next part of my fractured fairy tale; once again rather random.

Chapter 5

It was still night out when Beauty Stopped Crying, and it seemed to her as if no time had passed between her falling from the cage and now, though the children were still around her. They were playing games and running about the room. The one boy though, was standing in front of her and was bending down too look into her eyes.

“It is good you cried so much, but you must learn to be happy. The castle Patron is a very good man, he is not so hard as he once was.” The boy smiled and his eyes moved to the staircase. He looked back at beauty and faded away, still smiling. The other children had disappeared also so beauty turned her eyes to the staircase; she still had not moved from her space on the floor and had to crane her neck to see the stairs.

There standing about halfway down was the beast, she could not see his face, but by his posture she could tell he was in pain.

He limped slowly towards her; the beautiful woman was in his house once again.

She was no longer afraid of him, he could tell by the way she just sat there, easily watching him. When he reached her side he smiled, he knew it looked more like a grimace, but his eyes showed the smile intended. They said nothing to each other as he slowly bent and picked her up; he was not so large compared to her now, though he was bigger than any man.

She relaxed easily in his arms he wasn’t so frightening now. She felt her heavy eyelids closing. Rocked by the beasts lumbering movement she slept peacefully.

The beast carried her to one of the many bedrooms, this one in better repair than most, it had been dusted fairly recently. He laid her as gently as he could on the bed, but still she woke, she sat on the edge of the bed just looking at him. He felt Embarrassed by his ugliness, and for once shuffled back.

“You should sleep.” He said slowly, shyly backing out of the room. He closed the half destroyed door behind him, took a deep breath and shuffled away.

Beauty spent half a minuet staring at the closed door, there had been some strange feeling reeling in her stomach, when he put her on the bed. But too tired to think on it a moment longer she lay down on the Soft bed and fell asleep once again, with thoughts of the beast’s slow swaying walk, rocking her to sleep.

When she woke, though it was still dark out and she was still in her human form, she could tell it was morning. The smell of food drew her from her bed, and she made her ways down the halls to the source of it. In the kitchen, which charity had found, was the beast, doing his best to cook edible food. He turned when he heard her, and gave one of his grimace-smiles.

“I thought, well, you won’t want water plants for breakfast, so I thought I’d make something.” He looked back at the food which was rather burnt.

“It’s not working.” He sighed. Beauty came up to his side, she smiled at him, and together the made some edible food.

They had filled their bellies with food and were now cleaning up the mess. The beast found it cumbersome but tried his best to help. They spoke little, but easily, there seemed no need for words. The child was right, Thought Beauty, watching the beast try to wipe the table clean, He is very gentle.’

Beauty heard a movement behind her and turned to see a Griffin crouching ready to pounce. She felt a large paw push her back just as the griffin leapt. From behind the beast she felt the weight of the great animal land. The beast roared in pain.

Justice sat up, he had heard something, and he looked to Repunzle though he could not see her.

“Did you hear that?” cried Repunzle.

“It was that beast!” Truth replied

It was day, and the siblings, excluding Justice, were in their bird form.

Truth took off strait away for the castle, and wisdom was not far behind. Repunzle Took hold of Justice’s hand. “Follow, me.”

Running through the trees surrounding the castle, Repunzle and Justice made their way to the front gate. They heard once more the great roar of the beast, to Justice it sounded hurt.

Truth and Wisdom had arrived at the scene, and had started attacking the griffin.

Thea

The Third installment of my Fractured fairy tale

this is sorta random.

Chapter 4

“Well, of all the things I expected to see in this part of the house, I never thought I’d find a girl, and a stunningly gorgeous one at that.” The young man had pulled beauty to her feet and was staring into her eyes very intently.

“My siblings and I were exploring the castle when…” beauty wanted to tell him of the beast but thought better of it. “When I got lost down here, I, I couldn’t find my way back out, and it was, so dark.” The young man began leading her towards the staircase, and up into the great hall, Talking to her all the way. The palace had been old and broken during the day, but now it was beautiful and alive, the floor was decorated with gold and silver filigree and candles were shining form ever alcove, servants were dashing about doing little odd jobs.

The young man was now leading her down a large and ornamented hallway. At the end of the hall were two large wooden doors carved with designs of dancing, Writhing and Slithering bodies of men. They seemed tortured, but beauty had little time to Notice for soon the doors were opened and she was standing in the well lit, but dark room. It seemed very beautiful, yet if you looked closely you found all the decorations were Sick and twisted, the Carvings, paintings and designs were all of pain and suffering.

After standing befuddled for only a moment beauty was led to the large wooden desk. Sitting behind the desk was a beautiful woman. The woman would not look at beauty but addressed the man.

“Your highness, what can I do for you.” The woman glanced very briefly at beauty but grimaced as if looking at her had hurt.

“This young lady,” he paused, and beauty gave her name. His eyes widened and he smiled “A very fitting name, Margaret, Lady Beauty is in need of a room.”

Margaret still did not look at Beauty as she led her once again down many ornate halls and into a small rich room with the same designs of suffering on everything. Even thought the room was well lit and Bright, beauty felt as if she couldn’t quite see everything, as if something was watching her.

In fact many things were watching her, but not directly from the room. The beast was one of them, and I will not frighten you by telling you what else was watching her. The beast silently called for her to see what was strait in front of her, calling her to see what was carved onto every surface and Living behind everyone’s face. Asking that she see who that Prince was, and of what he was prince…Darkness.

When Margaret left Beauty spent a few moment trying to feel comfortable in the strange almost evil room. “Oh beauty you are so silly how a room could be evil.” She said to herself.

“A room can be evil just like a feeling can be evil, or a thought.” Beauty startled turned, and saw a very young boy standing behind her, he was carrying a basket.

