The first conference of the weekend has started, in case anyone is interested.~
Group Focus: The Back Scratching Initiative
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! I wasn't sure what to do. Her body floated on the top of the bathwater. I put my fingers to her neck. No pulse. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. This was not what I had intended at all!
! ***
! She got in the shower like she usually did on the first Saturday of October. Before she stepped in, I was on my laptop looking at porn when she opened the door to our room with a mischevious grin. I looked up at her contently. She was naked. Her grin widened. I shrugged and returned my attention to Moms Selling Houses.
! "Baby, make me some breakfast," she purred, interrupting what little personal time I had. "You know what I like."
! "Uh-huh," I nodded passively. "Sure."
! "Oh, can't you let go of your dick for one second and do something special for me for once?" she burst into anger. "You're an asshole, you know that, right?"
! "Uh-huh," I nodded passively. "Sure."
! She shrieked then bolted into the bathroom. Once I saw the coast was clear, I let down my poker face and grinned mischievously. Oh, she was in for it now.
! I tabbed over to an article on Breakfast in Bed, something I was sure she would enjoy. But I would do one better. I would give her breakfast in a place she would never even dream. It would be a meal to die for.
! I wiped off my hands and cleaned the screen of my laptop before getting to work. I put on my adventuring tunic and set off toward the grocery store. Along the way, I had random encounters with neighbors, old ladies crossing the street, and slime monsters. Once I arrived at the grocery store, I navigated my way through its narrow aisleways to find the dairy section.
! Perched atop her eggs, guarding them from harm, was a large dragon of a lady. She was the store manager and she had a scaly skin condition and giant horns. And she could breathe fire. I clicked my pen and scribbled something on my memopad before engaging the beast in battle. My pen met her face as I stabbed away. Once I was sure she was slain, I collected her young and proceeded to leave the supermarket before the police came, disposing of the murder weapon in the process.
! Once I arrived home, I realized I had forgot the bacon. Luckily we had a pet guinea pig named Sanderson. Sanderson was a good guinea pig. Her mother gave him to us as an anniversary present. He was good. Especially with salt and grease.
! With the eggs and bacon prepared to be cooked, I glanced at the counter where I found a locked box containing what I hoped was a loaf of bread. It was. I don't know why she locks shit in boxes like this. What am I, five?
! So I put the bread in the toaster before a better idea comes to mind. If I'm going to give her the ultimate experience, I would have to do nothing less than prepare her breakfast right before her very eyes.
! She would receive Breakfast in the shower, per me, the greatest gift a man could give his average looking wife no doubt. I rounded up the toaster and electric skillet and food, and with it all in my possession, I started towards the bathroom. On the way, I dropped the toaster. Gosh, I'm always so clumsy.
! ***
! The smell of burnt guinea pig and BURNT HUMAN FLESH pervaded the air like an unwelcome can of Axe spray. The crackle of bacon gristle and fatal amounts of electricity tickled my ears before they were drowned out by the sirens. I looked down at her remains before a smile rolled across my face. "Told you it would be to die for."I'm never writing again.
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! I wasn’t sure what to do. Life seemed so simple up until this moment. I had encountered several hundred, more than likely, several thousand doors in my lifetime but for some profound reason, one of which I’m still searching for meaning behind, I couldn’t bring myself to open the one in front of me. And so I just stood there, looking at this commonplace barrier and feeling as though I was the first man ever to be halted it his advance by this… obstruction.
! I cast my solemn gaze in other directions, directions not in the door’s direction, in essence, the directions of the surroundings around the door. And then I began describing the scenery to myself, because I felt as though it was pertinent to do so. After all, mere visual cues weren’t enough information for me, I am of the analytical mind.
! What I saw were items that you might find lacking in oomph. There was a pot of greenery beside the door, one that had a multitude of roses within it. I found it symbolic that just a single rose was cast off from the others, separated from the rest of the bouquet, and it alone was wilting. Just as my wretched soul wanted to cry out in agony, I found that that flower too was like a kindred spirit to me. A divine intersection in this short-lived life where our spirits, for that single moment in time, were united and our pain shared.
! Although, upon closer inspection, I noticed that there were other isolated flowers. And that also, there were other ones wilting. And that, as a matter of fact, upon even closer inspection, they were all wilting. I want to say that it’s symbolic of the meaning behind life, that all of it is meaningless. But to be fair, it’s winter time, and it would only make natural sense for them to wilt. Much like death is the natural end for us all.
! I continued to survey my surrounding. I could see a car in the driveway next to the building upon which this door, this obstruction, this gateway to absurdity, presided. You might think that I can’t find reflection on the meaning of life by examining a car. You might be right, because I can’t.
! Though, as I look around further, my eye continues to catch a glimpse of that vehicle. On second thought, I’ll give it a shot. Death. That is the meaning of cars. You drink and then drive and who suffers? Do you die? No. You carry in your wallet or purse forever a picture of those you’ve slain. It’s supposed to be a punishment but I guarantee at least one in this world held it as a trophy. Vehicular manslaughter, what a joke. Just like the cruel joke known as life.
! I returned my gaze to the door because the items in the surrounding invoked too much meaning and held too much of my attention that I did not want to distract from my previous mission. My mission, of course, being to open this door, this one of thousands of doors I’ve opened previously. I remember the first time I opened a door, I believe I may have still been in diapers. My mother had lifted me up to its handle and I placed my little hand on the knob, turning it ever so slightly as I had observed before.
! My mother died that day.
! So you’ll forgive me if I’m not the least bit fond of those wooden monstrosities. You might say that her death was coincidental, that the door had no relevance at all to it. But you’re wrong. Had she not passed through that foul conception of man, she wouldn’t have gone out into the world that day, ripe for slaughter.
