Green leaves unfolding The outdoors are inviting Now more so than in
Green leaves unfolding The outdoors are inviting Now more so than in
Over on G+ Bliss Morgan put up a challenge where people had to make a story from the phrase And if by noon I'm blubbering like a baby, I'll be screaming your name and begging you to save me
This is my take :)
"What the hell is that idiot doing now?"
Michaels chuckled to himself as the Commander walked into the observation deck. "He's celebrating, or commiserating, or communing… I forget what word he actually used, it started with a 'c' however."
"Okay," said the Commander as he stopped in front of the floor to ceiling window to watch the floating figure, "did he say why?"
Michaels took a seat in the lounge couch, sinking into the overly soft cushions and feeling decadent as he did so, "He's explained it to me several times, but to be fair, I don't understand it. It's the anniversary of the death of his wife and son."
The Commander turned to glare at Michaels. "And what exactly does that have to do with him floating away from the station with no tether! He's going to get himself killed and us sued!"
"On this day every year he makes arrangements so that he is in space, on a station or dock or something like that. Never a ship. Once he did a cruise liner but it was docked so I'm not sure it counts."
"Once? That crazy Russian has done this before?"
"Every year on this date for the past fifteen years. Ever since the base he was stationed on was attacked and they were all vented into space." Michaels crossed his legs and smiled. "He puts on a suit and stands in an airlock. At precisely 12:24 in the morning he opens the lock doors and just floats out. He then drifts there for four hours before moving."
Commander Reynolds leaned back against the thick viewport glass and ran a hand through his hair as he watched several crew members walk across the viewing area.
"I'm going to regret asking, but then what?"
Michaels stood up, regretful to leave behind the comfortable couch and walked over to stand beside the Commander. He put his hand on the glass , "Then he does whatever he can, short of calling for help, to get back to safety."
"And what if he isn't able to make it back? We just let him die?"
"He said not to retrieve him unless and until he speaks the safe phrase."
Commander Reynolds sighed, "And what might that phrase be?"
"And I quote 'And if by noon I'm blubbering like a baby, I'll be screaming your name and begging you to save me'. Honestly, I have no idea what it means," Michaels said throwing up his arms in a defensive posture, "but apparently those were the first words he said when the rescue team found him."
"And he does this every year? Recreates the event and circumstances of that event."
Michaels turned around and leaned against the window as well, folding his arms across his chest as he did, "Every single year."
The Commander stepped away, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Why? What's the point? What point does it serve to put himself in danger every year?"
"Maybe he's just reminding himself of how close he came to dying. Or maybe he's angling for a Section 8. Who knows."
"Well, at least he comes by that 'Mad Russian' nickname honestly."
Michaels simply nodded and smiled.
Prophesies are tricky things.
Just ask Macbeth. There are countless discussion, arguments, and treaties about whether or not the murders and terror that Macbeth started would have happened at all had he not heard the declaration from the witches that he would 'be King hereafter'.
Which begs the question, would he have become King has he not met the witches and taken it upon himself (with the wifes help).
Same holds true for the story of Oedipus, the invasion of Persia by Croesus, even Star Wars and Vader and the movie Twelve Monkeys.
They also have something else in common; they all are fulfilled in ways no one expected or predicted. Vader did bring balance in end and Macbeth did become king.
A prophesy is the heart of Chronicles. It is said that a child of Dawgeria will 'restore the lost land', and Harley, being a Dawgerian is a good fit. As such, many are moving the pieces to use him for their own want's and desires.
The board is set. The players have all gathered and the game has begun. The pieces… well, they don't even know they are playing.
And Harley has no idea he's going to change the world.
But in order to find out how everything unfolds, you're going to have to read the series and follow the story.
So it's been pointed out to me that perhaps I could word or phrase this better, and that I should give details on any possible or potential compensations.
So here goes.
First things first, go read the first couple of episodes, I'll wait.
Done, good. Now tell me that wouldn't make a freaking AWESOME web comic.
The problem is I can't draw for beans, and I can't seem to find an artist. I mean I can draw but I think Quercus and Rudbeckia will look much better as something other than stick figures.
Now the comp side of the story. I need this to be 100% clear, this is not a one shot or short-term thing. It is also not a paid gig. Yet. Read on.
I have enough story written and mapped out for a long, long run. The plan would be to do the comic while I edit and assemble the prose stories. Those will be published and sold on… well, to be honest anywhere I can stick them :)
In addition I plan to put the comic pages together into a graphic novel type thing and publish those. As well as various merchandise (oh trust me, there is a huge list. Shirts, bags, card games, teas…)
Whomever signs on as the artist would become a partner in the venture. And by partner I mean a percentage of the profits would be theirs. A decent percent (near half).
