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Go to the bottom of this page Some of my stuff
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02-19-2006 11:04 PMEdger is offline Send an Email to Edger Search for Posts by Edger Post Reply with Quote Edit/Delete Post       Go to the top of this page

Some of it is older.

This next first piece(next post) is from July 2005. I had a plan for it, but I forgot what it was now. And forgot it existed until Krash asked me for stories.

__________________
Quote by Jack Crawford:
What the fuck? Ed looks less like a nerd than I do. What bullshit is that?

02-19-2006 11:05 PMEdger is offline Send an Email to Edger Search for Posts by Edger Post Reply with Quote Edit/Delete Post       Go to the top of this page

He turned the corner into an alley, stopping short. Rick came up behind him, knocking into Mason.

“Jesus Christ man! What the hell are you doing? We can’t stop.” Rick’s voice was shaky. He’d never done a job before, and the sirens in the background gave him cause for fear.

“I don’t know, I don’t know! This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. How the hell did the old man know?” It was supposed to be a simple job, a basic in and out, but everything had gone wrong. “God damn Murphy,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Let’s just keep going.” The sirens were getting closer. They had to find a place to hideout for a couple minutes. Mason gestured forward and they ran on down the alley. Unlike Rick, he wasn’t too focused on the sirens. What had happened in the store stayed at the front of his mind.

He was a professional thief. A professional low-profile thief. He’d scour every store in a city looking for something of value that was priced way below its worth. Last week he’d received a tip on an item, which was far from unusual. He checked it out, looked over the store, and found it to be a perfect job. All he had to do was go in and grab the item while Rick distracted the owner. There was no security, and they’d cut the phone line beforehand.

Somehow the old man had spotted him. Rick, the twerp, freaked and pulled out a gun. Thanks to him, everyone in the neighborhood heard gunfire and called the cops.

“This so isn’t worth it.” He looked down into his hand. The sword had no gilding, no scabbard, no gems set in the pommel. It didn’t even have a damned hilt. By the looks of the thing, it was fairly new, meaning there was no way it was made by some ancient sword smith.

He should’ve been paying attention to the sirens. Several police cars pulled up in front of him and his mentally incapable partner. Behind him he heard more cars blocking off the other end of the alley.

The doors opened and the boys in blue leapt out. It was a standard scene. The police were behind their doors, windows down, and guns aimed.

“Drop your weapon and interlace your fingers behind your heads. Now!” One of them screamed at him. He nodded, and started to bend over slowly. The last thing he wanted to do was damage the item, even if he didn’t get to keep it.

“Open fire!”

“Holy shit! I’m putting it down!”

He saw Rick from the corner of his eye, aiming his gun at the cops. There was no time to even think of a single obscenity before he felt the bullets entering him. He was stunned frozen, watching as blood spurted from some of Rick’s wounds and ooze from the others. He was obviously dead after the first twenty shots of lead, so why did they keep shooting?

Everything had gone quite silent for him. The gunshots and shouts existed somewhere else, in some other universe. He looked down, staring at his blood-covered chest. It was riddled with holes and fatal wounds, yet he still stood. Through the holes in his shirt he could see the holes seal themselves up.

“What the fuck?”

The gunfire had stopped and reality crashed back into him.

“What the hell is going on?”

“He should be dead.”

“Put down your weapon!”

“How’s he still standing?”

“He doesn’t have a single wound!”

“Put down your weapon, now!”

Mason just stared at them. Some were as stunned as him. Others were like the jackass trying to get him to drop his weapon.

“Yeah, like I’m going to listen to you assholes! You just fucking shot me and killed my partner!” Surprisingly, that shut them up.

Oh, God, I need to think. I need to think. What the hell is going on here? I should be fucking dead.

He patted himself with his free hand to make sure he wasn’t.

Jesus Christ I’m fucking alive. And surrounded.

He didn’t see himself having many options other than to go in peacefully, like he’d planned before Rick was a moron, again. Once more, he started to the ground to put down the weapon.

Before he knew what was happening there were cops all over him. While being tackled, someone wrenched the sword from his hand. Without a hilt there was nothing to stop his hand from sliding up to the blade and slicing his palm. Yet that was the least of his worries. He was quite certain that his arm had been broken while the pulled it behind his back, and his face was being pressed into the concrete by someone’s knee on the back of his neck.



“On the count of Grand Theft Larceny, we find the defendant guilty.” No surprise there. “On the count of Accomplice to Murder, we find the defendant guilty.” Shit!

This had all gone to hell. He really hadn’t expected to get caught on the second charge. His stupid partner had done that. It seemed like the court just wanted to punish someone who wasn’t dead yet. This was wonderful.

The guards grabbed his arms and started escorting him back to his cell. He’d missed what the judge had said. Something about sentencing, he thought. He was still busy thinking about the events that had happened that day. It was over a month ago and he still had no idea how it happened. He didn’t wear a single scar from any of the vanished wounds.

Come to think of it, he had no scars. He used to have one right above his eye, but it was gone now. And his left pinky was no longer crooked at the last knuckle where his brother had accidentally slammed a door on it when they were kids.