“I am sent from He that is. Come and I will bandage your wounds.” Beauty no longer felt scared in the room now that this boy was with her. He seemed to shine brighter than any of the candles ‘illuminating’ the room. They did not speak and the boy quickly bandaged her arm. She realized now that the boy was never the same, he was a boy but he was always changing, sometimes he seemed dark-skinned and Blue-eyed, or pale with dark hair and eyes, His features also were never the same, always changing, and yet he was always beautiful.

Suddenly the boy looked her in the eyes.
”We must go now!” his eyes rounded and he stood swiftly, taking her arm he lead her out of the room, but not understanding she lagged behind. “We must go NOW, oh no.” tears came to those ever-changing eyes. But beauty had not time to see them.

She was quickly surrounded by blank eyed servants with torture written on their faces. The Prince made his way through the crowd towards her. When he was standing in front of her he spoke.

“Was my hospitality so bad that must leave before you have even spent a night?” His eyes turned red, and his handsome face changed. He threw off his human body and revealed himself. “How wise you must be to have seen Me. How did you know?” he said sarcastically.

Beauty was utterly stunned but composed herself enough to respond. “The Boy he, Told me to run.” She looked around but could not see the boy.

“Well since you will not stay willingly, I must make you!” in a very strong voice he demanded she Bow before him, The power of his words made her body want to obey, but the strength in her spirit refused too.

The evil ones Eyes darkened even more and his form grew. He called to the servants “Destroy her!”

But before anyone could even breathe beauty was surrounded by children Glowing, changing and Singing. Beauty’s surroundings faded in the White light surrounding her, but she could still hear the prince of darkness yelling. The Boy Stepped up to her and his eyes Kinds he spoke to her.

“Never trust Ones face as a Judge of their character, it is the soul that makes one beautiful.” Then beauty’s surroundings refocused again, sunlight was streaming through the castle windows now old and broken again, the prince and His Servants where gone. But the body the prince had used was still lying on the ground. Beauty was in the museum like room again Standing On the fallen out bottom from the cage, still swinging above her, her arm was still bandaged and the children were still surrounding her.

She sat down and began to weep.

thea

Sci-Fi Story: the saga continues. (Colin)

Behold...the official part two to my sci-fi story.

Crush//Dominion Part Two: Introtus

2828.1002

The screen flickered for a few seconds before the image resolved itself. When the static cleared, a man blinked sad eyes and wiped a nervous sweat from his balding head. He was dressed from neck to toe in a flexible, formfitting suit, and in the crook of an arm he carried a helmet.

“My son,” he said, smiling mournfully. “If you are receiving this message, then I pray that I am at your side, laughing at how ridiculous I probably look in my neurosuit. If not…”

The man on the viewscreen swallowed, as if forcing a lump down his throat.

“If…I am not there watching this with you, than it likely means that by now…” The man bit his lip. “I often regret the words with which I sent you away, all those years ago, and now I have but a few moments to make up for all that lost time. There is nothing I would like to see more than a peaceful world, but…

“But because I stood against Security Chief Ernesto Nevarre when he betrayed his promises to the people of Mars, I have brought down the wrath of the Empire upon me and my family. I could have just as easily capitulated, but…you know as well as I that it would be betrayal of the oath I swore when I became the Duke of Prius.” The man gave a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes.

“By the time you receive this message, we’ll probably all be dead. Your sisters…your brother…”

The man choked for a moment. “Go, my son. Stay away from Mars. Nothing awaits you here but pain, suffering, and, ultimately, death.”

The man opened his eyes and licked his suddenly dry lips. “Go to your grandfather. He commands a mercenary unit called ‘The Stone Ravens’. Find him, and sign on to a squad. They’ll keep your Herc repaired and in good working order.” The man’s face creased.

“Bear our name proudly. Farewell, my son.”

The image flickered and faded.

A split second later, a wrench pinwheeled through the air and smashed the viewscreen into a million shards, spilling glass out onto the rusted, worn deck. Sparks shot out from the viewscreen panel, and the smell of charred ozone filled the air.

“Christ and Hunter!”

An old man stood in front of the screen, slightly agape. He peered in closer to get a better look at the damage. The wrench itself had fused into what was left of the circuitry and stuck out at a funny angle.

The old man shook a few shards of glass from his black pants leg and glared at the room’s other occupant. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, boy. Do you have idea how expensive CRT panels are? If you want to stay on board—“

“What makes you think I care, Vissariun?” The eyes of the younger one burned with barely-contained rage. Gregory smashed his hand down upon the adjacent panel. “My family has been wiped off the surface of Mars. The ones who killed them deserve the same fate.”

Vissariun peered into the eyes of his grandson. On wrong move and he would turn into Hell with the lid off.

"You forget, Gregory, that they were my family too. I mourn them still, but I learned long ago that rage such as yours leads to nothing but an early death.”

“The Empire has grown far too arrogant and domineering, Vissariun.” Gregory’s steel-grey eyes blinked. “The board has been set. The pieces are ready. I say we—“

Oh, you young fool…

In a blue of motion, Vissariun grabbed his grandson’s hand, slammed it onto the surface of an adjacent panel, and rammed the blade of a dagger between his fingers.

“The board does not matter if the hand is dead!”

The look of rage on Gregory’s face quickly turned to one of shock. The cold feel of the blade still lingered on his hand, even when the blade had been withdrawn. A small dent on the panel remained.

“If you want revenge for the death of your family, your head needs to stay cool. Rage and recklessness will only lead you to their fate as well.” Vissariun looked at the remains of the viewer. “Nerves of steel serve you better than nerves of fire. Understand?”

Gregory hastily bobbed his head in an affirmative.

“Good.”

Vissariun released his grandson’s hand

"Our first mission begins now. We land in twenty minutes. Get suited up.”