! –-
! I knew a man once, who’s job was solely to construct doors. I politely asked him how he could live with himself, day in and day out, constructing a tool that enables people to go to their ends. He seemed confused, and rightfully so perhaps. As I had decided not to wear clothes that day. Clothes only constrain and hide the sin that we all commit daily. I will not be ashamed of who I am or what I’ve done.
! His response was bittersweet. He told me that doors weren’t the only thing he makes and that I should really put some clothes on. I haphazardly refused and then jumped out the window. You might call me a hypocrite because windows are so similar in nature to doors but at least they bear the cross of my religion. The religion of lowercase t’s. It’s such a beautiful letter.
! Back to the present day, though. A door stood in my path. It was the prey and I was the hunter. Like no other day, I should have been ready to pounce. Ready to barrel through and force my way into the dwelling before me. But as I placed my hand on the cold, metal knob I found myself trapped in self-relection. I suppose doors are a gateway to things beyond just death. Today, this door was acting as the gateway into my very soul.
! But luckily, I would not have to suffer this prison any longer. I was offered a swift reprieve when the door had opened on its own. As if inviting me inside and acknowledging my struggle. Yes! Yes! Perhaps life has meaning after all! Perhaps it isn’t just that you work hard and then die. Perhaps there IS meaning! But this celebration was short-lived when another man appeared in the light.
! He surveyed me, not nearly quite as much as I surveyed the pot of flowers on the ground nor the car in the driveway, but I was surveyed none-the-less. And then his mouth, which was chaped, had widened. And the vocal cords began to move. I think that’s what they do when one talks, anyway. And his visage was one not of mirth but of anger. And the last thing I heard that day before falling to the ground in a pool of my own blood was...
! “Get off of my property and stop talking to yourself!”
! Such is life... All that exist within it is betrayal and a bitter end. You think so long and hard about it all and it’s all meaningless, leaving you nothing more than pain. I think I’ll never open a door again.I'm also never writing again.~
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That was a good story, Kenny. I liked the part with the SPOILER ALERT DONT READ IF YOU HAVENT READ PAST CHAPTER FIFTEEN
! door.
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I will be there this evening. Was knocked out and asleep for most of the morning.
Wait.
[hide]
You guys actually went with that door thing mentioned all the way back? Hahahahah![/hide] -
I did my homework!
! “I wasn’t sure what to do.”
! Is what I said…
! On the contrary, I knew exactly what to do. I feigned my ignorance so that I might appear frail. With strength comes accountability, but weakness begets freedom.
! I reflected on all the lessons I had been taught by adults. It brought a smile to my face, almost a chuckle. “Put your best foot forward,” they said. “Make your teachers and parents proud,” they commanded.
! Idiots. Do they not realize that life is a game? Yes, we must play with the cards we are dealt, but only a fool shows their hand during the first round. I have seen far too many peers show their ace, either out of ignorance or arrogance. I vowed to not do the same.
! A small voice in my head asked, “What do you have to gain from all this?” I quickly dismissed it. By hiding my abilities I had everything to gain. Maybe my opponent would lower their guard during a critical moment. Perhaps I could play innocent if I were ever caught bending the rules. There are so many possibilities available when one does not stick their neck out too far.
! As I ignored my doubts, I began to see the results plastered before my eyes: I was losing the game. I drifted further and further from victory. With great fervor, I stuck to my strategy. I believed it was my only hope.
! In the end, I lost the game of Mario Party to the young woman sitting next to me.
! “Yeah, I wasn’t quite sure what to do during the last mini-game,” I said with a laugh.
! We parted ways and I reflected on my loss. I felt empty. Why did I stick to a strategy that led to my defeat? Did I try to lose on purpose? Was there an ulterior motive I was after?
! Well, maybe playing the fool will work out the next time around. -
I won't be attending the evening one seeing as I'm dead tired from writing this, but I'll post it in advance anyway. I'll hear you guys tomorrow.
! I wasn’t sure what to do.
There she sat, clutching her cup of tea with both hands. Shelley’s hair was a different colour now, but she still drank Darjeeling tea. Picking it for her from the cupboard made me realize that despite not enjoying the flavour myself, I still hadn’t thrown any of it away. It was as if it had been waiting there all this time. Except I knew simple lazyness was a more probable cause than fate.
”Your dishwasher sounds as lively as ever. Apparently some things never change, noisy household machines included,” Shelley chuckled. I could tell her actual mood was hidden behind that chirpy tone of voice.
”Yeah. I couldn't bother to change it even if I wanted to.”
”Haha.”
Silence fell in the kitchen after a short moment of laughter. The racket was usually nothing short of annoying, but this time I was grateful for it. Otherwise there wouldn't be anything to camouflage the gap between us. A gap which I wasn't sure about crossing… And yet I found myself unable to reject Shelley's sudden inquiry of coming over. It would've been so easy to make up some old excuse or even outright lie and, knowing Shelley, she would’ve probably given up. The end. But no matter how much I prefer being left alone, I knew it had to be just as hard for Shelley to gather up the courage to ask. I couldn't do that to her. Even despite the things that had happened.
”So… how's it going with Marcus?” I asked while turning to empty a cabinet one dish at a time. I couldn't see Shelley, but I knew this topic would make her feel more relaxed. In fact, I was sure she had straightened her posture and let out a sigh of relief.
”Oh, uh, we're great! Yeah, um, we have a puppy now. A golden retriever called Ferdinand.”
”Ah, so you finally got to name a pet in the fashion of European royalty!”
”Yup. Marcus wanted to name him Franz, but I won the coin toss.”
”I guess that’s one way of deciding things.”
”The loser doesn’t get to complain, at least.”
”True.”
”Plus, I win most of the time.”
”It’s a fifty fifty chance. Not much to brag about there.”
”Sure feels good to have Marcus clean up after the dog at 6AM, though.”
”I can imagine.”
