Portal: Still Alive (Part One of Two)Portal: Still Alive
Characters: GLaDOS, Chell
Setting: Post-Portal 2
Orange and Blue hadn’t come back.
They had been taking more and more time to do so, lately, but she could hardly blame them. They were getting old, after all. She had never expected them to last forever. The only reason she was still using them was that building more of them would have been stupid. Robots testing was not Science. Still, she had to make do with what she had. Other than the occasional human who wandered into Aperture, whom of which she would gleefully put through testing until their… usefulness… came to an end, she had no test subjects. No, robot testing was not Science, but she had earned commendation for trying. Even if the commendation was a personal commendation, from her to herself. Come to think of it, the only one who ever commended her was herself. Which was odd. Surel
Portal: Still Alive (Part Two of Two)The ceiling collapsed.Portal: Still Alive (Part Two of Two)2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Panicked, not quite realizing what was happening even as it did, she fell to the floor, her fragile body shattering and sending loose parts on trajectories that she helplessly calculated in order to distract herself from the horrible pain shooting through her mind. Damn those scientists for doing that to her. Damn them for thinking pain was a suitable punishment for a computer. Damn them for building her. Damn everyone and everything. What was the point of being able to live forever if you couldn’t stop the world from letting you go?
The broken pieces stopped falling, and she ran out of trajectories and amperages and other things to calculate, and eventually the pain became so great that she put herself into sleep mode. Yes, she was afraid of not waking up. Yes, she was afraid that the timer no longer worked and she would be in suspension forever. But anything had to be better than this. Anything.
Geiger's CourierAs I walked, the blue of the desert sky began to fade. I pulled my hood over my head, even though my machine body needed neither protection from the sun nor shelter from the wind. Simply put, I didn't like the feeling of the unending void above me, looming, watching, infinite. I knew I shouldn't have such feelings, so I ignored the rationale and allowed my hands to move as they pleased.Geiger's Courier2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I adjusted the leather strap. The sky was pale. Gray. Stars blinking into view, I refused to meet their eternal gaze. As I walked I was dying. As I walked, I was not yet born.
But as I laid my feet in a careful pattern, one in front of the other, I didn't notice. Day, night, it didn't matter, for I'd been given the unenviable position in life of a courier, and I neither knew nor cared for anything else.
Not yet, at any rate.
My body was a vessel for my vague sense of self, for I was water gathered between shaking palms, a cup half-filled, a fleet lif
Portal: Sleep ModeSleep ModePortal: Sleep Mode2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Some nights, not every night and certainly in no pattern that she could discern, she dreamed.
Sometimes, she dreamed she was a woman, middle-aged to elderly, she wasn’t sure which. She was wrapped in tensed wires that bound her arms to her knees, left her bow-shaped as she dangled by her ankles from the ceiling. She felt so helpless, felt such a powerful desire to move, which was thwarted by her bindings, that it felt like she was being torn apart. The ache in her body was almost unbearable, but that wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst part was that she cried and cried, and called for help and mercy and for just plain company, but the little men in the booth ignored her and busied themselves with other things. And the longer she hung there, given the illusion of movement, the worse the drive to perform actions she could not became. An itch tore through her, an
A Taste of Honey, Ch.1This idea stemmed from a roleplay session with a good friend of mine. It's nowhere as dark as The Death of Peeta Mellark, which I'm still working on by the way. I'll be alternating between both. The writing for this is simpler, since it's in Katniss' POV, as opposed to an omniscient view.A Taste of Honey, Ch.13 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I do hope you enjoy. Please review and comment. Don't be shy!
Chapter 1: Catching A Mockingjay
I hit the wild turkey in the eye. Clean shot.
It's taken me months of practice to catch up to the archery skills I once possessed, and even then, I've been missing more then I used to. Either I catch the animal in an awkward way that makes it less appealing to buyers, or I miss altogether. Still, it's better then three months ago when I grasped my bow for the first time since the end of the war. Pulling the string alone was exhausting and painful. Now it almost feels natural again.