In an abandoned warehouse in the Tharsis province of Mars, Rebel operative Tyra Miraborg was cursing her luck…that, and just plain cursing. If words could kill, the warehouse would have been a crater long ago.

For the umpteenth time, her gloved hand smashed into one of the heavily corroded pillars which kept the warehouse aloft. Around her, shelves holding pieces of scattered junk were mute testament to how quickly the former owners had packed up and left.

And if I pack up and leave, there’s a good chance I’m going to die. That sounds like the preferable option right about now…

From a belt she removed a small radio and activated it. She tapped in a twelve-digit encryption code for a particular radio frequency, bit her lip, and began to speak.

“I need a Reb pickup from Tharsis, pronto.”

There was a pause. And then, a male voice, worn from years breathing Martian dust, finally responded.

“Oh, what’s that? You need a pickup? Sure, just like you needed us to abandon one of our pilots out in the dunes. How you forgot to check the caps on the detonators. How you needed us to listen to an Imperial spy! Yeah, you n-“

“Look,” Tyra cut him short. “It’s not my fault that Sax got squikked. If you and all the others want to complain about it, go right ahead. Sax knew what he was getting into when he linked up with us. We all did. What’s gone and what’s past help should be past grief.”

“When did you become so cold?” There was a sigh. “Yeah, fine, you’ll get your ride. As a fair warning, though, Billie’s driving, and when you get on board there’s a good chance she’s going to break your jaw.”

“Let her.” Tyra rattled off a set of coordinates, disengaged the link, slumped against a pillar, and sighed. Oh, was it ever going to be a fun ride back to base this time…

(Colin) Random or not-so-random stuff...

This is going to be one of many in-between instalments for the sci-fi bit I started a while back (it’s in the archives somewhere—Crush//Dominion). It’s based in the far future, where Earth has expanded into its solar system, and the outer reaches are home to cybernetic hybrids, or Cybrids, who keep on trying to exterminate humanity. It’s based on a game called Starsiege. Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the game, as cool as it would be. That honor belongs to Sierra Entertainment.

Before I continue, a brief overview of terms:

Dirtborn: refers to those born on Earth. Generally, they tend to support the Empire and look down upon the colonies.

Veen: A native of Venus. They are very intelligent and have a vested interest in technology and literature.

Dustrat/Marsrat: Refers to a native Martian. The Martians have a fiery temper and have an intolerance for injustice. They are hardy people who value tradition and freedom.

Icegrub: refers to a citizen of a far-flung Erath colony, particularly those on the moons of Jupiter. They tend to be loners and distrust outsiders, but then again they have to be that way simply to survive…

Omni-web: Futuristic version of the internet, home to a variety of online personalities.

Dystopian Sno-Men: Online digital resistance group. They are one of the few groups who are unable to be located by the exhaustive efforts of Imperials data technicians, and like to stir up quite a ruckus on the O-Web. Their fingers seem to reach everywhere.

Free Mars Rebellion: Partisan group made of Martians, primarily miners, who are dissatisfied with the way the Empire handles things, most notably colonial quotas. Every so often they’ll stage raids against the Empire for weapons and food.

Umbral Thorn: Venusian resistance, equipped with advanced weaponry and an eerie foreknowledge of where the Empire plans to hit them next.

Imperial News Net: The Imperial News Agency, bringing you all the latest stories hot of the press.

Imperial Navy: In order to keep order around Earth and her colonies, the Empire has quite a large naval force, one which it uses to great effecy.

Terra Defense Force: Regular military arm of the Imperial military forces. It was formed during the first Earthsiege, the first conflict between humanity and Prometheus.

New Terra Defense Force: The more active arm of the Imperial military, the NTDF specializes in long-range patrol duty. You know that creek, the one people go up in without a paddle? That's where these guys thrive.

Imperial Police: The law enforcers of the Empire. Not quite as able as knights, they do their best to keep the peace, though that sometimes involved questionable methods. They are often mocked as “Imp Lice.”

Imperial Knights: The elite of the HERCULAN pilots, these knights serve as the Emperor’s bodyguard and special strike force. Cross a knight, and you have a tendency to…disappear.

Herculan: a term used to describe certain vehicles which used both a tracked suspension system and bipedal locomotion. Herculans walk upright and can carry extensive weaponry.

Accessing Omniweb Datumplane…

Access complete. Input username and password to continue.
Username: Icehawk

Password: ********

Logging in to O-Web Datumsphere News Net NN-12…

2770.5823
NEWS NET:

August 1, 2770 will be remembered as a historic date in the history of the Empire. His Imperial Majesty, Solomon Petresun, presented the Fortress Earth Proclamations today before an enthusiastic crowd at the Good Fortune Pavilion in Nova Alexandria. Response from the colonies is less enthusiastic, as colonial representatives call the Proclamations "heavy-handed exploitation." More clear-eyed citizens, however, harbor no illusions about the overriding need to defend Earth, the ultimate target of the Cybrids.

-

2770.5830
DYSTOPIAN SNO-MEN:

Sure. That’s right people, pay no attention to the tyrant behind the curtain. Pay attention to the big, mean, scary Cybrids. Wake up, people—the Empire and the earthborn politicians wave the ‘brids in our faces and use them as an excuse to gouge the colonies for what raw materials they have. A Martian miner used to be able to keep himself and a family of four well-fed and have enough left over to buy a fancy car. Now the poor sobs are lucky to be able to afford room at the cheap motel every night.

-

2814.0523
NEWS NET HISTORICAL ARCHIVES:

Cybrids walk among us! Although officials have clamped down on further details, we do know that a hovercar accident in Mega-L.A. led to the discovery by startled medics of a cybernetic brain in one of the victims. How many more Cybrid spies are out there?