Giving up my search for a moment, I turned around again and leaned on the kitchen counter. The atmosphere changed from casual to serious. Shelley took a sip of tea and looked at me dead in the eye.
”Mariana-”
”Shelley-”
Surprised by the simultaneity, we burst into nervous laughter. Shelley gestured for me to go first with that flamboyant hand motion of hers. Just like I anticipated her to. Guess you can't stop knowing someone even if you wanted to.
”I’m going to be honest with you. Why are you here?”
”Blunt.”
”Old habits die hard.”
”Sure do.”
Shelley shrugged. I couldn’t decide if I was irritated by it or not. A slight urge to snap to her about it came over me, but I resisted. Shelley was gnawing her lip. She didn’t do that unless she was really nervous. Pressuring her in that state would’ve been cruel. I preferred to think that some level of respect should be maintained.
”Friendlord told me to.”
I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did it. Please forgive me. I’m a rubber duck. Either one one of those options wouldn’t have surprised me as much as what Shelley actually said. Friendlord? Really? After all this time?
”Are you joking? Cus if you are-”
”No. I’m not. I wouldn’t.”
No matter what I used to think of her during those grim times, I believed her. Friendlord was sacred. It was just a silly friendship deity we came up with in junior high, but no other inside joke had persisted throughout our fifteen years of comradery. Eternal shall he be, Friendlord The Friendly, we used to chant. Right up until the bitter end. Hearing about it after three years was both nostalgic and absurd.
”Did he appear to you in a dream or something? Like, ’Quick, you must make up with Mariana!’ Or is this your roundabout way of apologizing?”
”Would you laught at me if I told you it’s a mix of both?”
I let out a deep sigh and ruffled my hair. ”Apparently not.”
”For what it’s worth, yeah, I’m sorry. As sorry as I can be. You deserved to hear that, even if it is too late. That, and…” Shelley had tears in her eyes. She didn’t cry, but the slight crack in her voice was enough to make my chest burn. ”I just couldn’t let Friendlord down. It’s stupid to bring him up like this, I know, but it’s true. It really felt like betraying his trust. And never gaining back yours is even worse.”
I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to find that bloody thing. I returned to the cabinet and threw stuff out, not bothering to place them neatly on the counter. They formed a weirdly harmonious cacophony with the dishwashing machine as they hit the floor.
”W-what are you doing?”
”Oh for fuck’s sake, where is it?” I muttered to myself. If it wasn’t here, it had to be on the top shelf. I pulled myself up and stood. I heard the screech of a chair being suddenly pushed back.
”Mariana?”
”There you are!”
I got down as fast as I had gotten up and slammed a bowl on the table so hard it made Shelley jump. It was ceramic and shaped like a star, colours resembling that of what a drunken unicorn might throw up. It was quite frankly the ugliest piece of table-ware I had ever seen. But amidst those swirls of pink, turquoise and bright yellow where glittery letters spelling out HOLY GRAILE OF M + S. I wouldn’t stop teasing Shelley about the typo for ages.
”You… You still have that?”
”That would seem to be the case. I guess Friendlord told me to do some things, too.”
Shelley covered her mouth. She hated it when other people saw her lips quivering. She looked at me in anticipation.
”It’s not too late.” -
I apologize but I think I might be late to the evening conference. I'm going to try and make it back as soon as possible but in case I'm not there, can one of the other organizers please take over for me until I arrive? If not then I'll probably just start the conference later and then put the 3 hour count on from whatever time I'm back.
Sorry for the inconvenience everyone.
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I'm there so I'll try organizing.
! I wasn't sure what to do. I had so many story ideas but none of them seemed viable or pleasant
! enough to share but they were all too good and visceral to just throw away either. The biggest part
! about being a writer is putting yourself into a piece that's personal but that's only forgivable in the long
! run, when strangers read your work and look back on your life with an outsider's view, hopefully non
! judgemental of how you're just a product of the times. In the present and among your friends is
! different, especially if they happen to know intimate or peripheral details surrounding your life. You
! can have the purest intent of trying to write a good story with no intended message or underlying
! intentions and not only will you likely be thought of using something as an outlet but it will also likely
! be true on some level. Write what you know after all.
! Things get even more complicated when your morality shines through, even if there is no
! morality you think that you're preaching. Framing, characterization and repeated themes my friends.
! What is good and what is bad, or rather what is acceptable under any (or limited) circumstances shines
! through. Main characters who are nazis or pedophiles or rapists are out of the question since you will
! never want to sympathize with them and do not want others to do so. Or maybe you'll make them your
! whipping boy and make them the butt monkey or inherent evil of your universe to parade just how
! much you hate this certain type of person. At best the person who is anti-moral will be suggested that
! they will be pitied. And then there's the less hardline stuff, like sex, drugs, violence, religion, personal
! life, public life, acceptance and distancing, being alone and having friends, even what is crossing the
! line beyond the point of no return. Those will always be different and always a product of the times,
! even if you never live long enough to see how that is. In the end even the most objective author can
! only try so hard not to be biased, because we have power in the page and the written word and we
! naturally write what we would want to see or what we see as realistic or ideal with that wielded power.
! I still have no idea what to write. Some subjects are so complicated and close you'll wonder
! how long it will be before you can even hope to tackle it. -
Here's my short story.
[hide]
I wasn't sure what to do. My son is 8 years old and he has already succumbed to the convoluted habits of his father. From the distributing drawings and shocking phrases that covers his entire chalkboard, to his catastrophic attempts at scraping apart and building devices from wreckage left behind in factories that were long destroyed. I can't really tell if he enjoys it, or has a stubborn commitment to his hobby.He always loved building things, and I remembered the days when he use to smile and be happy to share or show off his little devices. Be it a toy car that operated on a television remote control, or model rocket that does did not always fly. Now he seemed upset, or unhappy over the fact that his inventions didn't do any good. Me sitting in a wheelchair is most likely proof of this. It was all just an accident that happened 2 years ago, and now it seems he cannot forgive himself despite how much I try to encourage him to continue enjoying what he does.