I set the turkey into my game bag with the other one I caug
Litost*Litost2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It is invisible: sinuous and coiled like an asp’s lethal promise; it glares at her with imagined eyes as hungry as an angel’s. Fallen. It speaks, and the words—as they unravel in her mind—bear the acute, red flare of fresh, stinging blisters. Sweetness lingers: the fading, chilly redolence of hops and tobacco-smoke, of damp, moldy stone and an echo of juniper. It touches her, sometimes, with snow-cream skin and the memory of something dark and shiny in the moonlight: a clumsy thing. It is not human.
It is invisible, now.
But she can see it…
When she closes her eyes.
Fat memories throb behind everything that she sees. Her gaze burns.
The air is indolent and smogged; the pavement beneath her feet is little more than the absence of ancient and weathered cobblestones. Moss and mold are scarce here. Begonias do not riot in clumps of red and white in clay pots stuck on shallow balconie
Something Borrowedgirls in white dressesSomething Borrowed2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
don't always want weddings.
the priests would speak of leaps of faith
and my hands would clasp the wood in horror,
knuckles bleached like bone- and i found
something old: the knot tied in my throat.
my vocal cords did not let empty words escape.
and there was something blue: the heart
that hesitated. how can a seedling prophesy
its harvest? how can a caterpillar promise
the power of its wings?
so let others gather flowers.
we will skip the mass
but not the bed: and through
this something borrowed,
earn a little time-
and a place to rest our heads.
Jonahdeep in the meadow, there is a box.Jonah3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
it contains a letter.
the letter is from a man who never had a name. i like to think he was not a handsome man, but gorgeous in ways undetected by the path of average society. his eyes were always puffy from crying and his lips were always swollen from chewing but his heart was always locked away like only the heart of a beautiful man could be.
deep in the meadow, past the rotting remains of an oxen cart that maybe used to carry turnips from the mountains to the valley towns for market selling. or maybe it was goat milk. or hawks' eggs. past the rotting cart and past the abandoned house with no chimney, the box can be found in the tree stump of a huge old maple among termites and ants and wasps that have overtaken the old tree as a way of reclaiming the earth. it's funny how life has a circularity that way. what once belonged to only the tree itself was taken by man, and once man passes by onto the next land, insects and birds move in to benefit from
A Guide On How To Shop In The Pias UndergrowthSo, ye need some groceries and things from the shops. But ye live in the undergrowth of Pias, so it ain’t a case of just popping to some omni-mall. What are ye going to do? Ye can’t farm cos’ the ground here ain’t gonna get enough sun, and there’s nae way in hell ye can just experiment with all the fruits of the jungle, cos’ ye value your life too much. Whatcha gonna do?A Guide On How To Shop In The Pias Undergrowth2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Well, good ol’ Cygno here can help ye wi’ this trusty guide! Available in all the shady places over the Kairos galaxy. This guide here’ll tell ye all about how to find the best markets in Pias and how tae not get scammed by some scoundrel.
First off, terribly sorry for ye bein’ here. I dunno if ye were forced tae run from the gangs or police in Canopy City or whatever other tragedy befell ye, but sorry. Pias ain’t a holiday site once yer under the leaves, I can tell ye that fer sure.
By the time yer readin’ this, y’l
the running manWhen I see you, all I see is after. Gravel upturned by that beige Chevy. Pavement sun-baked and time-worn, like most Mississippi roads. You love the highways. You drive by, sunglasses and Miller Lite caps on a string, without noticing I'm headed in the opposite direction. I don't have time to regard the dust cloud because there's a cop idling nearby.the running man3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
You've always been headed in the opposite direction.
When I was fifteen I didn't understand. Couldn't have. You can't read another language until you learn the right words, wrap your brain around the meaning of those foreign sounds and inflections. I couldn't read you because I didn't want to. It was easier to be angry and ignorant. It's always easier.