-

2814.0524
IMPERIAL NAVY HISTORICAL ARCHIVES:

Precautions have been taken by the Imperial Navy around Earth and her colonies to prevent any more penetrations by Cybrid subversives. Terra Defense Force naval group Crimson Inquisitor has been placed on alert condition Yellow-3. Fleet Admiral Toshio Idejima urges Imperial citizens to remain calm.

-

2819.7301
NEWS NET HISTORICAL ARCHIVES:

Harabec Weathers, the infamous "Phoenix," resigned his commission following a closed-door session with His Imperial Majesty. Observers speculate the decision arose from Weathers' role in the disastrous Turkhazakistan defeat earlier this year. Grand Master Caanon Weathers could not be reached for comment, but sources close to the Weathers say the news has saddened the family.

-

2825.8376
NEWS NET HISTORI**** =file break=

*** =file restored=

DYSTOPIAN SNO-MEN:

Reading some history? News Net jingles out a lot of happy-joy crap about how great things are here on Earth.

Yay, Empire, and all that.

Well, we're gonna pop some of those nice comfy bubbles, so all you citizens out there keep an eye on the O-Web. We're out there along with the truth, your friendly shadows in the snow.

-

2825.8710
NEWS NET HISTORICAL ARCHIVES:

His Imperial Majesty permitted increased colonial quotas this week despite allegations that production pressures were responsible for recent fatal accidents in Venusian mining operations. Any protests on Mars and Venus will be dealt with severely.

-

2825.8746
UMBRAL THORN:

Oh, you have got to be kidding us! Let’s all us Veens pose a question to you Dirtborn: do any of you know what in Sam Hell we have to do just so you can have your metaplas and superconductors? It means working 26-hour shifts without food, sleep, or so much as a cup of coffee. It means that we’re crippled by Imperial shipping tariffs. It means that we take more risks, and more of us have to die, just so you and yours can get your goods.

Know what? We’ve had it. As we speak, a little package is on its way to the Mount Palusteri shipping platform. Let’s see how the imps like it when their precious ore is nothing more than a pile of molten slag.

-

2826.4598
NEWS NET HISTORICAL ARCHIVES:

His Imperial Majesty announced today that Strikeforce Rocking Horse has been dispatched to Venus as a peacekeeping measure. The Emperor expressed deep regret over the escalation of the Palusteri crisis, but declared that such arrogant defiance would not be tolerated.

"No one who challenges the laws of the Empire will escape punishment. All insurgency members will be executed."

-

2826.4607

TITAN MINING OUTPOST RIO:

Huh. Looks like Earth ain’t so high and mighty as it used to be.

See, we were under the impression that as soon as your dropships landed on Venus, someone was impolite enough to set off a thermite fire-bomb. Shame…took out an entire heavy squad.

-

2828.0170
IMPERIAL POLICE (Mars):

Imperial Police peacefully faced down striking miners at a Tharsis City facility on Mars yesterday. Several miners were cited and released.

-

2828.0174
VOICE OF FREE MARS:

"Cited and released…?" Who are they kidding? The Imp Lice left 'em bleeding in the street after "citing" them with stunstaves!

-

2828.0186
DYSTOPIAN SNO-MEN:

Good Lord. WAKE UP, PEOPLE! If the Empire truly is as benevolent as its propaganda machine proclaims, then why are the colonies being gouged? Why are the miners starving? Pull your heads out of your Imperial butts and actually look at the Omni-web, not just whatever’s being published by the News Net or Imperial Navy! People are dying over this! Or are the only things important to dirtborn other dirtborn?

-

2828.0200
IMPERIAL NAVY:

Cybrid transmissions have been detected in near-Venus space! All ships on Venusian approach vectors are warned to exercise extreme caution!

-

2828.0207

UMBRAL THORN:

Yeah, sure. If the ‘brids really were romping around it’d be raining Cybrid drop pods and parts of Orbital G. Sorry, Imps—we’re not going to let you stab us in the back when we turn around and hide.

-

2828.0220
VOICE OF FREE MARS:

Ooooo. Cybrids. How incredibly convenient. Don’t bother paying attention to the subtly reinforced garrison, pay attention to the big scary Cybrids.

-

2828.0850
IMPERIAL NAVY:

Seventh and Ninth Strike Fleets to hold maneuvers off Venus this week. TDF is confident in its ability to defend Imperial citizenry.

-

2828.874
DYSTOPIAN SNO-MEN:

Can you believe these clods? If there really were Cybrid activity near Venus, they’d send more than just two bitty fleets. And they wouldn’t load all of them to he gills with HERCULANS and riot weaponry either…we don’t see the ‘brids carrying pitchforks or waving signs around.

-

2828.1001
NEWS NET:

TDF tracking Cybrid transmissions. Citizens are urged to remain calm.

-

All original Scannex entries for Starsiege can be found here:

http://www.starsiegeuniverse.com/index.php?page=ss/scannex/archives

Emily's Story

Will write 4 food

Emily wandered along with a dreamy smile on her face, just listening to the forest sounds. Presently she stopped, because a sound that seemed strangely out of place had reached her ear. It was so quiet it was less a sound and more a feeling. But gradually it grew louder. It was the most beautiful music she had ever heard. It sounded like golden sunshine, like a trickling rill, like a drink of cool water after chewing mint. Of their own accord, her feet began to move towards the source of the sound.

Before Emily even realized she was moving, she saw a sight not many mortal humans see. In a glade, protected on all sides by dense forest, flitted about a dozen creatures in a graceful dance. Emily felt a shock run through her body as she realized these had to be the infamous fairies that were supposed to be corrupting her world. But these beautiful creatures could not be the evil beings that filled ghost stories at summer camp-outs. They were all quite a bit taller than herself, with teal skin, seeming not to bother with clothing. They were much plumper than the image of a fairy Emily held in her mind, and their wings were not iridescent dragon-fly wings but sturdy white membranes stretched across a bone frame, not unlike bat wings. Despite their stout appearance, the fairies possessed an ethereal grace, their very movements appeared to be music.