Now I can't even get more than a smile from him. He's always in his basement lab gazing upon his white board, mumbling about a mix of phrases that don't make any sense. My son has lost his mind, and if his newest inventions say anything, I quite possibly think he's a danger to society itself. Despite it all, I can't take this gift away from him. As cursed it may be. If anything, all I want is for my son to know my infliction that bounds me to this chair was not entirely his fault and also for him to enjoy inventing as much as he used to.
[/hide] -
Second day of conferences.
Morning one starting right now.
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Hey all, just wanted to say I really enjoyed last night despite how weird it sometimes got.
That said I'm afraid I won't be able to attend any of today's. :( I need to get caught up on my work.
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Last conference of the weekend in 10 minutes.
Be there or be square.
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Let's say that I wanted to participate in this, but at the same time, I want to still remain Internet anonymous, am I still able to participate? I see you're using skype, so does it have to be face to face, or can it just be voice?
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It's all voice. Group voice chats are free anyway.
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It's all voice. Group voice chats are free anyway.
Baller. I'll have to jump into the next one then.
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We even have some shy members that don't even talk, just type.
I wish we did faces.~
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Instead of logically hosting the next conference on Saturday which seems to be the day of greatest attendance, the next conference will be on FRIDAY. Muhahahahaha! (Nah, seriously.~)
The next conference will be on June 21st at the following times:
9:00 - 12:00 AM + Central Time
7:00 - 10:00 PM + Central Time–-
The writing exercise this time will be:
Exercise #2: Write a 1-2 page short story or excerpt with a theme of empathy vs apathy.
The focal topic of the next conference will be:
Topic #2: The importance of themes in stories.
Either be there or...
Bingo Announcer: "B2... B2..."
My bad, what I'm implying by that is OR BE SQUARE.
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I should be good for the evening one provided I get off work at 4:30ish.
My mid-year resolution is to actually use my mic, but no promises…
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Sigh. I won't probably have internet but I'm so doing the prompt…
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@Uncle:
The writing exercise this time will be:
Exercise #2: Write a 1-2 page short story or excerpt with a theme of empathy vs apathy.
The focal topic of the next conference will be:
Topic #2: The importance of themes in stories.
Annnd, discussion of Yukino, right?
I'll probably be able to attend, but as my last exam is on the day before, amongst other things, I may not be able to do the reading and writing.
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Right, we'll discuss Yukino to some extent. Most likely, we'll all give our opinions on the first chapter and how the author (Cuddles) can improve.
You know, good old fashioned peer reviewing.~
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Yukino's up, huh? Good, that should be an interesting discussion. I'll try to make it there, but now that I'm working 8 hours a day and keep spending the remaining few hours trying not to be a huge emotional blob crying all the time I'm not sure if I can manage the prompt.
… then again, did anyone seriously expect that I would.
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That sounds depressing. If you want to talk about it, dude… I've gone through pretty much the same situation in the past and at around your age as well.
But fair forewarning, I practically know nothing of the situation.
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I'm having a Midsummer celebration on Friday so I won't make it(surprise surprise!).
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I would like to join…running into blocks everywhere.
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[hide]
Empathy comes from understanding or a relation to whatever the object is. One can hate aperson and still manage to find some sympathy or something in common with them. Apathy now, that's
a whole 'nother story.
Mr. Cinist and I were having kind of a feud before he slipped and broke his ass on the floor. It
was a glorious BOOM when that lard made the whole second floor tilt to the west, especially since the
Poor Teacher's Catering Service brought their food on these rollers and all the Macoroni and Cheese
and Jalapeno Tacos just rained out of the windows onto the freshman like some bizarre hazing ritual.
Mr. Cinist was a jerk who always gave out extra homework assignments on kid's birthdays just
to make a point that you shouldn't stop working even when you're on 'vacation' and his Saturday
Detention classes (many of which he sent me to) were spent cramming as much math, entomology,
history and whatever random subject he could Play Doh squeeze into our skulls for three full hours. It
sucked.
That week we had a substitute. Her name was Mrs. Gonkytrunk. D Cup. Because that's the most
important part of an authority figure you have to be stuck with on a day-to-day basis. The first week
was no homework at all. Then the second week, then the third. At that point two plus two was starting
to evade my grasp but my sick Pokemon Card skills were starting to go through the roof and the retro
kid got everyone into Pogs again. When some of the poorer kids (like me) couldn't afford any of the
packs on eBay we just cut out holes in our flimsy textbooks and used those. They made awfully good
slammers.
This is everyone's tenth year repeating the first grade and Mrs. Gonkytrunk is still around
because…. well Mr. Cinist transferred to another district and brought their overall grade point average
two fold. 6.0s are the new fad and all the other schools are trying to play catchup.
And that's my story the end.
[/hide] -
! Apathy entered the living room having just returned from his work for the day. As a therapist he sees many patients and endures many stories from many people whom he considers pessimistic and not at all valuable as functioning human beings. As far as he cares, they could all crawl under a rock or into a ditch somewhere and contribute significantly more to life by getting out of the way.
! “Hey, I’m home. Not like anyone cares…”
! Sitting on the couch and watching a news report about a cat being rescued from a tree is Empathy, the woman whom Apathy is married to. As a striking contrast to Apathy’s disdain for pretty much anything, Empathy cares a little too much. As is apparent by her extra generous amount of tears in the face of the news story.
! “Why are you crying so much?”
! “Be-... Because...! It’s so... It’s so... beautiful that they saved the little kitty from the tree...! Wahhhhh!”
! Apathy looks at the t.v. with a look of indifference. The fireman pulls the cat down from the tree branch and as he does, the cat starts clawing his face viciously.
! “Looks like a wonderful use of taxpayer money.”
