Some people have a lifetime, others a moment. Infinite expressions of amplified energy cross paths within nanoseconds of each other, but the vibratory intersection is not guaranteed to lead to interaction.
Lonesomeness embraces the being of the one whose energy and intention is bound to rooms and dead space; unable to extend beyond borders her blossom withers, and in a moment that seems a lifetime, her vibration ceases to reach out into the ether.
And she is forever lost in a lifetime of moments, trapped in a room with no air.
It has been twenty years, three months, two days, and sixteen hours since Christian has left. As I age, I have often thought about the life we could have had, Christian and I, and about the notion of this preposterous “relativity” he spoke of. What is it that I have done to make him go? Was life here so miserable that he couldn’t bear to stay? I have daydreamed about the far off locations he has visited so far; there are other planets out there I speculate, each with new and intriguing societies to explore. Perhaps Christian has taken another wife, with children, new work, and a warm and friendly home. What has become of me? Since the twins have left, this television, an invention from some peddler on the square who felt sorry for me, has been the only company I’ve had for years.
Christian’s Notes
12 May 2120
It was hard to leave my dear Josephine, of whom seems to think I’ve gone mad. After many countless hours of precise calculation, I’ve finally perfected the machine that will propel mankind into areas before unseen. Using technology I’ve managed to obtain from peculiar tourists one day in the square, I am currently traveling in a craft that will tear a black hole into the sky, allowing for travel between dimensions.
This innovation can prove to not only relieve us from the great drought we’ve been experiencing, but to sever notions of the unknown as it is implied with gravity’s relationship to time. As was typically thought and pushed on to be basic knowledge by the Council, time would drastically change when one entered the ebon abyss, so much so that all inferences of passed time would be so completely false that a man would age before his own eyes. Based on my research however, inter-dimensional travel through a constructed black hole, typically a more controlled environment, should only last one hour’s time. It has been approximately twenty minutes, sixteen seconds since I have left Victoria, and expect to travel for forty more before returning to my love with a successful and profitable craft.
Josephine’s Diary
11 May 2161
I will never give up on Christian. It has been forty-one years since that fateful day he took that flight into the unknown, and each year I return to the bridge of our proposed rendezvous. Tomorrow will the day that I return; each 12th day of May I am there, standing for hours alone or sometimes with the twins to await my beloved. My heart swells at the thought of him, and I’ve never considered taking another husband or starting a new life without him. His spirit was infectious, and strong enough to withstand anything. Before he left, he told me that he’d be back before the bread rises in the oven. On the morning of his departure, each year I bake his favorite bread, and leave it to set and rise in hopes he’d be home to enjoy it. Tomorrow, I am sure it will be tomorrow. My Christian will come back to me.
Christian’s Notes
12 May 2120
It is nearing the end of the hour, and as I descend back down into the familiar atmosphere, I am astonished by my own achievement. This vessel, created with my own hands, has managed to not only create a black hole, but to draw so close to the black hole that it was nearly sucked in. Everything appeared as normal as I reversed the vessel’s direction and headed back, and by my pocketwatch I have only been traveling for fifty-five minutes thus far. I wonder what Josephine has done during this hour, and hope that she did not wait too long. I can’t wait to have a slice of fresh baked bread as I embrace my pregnant wife.
Christian descended from his vessel, walking briskly from the platform to return to the bridge to meet his dear Josephine. As he approached, he noticed that some of the storefronts that existed before his journey had now appeared worn and run-down, and that the bridge itself has decayed. Puzzled, Christian stopped for a second to consider his altered surroundings, wondering if a bout of bad weather caused everything to appear in disarray. Walking up further, he noticed a short, hunched figure in the distance. Visually scanning for his tall, elegant Josephine, as Christian reached the middle of the bridge he realized that the hunched woman he spotted from a distance was indeed his wife.
“Oh, Josephine,” Christian murmured. He reached to grab her freckled hand, leaning down to kiss it slightly. He realized that the time dilation experienced in the vessel had been longer than he anticipated.
“I never stopped waiting,” uttered Josephine in a somber tone. Silently, the two started off together to enjoy the freshly baked bread waiting for them in the oven.
It was a calm afternoon; a gentle breeze crept through the elegantly detailed awning as the pair submerged the other in anxious tension. Although their hearts were swelling and loins surging with lust, the two remained unusually quiet, the electric air between them livid and ripe with future regret. A small crimson bird then perched right in front of them on the balcony, a chirp that caused Bettie to smile faintly; the freedom that this bird has is what has always been missing in her existence, and it was with this act that she will finally call out as gleefully as the unrestricted robin before her. Sliding her hand down her tailored pants’ satin creases, she leans forward slightly, the low-cut camisole beneath her cardigan exposing her smooth porcelain skin just so. Roger’s eyes followed her suggestive pose, and he shifted in his seat a bit, adjusting his tie and clearing his throat as a less than covert sign of his uneasiness.