All this observation took place in a few moments, during which Emily had held herself perfectly still. But now she stepped forward into the clearing. As she did so, all the fairies stopped their dance and settled to the ground, standing in a semi-circle facing her. As their movement stopped, so too did the music. The glade was suddenly very quiet. Emily hardly dared to breathe. Driven by instinct, Emily half-bowed, half-curtseyed to the fairies. As though she had tapped a wind chime, a murmur of pleasure rippled through the fairies.

A fairy who had been placed near Emily’s right had stepped forward, and to Emily’s astonishment, began to speak in English.

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

***

Emily followed the fairies down into a hole in the turf. The passage was clearly an old and well-kept secret. They descended a smooth-worn stone staircase that opened onto a large, cool, hall. Here were gathered many more fairies, all busy tending the many plants that covered the walls. The fairy that had approached Emily waved her hand, and the others quickly dispersed, leaving the twelve and Emily alone in the hall. The one that appeared to be the leader began to speak.

“I am Gwyneth, queen of all that you see here. We have called you to ask for your help. We do not easily ask for the help of a mere human, so listen carefully, as I will not repeat what I say to you now. We are in danger. You humans seem to think that we are guilty of sabotage, of corrupting your young and undermining your governments. We cannot convince them otherwise, though we have tried. Every appearance sends your people deeper into suspicion. So we have decided that it must be a human to dispel the myths about our kind.”

Emily stood in absolute shock at this speech. “Okay, hold on, I don’t think you understand. See, I don’t have any power in my world. I’m just – well, ordinary.” Gwyneth didn’t seem fazed at all.

“Oh, no, dear, that’s not how we work! You see, we support your people, guide them, give them dreams and sustain them. We do not work through your ‘powerful’ people or government systems – not to help ourselves, not to help your race. No, our ways are much subtler than all that. We are music, we are hope, we are a wonderful smell, a beautiful dream. Most of all, we are story. We live in your myths, in your oral traditions, in your novels. But we are dying. Fading, if you will, because these stories are disappearing. No one believes them any more. Stories about us are evil, dark things, not of us at all.” Gwyneth fell silent, finished speaking. She looked to Emily to be deeply weary, down to her very bones. Now that she looked closer, Emily thought she could see hints of objects behind Gwyneth. The beautiful queen was beginning to fade, too. Emily wished she could help, but didn’t see what she could do. It wasn’t as if she could just tell a few stories and the fairies would be all better. Was it?

The air seemed to be getting thicker in the hall, and Emily realized that she could no longer see the dais at the far end. Then thick mist enveloped her, and Emily yawned widely, and fell asleep.

***

The sun streamed in Emily’s window onto her face, gradually waking her from sleep. At first she felt disoriented, the memory of the cool fairy hall still fresh in her mind. She wasn’t sure how she got to be in her room, but there was a vague connection with the mist in her mind. No matter. She was home now, and had had a delightful evening. Emily stretched and swung her legs over the side of her bed, and padded downstairs to eat breakfast.

***

“Granma, please tell us a story!” The other children joined in, “Yes, Granma! Tell us a fairy story!” Emily chuckled. Yes, ‘Granma’, she was to all these children, though only two were actually related to her. It was part of the process, the begging and refusal, and finally the capitulation. She would probably tell the story of when she met the fairies, so many years ago.

“Granma! A story!” the impatient voices cut in on her thoughts. Emily moved over to her rocking chair, the one with sheepskin on the back. “Well, I suppose I could tell just one story…” Immediately all the children quieted, their faces smiling up at her with angelic eagerness. Emily closed her eyes, and began to speak.

“There was a girl, who was wandering in the woods, a dreamy smile on her face, just listening to the forest sounds…”

-Teresa
and yes, Emily, her name is Emily. Somehow it just seemed right. But don't worry, none of the characters in this story are taken from real life. Not in the least (except any resemblance to myself or my wishes - after all, I wrote it!). I know I didn't totally stick to the plot outline you gave me, Emily, but I did my best and it certainly sparked a story I think is better than some.

Back to Square One (Emily)

Here's my quote story thing, I did actually have it done for the meeting and a couple of the first people there read it. I forgot to post it though, and I didn't really proofread it (and I still didn't). I dunno, I just don't like it for some reason, probably due to my lack of planning, or just the way I wrote it. Or it could just be too darn random! I didn't really change anything, besides the removal of 'defiant' superglue (stupid typos). Oh yes, my other story is almost done too... heh.

Back to Square One

Somewhere, far away (in an alternate dimension), a young girl of thirteen was about to take her placement test for her next year in training. Her name was Jane. She looked rather plain, she wasn’t tall or short and her eyes were a boring shade brown, as was her hair. In fact, her pet fish, Alfred (which, by the way, floats around in the air) calls her plain Jane. This is all really beside the point though. Jane was actually quite intelligent, when she was not being frustrated with the bizarre dimension she lives in (which she is quite often, considering her dimension was rather irritating at times).

The tasks given were crafted to test intelligence and common sense, however, common sense is quite rare in a dimension where everyone thinks broom stealing aliens will take over the world and pink pogo sticks attack small children. The tasks appear quite… simple at first, but they are much harder than they seem.

Jane was rather shy, and quite cautious of other people. Which was quite understandable, you really can never tell if people are actually real or just your imagination, or even a projection. She also rather liked to play piano. That is, until her keyboard disappeared and was replaced by a hose-eating frog, which was just plain freaky.

Jane sat in a blue chair, which was crafted completely from flying pig feathers. She started to wonder how they managed to do that. After a few minutes she concluded that they most likely used superglue. Yes, superglue indeed. She knew from personal experience that it was quite strong; she had glued her fingers together a few years ago. She tapped her fingers restlessly on her knee, hoping she could start her task soon. Waiting made her nervous, and being nervous made her panic. She didn’t like to panic. Finally the speakers turned on, buzzing with a loud, distorted sound.

