AWKWARD ZOMBIE

So I decided to give myself ten minutes to write a little something about Joust. Turned out sort of okay.


The foul stench of sulfur filled the air as Lorenzo looked up at the night sky. Were it not for, more or less, absolutely everything, it would have been a rather fine evening. The eldritch glow spewing forth from the depths of the volcano dominated the sky above, blotting out the surrounding stars, but the moon still shone down clearly, calming his nerves a little.

That malodour, that fiery, smoky fog belching out around him was slowly filling his lungs with its taint, not to mention filling his heart with hate. It was the same smell that had been in the air all those nights ago, and every other night since. They had swooped into the village. Men - no, not men, demons - demons descended on the people, riding horrible, wretched vultures. They came in droves. Nobody had seen them coming. They couldn't possibly have defended themselves. They spewed out across the town like a plague. Nobody stood up against them. Burning buildings lined the streets. Corpses littered the roads. Screams of rape and murder echoed all around. Lorenzo saw his house, on fire. An empty bed. A bloody cot. Then he saw his friends, his townsfolk. All of them either dying, or on their knees begging.

Not anymore. Lorenzo put that scene out of his mind. Tonight, the tables were turned. Tonight, it was him swooping down on them. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and a voice behind him, breaking his thoughts. "Are you alright, brother?" Miguel said, with sincere concern in his voice. He'd met Miguel many, many moons ago, back in their knighting days. They had both been squires together, and they had ridden together in every battle. Their thirst for battle and glory had waned along with their youth, and despite their skill, they had decided to both retreat to a smaller village, and try their hands at a simpler life. The vultures, apparently, had thought otherwise.

Blinking a few times, Lorenzo met his gaze. "Nowhere near alright, my friend," he replied with a mirthless grimace, the picture of that bloody cot stuck in his head like an arrow, "but I am ready to ride." He choked on his next words, and teared up a little at the corner of his eyes. "I need this," he managed to squeeze out, "we both need this. Those monsters are a hellspawn, a menace to every person in the land, and everybody's just getting on their knees and letting them have their way. It ain't right. We need this." Miguel nodded, and patted him on the back a few times. "Very well," he said, furrowing his brow, " then the die is cast. Mount your bird, friend, and take wing. We ride."

Lorenzo turned to face Avashar, his trusty Ostrich. She'd been by his side for as long as Lorenzo had, and she was as close to him as he was. He gently stroked her neck."You've been the best bird a knight could ever hope for, Ava. We've had a lot of good years." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I just need one last ride, girl. Just one more. I know you've still got it in you." She clicked her tongue confidently, happiness in her eyes. Lorenzo smiled sincerely, for the first time since he'd first seen those deathly vultures.

Hopping on her back, Lorenzo called out to Miguel. "I lead." Miguel nodded back to him. They both roared up into the night sky, then plummeted straight down the center of that horrible volcanic lair. They probably weren't going to make it back again, they both knew that, but it didn't matter. They had to try.

Im thinking of making a short story called "A Day in the Life of My Worst Nightmare". Its about me having to live in a world where everyone is really dogmatic and religious and preachy. Everyone has Bible quotes as their facebook status.

It would be like living in Texas all over again.

Because being anti-religious is so edgy.

But seriously dude, what's the point. Would the plot sum up to "Lots of people talk about God and they're wrong"? There's very little potential for any narrative with that concept.

The point is that I have an extreme hate for preachy people.

So keep it to yourself. Writing a story about how much you hate them is just juvenile.

It wasnt supposed to be a serious story, just a joke, really.

But whatever

So I tried to write a children's story. This would be a first for me.


It was very cold, very dark, very scary and very lonely. Archibald was a spare robot. Smoggy, shady factories towered into the clouds, always making more and more robots, day and night. They did everything in the cities, so nobody ever had to go to work. Each robot got built with their own designation. Some were built to cook, some were built to clean, some were built to dance, or sing, or drive, or teach, but they all got built to do something - except for the spare robots.