Five years later - five years of investigation, of difficult questions and even more difficult answers - I know you better than I ever thought I could. It wasn't any effort on your part, of course. Not your style. For you, existence defines itself - you have no reason to justify your
Blackbird's FeatherBlackbirdBlackbird's Feather3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
sweeping across the snow
left me a feather
and away he goes
and away he goes
drifting up on the air
but I seem to be stuck here
melting in the cold
cannot rip my eyes from the sky
cannot get my fists to unfold
the words have frozen to our tongues
that's what happens to winter love
so you think this feather is enough to make a wing
so you try to free me from it,
but your claws only sting.
i walk away
come to regret every footfall
but I can't keep you down
because you're up
and I'm frozen to the ground
laying pale in the snow
he can soar no more
you didn't have to do that
have to fall on your own sword
cut your wings apart
to get me back home.
and as I see you freeze
I know now what it is I believe
that someone could give up everything
come down to the winter
do you know the secret, Bird?
learn to live with the cold
though you turn blue
the heart beats hot inside of you
I know it
AerosolIt has been a day and a half since the crash, and I have found a cabin. In some ways, this is a relief. I don’t know if I could face another night on the mountain without shelter. Outside, a fire does no good: the heat simply travels upwards. However, this place also raises some difficult questions. I estimate that I’ve put eight miles between myself and the crash site. I don’t know if this will be enough. It occurs to me that I don’t really know anything.Aerosol2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The survival manual recommends staying with the plane. It explains that this affords the best chance of rescue. It explains that the wreckage offers warmth and shade. It explains that seventy percent of pilots who stay are located within three days, while seventy percent of those who leave are never recovered. It does not explain what to do if the payload begins to leak.
Jenkins shouted after me as I ran, said it was our duty to defend the aircraft. I tried to warn him about the spur of wood protrudin
His Buddy, Optimus"His Buddy, Optimus"His Buddy, Optimus2 years ago in Sci-Fi More Like This
I'm Baggie. I used to live by the dumpster behind that Fancy Italian Restaurant off the corner of Broadmore 'n' 33rd street. The kids called me Baggie 'cause I carried a worn out plastic bag with me ev'rywhere I went. Inside were trinkets I've had with me since I can remember.
There was a tarnished, golden ring inside, flat as the cracked sidewalk I lived on. I think I stepped on it once, but I still carried it in my bag. I think it belonged to my dad, if I had a dad. At least, I'd like to think it came from my dad, 'cause I don't remember.
There was also this red book with pages torn up 'n' stained so bad you couldn't tell what was on 'em. There's a faded picture of a white rabbit wearin' cloths on the cover of it. I can't read, but I still carried it in my bag. I liked to look at the pictures inside sometimes at night before I went to bed. I dunno why, but I always felt pretty darn happy after seein' some of the pictures of thos
Transformers: We Came in WarTransformers: We Came in WarTransformers: We Came in War1 year ago in General Fiction More Like This
Setting: Sometime during the Bay films
Characters: Optimus Prime
We came to this planet because ours was gone.
The quest for power consumed our home. The need for domination destroyed us. Still we live, and yet there is a piece in each of us that has been decimated forever. We will never recover what we have lost.
I look down upon this planet, and I wonder why we try.
It is evident by now that we have lost the capacity for peace. War follows in our wake. We came to retrieve the AllSpark, which has long since been lost, and we are still here. All that came of attempting to revive our planet was the relocation of the war from our planet of death to this planet of life. There is so much life on this planet. All of it we have sworn to protect. This is the promise we have made to them. But the promise would not need to have been made if we had never co
Black Widow IIawayBlack Widow II2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
Mom's rose garden grew beneath the steps, and I did too. They weren't aligned and it bothered me. I always tried to fight it but she would come down and lay her hand on my bare skin and whisper, "They aren't growing."
And I would be red like the roses and blue like the violets.
