prey that must be hunted and killed. This compulsion, if resisted, causes increasing fatigue.The blessings conferred make one a stronger, faster, quieter predator with enhanced senses. Surprisingly, one does not lose class levels or access to magic. Hunger in Darkness enjoys the sport of watching truly competitive rivals seek the flesh of those the traveled into itself together.
One more for Sat (# 39):LucklessLuckless, in his true form, seems like a harmless pixie of miniscule size. Yet the aura of misfortune surrounding the being makes him nothing less than an assassin. A shape changer who is undetectable by any magic less than a wish, Luckless is a Seelie fey who travels the Multiverse seeking to test not the courtesy of individuals but rather the scruples of an entire society.While it might be a relief that one rude innkeeper cannot bring down the wrath of the fey, it is troubling to note that many innocents can be judged wanting if Luckless does not feel appreciated. Additionally, while his path is random Luckless is easily influenced by the cultures he has just visited. As such, he is often testing for things ranging from honor to sexual mores that may or may not coincide between different realms.Luckless has destroyed cultures for being too lax or too strict, for being too devout or too devoted to arcane magic instead of the divine.Once a culture is judged, Luckless replaces someone and spreads his curse across a hundred miles. This usually means he chooses a nation's capital or an empire's most holy sites. The misfortunes are gradual but cascade into food shortages and/or plague, with thousands to millions ultimately dying. What's worse is no divine being may further intrude into this radius save for the usual allotment of clerical magic and extant blessing, artifacts, and heralds already present when Luckless unleashes his curse. This usually means the gods are forced to make deals with mortals such as adventuring parties to attempt to drive away the fey.Luckless is usually defeated, but his very nature makes divinities loathe to entrap him and so if killed he simply reappears on the Feywild within a year or two none the worse for wear, ready to set off to test another realm for whatever manners and mores have taken his fancy.