Sometimes, something went wrong, and one of the robots would stop working. Because they're very important, they needed to get fixed as fast as they could, but they couldn't always get fixed quickly enough. The cities are always very busy, so everybody needed everything done as soon as possible. So when one of the robots stopped working, instead of waiting around for it to get repaired, they sent out a spare robot, because nobody wanted to wait.

The factories would open up their storage sheds, pull out one of the spare robots in there, and load it up with a designation, so it could go and replace one of the broken ones. It all happened very quickly, and nobody ever noticed anything, because they were all far too busy doing much more important things. All the robots and all the factories became almost invisible, just little things in the background that people didn't pay attention to.

Archibald had to stand in one of the storage sheds, with the other spare robots, all day and all night long. Because they were spare robots, the factories didn't bother giving them something to do. They were all just stuffed into a little metal storage shed, lined up one by one, with no lights, no room, nothing at all. It was very cold, very dark, very scary and very lonely in there for Archibald.

Then one day, when Archibald was just standing still like he always did, the storage shed opened up, and one of the other spare robots got taken out into the factory. Archibald decided that he didn't want to be scared or lonely anymore, so before the shed closed again, he ran outside, into the light. It was the first time in his whole life that he had been outside of the storage shed, and it all looked very different.

He was inside one of the robot factories. There were lots of big, whirring machines everywhere, with long arms moving pieces from one spot to another, and huge metal disks spinning around and around. Everything was making a lot of noise, and moving very quickly. Archibald was starting to feel a little lost.

The lights were all leading to the one side of the factory, where there was a huge metal door. Archibald felt like following the lights, because of all that time he spent in the dark. So he walked past all the whirring machines and over to the door. He pushed it open, and stepped outside for the first time.

It was morning outside, and Archibald looked up. The black clouds coming out of the factory were blocking out a lot of the sky, but he could still see the sun. Archibald liked the sun. It looked very warm, and bright, and friendly. He felt like walking around in the sunlight for a little while, so he took off down the road.

There were lots of cars roaring up and down the roads as fast as they could, and lots of people swarming around the streets, pushing past each other. Archibald strolled by very calmly, thinking that everybody looked really quite busy. It had been some time since he had left the factory, and he was wondering what he was supposed to do now. All the other spare robots got loaded up with a designation before they left, they already knew what they were supposed to be doing all day long, but Archibald was starting to feel more and more lost in this busy city.

All of the other robots looked like they were doing something, so Archibald thought he should ask one of them for help. There was a little book shop next to him, and he saw another robot standing behind a counter there, so he went inside. Archibald walked up to the counter, and asked the robot there if she knew what he should be doing. She said that she didn't really understand what he meant. Archibald replied that he didn't really understand either. They were both a little confused, but she told him that she knew she was supposed to look after the store, so if he wanted to help her, maybe that would work.

That made sense to Archibald, so he went to the closet in the store to get the broom, and he started sweeping the floors. Then he cleaned all of the shelves, dusted every single one of the books, and cleaned all the windows. Then he mopped the floors, and wiped down the walls, and even polished the doorknobs. Archibald worked very hard for a very long time until there was nothing left to do. Even after he was finished with all that work, he still didn't feel any better. He still didn't know what he was supposed to be doing. The other robot behind the counter told him she was sorry, but she didn't think she could help him anymore. Archibald was starting to feel a little scared again.

The sun was starting to go down, and it was getting dark. Archibald really didn't want to be stuck in the dark again, but he didn't know what to do. There were lampposts on every street corner, and he liked the light from them. Archibald started walking down the street until he found a very quiet road with nobody else around. Then he climbed up to the top of one of the lampposts, and took the little light bulb out of the top.

