I'm a full gameweek into my YouTube series, so I figure it's time for a title card. This is the unfinished version; the finished one will include my own drawing of the character there (ideally), and it'll be on the eighth episode.
Cyberterror"I... did not... betray?" It was the most important question he had at the moment, and the seconds between the question and the answer were an eternity to his small and shivering mind.
"No, Charlie. You... you held firm." There was a tenderness in the voice, even a sort of pity. Charlie couldn't see his commander, but he took comfort from the emotion in his voice.
He was back on his ship. He was home. His electronic brain couldn't be messed with anymore. That was assuming, of course, that it wasn't being messed with right now - that he wasn't being fooled into thinking that he was home - but there wasn't much he could do in that situation, except keep from blurting out secrets until he was reasonably sure. And that sureness would come with the restoration of his senses: sight, touch. For now, he floated in endless darkness, somewhat aware that he was lying on a table, but unable to piece together anything else about his whereabouts.
Library LuckAll he had wanted to do was to go to the library.
He spent the first half of the day hunting down enough spare change to make it onto the bus, and then enough to ensure that he got back, because he rather expected he'd find himself buried in a book and miss the deadline on the return ticket.
He spent a good half-hour looking for suitable pants to wear that weren't pajamas and didn't have a hole in the crotch or smell like he hadn't washed them in a month. Mostly because he probably hadn't, but still, he didn't want to get kicked off the bus.
He spent ten minutes hunting for shoes, and managed to find a good many pairs, at least in halves. If he could have found a right and a left he would have gone mismatched, but for some bloody reason they all turned out to be lefts until finally he located a pair of old tennies with holes in the bottoms. He switched out a couple of inserts from another pair so he wouldn't get blisters by the time he arrived.
The bus was almost half
In Prison They Abandoned HimIt didn't take long for them to forget him. After it was all said and done, and he was there in prison, his friends visited for a few weeks, his girlfriend for a few months, but after that they didn't come any longer, and he was there in his cell alone, waiting. For there was nothing to do but wait.
It seems that friends aren't really friends if you've done something really wrong; or maybe he had just made the wrong kind of friends. The kind that don't last. The kind that won't help you move bodies, as the saying goes, or in his case wouldn't stick around once you'd produced a body out of what once had been a living, breathing human being.
He still wasn't sure what had made him do it. The anger had boiled to the surface too fast to deal with, and his hands had acted of their own accord, almost as if they weren't really attached to him. Robot hands, or alien hands. He looked at them now and despaired. Here in the cell they were cold and sl
Returning to the Town of HatredThey weren't expecting him to come back. He'd known that beforehand; he came back anyway. Mostly he tried to ignore their stares, the various shades of hatred from all but the youngest faces. The kids didn't know what he had done; it was better that way. Unfortunate, then, that he couldn't leave the town to forget.
He didn't own his father's land anymore. That was okay. He had money and to spare, and so he bought a place up on the hill, from a man who probably would have liked to turn him down; money spoke loudly in a town this poor. At least the man could feed his family now, and distribute the bills however he liked - maybe he'd lessen the burden on the rest of the villagers.
James erected his workshop by himself. For all that money talked, there were some things it couldn't say - leastwise, not as clearly as a shotgun to the head, and he thought that if he pushed it too much, for once he might be on the receiving end of the violence. &
Miss JennieHe was not the boy she remembered. He had been so thin, then, and timid; now he was muscular and brisk in his walk, confident about his place in the world and his ability to protect himself. Bullies wouldn't be bugging him anymore. Girls wouldn't turn him down. But there was still something in his eyes that made his old teacher wonder if perhaps he'd gained just a little too much power, changed too much from that little boy.
Lawrence saw her looking at him and smiled, and that smile seemed to wash away the years. He was her little Laurie again, and she had to look away to stop the tears from coming. But he took her hand gently, and stooped to look into her eyes.
"Miss Jennie?" he said, in that lisping tone she remembered of him. "You remember me, don't you?" And then he was at her feet again, like in the old days, although this time his shoulders came up nearly to her chest. She sighed, wishing she could get up and walk through the