So to reiterate, I'm looking for an artist to sign onto an indie venture to create a web comic. The story is there, I have done comic scripts in the past so I have a decent idea what I'm doing (example: example script) and I'm willing to share any future profits.
I'm not looking for someone to come on board and give away anything without something in return. But I am asking them to take the same risk I am. I'm not making anything from this yet and I working my ass off to try and get it going.
Sound interesting? Know someone who might be up for it? I have a total of 12 episodes (the link is just the first 3) presently written and undergoing revamp and editing. There are many, many more in my head and plotted on paper.
So come on, what do you say! Let's get Garden Wars artified!
Who's with me!!
Okay, I'm going to put this out here again because.. well I think the idea has a crap ton of potential.
if you haven't read Garden Wars go do it, I'll wait here.
Done, good. Now tell me that wouldn't make a freaking AWESOME comic. Print or web.
The glitch? I don't have an artist. I want one. I need one. I mean I can draw but I think Quercus and Rudbeckia will look much better as something other than stick figures.
So… interested? Know someone who might be? I have a total of 12 episodes (the link is just the first 3) presently written and undergoing revamp and editing. There are many, many more in my head and plotted on paper.
And I imagine each episode would take several comics to do up right.
So come on, what do you say! Let's get Garden Wars artified!
Who's with me!!
He's out there somewhere. My mentor. Teacher. Father.
Somewhere in the shadows, watching. Waiting. Trying to see how badly I've fallen from his blessed pedastal.
He once gave some stupid speech about walking the road of vengence and digging two graves… blah blah blah. I wasn't really listening. Didn't really care.
I'm tired of playing it his way, tying them up for the police or dropping them off in from of City Hall. They keep coming back more pissed, and stronger than before.
It's insane that we keep fighting these idiots, putting them in what are supposedly hyper secure prisons only to fight them again in six months. So I'm doing something about it. I'm crossing the line he would never cross.
I'm ending their fight for good.
He told me that we could be a hero and save the world while killing the bad guys. That it 'bankrupted our souls'. Whatever.
If that's how he feels so be it, call me Bankrupt.
"That… that's fucking disgusting."
"Of course you would think that. I'm not sure if that makes you just as disgusting or just fucking weird."
"Think of the impact this will have on the world Jim. It will change everything we know about biology and neuroscience!"
"The only impact I'm thinking about that of my lunch hitting the floor when I throw it up."
"Oh don't be such a baby. It's not that bad."
"Not that bad? Not that bad! You have his head cut open and his fucking brain is full of worms. How is that not bad?"
"Well, for starters, his brains isn't full of these worms. It's made of them."
"The brain is actually a mass of worms. A colony if you will. We don't yet know how they communicate. We do know that a giant version of the worm server as the spinal cord. You have to admit, it is fascinating."
"No. The only thing I have to admit is that it's disgusting."
"Oh grow up Jim."
"Grow up? You're standing there, with the head of someone I once knew open and poking around in what use to be his brain and are telling me that they eat his brain and spinal cord and replace them with a giant morass of worms and I'm not supposed to be upset or grossed out by that? I knew him Cara! We went to school together and now he's.… fuck, I don't know what he is. He's not him, I know that."
"We aren't sure if they actually eat the brain—"
"Now is not the time to nitpick."
"Nothing to be sorry for. You didn't kill him or remove his brain or replace it with… those. Just looking at that thing… moving, writhing like that is making me queasy.
Look, just bottom line it for me, do you know how to identify these things yet? Or better yet, kill them?"
"No. But I'm working on it."
I learned at an early age that it would be my weakness, my undoing. At least in the eyes of 'civilized' society. I got my first taste of it way back in 5th grade when I had been appointed class monitor while the teacher when to lunch or a meeting or something. The pure joy I got at being in control of my fellow students fate intoxicated me. I had the power to cause others to get detention or extra homework or demerits.
Years later I heard the phrase 'Perception is reality', but I never really understood what that meant. Did it mean that what I see is real? What about what others saw, how did that affect the 'reality' I saw? It wasn't until I remember being the class monitor that it dawned on me. As a monitor you had no 'real' power, it was all an illusion. You had the ability to influence the teacher who could, but in the end it was ultimately up to them as to wether or not to discipline anyone. But everyone thought it had power. Everyone 'perceived' the position had the power to do all those things.
After that my life path was set. I wanted power and knew that I didn't actually have to have any, just needed to appear to have some. I didn't need power to get others to do things I wanted, I just had to appear to them that I did have the power. I simply had to alter their perception of reality.
Then I found the book.