“Let’s just get started, Roger. I can’t stand this quiet anymore,” cooed Bettie, sliding her favorite navy blue cardigan down to expose her flawless shoulders, as if to will Roger into considering the flesh due south.
“I’m just not sure about this, Bettie. Think about your husband and kids- they need you. It’s not proper for a woman to just up and leave like this, is it?” Roger rested a slightly trembling hand on one of Bettie’s exposed shoulders, considering her bosom before returning his gaze to a more appropriate place.
Bettie rose slowly, allowing her cardigan to fall from her arms to the ground. She tilted her head up, closing her eyes to allow the sun’s rays to energize her spirit and cleanse her of the tempestuous act she intended to commit. As Roger’s hand slid down from her shoulder to her waist, she allowed herself to be willed closer into his embrace. She looked down, running her fingers through his slick yet unmanageable hair and murmured, “You want this just as much as I. In a matter of moments, nothing else outside of our love will exist anymore, right? Come, let’s go into the room, draw the curtains, and start what we came here to do.”
Roger smiled faintly, rising to join bodies and intention with Bettie. He softly caressed her impressively smooth face, then leaned in to kiss her gently. “Lead the way, Bettie. As long as you’re sure you want to do this.” Reaching into his pocket, Roger fidgets with an unfamiliar item before glancing over to admire Bettie’s smooth curves as she saunters over to one of the vacant beds. Successfully retrieving the object he fished for, a remote, he quickly presses a large red button; in that instance, Bettie froze. Stopping quickly as if paused in time, Bettie’s rigid body swayed back and forth, its sudden stop causing it to remain in motion for a few seconds. Roger hurried in the room to settle her, brushing the hair away from her face gently as he admired his creation. A robot capable of true human emotion, equipped to do everything his wife wouldn’t; this night could prove Roger’s financial success, but first he had to ensure that everything worked as it should. Lying Bettie0001, as she was properly called, down onto the rough hotel sheets, he smirked as he thought of the night to come.
A story based on a visual element, for a writing course.
I can’t believe this has happened. I’ve kept myself in immaculate condition, despite the wear and tear of everyday life, driving across country, taking daring drunken journeys from town to town, and even housing my owners in a time of great despair. I’ve been around for only ten years this May, and while it seems relatively mundane, this street has been the absolute loneliest time of my life. The desolate road, the encroaching darkness seeping into my interior as I am parked here; never have I felt more abandoned as I do at this moment.
I started my journey as a youngster fresh from the factory. Pristine, my taut leather interior beckoned riders to take a trip into the unknown. A premium model by creation, I may have existed in the storeroom a bit longer than my peers, but it gave me a great sense of pride to know that my owners would be of the upper class, able to afford a luxury vehicle tailored especially for them. When they arrived, Pauline and Dodger Adams, I just knew they were the couple that would take me home. When they did, my engines purred with pleasure as we begun what would be an extended trip together.
About three good years of driving occurred before I started to show major wear, and because Pauline was the responsible one of the household, she attended to my every need. I’ve been rehabilitated only once, and since then have driven like a dream. I loved taking her and the kids shopping, to the grocery stores, and to the beach too, even though the sand bothered me a bit. Dodger and I would attend car shows, where he’d show me off to his friends and mine. He made sure to shine me up real nice before showing me off, and it always made me feel so appreciated. Once little Sue was a bit older, she started learning to drive me, and after a few months, I became hers.
As I sit silently on this deserted road, I wonder if anyone will find us. Inaudible, there’s not even a trigger that I can set to alert someone of this tragedy. Sue needed someone to find out what has happened; as she lay in indiscernible pieces, her blood splattered about my caramel-colored leather, I wanted someone, anyone to discover us before he gets a chance to leave. I’m not so much worried about the damage her blood has done to the seat, but to the damage her blood will do to my previous owner’s heart once they find their daughter. This desolate road, the darkness thick as it surrounds me; I am desperate yet hopeful for another car’s light to shine upon us.
I’m back to you, my lovely. I’ve let procrastination and lingering fear beat me down for too long; afraid that my words will fall short of the masses, I stopped blogging in a futile attempt at leaving me in mediocre state for the rest of my life.
Touche, fear. I am a writer. Whether my words are world renown or just a passing thought emitted into the ether, they deserve to be out of my brain and entered into the atmosphere. Denying myself of my passion leads to an internal longing to be more than who I am, when who I am is good enough.
Game over, procrastination. You will not win; in this war of restricted words, I will be the victor. You will see- you’ll suffer the might of my success and wonder why you’re just a passing thought in the years to come. You may have a firm grasp on my attention now, but rest assured that you’ve lost the war.
I love you, creative writing blog. You’ve drawn out some awesome stuff, and kept me engaged even when I felt devoid of all inspiration. Going through some quick life stuff at the moment, but I’ll be back for you. I promise, I won’t neglect you like I did the others, because you’re important to me.
Start of a short script I did for my Creative Skills class.
–
“PHOENIX ARISING”
INT. HOPE HOSPITAL – WAITING ROOM – MIDDAY
DIANE sits anxiously with her sister KELLY and youngest
daughter MELISSA in the waiting room.