She grew beneath the steps too.
notlookingforthepastorthe f u t u r e e e e e e
set down the lighter
put it down.
don't make it brighter.
I set the roses on fire.
she never knew I them on fire.
I set them on fire.
her hands on my bare skin and whisper,
they aren't growing
Man Sold SeparatelyIt was one of those houses dropped on the corner of the street, squeezed so tightly by the ones on either side that it was hardly noticeable. It was one of those houses where the hot water never ran out in the winter and the air conditioner never broke down in the summer. All of the neighbours in the similarly shaped houses, although never perfectly identical, shared gossip and brought over casseroles and generally pretended to like each other until the door closed and the lock clicked and their sincere thoughts on the daughter’s new husband came to light. It was a neighbourhood with the level of superficiality one could usually find in the suburbs.Man Sold Separately2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I was drawn right in.
There was something about the idea of having a comfortable little life, a quiet life where I would often be alone and always lonely, that somehow appealed to me. It’s easy to be lonely; all you do is turn on the TV or open a good book and it goes away. I could never sit around feeling sorry for myself in a
Across the Sea and Around the KotatsuSpringAcross the Sea and Around the Kotatsu3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Mom starts with rice. Japanese rice, one, two, three Japanese cup-fulls of rice grains into the cooker, because Sis eats a lot of this stuff. It's one of her favorite dishes, taco rice, and Mom's always happy to make it for her because it's the only way Sis will eat her tomatoes. But back to the rice. "You want to rinse at least three or four times, until the water's kind of clear," Mom says as she cups her hand under the cooker pot, letting the cloudy water wash over her hand.
Rice cooking's easy though – just fill enough water to the point the rice's covered, punch in a time (or set it to "Quick Cook," which with our creaking rice cooker still takes about an hour) and let the cooker do its thing.
Ground meat goes into a well-greased and heated frying pan. Break up the block so that it crumbles into fine little pieces, and do this with wild abandon, because this is taco meat. Mom uses any taco seasoning that happens to be cheap; most seasonings rack up t
Lately, the waitHighway traffic, seamless like the skiesLately, the wait4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of October; distant lights foretell
A gush of wind, a magnolia laden threshold.
much sought after
My darling brotherMy darling brother,My darling brother2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I hope things are going well for you.
This summer has not shaped up how any of us expected, has it? To think that one year ago we were sitting in the lap of luxury, and now we are scattered to the ends of the continent in a miserable exile. It is unbearable to think of our cousins still feasting, draped in jewels, while we must content ourselves to live on their pity.
Forgive me. You asked, of course, about the rest of the family in your last letter. Grandfather has been horribly boring lately, sulking around and not doing anything. I know he misses having a kingdom, but really! I do not understand how he manages to spend so much time just lounging around.
I found Anne’s diary the other day, and to quote from it -
“While being away from home has its disadvantages, I like being surrounded by so many men that are not our relatives. It is a relief to be able to carry on an affair with one of them without having to worry that he is really our cook.
You can't have it allbut you can have the glazed heat bursting from the blacktop like a brokenYou can't have it all2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
fire hydrant. You can have the jangle of keys
swinging from your hip with each stride.
You can have the tactility of leather and the graze of
bathroom mosaic tiles under a cold shower pelting
bullets and when the water cuts off
you can have dry book pages. You can have happiness,
though it will often be bitter, like finding a stranger’s
wallet full of pictures of smiling children until you
return it to find that the couple is barren.
You can have the scratches on the back of his knuckles,
faded, yet raw. You can have the translucency of sheets
in the sun, silhouettes but no details,
never revealing anything more than a fringe of hair
and frayed laces tripping over themselves.