At first I had no idea what it was, I just knew it was something special. I could feel it, sense it. That first night I paged through it reading the list of names and what turned out to be their manner of death but at the time I didn't know that. I recognized some of the words as ailments and sicknesses and others were things like car crash and infection. Some were quite lengthy, one even describing in intimate detail the manner in which someone had died including when and where.
I keep using the past tense but that's incorrect. I ultimately learned that the death descriptions were not in fact how they had died, but rather how they would die. The book predicted the death of the person listed. But again, I didn't know this when I first found the book. All that would come later, and at a fairly high price.
I began researching the names listed and eventually learned that the manner of death listed was in fact the manner in which each person had died. It meant nothing at the time because there was nothing to indicate it was anything other than what it seemed; a book of names and how they died. No dates. No locations. Just the names and how they died.
That was until I looked up the last name. Michael Waterson. He was still alive. In the book he had been listed as having been killed in a motorcycle accident involving a crane and a water truck. It didn't strike me as odd that it had was so specific because it hadn't been any more specific than any others.
Nothing prepared me for finding out he was alive. At first I began to doubt myself, I had to have picked the wrong Michael Waterson. There had to be more, one that was dead and had died in the manner specified by the book. I don't remember why it mattered so much other than it upset me. So I went back to searching. I spent 3 days digging into obits and police reports online from around the state, then the country trying to find the right Michael Waterson.
Then, thankfully, I found him. Except it was the same guy I had located originally that was still alive. His obituary was listed in an online newspaper somewhere in Ohio. He didn't live in Ohio but rather in Maryland so why was he listed in Ohio I wondered. Because he had been traveling cross country to visit relatives. And had driven through Ohio, right through a major construction zone. A motorcycle had tried to cut across several lanes of traffic, the effect of which was that another driver had tried to avoid the cyclist, plowed into Waterson and driven him off the road.
Into a crane.
And it had happened yesterday.
At first I refused to accept what my brain was telling me, that the book had predicted the death of Michael Waterson. It was insane. A book can't do that.
But people can.
So maybe someone else had written Michaels name and manner of death in the book. That too was insane. How would writing that name and death in a book cause someone to die? It was absurd. Completely and totally absurd.
So I decided to try an experiment. I wrote the name of a someone I found in the phonebook and beside it I wrote 'fire'. And waited.
I did it for no other reason than to prove to myself that the idea was completely absurd. That I was marginally insane just for thinking this could happen, could be real.
Then the guy died when his house caught fire.
Disbelief didn't even begin to describe how I felt. Although I still didn't believe it was anything more than a coincidence. So I did it again, only this time I wrote 'drown in kiddie pool' as the cause of death.
Five days later the obit appear in the local paper. The person I had randomly selected from the phone book had in fact drown to death in a freaking kiddie pool. I did it 3 more time with increasingly odds manners of death just to prove… something. Anything.
Every single one came to pass. Every. One.
The book was power. Power over life. Over death. So many questions. So many possibilities. I had no taste for death really, the others had simply been to prove that it was real. I felt a twinge of guilt over each one but I hadn't actually killed them, just written their name in a book.
I didn't know if that was a legal recourse or not, but I also didn't know how anyone would be able to link things back to me. It's just a book. If anyone found it I could simply say it was a record, a diary of deaths for a project of some kind. I had no idea what kind of project, but wasn't going to worry about it.
However I was insanely curious. Did the deaths have to be sudden and violent? Could I give someone cancer with the book? It seemed like there was a window of five days in which the deaths took place but what about something like leukemia. That took longer than five days.
Could I give someone the plague? Could I give someone a disease that they had already been inoculated against like chicken pox or polio?
What if I wrote down that someone would die on a train but then tried to shot them before they got on the train, would they die from the gunshot?
Could I simply give someone a disease that didn't kill? What about one that killed but not a physical death? What about something like Parkinsons? Or alzheimer's?
Could I make someone else kill another person?
All this ran through my head as I tried to sort things out. I now had real power. I had to protect it, to insure that it would server me.
I decided then to run two more final tests. I had been having issues with a group of thugs down the street so I decided to have one beat another one to death. I wrote it in the book and added a time and date to see what would happen.
Ten minutes before the time I had chosen I started walking down the street on a path that would take me directly past the group that had been harassing some of the locals. In short order an argument started and everything began to happen just as I had written. One started beating the other, blood and teeth flying everywhere. I smiled and continued walking making sure not to pay too much attention.
I walked in a coffee shop, ordered a drink, sat at a table and took out my new notebook. I smiled to myself as I began to write my fathers name, the man I hated most in my life. Beside his name I wrote a single word: Alzheimer's.
I was smiling the entire time.
(yes, I realize the similarity to the Deathnote anime. It's partly what inspired this, and partly the image of the guy smiling as he gave his father Alzheimer's)