“The test will now begin.” droned the emotionless, empty voice through the static. Jane stood and gulped, anticipating what was to come. The scenery suddenly changed, replacing the empty warehouse-type room that she had previously been in. Jane now stood on a platform that highly resembled a checker board. Beyond the board there was only infinite, empty blackness. Black and white squares alternated on the board, and on each tile there was a number. She currently stood on the bottom-left corner, square number one.

“Your task is to get to the end of the board.” continued the voice. “If you make a mistake you will be sent back to square one.”

Jane nodded, it seemed easy enough. All she had to do was get to the end of the board, it wasn’t rocket science. She took a step forward, onto a black square labeled number nine.

“Error! Back to square one.” boomed the speakers. She reappeared back on square one. Maybe if she went diagonally? The end would be on the upper-right corner anyway, wouldn’t it? Jane stepped onto square ten.

“Back to square one.”

Jane put her hands on her hips, rather irritated to be on square one again. She decided that, maybe, just maybe, if she ran fast enough, she wouldn’t be sent back. She bolted across the board, only to find herself back on square one as soon as she touched a different tile. Well that’s annoying, thought Jane, pondering her situation. Perhaps if she jumped off of the edge, into the darkness, somehow she would land on the end of the board. She peered off the side, wondering if it was a good idea or not.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Jane looked up, though she knew she would not be able to see where the voice came from.

“Why not?” she asked, annoyed.

“Because you’ll fall into an endless pit of doom?”

“Oh.”

Jane started to rethink the whole task. Why were there numbers? Then, suddenly, it hit her. She had to go across them in order! Of course… why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? Well, it was the evil chickens; obviously, they must have distracted her again. Stupid evil chickens. So, anyway, she carefully stepped onto square number two. Nothing happened. She smiled and stepped onto square three, and again, nothing happened! It doesn’t get much more interesting than this, and it takes a painfully long time, so I’ll end the story now.

…

The end!

(Colin) Blargh...

As a forewarning, I'm rather iiillllll right now, so this is one's going to be rather wierd. It's the assignment I was "given" by Joe.

---

"That man," Ed remarked, "is an absolute ti-"

It was exactly one third of a second after he'd spoken when a blur of motion came and struck him upside the face.

"Watch your mouth," a short and rather stout woman said. "The president's about to speak."

Ed rolled his brown eyes. "Amazing that the man is smart enough to even talk, isn't it, Edna?"

"Whatever," Edna said shortly. She hefted--delicately--a cooler containing their "package."

"Are you ready?" She asked simply. Amid the huge crowd, no one was really paying attention to them. In truth, they merely looked like a another couple of hillbillies coming to admire their Texan hero.

Ed snorted. George W. Bush - Texan "hero". The man couldn't even pronounce "nuclear proliferation" right, and the total number of Freudian slips the man made in the speeches throughout his abysmal career could be made into an entire book and sold. On the first anniversary of 9/11, he tortured all of America with a nine-hour television special of that fateful day. Martha Stewart would likely have a field day decorating the cavernous space between his ears.

In short, somewhere in Texas, a village was missing its idiot.

Add to that all the downright bad moves he'd made in his career. Trying to save New Orleans after the hurricane? Billions of Federal dollars spent, and months later, refugees are still living in shanties. Deliberately revealling that he'd done pot in the recent past? Big no-no.

All that led to popularity in the low-40s, and nearly every single voter wishing they'd gunned for Kerry rather than this...this...

"There he is," Edna said.

The crowd was silent as a man with the ears of Prince Charles stepped up to the podium. He withdrew a few papers from his inner jacket pocket, laid them on the podium, cleared his throat, and began to speak.

"All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages."

The crowd stood in silence.

"What...what's he saying, Edna?" Ed asked.

"I think...he's quoting Shakespeare."

Ed stood agape. The man was so stupid that when all attempts at crafting a speech had failed, he resorted to Shakespeare of all people.

"This thing of darkness I, acknowledge mine... Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears! I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him...What's gone and what's past help should be past grief...I have a kind of alacrity in sinking..."

Ed couldn't help but snicker at that last one. Gingerly, he opened the cooler and withdrew a pair of radiation-shielding gloves and pulled them on. They were stiff and inflexible, but it was preferable to contracting necrosis.

Bush took a pause in his speech.

The crowd started glancing at each other and murmuring incredulously. Ed pulled out a small black box from the cooler and opened it at arm's distance. Radioactive vapor threaded into the air from the deadly package inside. Carefully, Ed tipped the box on its side and allowed the cold contents to roll into his gloved hand.

An atomic snowball, in all its radioactive glory, sat in Ed's hand. It looked no more ordinary than a regular snowball, but it pulsed with a throbbing green glow. Carefully Ed drew the hand holding the snowball in preparation for a throw.

"Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?" Bush continued, Smiling jovially.

"Behold the winter of my discontent!" Ed yelled. "Pull!"

Ed was rather proud of his throwing arm. He watched the ball arc through the air, trailing green whisps behind it as it flew, until it began falling towards the podium. Bush looked up.

"I am fortune's fool," he said just before the snowball hit.

The effect was rather pleasing, but Ed wished he'd brought a pair of sunglasses with him. The blast bombarded his eyes with pure, white light for a full three seconds before dying out. He blinked several times to clear his vision. Most of the crowd had apparently fled or were fleeing after the explosion. There were screams as people were leaving in a hurry, and leaving behind them bits of trash on the field where they'd once stood.

Ed and Edna surveyed the scene. The podium, and the stage it was resting on, had been completely destroyed. The pair smiled at their handywork.

The smiles quickly turned to looks of shock when they saw a slightly disheveled figure pick himself up from the ruins of the stage.