Archibald held the little light very close to him and started walking down the road again. It was very dark outside now. All of the people had gone home, and the streets were empty. After walking around for a little while, Archibald found a small bridge near some trees. He couldn't think of anything else he should be doing, so he lay down on the ground under the bridge, hugged the light very close to his chest, and shut his eyes tight. Archibald definitely did not like night time. It felt like he was back in the storage shed again. Even though he was out now, it was still cold and dark, and he was still scared and lonely.

All night long he lay there under the bridge, hugging his little light until the sun came up again. It wasn't until he heard the fast cars roaring past and the people rushing past in a hurry that he dared to open his eyes again. Archibald still felt just as bad, but now that it was morning again, he felt safe enough to keep walking around. Before he got up, he decided to leave his light under the bridge, so he could come back when it was night time again.

For now, he walked up another street. There was another huge group of people all walking very quickly in every direction again. Archibald stood still, and decided to watch them. They all looked like they had somewhere to be, and something to do, but he started to wonder if they were just pretending. Were they as lost as he was?

There was a very busy little store on the corner of the street he was standing on. More people seemed to be coming in and out of there than anywhere else, so Archibald walked over to have a look. It was a small bakery, and people were eating and drinking inside. They didn't stay very long though; they were all in a rush. Archibald walked up to one of the robots inside and asked if he could help him. The other robot was just as confused as the one from the book shop, but after another strange conversation, he said Archibald could come back into the kitchen and help them work if he wanted to.

There was a lot to do at the bakery. Archibald carried heavy bags of flour up and down the kitchen. He cut big shapes out of the dough, he put trays and trays of bread in the huge ovens, and he made some coffees for customers. Then he pulled all those trays out of the ovens, and made another giant batch of dough, and kept working very hard for the whole day. All of the other robots seemed very pop flyin' with what they were doing, but Archibald didn't feel any different.

The bakery was closing down for the night. The robot that had let him work there shrugged his shoulders, and told him that he didn't know what they could do. Archibald was starting to get very worried that he'd never find out what he was supposed to be doing. He walked out of the shop, and noticed that it was starting to get dark again. This time, though, he had his little light already set up, so he walked straight there past all the empty streets.

When he got there though, he found more than just a light. There was another robot there, sitting next to his light and shaking. She looked up at him when he came closer. Archibald thought she seemed quite frightened. They sat there staring at each other for some time, before he told her his name. After a small pause, she told him that her name was Mildred. She opened up to him and told him that she was a spare robot. Archibald was very surprised, and told her that he was, too.

They sat and they talked long into the night, about how scared they were and how confused they were. They both trembled as they told each other how lonely they were and how dark and cold everything seemed. After a very long conversation, the sun had come back, and it was morning again.

The two of them stood up, looking into each other's eyes. Mildred asked him to take her hand. Nothing had changed. Neither of them had found a designation yet. They were both still just as scared and confused, and the world was still just as cold and dark. That didn't seem quite so bad anymore though, because even though they were both still very, very afraid, they both knew they could try to find out what to do together.

Starting on a story in which a man takes stereotypically evil actions, but make sense in context. I'm having a little bit of trouble coming up with a good list of stereotypically evil stuff though. So far I've got burning down an orphanage, kicking a puppy, taking candy from a baby, and rearranging a blind person's furniture.

Does anyone have any other ideas?

tying a woman to a railroad track

Stealing candy seems pretty childish in comparison to burning down an orphanage. Like, what kind of evil are you going for here? Sith warlord, or vaudeville dick dastardly?

I don't think I was very clear. The guy isn't actually being evil. He's doing things that are normally thought to be stereotypically evil for reasons that actually make sense.

For example, he's going to kick the puppy to get it out of a burning building.

Ah, okay.

Uh, maybe run over a dog? Kidnap somebody?

As I am sometimes wont to, I was staring at this picture, and decided to write what came to mind.



The stars were falling from the open night sky like so many tears from the heavens. Jose tightened his deep red scarf and straightened the helmet his grandfather had given him all those years ago. It wasn't going to end. Not here. Not like this. Jose stepped away from the edge of the roof, and ran through the heavy, suffocating winds into the forlorn little shack he had tried his best to forget. Throwing the rickety wooden door open, he saw her there in all of her majesty, as beautiful as he remembered.