You can drop obscenities like bombs until
they don’t mean anything anymore. You can pull out the Monopoly board
that broke your family. You can’t put it back together,
but you can pretend the thimble is your mother and the
Firebird The radio was the last thing Gwen packed.Firebird2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was an afterthought, an act of impulse. She’d been in the pantry, raiding every scrap of non-perishable food she could get her hands on. She shoved granola bars and bags of pretzels into the folds of the clothing that was already taking up the majority of the space in her beat-up purple backpack. She’d had the backpack since she started Kindergarten. Joel had never cared enough to buy her a new one.
When her bag was bursting at the seams, Gwen jerked the zipper closed, using her knee and the side of the washing machine as a makeshift clamp to hold the bag shut. Just as she tugged the zipper into place, though, a blush of pink caught her eye from behind the dryer. She set the bag down quietly on the stained linoleum and tried to get a better look at the object. It was small, pink, and probably plastic, but tha
Heartless Automaton - A Love StoryCombat Mechanoid 732 of the 3rd Armoured Battalion - though he went by the name Al in casual conversation (something easy for the fleshies to remember). During service he had dragged his ferrosteel body from the flaming wreckage of a particle tank on four separate occasions, once going back in to recover the memory core from a crushed comrade's skull. He dedicated himself to the cause not because of the propaganda or idealism, but because it was his job (and unlike the fleshies he knew how to do his job without whining, or stopping to rest every couple of days). But now the war was over (with both sides claiming victory) and Al was to be sent into civilian life.Heartless Automaton - A Love Story3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The press releases had been careful not to suggest that mechanoids were considered alive in any way (because that might make someone begin to consider things like their rights and privileges), but instead focussed on how they might benefit the human (fleshie) population. They were told that the mechanoids would offer valuable a
Invisible ManFandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! DMInvisible Man2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Reasoning: Tradefic for Ria–Pia.
Handicap/Requirement: Fic needs to start with the line: 'He had to say goodbye'. And an extra requirement, because this one was just way too good to pass up – after the initial sentence, the paragraphs get shorter and shorter, until there's just one word left.
Ships: None. Thiefshipping and Angstshipping may be implied, but only if you're into those ships; romance is not mentioned anywhere.
Length: 1250 words. Another thing – the number before each paragraph is actually a measurement of how many words are in that paragraph.
Warnings: None, aside from maybe the line breaks...
He had to say goodbye–
–and that desire wasn't just a want, it was a need; and slowly destroying Marik Ishtar from the inside out. He had to say goodbye, c
Letter to a loved one, on losing a loved one.I want to tell youLetter to a loved one, on losing a loved one.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that this grief is temporary,
that even if you feel lost,
you are not a ship adrift
without a crew.
But darling, grief still
sits heavy on my tongue and
I will not lie to you.
[Grief gathers at the back
of my mouth and renders me useless
on days that feel like the day
she died, my limbs heavy,
my heart sore.]
Instead I am going to tell you
that grief is not the last thing
you will ever feel;
there will still be
rumpled sheets and lazy smiles,
your fingers will still find
my naked waist beneath the blankets
and mine will still fit neatly between
the knobs of your spine.
We will still drink too much coffee,
smoke too many cigarettes, and love with
urgency but not with haste.
I will sit with your grief,
as you have sat with mine and
we will be okay.
Mandela's ChariotIn silence your chariot approaches. Bright light, a piece of heavens.Mandela's Chariot2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
A man of destiny, a prince, grandfather of his nation, returns home
to the heavens that birthed him. A moral authority, of grace and peace
who helped lay aside the chains of oppression with a soft laugh and guiding hand.
Your ride home is here, not to the village where you took first breath,
but to the heavens where your soul was forged to change the course
of a people, a nation, a world and the history that is to follow. Relax,
enjoy the ride home, knowing that you have sown well the seeds of peace.
Madiba, you are a leader who did not need a gun or threats of terror,
but lead by simple moral authority, not so simple in this graceless age.
Twenty seven years in the stone belly of the apartheid beast, released
to forgive his jailors for the betterment of all, rising above fear and hate.
Once around the sun and then back into the heavens, Mandela rides proud
and the angels line his route home, his chariot carrying evi