DIANE
(facing KELLY,
anxious)
So, do you really think she’ll go
through with this? I mean, either
way its her baby, you know?
KELLY
(somber)
Why not? How could you look into
the face of a bastard child, and
love it with all your heart knowing
its conception was ill-fated? God
rest his soul.
DIANE
What do you mean, “God rest his
soul?” The child is on his way
here, not the other way around! I
know you’ve always been the more
superstitious of the bunch, but
goodness, Kelly- where’s your
compassion?
MELISSA
(slightly impatient,
interrupting DIANE
and facing both
women)
Mom, please. It’s her decision,
okay? If she decides to give that
kid up for adoption, she shouldn’t
be blamed for doing so. Would you
want to keep one of us if you had
to go through something like that?
God! And I mean really Aunt Kelly!
Bastard child? If I can recall, you
have a few of them yourself. Why
can’t we just act happy for Alissa,
huh?
Glancing at the clock, Pedro grimaced as he realized his Pinterest boards have gained more attention than his final paper. He switches tabs quickly, reviewing the Wikipedia article on the Harlem Renaissance to gain a better understanding of the subject matter, but feels his eyes grow heavy even glancing at the material. Given his 9 AM deadline, Pedro felt as if the weight of two worlds rested on his shoulders, yet somehow concern had a way of disappearing with each comment written on his favorite game forum. As 3 AM approaches, Pedro hastily closes each unnecessary tab on his browser at a vain attempt to regain control.
Dwelling in the ether, tucked beneath Pedro menacingly was Procrastination, a rare species from the planet Procrasto. Waiting quietly, Procrastination crept up ever slowly, each hour gaining ground until by 5 AM the unseen alien had fully embraced Pedro without his knowledge. Feeding on creativity, this demon would effectively prevent Pedro from completing his term paper on time, lengthening his already extended college tenure by another semester. Satisfied with his work, Procrastination lurks in the shadows, anxiously awaiting its next creative meal.
An exercise for class, to create a 25 word story with as much depth as a novel.
—
And with one final, labored push, the angst of motherhood now rested on someone else’s shoulders. Free from burden, she refused her son’s warm embrace.
Random game idea I wrote up some time ago for a game design course.
—
Ydorap
Type of game- Puzzle/Memory Game
Genre- Casual
In an alternate and opposite galaxy in the Archemeeds Universe there exists a small planet, Namuh, of which is inhabited by little pink cyclops creatures called sneila. The sneila have been creating technology of which to use to visit other galaxies, and after fumbling with their VT one day, happened to tune into a human tv show.
Intrigued with the human condition, the sneila sought to replicate the social experience of the humans they observed, so to one day visit and blend in with them. Given a list of societal rules, the sneila test their acculturation by quizzing each other on observed human responses to better understand the society.
The main character, Yzal, goes through a series of response-based trials, accumulating nioc (coin) as payment for his participation. Answering questions before the time limit has passed or navigating a puzzle successfully also earns coins; Yzal uses these coins to get boosters to help him in the puzzles, and to treat his lady to something nice.
Economy
The economy will be action based, where Yzal will earn coin through his successful trials, time bonuses, and world navigation. He can use his coin to purchase boosts to his skill levels, or gifts and trinkets to woo the girlfriend impatiently waiting for him to complete his trials.
The economy will have a bit of an unfair advantage; because I forsee it as a Facebook game, there will be a set of micro-transactions to purchase boosters that can reveal hints and clues so that Yzal can get through the game a bit faster. The challenge to earn coin enough to be the top Yzal (as he’s replicated many times over for training purposes), to be able to go on to visit the sneila; players can choose never to purchase in-game boosts with coin packs, or can purchase from the beginning- the choice is theirs.
Players will be encouraged to share hints, boosts, and coin with each other, so that collectively a group of Yzals can visit the sneila. While they cannot combine their in game currencies, they can share resources which will help to stimulate the game economy; loyalty tends to run deep with alliances in Facebook games, so people would be willing to contribute boosts and things they’ve purchased with coin to keep the economy booming.
Because earning coin is instantaneous upon completing trials, there will be a gradual decrease to the amount of coin you can earn as the levels increase. This will ensure that interest will be sustained in the future, and that people will start looking for other ways to earn coin or get boosts. The reward of spending and earning money would be garnered through the boosts used to propel the puzzles, and the trinkets and things that can be used to satiate the girlfriend, who can ultimately stall leveling (if she starts to interfere with Yzal’s studies). While there is no punishment for not earning or spending money, players should be attentive enough to try to play daily so as to keep their currencies increasing for new trials.
Finally, players are able to buy the boosts and trinkets they feel would be beneficial to their playstyle, but the selections would be topical to their levels, and would be limited in supply initially. The point is to get the player to use currency to help through the trials, or with their alliances, or to get levels quicker. While they have a number of options available to them, there’s not a huge amount of free choices to select from.