George W. Bush stood tall with a demented gleam in his eye. His suit looked slightly rumpled, and his tie was out of place, but he otherwise looked...intact.

"My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go," he said, smiling stupidly.

"Wha-? Buh-! How...?" Ed spluttered. "How did he survive? There's no way he could have escaped that!"

"Well," Edna said, looking at her feet. "I...do know for a fact that, when he was in high school, George Bush didn't do particularly well in Physics class..."

"Are you saying," Ed said incredulously, "that the man's so stupid he can't even obey the laws of physics?!"

"Yes," Edna admitted, somewhat embarrased.

"But the man is an absolute ti-!"

Smack!

Money is the root of all evil

Or is it?

Soren loved to walk downtown. His city was quite beautiful, inasmuch as cities can be beautiful. The heart of the city was quaint, with lots of trees and interesting storefronts. Cars were not allowed on the cobblestone streets, so people could wander at will. He headed for the forum, where anyone who had something to say could stand up and say it. Most of the time it was just rants, and Soren would quickly lose interest and wander away. But today, there was someone a little more respectable-looking speaking. They were wearing black pants and a white shirt with a tie, and holding a packet of brochures. Interested, Soren moved closer. “There are people in this world that don’t even have enough water to drink, let alone wash! They can’t afford to get and education, and die of malnutrition and preventable and curable diseases!” He had heard some stuff like this before, but the speaker spoke with such passion, he decided to stay and see what they would say. “The little water they have is contaminated, and most children have little future. Help by sponsoring a child now!”

Yeah, right, thought Soren. He couldn’t possibly sponsor a child. It would be too expensive, too much work. He could wait until he was older. But maybe his parents would be interested, he decided. When the speaker was finished, he snuck a brochure while they were answering another’s questions.

Soren stuck the brochure in his back pocket and promptly forgot all about it. He wandered downtown a little while longer, but nothing new was happening. The next speaker had begun to rant about radiation from computers being a major health concern. Soren turned away in disgust. When he was undressing for bed that night, the brochure fell out of his pocket and drifted under his dresser.

Soren’s room was a disaster area. His mother had made him promise to clean it this weekend, so that was what he was doing, wading through the piles until he could see his floor again. When he was finished, his mother came in for an inspection, presumably to make sure he didn’t just stuff it all under his bed and in his closet. She was very thorough, even looking under his nightstand and dresser. She pulled out a very dusty piece of paper from under his dresser. “What’s this? Child…” “Oh, that’s just something I picked up from a forum speaker a few months ago.” Soren quickly snatched it back.

Soren sat in his room, reading through the brochure properly. The stories it told were extremely sad. They tugged at his heart strings. He realized that these stories didn’t have to happen, if children were sponsored. Everyone could have a good education and options for their future. And he could maybe make a difference. It wasn’t like Soren to make sudden descisions like this, but he decided on the spot that he was going to raise enough money to build a well. $30 a month was more than a little, but he could at least work towards that goal. He fell asleep that night thinking of ways he could raise the money he needed.

Soren realized that he the allowance he received never went to anything he really needed, so into the fund went his allowance. Actually, his allowance was just enough to cover the cost of sponsoring a child.

For the first few months, it was easy to go without his allowance. He got letters from the child he was sponsoring, who happened to be just a couple years younger than himself. He enjoyed the correspondence, and as time went by, the child in the pictures looked happier and healthier. He felt happiness welling up inside with the knowledge that he was really making a difference in someone’s life, in their community. But he was sad, also, because Chrislam (the child) wrote of many other children that were hurting, and about his inability to help them. Soren, too, felt helpless, until he realized that if he worked harder, maybe he could help another child.

Soren slept on the descision for a few months more. Every day, he would say “I’ll sleep on it. Tomorrow I’ll decide”. But not seeing his personal bank account grow every month like it usually did wasn’t fun. He found himself wishing that he could afford the new gadgets that everyone else was playing with. Soren told himself that he didn’t need them, that they were just fads and in a few months or years, everyone would forget about them. But that was in the future, and this was now, and he missed being able to buy things for pleasure. His parents were overjoyed that Soren was doing this, and they spent many supper conversations talking about visiting Chrislam sometime. Soren felt that the money it would take to visit Chrislam would defeat the point, unless they were doing something worthwhile for the community while they visited.

Eventually, they found a mission project that they could all attend, and flew to Chrislam’s village. It was very different in Africa. Much hotter, and seeing seas of dark faces instead of only the occaisional one was a shock to Soren. Not that he was racist, but it was different to be on of a few white people instead of part of the majority.

About a week into the project, Soren’s family found time to visit Chrislam’s village. They’d talked to the company that Soren sponsored the child through, and they had helped arrange a meeting. They even had a translator who could speak english fairly well. This turned out to be a good thing, because both children had a lot to say to eachother.

Later, when Soren was home and writing about his trip, he recalled the day that he met Chrislam as incredible. Chrislam had welcomed them with a broad smile, and had wanted to show them everything he had learned. He showed them the community center, and the school, and his school supplies. He was very proud of his books, and displayed them with reverent care. “Thanks to you, I’m able to read them all now!” he had said. “My parents wanted to send me to school, but business is bad right now, and what you sent was enough to make the difference.”

Soren had never felt happier than on that day, he said. To know that giving up money, and therefore the chance to have all the latest gadgets, had turned out to not be so bad after all. He decided that he wanted to work for more money, maybe even enough to build a well. Plus, there was something satisfying about seeing the dollars multiply. But it felt a lot better to give it away after a while than to just keep watching the numbers get higher and higher.