! Empathy finishes wiping away her tears using the last tissue in a box that she promptly throws on top of a pile of other empty tissue boxes and turns her attention to Apathy. Her eyes widened with new love for her husband and her demeanor changed to almost pleading dedication in his direction. As if every fiber of her being desired his acceptance and his only.
! “Dear, did you enjoy work today? Did you help many people like I know you must always do?”
! “I couldn’t help those people if I shot them, dressed up in suits that looked like them, lived out their lives until old age and subsequent death and completely re-invented how everyone perceived them.”
! “O-... Oh... Well, as long as you tried, honey... I know you always do your best!”
! “Yeah, this time I made an effort to sleep for 5 hours straight instead of 4. It was really difficult.”
! Empathy walks towards the dining room in order to present her husband with the grand feast she prepared for him that evening. She always goes above and beyond, making sure not to skimp on the extravagance.
! The table this time being an array of dishes: turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, peas, stuffing, cranberry, dinner rolls and chocolate cake. All of which are arranged with the most delicate of care on their extra long table. Apathy takes it all in without a change in expression.
! “Oh joy... More food I don’t care about.”
! “I worked tirelessly to place all of the eating utensils in the correct spots, folded the napkins, cooked everything to the correct degrees and for the correct amount of time using seven clocks for reference, meticulously searched out the healthiest foods from farmer’s markets hundreds of miles from here, washed the table twice and shined...”
! “Okay... Okay... Sheesh. You don’t see me telling you about my evening...”
! “Bu-... But... I started this dinner 3 months ago!”
! “Yeah sure, whatever...”
! “I... I guess I could have put in a little more effort...”
! They both sit down at the table. Empathy sits in her chair with an air of elegance and refined manners while Apathy slouches with his same expression of disdain. They sit quietly and don’t eat for five minutes. Empathy staring diligently at Apathy, thinking of various ways to please him. Apathy staring diligently at the food, thinking of the various reasons he doesn’t want to eat.
! “Um... I don’t want to intrude or anything... and you’re free to not do anything! But... Could you please, maybe... try something...? I worked really hard and... I’d really appreciate it if you tried something...”
! Apathy takes a moment to decide before arbitrarily eating a spoonful of mashed potatoes.
! “Yep. It’s food.”
! Empathy’s face lights up in response. After the meal is finished, they both head to the bedroom together. Once they lay down, Apathy faces away from Empathy and she faces his back.
! “So... Did you enjoy your day, honey...?”
! He takes a moment to respond.
! “Eh...”
! Empathy fidgets a bit under the covers. Apathy looks at the wall with continued indifference. He kinda feels bad about the way he’s been treating his wife but he also finds it really hard to care about anything.
! “Um... Apathy...?”
! “Hmm?”
! “Would you mind if I... Would you mind if I cuddled with you...?”
! “...... Sure, I don’t care.”
! “Yay!”
! Apathy turns around and faces Empathy and they embrace each other in a cuddle. Empathy obviously very happy and Apathy still as straight-faced. Though he would never admit it, the one thing Apathy is definitely indifferent to and doesn’t mind, is fulfilling his wife’s requests. -
It's only 500 words, hardly '1-2 pages', but I can't write (at all) so . . .
! David tried his best to look like he was listening. He really did. He even tried to make it look like he was interested. But try as he might, his eyes flicked over to look at all that had changed. There was James (his hair used to be so much longer) and Nabeel and Ahmed (or was it Ahmed and Nabeel? He couldn’t tell them apart any more) and ‘fat’ Rihanna (she’s lost a lot of weight) …
! He refocused himself on Peter’s little story about how he managed to outwit his manager and win some personal victory or other. It should have been interesting; after all, why bother to get everyone together again if you didn’t care? David had wondered about that a lot today. It had started with just a few old school friends deciding to get together for an evening, have a chat, and reminisce. Somehow they’d swollen to nearly a hundred old classmates – friends or otherwise. But David noticed something odd – he didn’t care. Seven years ago, he’d thought these people to be the best people he’d ever know. He thought they’d never truly drift apart, that they’d always be in touch, like they’d get together like this and the chins would start wagging and everything would be the same. He’d never thought he would drift so far away, nor that he would change so much. Had Peter always talked that much? Had Fi always been so whiny?
Maybe his heretofore undiscovered apathy should have bothered him more. But he didn’t really mind it. For now, he could sip his drink, fake an interested ear and let it niggle away in the back of his mind.
! ***
! Dominik leaned back in his chair. The night was getting old and most everyone had gone off already, on their own or in groups. Only their little core remained. It was nice, Dom reflected, to have a chance to just be with these people again. It was amazing how much everyone had changed, and yet were so much the same. Fiona, so determined to be a vet way back when, delighted everyone by revealing she was still studying, plagued by indecision. Studious and plain Dev was the same guy as ever, even if he rolled up in a BMW and sported a Rolex from all his tooth money (the Rolex was so fake anyway). Peter was as driven as ever to make a load of money and had added a new skill to run on at the mouth far too much. David was David – a little aloof, but you could just tell his mind was whirring behind those distant eyes.
! Dominik kept his mouth shut but for when it was torn open in laughter. He hadn’t changed all that much, he supposed (at least, not on the inside) and he didn’t have much to say. But he was more than content to lean back and soak it all in – the excitement, the nostalgia, the tragedies and the victories. Yes, this was why he’d gone around pestering everyone to get together tonight. It was damn well worth it. -
Evening conference in 5 minutes.
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Alright guys, so here's the rundown. I've been considering a lot of things lately about how I can make the conference more engaging and helpful so I've decided that what I'm going to do is give a lecture at the start of each conference on whatever the topic material is. I'm going to use sources and also give my own personal opinion on each matter which will then be opened up to discussion, whether in disputes, differing interpretation, own opinion or questions.