He looked over his entire body when he was back in his cell.

__________________
Quote by Jack Crawford:
What the fuck? Ed looks less like a nerd than I do. What bullshit is that?

02-19-2006 11:11 PMKrash is offline Send an Email to Krash Search for Posts by Krash Post Reply with Quote Edit/Delete Post       Go to the top of this page

yeyz magic sword

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02-19-2006 11:15 PMEdger is offline Send an Email to Edger Search for Posts by Edger Post Reply with Quote Edit/Delete Post       Go to the top of this page

(This is the start of a story of bound and determined to write and complete someday. The basis is that Holiday Figureheads are real, although not necessarily like we'd imagine. Oh, and they fight eachother. From Jan 2004)

It's was that time of the year again. The snow is coming down softly, coating the land in frozen icing. Everyone was cheery and celebrating. During these holidays there is truly peace on Earth, and good will towards men. There's one person who goes against it all. His name is Santa Claus, and he despises Christmas.
He's not your average Santa, the one made popular buy soft drinks and marketing. His thin, old, and cranky. Sure, he's got a beard, but it's long and wispy, and not in a happy way. The media did get one thing right, his outfit. It's red with white trims, when it's clean, which is never. It's got holes and dirt all over it. He doesn't care, though. When one has to spend all year working his ass off in the freezing climate of the North Pole, save for one night when he works harder than ever, they don't need to care. He had a job to do, albeit against his will. In fact, he wasn't the first Santa, just the worst.
Now, he had to get ready again, but this year was different. He'd doubled his efforts this year, so he'd have plenty of time to carry out his newest plan. So a few of his Elves died from exhaustion, that's the price you pay for results.
It was now two weeks until the big night, which gave him two weeks to get his job done. Because of his office, all other work had to be finished before he could have any free time, hence the need for the Elf-deaths. He was now free to do whatever he wanted, and his sleigh was equipped to do just that. He loaded his enormous bag into his sleigh, and took off. It took a moment, because his reindeer weren't accustomed to leaving without their sing-song rolecall. So, when they didn't move, he whipped them. Amazingly, they went faster than on the Eve.

__________________
Quote by Jack Crawford:
What the fuck? Ed looks less like a nerd than I do. What bullshit is that?

02-19-2006 11:30 PMEdger is offline Send an Email to Edger Search for Posts by Edger Post Reply with Quote Edit/Delete Post       Go to the top of this page

(This piece is just a study of the universe for one of my novels, and won't actually appear in it. It was done late June 2004, which shows how much I'm slacking on them novels. One thing of note that sticks out after a glance is the measurement of distances. This universe has different measurements(though some have the same names). 1 mile in the story is actually 768 feet. Oh, and going from MSWord to forum pwns my formatting *cries*)