Time had been kind to her visage. She was as fine a shade of alabaster as she had ever been. Her wings and her tail were as strong and smooth as the first time Jose had laid hand upon her. The lettering on the side had not faded at all. "Therese - I will scour the skies 'till I find where you rest." Jose had never known Therese, save through old photographs and all the stories his grandfather had cared to tell him. It had probably been for the best. Jose had a difficult time caring for people, and they had a difficult time caring for him.

All around, the stars were dropping to the ground, burning up what they struck with their divine melancholy. Struggling against the storm, Jose heaved Therese out onto the roof. Remembering what he had learned as a boy, he ran back to the shed to fetch the hand crank. Turning it against the wind took all his might, but he was fueled by something more. The old girl started to hum, and he knew she was ready. Taking a deep breath, he leapt into the seat and turned the worn brass key that was still lodged firmly there.

In an instant, she took to the skies. She knew it was to be their last dance, and she was making it one to remember. Her long, elegant wings were beating back and forth with the strength of a hundred men, and they soared along with all the beauty of the night. After but a moment, Jose saw the library where he knew Bertrand would still be whittling away the hours. He reigned Therese in, and had her halt near one of the windows. The scene was just as he pictured it. A slowly burning fire, a thousand dusty books on a thousand dusty shelves, an antiquated leather chair, a half empty glass of brandy, and a well polished monocle resting on a sharp, pensive eye.

With unexpected speed, Bertrand was out of his chair. He threw open the tall french window and ran to the balcony. He looked into Jose's eyes, and knew why he was here. Jose leaned over as far as he could, and extended his arms over toward the balcony. Bertrand adjusted his tie, took a few steps back, and threw himself over the edge, toward his friend. His weight was rocking Therese, but Jose had a strong grip on his hands, and pulled him up into the passanger seat with ease.

The sky was shattering at an alarming rate, and the tears were falling more and more rapidly. Therese threw her wings back, and with one powerful push, they were soaring again, as high as they could. None of them knew what was next. None of them could have ever known. For now, all they knew was that they would not be safe here. Together, they flew along, deftly avoiding the stars coming down, and trying to climb as close to the horizon as they dared. If it was going to end, it was going to end on their terms.

Felt like writing something silly.


"Face it, Petre, we're lost."

"Lost? It is impossible to be lost, Terman," Petre replied humorlessly. "There is a 90-mile high chunk of Ecate sticking out of the ground!"

Petre indicated the displaced ridge of a tectonic plate, commonly known as the Ecatian Maw. It was one of many so-called "Helljaws" which had risen from the ground ninety-three years ago. The Ecatian Maw was the only one visible from terrain man could survive on. It served as the guide for everyone on the continent; the black expanse of its volcanic stone could be seen from anywhere.

"Oh great," Terman added dryly. "Now we know where North is. Tell me, is there another Helljaw nearby, one that can lead us to, say, food, maybe?"

"You and food," Petre sputtered.

"It's easy for you to say, not having a stomach!"

Petre glared down at the gaping void where a stomach should be. He really wished his craftsmen had at least put a plate there to cover the gap.

"Okay, so I tend to your little biological desires," Petra said. He waved a hand-carved obsidian finger at the horizon. Petre was a Golem, built by some of the best. He never had to resort to "chunking", like the other Golems. Silly things walked around with random bits of stone stuck here and there, replacing worn out limbs and joints.

"Topography indicates fertility, definitely alluvial deposits from the Great Waves," Petre noted, accessing the encyclopedic knowledge of terrain all Golems enjoyed. "Rock content is low, there should definitely be an edible plant somewhere in the area."

"Well that's great, then," Terman said. "You find it, and I'll wait here to conserve my strength."