From there, we'll discuss it in multiple segments to everyone's satisfaction and then move on to the next part of the conference. In this case, it'll be the little exercises that we've been doing lately. So far, I've been just treating them as an off-handed inclusion but I'll make sure to give serious to semi-serious reviews on each person's exercise and concentrate the exercises more carefully, in order to target and challenge our writers' abilities. I also highly encourage peer review.
Then we'll move into a discussion of that month's member story. Discuss it for a bit and then do an interview of sorts with the author. We should attempt to discuss both that author's strengths and weaknesses. As usual, I encourage everyone to read the entirety of any said story but, if you're unable to, then please just read and review the first chapter.
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The next conference will be on July 20th, 2013 on Saturday, at the following times:
9:00 AM - 12:00 AM Central Time
7:00 PM - 10:00 PM Central Time–-
Topic: Exploring character dynamics.
Exercise: Write a 3-4 page short story wherein the final scene includes a character holding a gun up to another character.
Story: "Spirit Wolf"
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I hope to see you all there.~
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Footnote: I updated the first post with all of the new information.
Also, I included all of the cool people that do homework in it as well.
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I can't guarantee I'll make it to the next conference, but the homework assignment got me inspired so yay.~ It's a full four pages with a small font, but please bear with me. Hopefully it'll give you guys something to talk about even if I don't make it next Saturday. :)
! August 24th, 9PM - 6AM, nightmare(?)
A mountain range of monsters. I climbed over them, starting from the bottom of a valley. They were feeble and pathetic at first, but got more aggressive and grotesque as I trod higher still. My steps were long, floating strides. I felt almost weightless. There was a goal, a reason to reach the top. Can’t remember what, but it was important. Or at least important enough to be devoured in the end. I wasn’t scared because I died. I have a feeling I feared for someone else.
! August 25th, 11PM - 10AM, a memory relived
An empty house filled with the smell of smoke. I panicked. Couldn’t find my mom. I imagined her as a pile of ash. It made me cry. The last place I checked was the backyard and there she was. She sat on a swing, taking deep breaths. The apron she wore was mine, but I didn’t question it. I was so relieved. Mom hugged me and stroked my hair. Her laughter was the sweetest sound. She said she just burned some cookies. I believed her. I’m too young to notice that mom’s left palm has burned, too.
! August 26th, 1AM - 8AM, nightmare(?)
The mountain again. Back to where I perished last time. Like a game. The monsters are unfathomable now. They twist and slither and gargle. Their sarcoline scales, fur and skin have gaping wounds. I tried not to step on them, but failed. Blood and pus oozed from between my toes. I paid no heed to the nausea dwelling at the pit of my stomach. I press on. On and on and on, until gargantuan teeth close around me. Darkness.
! “Seems like you’ve been unsure about the quality of your dreams lately.”
! Gail had been so focused on recollecting last night’s events that she hadn’t noticed her friend appearing behind her. Isaac leaned forward and made a general pointing gesture towards the question marks on the page.
! “Why would you write down ‘nightmare’ if that’s not what you saw?”
! Gail slammed her chronicle shut. Isaac managed to pull his finger out just in time. He gave his roommate a look of ‘what gives?’, but he noticed that Gail wasn’t angry; just lost in thought. The girl had the right to be, however. It was considered a breach of trust to gaze upon the dream chronicles of others.
! “I dunno, really. But I have this feeling… Like I’ll know what it is once it ends. And somehow I can only think of it turning out to be bad.”
! Isaac slumped into the armchair next to Gail’s. “You’ll figure it out.”
! They sat in silence for a while and looked outside the window. Strong gusts of wind made the trees and bushes look like a surging sea of green. The sky was blocked out by an unbroken cover of clouds, colored with dark shades of grey and purple. The air was pregnant with the promise of rain. Gail was happy for it. She loved falling asleep to the song of raindrops.
! Even without looking she could tell that Isaac was apprehensive about the night to come.
! “Still no dreams?”
! “Nope.” Isaac pulled out his chronicle from the pouch of his hoodie. One and a half weeks’ worth of entries were merely dates and durations. He’d even tried to sleep during daytime, but despite all that slumber he looked tired. The stress of dreamlessness had drawn shadows under Isaac’s eyes and deteriorated his posture. He yanked at his messy brown hair in frustration.
! “Nothing is working. I try to feed my imagination, but my mind refuses to process it. I’m at my wits’ end. If I’ve been abandoned by the dream realm-”
! “Don’t say that.”
! “But what if, Gail? ”
! “Oh, come on. It’s never happened to anyone.”
! “Yeah, well, I could be the first. And if I am, then I’ll be…” The rest of the sentence disappeared into a sob. Gail repressed the urge to reach out and comfort him, for she knew it would hurt the youngster’s pride. Isaac couldn’t stop the tears, but he wiped them away angrily nonetheless. His other hand was squeezing the chronicle with enough force to crumple the pages.
! “Stupid… friggin’... dreams,” he mumbled. His voice was still high and trembling. “I have nowhere to go. I’ll make something up if I have to.”
! “That would be most unwise.”
! Gail and Isaac flinched around violently in their chairs. The door to their room had been left open, which allowed their leader to sneak in. He looked at Isaac with raised eyebrows. His demeanor and tone were as serene as always, but those pallid grey eyes exuded disappointment.
! “Master Aquila, I was just-”
! “I can tell when I’m presented with lies.”
! “I-it was a joke.”
! “A very stupid one at that. Fabricating a dream is to deceive yourself.”
! “Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry. I won’t say it again.”
! Master Aquila sighed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the disappointment was replaced with worry. Gail swallowed. She wished he would be worried for her too, someday.
! “I hope you realize what happens if your problem persists. A person whose mind is like a desert cannot be allowed to live here.” The master’s words were grave, but his tone was mournful. Gail had learned to love his compassion and kindness. Aquila was always encouraging towards his disciples and appeared wise beyond his years. It was helped somewhat by the premature greying of his shoulder-length hair, but he had an air of maturity regardless.