Thoren woke up with the sun, much earlier than his usual time. Today he had to wash. His mother had scolded him, saying she wouldn’t let him stay inside unless he cleaned today. Even if that wasn’t true, he didn’t like being on her bad side.
There was some trouble for him, though. He knew for a fact that Ros would be at the waterfall today, too. She was there everyday, even if she wasn’t dirty. It was a girl thing, he supposed. Personally, he loved the feel of the dirt on him. Part of him guessed all Aelar felt the same way.
The last time he was there, he’d been so nervous that he waited for her to leave until he washed. She seemed to have spent extra time there just to tease him. He didn’t want to go through all that again today.
He dressed quickly, removing his nightshirt and getting out his simple white robe that fit over his head. It was a lot like his nightshirt, only reaching to his ankles rather than his knees. After he gathered his outfit to wear after he was clean, some cotton slacks dyed green and a clay red shirt, he sneaked quietly out of his room. His mother and father weren’t awake yet, and if quiet and quick enough, he would be back before they were. That would surprise his mother a great deal. She’d seen him filthy as he was now just last night, and he could sneak back into his bed clean as polished silver. It would be a miracle it her eyes.
Halfway down the hall, the wooden floor squeaked. He froze, ears alert for the slightest sound. He almost took another step before suddenly realizing he’d forgot his towel. He rushed back into his room, forgetting about his stealth. He was halfway down the hall again before remembering he meant to be quiet.
“Oh, forget it.” He walked normally, only being quiet when shutting the door. After that, he rushed down to the waterfall. His house was fairly close to the path, so he only had to go through a little of his backyard and then a few trees. It was a simple dirt path that had never actually been put in place, but had become worn for so many years of use. Now, people kept it clean as a courtesy, removing large rocks and twigs from it so no one would step on it.
After a mile, he came upon a split in the road. Without thought, he headed down the leftmost path of the three. He’d never been down to the other two. The one he went down took him to the waterfall in only a few minutes, almost a direct path.
When he arrived, he was surprised to see anyone else there. There were a few older boys, probably here for the same reason as him, but several younger kids as well. It took him a moment to realize a few of them were girls; they were still young with short hair. Normally they’d be wearing some sort of dress or ribbon, but they were down here to wash and they wouldn’t put that on until afterwards. He had a feeling all the younger ones would do more playing than cleaning. After all, he used to do the same thing himself.
He quickly removed his robe and went into the fall, stepping carefully on the mossy rocks. The water was still cold, rather than a nice cool, but no one else was using the fall at moment. Instead of standing directly under the stream to start with, he stepped past it. Behind it was a small cave, which actually curved around to another opening not more than a few feet a way. Because of the small bit of wall between the openings, it was impossible to see the other using the fall.
Inside, he grabbed some of the thick green moss off of the rocks, and then stepped back into the stream. As the water fell all over him, he scrubbed with the moss. The outer part of it was soft and pliable, but snapped back into place if you pulled on it. Unlike most mosses, it wasn’t fine and soft, but coarse, with thick, curled growth. It worked great for cleaning.
Once finished, he placed it back in spot he’d pulled it from. It stuck on the rock easily, but he knew it wouldn’t grow anymore. Instead, it would die and turn into food for the rest of the moss. His father said the moss had grown there since he was a kid, and since his grandfather was, and so on, ever since they discovered the falls. What hadn’t always been there were the small red flowers with the bright yellow centers. Thoren pulled off one of the thin, curled petals, tearing it in half. He dropped half of it, then torn the remaining piece again. He put one piece in the palm of each hand, and rubbed it through his hair. It gave off a nice scent, which he really liked, but was so strong that he had to use just a little. Some of the younger kids didn’t seem to realize they used too much and it made them stink. A few adults didn’t seem to realize it either, he decided, remembering Priskle Buss, who lived a few houses away and hadn’t had a lady in years. He laughed as he grabbed his piece of moss again and rubbed the smell from his hands for several minutes. When he was finished, he hopped out of the water, quickly drying and dressing himself before leaving.
When he reached the split in the path again, the bottom of his feet were already covered in dirt, which had stuck to his partially wet feet better than usual. Just as he was noticing this, he bumped into someone.
He looked up quick to see who it was, and his eyes widened. It was Ros. He’d left the fall just in time. She would have been there in minutes. If he’d only woken up a few minutes earlier, he wouldn’t have run into her all.
Rather than say hello, she simply smiled at him. His face turned a deep red, and she giggled slightly. He felt like something was crawling in his stomach. Thankfully, she didn’t hang around. With a small wave, she left, giggling still. Fast as he could, he ran back home.

His attempts to be quiet seemed to have proved useless. His mother and father were already up and sitting at the kitchen table. It appeared his mother had made flourcakes and heated up some syrup to pour on top of them.
Before he could say anything, to explain or make an excuse, his father spoke.
“Up a little early today, aren’t you?” Amazingly, he didn’t sound angry. He actually sounded a little amused.
“Yeah, but I… had to wash,” he blushed, “and—“
“Say no more. We understand.” His mother nodded, her hair a darker red than his shirt falling in front of her face. She had a smile on her face, too. Thoren didn’t understand, even if both his parents did.
“You don’t have to talk about it, but I think I have a solution. Tomorrow, or whenever the next time you decide to bathe—“
“Tomorrow,” he mother interrupted, quite firmly with only a touch of kidding.
“Yes, tomorrow then. Tomorrow you will go down the middle path instead. It will take you to another fall, though it’s about twice as far away. It’s worth it though.” His father winked.
“Why is that?” Thoren asked, still a little confused.
“No girls.” His father half whispered it, but his mother was obviously meant to hear. She reached over the table and poked him.
“Not as worth the walk to the women’s fall. No smelly men uselessly trying to clean themselves.”
“Oh, yes. I agree, the women’s fall is much better. I think I shall join you tomorrow, and bring my paint set.” He gave a wry smile, and Thoren finally understood something. His father was a strange man.

__________________
Quote by Jack Crawford:
What the fuck? Ed looks less like a nerd than I do. What bullshit is that?

02-19-2006 11:41 PMD is offline Send an Email to D Search for Posts by D Post Reply with Quote Edit/Delete Post       Go to the top of this page

Fix the formatting on that last one. My eyes go crazy when I try to read it.

and of course,

Quote:
Originally posted by Alces
yeyz magic sword


__________________
"Final Fantasy 6 had an exceptional story
that made you think about some rather abstract concepts like:
Romantic relationships."

02-19-2006 11:48 PMEdger is offline Send an Email to Edger Search for Posts by Edger Post Reply with Quote Edit/Delete Post       Go to the top of this page

My eyes go crazy, too. Let's see if this works:

__________________
Quote by Jack Crawford:
What the fuck? Ed looks less like a nerd than I do. What bullshit is that?

02-20-2006 12:01 AMD is offline Send an Email to D Search for Posts by D Post Reply with Quote Edit/Delete Post       Go to the top of this page

..That was...err...odd. Not the kind of odd that makes me want to grab a shovel for protection, but just odd.

On a different note, it makes me sad only one person has downloaded my collection of writings.

Crying

__________________
"Final Fantasy 6 had an exceptional story
that made you think about some rather abstract concepts like:
Romantic relationships."

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