Petre began to wish he had an uneven number of fingers, so as to make an obscene gesture at Terman. He contented himself with a disdained twist of his facial features. There was a silent scraping noise as obsidian plates slid into place to form an expression. Petre plodded off, wearing his literal stony mask of hate.

"Plant, plant, plant, all our problems would be solved if we had an endless supply of plants. I am going to capture a Prigga when we get home, and then we'll be set for life!"

Petre's ankle was forcibly removed from the ground, and the rest of his body followed in a pendulum motion. His black joints creaked as they swung.

"Will you now?"

Petre once again shifted his expression, this time forming a mask of guilty surprise.

"Hello, Miss Prigga," Petre mumbled. He could easily have covered up his guilt, but Prigga's never liked being lied to. "I was exaggerating, of course, due to recent tribulations regarding my companion and his desire to consume plants."

He pressed four obsidian fingers against his chest in a mock gesture of nobility. "I assure you, ma'am, I would only disrespect a Prigga in jest."

Prigga were not the playful guardians of the forest people expected them to be. They were playful under the right circumstances, yes, but those circumstances usually involved virgins and a great deal of wine, neither of which Petre had. Unless Terman had been lying about his night in Savacle this whole time, which would not be unbelievable.

Petre twisted his ankle experimentally. The Prigga had subverted the usual mines of restraint, vines, and decided to make a tree grow right around his ankle. There wouldn't be an escape from this until he appeased the guardian. The Prigga herself looked none too pleased with Petre's explanation.

"Forgive me, fair guardian, but I have little to offer," Petre said pleadingly. Prigga had no concept of sympathy, but they likewise had no interest in people they could not extort or rob. The forest guardians had become very foul-tempered since the Helljaws had appeared and used the world's forests as chew toys. "I travel with a man who eats all our food and spends all our coin, and even now he hungers for more."

"He sounds unpleasant." The Prigga leaned in with a perhaps-conversational interest. It was hard to read body language upside down. "Not to mention abusive. Perhaps I'll eat him."

"I would have no objection, noble shepherd," Petre said with complete honesty. "Even if I did, I am in no position to object."

"You are either very smart or very sycophantic, Golem," The Prigga said. "Both of which are common traits in your kind."

"Ces anda Petre," Petre replied in Decidian. Decidian was an old language; the country of origin had been wiped out by a Helljaw. The few grey-skinned immigrants who lived in Erin did their best to continue the culture and language, and they were very successful. Speaking Decidian was regarded as a mark of high culture in Erin. "Ya manda buran."

The Prigga waited silently. Prigga were proud beings; if they were being outsmarted, they would never let it be shown, and Petre knew of no Prigga to ever learn Decidian.

"I don't care what your name is or how smart you are," the Prigga replied suddenly. Petre's stone lips drew tight together. "But now I know you're Proud. I can't stand Pride."

"Benedo!"

"How dare you even-"

And at that moment the Prigga's head saw fit to erupt. Petre ignored the seemingly random explosion and set to work cracking the branch gripping his foot.

"I believe a 'thank you' might be called for here," Terman said.

"It's your fault in the first place," Petre said. He gestured coldly with a free hand. "We'll call it square."

Terman shouldered the handheld cannon he had used to remove the Prigga's head and walked over to what was left of it. He grabbed the splintered stump and stared down the neck.

"I agree," Terman said. "You did find me food, after all."

Terman ripped off the dead Prigga's arm and peeled away the bark-textured rind. He took a bite of the pale, juicy flesh beneath and savored the citrus taste.

"The Prigga should really consider manifesting as plants that aren't edible," Terman said between mouthfuls. "It would save so many of their lives."

"It'll be back, Terman," Petre said cautiously. "Eat your limb on the go."

The branch finally snapped, and Petre fell the short distance to the ground, landing with an earthy thud. He righted himself onto his gangly obsidian limbs and led Terman away from the Prigga corpse. The duo headed North, towards the ever-present Maw.

O.o