! Isaac stood up from the armchair. He blinked furiously and steadied his voice by force. “I’m aware of that. But I promise that I won’t let you down. Just give me a couple more days, please.”
! Master Aquila stepped forward and patted Isaac on the shoulder. “Alright, then. That’s the spirit. I shall pray for deliverance. What about you, Gail? Did you reach the mountaintop yet?”
! “I did not, master. I’m hoping it’ll occur tonight.”
! “As do I. I’ll see you both at the hour of the gathering.”
! And with that their leader left the room. Gail kept her eyes on him even as he turned a corner and continued along the hallway. Warmth and hope filled her with delight despite the prospect of having her nightmare completed. Isaac let out a deep breath and smiled a little.
! “Hey, Gail?”
! “Yeah?”
! “Don’t tell anyone I cried.”
! “I won’t.”
! Behind them, a rumble of thunder echoed with enough power to rattle the window and burst the clouds.
! The gathering was held every day at 8PM in the great hall. Disciples either sat or lay on the floor while the two masters, Aquila and Carina, walked amongst them and spoke. Their voices were soft and melodious, their steps slow and deliberate. It was common for some of the listeners to fall asleep during the gatherings. They were allowed to bring pillows and blankets so that they could remain that way even after the event was over. Today, however, nobody felt like sleeping. The booming thunderstorm and torrential rain made it impossible to slip into a drowsy state. The masters were forced to raise their voices and this time everyone listened intently.
! “Tonight will be difficult for some of us. Dreams often escape at the sight of nature’s orchestral disturbance. Nevertheless, I hope we can all find a pathway to rest,” master Carina declared. She had always been more poetic than her husband. Carina spoke the same way in every situation, it seemed. Gail had considered it to be ridiculous at first. She used to have trouble not to burst out laughing while in the master’s presence. Now, however, the girl wouldn’t even dream of it. She respected and admired the female master’s effortless grace. Carina was almost like an idol to her. Gail couldn’t even bring herself to be jealous.
! “It may sound like the skies are attacking the very earth we stand upon. Who knows for how long we must endure this violence and unpredictability. But remember; you must embrace this challenge. It’s not the first and it won’t be the last.”
! “True and wise, my love. After all, a storm is nothing compared to inner turmoil. Though I assume there won’t be any harm in wishing it’ll be over soon.”
! The quiet chuckles of the disciples were muted by a lightning strike. It came from far away, but the sound was still loud enough to hurt their ears. The masters waited for the worst to subside before they began to pray.
! “May Cloe emerge unharmed from the dark woods. May Kerry be reunited with his beloved pet once more. Let there be strength in Gail, so she can climb forward. Alexis - do not abandon hope. The fiery pit may have closed around you, but in finality there can also be salvation.”
! Each and every disciple were prayed for individually. As their names and dreams came up, they pressed their chronicles on their forehead or chest. All chronicles were the same; ivory paper bound with black leather. They were handcrafted by Aquila and held in great regard by their authors. In this community, a dream chronicle was an extension of one’s self. And thus, as the final prayer was directed at Isaac, the youngster placed the chronicle on his lips. Sitting right next to him, Gail could see that Isaac murmured something into the leather. She couldn’t hear it, but presumed him to be reciting prayers of his own.
! “Let us speak the words.”
! Everyone, including the masters, closed their eyes and spoke in unison.
! “I dream of things beyond and near. Inside that realm lies my truth, unbiased and unwavering. There is no place my mind won’t take me. I am its servant and its guide. To dream is to enter our reality. In dreaming, we are equal.”
! August 27th, 10PM - 7:30AM, ???
The monsters stopped moving, but I made barely any progress. The mountain was shrouded in mist. I couldn’t see. Had to feel my way through. It was peaceful, and yet I was consumed by fear. I grab something in my pocket, but then slip and fall.
! Gail twirled a spoon between her fingers and chewed the inside of her cheek. As soon as she had woken up, the pure despair on Isaac’s face had told her exactly what had happened. Gail hadn’t dared to say anything. No words she had to offer could comfort him.
! Isaac hadn’t even tried to hide his tears this time as master Carina came to talk to him. She had ordered Gail to leave them alone and the girl had been happy to obey. Seeing her friend like this was almost too much to take.
! “Your porridge is getting cold.”
! Gail promised herself she’d pay more attention to her surroundings before turning around to face master Aquila. It seemed like she didn’t sense anyone approaching her these days.
! “I’m sorry to waste food like this, but… I’m so worried that I’ve lost my appetite.”
! “It’s fine. I understand,” the master assured her and sat down. There was a polite gap between them, but Gail still couldn’t help switching to a different type of nervousness. She briefly played out a scenario in her head where she casually slid right next to Aquila. Embarrassed, the girl looked at her plate. Her breakfast was now a soggy mush of oatmeal and milk.
! “What’s going to happen to Isaac?”
! “Hmmm. I’m not sure yet. They’re still not done talking. Knowing my wife, though… She’s much more strict about these things. She agreed to let Isaac stay one more night, and now it’s gone. It’s unfortunate, but sometimes dreams do abandon lost souls.”
! “I can’t stop thinking about it. When I woke up, Isaac just sat on his bed, arms around his knees. His knuckles were white and his expression… I’ve never seen anyone so terrified.”
! “You’re a good friend, Gail. Losing him will hurt, but I know you have the strength to overcome it.”
! “Yeah.”
! As master Aquila got up from the bench, Gail wished with all her heart that he would comfort her with a touch. It didn’t happen. He left the dining room without another word. Once again Gail stared at the master’s back until it disappeared out of sight.