Teresa
Honest opinions, please. I'm unsure about the quality of this one, and I'd like some outside opinions.Thx.

speak softly and carry a big stick

Thag was thinking. Unlike most of the other cavemen he did this regularly. If he had known what the word meant he would have called himself a nerd. Actually the nerd because Thag was the only one in his clan. Thag had figured out how to cook meat without burning himself, Thag drew pictures on cave walls with charcoal, Thag was the first in his clan to make weapons and because he also wasn't very big or strong he got hit a lot. People didn't like it when you pointed out that rocks are not edible. So now thag was thinking about how not to get hit again. This is basically how Thags thinking went: fact: Bog is going to hit me, fact: Bog is big, fact: i am not, fact: Bog has a stick, fact: i do not. Thag sighed, what good was thinking in a fight?

Let us leave thag to his worrying for a while and go to the cave of Bog. If thag was the nerd of the clan then bog was the bully of the clan. He was the biggest, strongest and meanest caveman around. And while thag was thinking about how to avoid being hit by Bog, Bog was thinking about how to hit Thag. Bog decided that he'd do what he always did: find thag and hit him. Unlike Thag Bog didn't think well or often.


Thag had an idea. Everyone in the clan yelled when they talked and expected that everyone else would do the same. Sooo...if he talked...smaller Bog would get confused which was good, but Bog would still hit him which was bad. Thag had another idea. If he hit Bog with a stick while bog was confused bog might stop hitting him from then on! Thag decided that it was worth a try.

Next day Thag went around his business as usual except he carried a big stick with him. At around midday bog found thag. Bog was slightly confused at the sight of Thag carrying any sort of weapon let alone a big stick. Bog shook his head to clear the confusion from it and stepped forward to clobber Thag. Thag mumbled something incoherently. Bog stopped. 'Why you make funny noise?' he said sounding puzzled. Thag mumbled some more. Bog scratched his head as the confusion came back in a rush. And while Bog was busy being confused thag swung his stick. Hard. Bog went down like a concrete submarine.

From that day forward all the cavemen were very nice to thag especially Bog. And Thag taught all his children the phrase: "talk small and bring stick" which has eventually become:"speak softly and carry a big stick.

da end
conar =D

Joes short story assignment "Money makes the world go round."

“Money Makes the World Go Round.”

Sam walked easily down the street, ignoring the smoke and police sirens coming from behind him. His battle with the giant crabs had gone well, but the city authorities, as usual, were frustrated with the amount of collateral damage he had caused. He needed a fun diversion, and a place to hide.

He turned the corner, and bumped into a strange looking man dressed in what appeared to be an ancient Roman toga with an unintelligible design on it. The man looked up, and smiled happily upon seeing his face.

“Greetings, Sam! It is most fortunate that you were walking this way at this time, for we have now met! I am Gridius, who might you be?”

Sam was completely unfazed, and looked Gridius in the eye. “I’m Sam, odd jobs solved with heavy weaponry, no job too small.”

“Capital! I have a job for you, but it will require something outside of your normal activities. Go to the bank and change all your money into quarters, and then meet me back here. Hurry, hurry!”

Sam nodded, and walked off towards the bank. Once inside, he emptied his pockets of money, and changed the six hundred seventy eight dollars that he found into quarters.

The bank clerks looked at him oddly, but didn’t say anything, probably because of the shotgun on his back. They handing him a large sack, which he tucked into his coat, and watched him leave nervously.

Back at the street corner, Gridius was hopping with excitement as Sam approached. Hopping, anyways.

“You have the quarters? Good. Follow me, and don’t say a word! They’re watching!”

Sam followed Gridius around a few turns before he ducked into a phone booth. Sam followed, and was surprised to feel the booth sink below the ground, at a speed far surpassing that of sound, and possibly light as well. A moment later, the booth stopped, and Gridius ran outside and began hopping again.

Your job begins here, Sam. I can guide you no farther. Just use the quarters, and do what you do best!”

Sam walked down the corridor, passing posters that advertised movies and games long past. He came up to a huge door, which had flashing signs all over warning against entry. The shotgun wielder paid no attention to them, and shot the door off of its hinges, sending it smashing into the tiled floor. Inside was a giant coin operated machine, with many arrows and signs pointing at the slot in the center.

“Insert quarter to turn world!”

“Money DOES make the world go round! Insert quarter to operate!”

“Insert a quarter, save a civilization from death by electromagnetic fields!”

There was a corpse at the slot, its fingers grasping the coin slot, the rest of it slowly mouldering on the floor.

Just to be safe, Sam shot the corpse, then moved up to the coin slot, pulling a quarter from his sack of coins and inserting it into the slot. Gears shifted and rumbled, and the view outside of the room started spinning slowly. The door moved around to another tunnel, and the reason for the corpse was revealed. A gigantic monster, its skin sheathed entirely in quarters, stood in the other entrance.

It charged towards Sam, its massive claws made of sharpened game tokens whistling over his head and bouncing off of the invulnerable machine.

Sam’s shotgun barked in response, but the buckshot merely pinged off the shiny hide of the monster. He rolled forward, jamming his feet into its gut, and a shiny shower of quarters spewed out of its mouth, landing on Sam with a tinkling sound.

He rolled out from under them, searching his coat for his rocket launcher, hoping that he still had a shot left. Unluckily for him, he had used his very last shot on the King Crab. This was going to be a tough fight.

He ripped a light pole off the wall, and happily noted the sparks that flew from the broken wires. He swung viciously, staggering the Quarter Creature back towards the sparking wires, hitting it relentlessly as it tried to brace itself with its claws.

A claw brushed the wires, and electricity shot through it, covering it in sparks, blowing out its shiny dollar eyes. Sam ducked for cover behind the world turning machine, just as quarters shot out over the room, burying themselves in the walls. His duty done, he dumped out his sack of quarters on the floor, next to the Corpse of the Quarter Creature, and headed back to the phone booth, satisfied with a job well done.

(Behind him, the quarters moved.)

Teh End!