! She didn’t see Isaac all day. His belongings were still in their room, so he must have gotten a second chance. Gail would’ve expected him to roam around, overjoyed, but the boy remained hidden. He didn’t show up to the gathering, either. Speculating whispers buzzed among the disciples until master Carina put an end to it by revealing that Isaac had been relieved. Gail resumed digging into the flesh of her mouth with her molars. She barely registered what the masters were saying. The metallic taste of blood enveloped her tongue as master Aquila prayed for the safe continuation of her journey on the mountain.
! It wasn’t until Gail had already put on a pyjama that Isaac entered their room. It was almost midnight.
! “There you are! Where the hell have you- wait, what happened to your face?”
! Isaac touched a bruise on his cheek with his fingertips. “I don’t want to talk about it. Can we just go to bed?”
! “Okay, sure.”
! Gail crawled under a blanket and reached for the desk lamp switch, but stopped her hand midway. Isaac sat on the edge of his bed, his gaze set to the floor. He wasn’t attempting to change into his nightclothes or lay down. The light from the lamp drew a hunched shadow on the wall. Gail wrecked her brain furiously to try and come up with something to say. She couldn’t decide whether to show concern or act like everything was normal. Or to flee.
! “How could you?”
! “What?”
! When Isaac lifted his head, his eyes were filled with silent fury. His expression and voice were perfectly calm, but that look had an intensity unlike Gail had ever seen. The girl retracted her hand and sat up slowly. There was a fire in her stomach and chest, a choking lump in her throat, a strange clarity in her senses. She knew that she had to pick her words with extreme care.
! “You stole them. I don’t know how or when you learned to do it, but you did.”
! “What are you talking about?”
! “Don’t play dumb with me,” Isaac hissed. It took every ounce of Gail’s willpower not to flinch.
! “Look, I know you’re upset. But instead of accusing me, you should be sleeping. Dreaming is the only way to avoid eviction.”
! “I did dream last night.”
! Gail froze for a moment. She resisted the urge to lick her dry gums. “But then… You lied to master Carina.”
! “That doesn’t matter. What matters is what I saw. I was on that mountain. Right at the very top. And you were coming for me. For my dreams. I couldn’t believe it, no, refused to believe it when I woke up. I had to make sure.”
! Isaac pointed at the dream chronicle next to Gail’s pillow. The girl realized instantly what he meant.
! “You-…! You didn’t. You’re not allowed!”
! “That’s a small stain on my conscience compared to your betrayal. I thought you were my friend, but you’re just a filthy thief. You even stole that dream about my mom. She killed herself. Set herself on fire when I was a kid. That’s how I realized what you had done.” Isaac lowered his head again. When he raised it this time, his eyes were glistening and his mouth was twisted to an ugly grimace. “Why?”
! Gail knew she had no right to cry. There was no use in denial or apologizing anymore. The shame of almost succeeding in her plan finally hit her. She had been so scared to lose her dreams that she was willing to sacrifice her best friend. And she had done it in the worst possible way. “I had no choice. I don’t want to leave.”
! “So, what? That makes it okay to send me away instead?”
! “You don’t understand. I need to be here. I need Aquila to love me. He only loves those who dream.”
! “But you know I have nowhere to return to. You knew, but you did it anyway.”
! Isaac put his hand inside his pocket. Gail suddenly knew what he was going to pull out. She had touched the same thing in her dream last night, after all.
! “My dreams are me. My very core. That’s what you stole. And I can’t ever forgive you.”
! The black muzzle of a revolver was only a few inches away from Gail’s face. She expected herself to beg, to scream, maybe even grab the gun and try to wrench it off of Isaac. Anything to increase her chances of making it out alive. She did none of those things. She simply asked: “Where did you get that?”
! “I stole it from the masters’ office. Guess we’re both thieves.”
! “Can I?” Gail nudged her head towards the chronicle. Isaac nodded. The leather cover felt cold in Gail’s hand. She lifted it in front of her face. Looking at something that had been made by the one she loved gave her peace.
Death is the final dream. I deserve it, she thought. To dream is to enter our reality. In dreaming, we are equal. I will be real. I will be equal.
! She heard Isaac sigh a quivering breath.
I will be real. I will be equal. I will… I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.
Please don’t kill me.This was a lot of fun to write, actually. So much so that I'm considering continuing it at some point.
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Ahahahahaha. I basically just wrote a movie script with the "end with a pointed gun" premise.
I don't wanna do it again.
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Alright, so I got called into work guys so I have to push the date for the conferences back to Tuesday, July 23rd.
Same times.
Sorry for the inconvenience.
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Yay a much needed extension to do the homework … and the reading :p
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I have a much better chance at making it on Tuesday, actually. I might even try to adjust my sleeping schedule so I can be awake for the evening conference. :>
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I'll probably be there if I don't have an evening shift coinciding with the conference. Gonna check tomorrow.
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Oh… Well, this is awkward. My Saturday ended up freeing up. >_>
Buuuut, if you guys would rather it be on Tuesday then I can stick with the current change.~
Up to you guys.
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Is it possible to have both?
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The last time I did two conferences so close to each other, you and I were the only ones in attendance. I'm thinking Tuesday will be a nice change of pace.
I just realized there's a Smash 64 tournament on Saturday, anyways.~
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Ah, alright then. My attendance is so rare that I should just keep my mouth shut about these things.
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I guess i could show up for Tuesday eveing, not that i say much of anything when i do. :)
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I took off work on Tuesday.
\o/
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everyone
when you show up the to conference
start singing -
I'm trying to make this conference a serious one.
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@Jazzy:
i'M TRYING TO MAKE THIS CONFERENCE A SERIOUS ONE.
hahahahahahahhaha
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everyone
when you show up the to conference
start singingwho here wants to sing the Psych theme?
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who here wants to sing the Psych theme?
i know, you know, that i'm not telling the truth~
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I was thinking about whistling Sanford and Sons.