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The Universe Didn’t Notice

Galactic Government Planetary Register

Emleo

Ownership: Abandoned

Type: Terrestrial

Terraforming: Successful

Formal Records:

Emleo has no formal records.

Informal Records:

48/26/5892 – B – Explorer

Emleo is, as you can see above, an abandoned planet by technical definition. Here’s that definition, copied and pasted from RegSearch:

Abandoned Planet Noun - A planet at one point settled by a sentient being, but now absent of these original settlers for the time being.

I get the meaning behind it, but in the context of Emleo this definition is very misleading. I don’t think Emleo was ever abandoned. Of course, only four registered sentient beings have ever been to Emleo. One in a crash, and three who saved the stranded being from that crash. And of course, they all left quite a while ago now, abandoning the planet. But they aren’t the reason the planet is really considered abandoned. It’s considered abandoned because the stranded individual, while there for their six hours, found a “long-lasting structure capable of supporting life,” without any sentient life to be seen. That’s all it took, by definition. But with more investigation, I think we might find it was never abandoned in the first place.

Who knows. It’s a beautiful planet. I hope people can get past the label and resettle it someday. I feel like there is a lot to discover there, as the past civilization looks as if it were very advanced. I just don’t think I have the experience necessary to do so.

48/27/5892 – Fuos Sywi – Register Official

Thank you for your added documentation on this planet. While the considerable paperwork can seem unnecessary at times, and the scale of the universe can make it seem as though adding a planet to the register is an act no one will ever see, we hope you know it is important, and will not be forgotten.

Core of Emleo

48/11/5892 - Log 4202

00:00:01 DAY_START

- Geosphere normal.

- Atmosphere normal.

- Hydrosphere normal.

- Biosphere normal.

- All systems normal.

16:03:04 ALERT: Unidentified flying object landed in location ‘ViksyRegion’. ContainedLife is set to ‘true’. LifeDanger is set to ‘Unknown’. Measuring Biosphere response…

16:04:48 UPDATE:

- Wildlife response ‘neutral’.

- Plant response ‘negative’.

- ParasiteOrDisease likelihood ‘low’.

- Overall Biosphere response ‘neutral’.

20:24:03 UPDATE: ‘EnterRegionalCore’ permission requested. Grant permission? (y/n) y

20:24:09 UPDATE: ‘EnterRegionalCore’ permission granted.

21:48:16 ALERT: Unidentified flying object landed in location ‘ViksyRegion’. ContainedLife is set to ‘true’. LifeDanger is set to ‘Unknown’. Measuring Biosphere response…

21:49:12 UPDATE:

- Wildlife response ‘neutral’.

- Plant response ’neutral’.

- ParasiteOrDisease likelihood ‘low’.

- Overall Biosphere response ‘neutral’.

21:55:43 UPDATE: All foreign lifeforms have left planet.

48/12/5892 - Log 4203

00:00:01 DAY_START

- Geosphere normal.

- Atmosphere normal.

- Hydrosphere normal.

- Biosphere normal.

- All systems normal.

B

“All systems damaged. Please exit the vehicle,” a cheery voice shouted out to the world around it. B shouldered the door of the escape pod, but to no avail. “All systems damaged. Please exit the vehicle.” The voice seemed to cover something sinister. It did not care what the situation was, for it was just doing its job. “All systems damaged,” including the door.

“Please exit the vehicle.”

B tried again. Then he tried again. He shook the door’s large red emergency latch, but it was what was jammed in the first place, keeping the door still. The back of B’s hand found the corner of a plastic box on the bottom of his chair. He flicked the small container open, and slammed his hand against the ejector button. The chair didn’t eject. That was the part of this system that was broken. But the window of the escape pod gave way to open air, letting B stumble out of the ship before sitting cross-legged on the ground. Wow. What a day. This really sucked.

B sat still for a moment, taking in his surroundings. The grass was burned in a hastily drawn circle where the escape pod had landed, and branches were skewed in bushes they hadn’t grown in, thrown away from the trees that had until recently depended on them for food from the orange light of the sun. It was around midday, in this planet’s time.

His spacesuit’s interface flickered: “Alert. Atmosphere not breathable for your registered species. Hours of oxygen left: 36.” B wasn’t worried. He’d call for help, and people would come. All he was missing was work. That’s all life really demanded of him as of late. It was important. It affected someone. But none of that mattered right now. B lifted one arm, and opened the phone app on the unwieldy computer attached to the sleeve of his suit. He slowly typed out the numbers 0-0-1, for the galactic emergency services. A robot responded before a human did: “Hello! If this is an emergency requiring immediate, personal attention, such as emergency healthcare, then please click 1. Otherwise, click 2.”

B clicked 2.

“You have clicked 2. Please state your problem, and we will dispatch someone to your location as soon as necessary.”

B nodded, even though it was only useful to him. Then he said “Um… Hello. This is B, from Velk. I’ve crashed on… er…” B quickly searched for a location on his GPS (Galactic Positioning System), and found his last known location was in orbit around a planet called “Emleo. I’ve crashed on Emleo. I have no food or water or shelter, nothing really. But I have 36 hours of oxygen. So, er, thank you. Please pick me up.”

The robot responded, “We will send you a dispatch sometime in the next seven hours. Please turn on your locator if you have one, otherwise, stay near your crash site.”

The call ended. B turned on his locator, because he had one. The locator did its job, though it didn’t seem happy with it. It beeped every few seconds, a small background noise that took some getting used to. Now what to do. B had hours. Hours on an alien planet. The safest option would be to stay near the crash, though not to close, just in case something went wrong with that too. He decided to sit a little bit away, in between the crash and the edge of the clearing. B did not want to leave the clearing. That sounded like a fast way to die. He couldn’t imagine the planet very much cared about his being here, but the red and white insect-things jumping about in the branches of the trees were quite large, which made B think an even larger predator would actually be quite happy with his presence.

Hours passed, and nothing crazy changed about the situation. It was just waiting. Different animals came through, none of them dangerous. A hairy black creature with six legs stole a piece of the escape pod’s LCP (Landing Control Panel) and carried it off, the sudden burst of electricity causing the unexpected visitor’s hair to go from smooth and reflective-wet to sharp and just about everywhere. But when the most interesting activity was one that lasted only that long, you know B was stuck with his thoughts. He didn’t like being stuck with his thoughts. He liked to think he was terribly, completely, full-heartedly neutral towards work at this point, but he was kidding himself. The company might not care much for him, but he cared a lot about it, and he liked having something to do. It wasn’t what he’d thought he’d be doing, but he couldn’t imagine himself doing anything else.

B didn’t like surprises, he decided. B liked patterns instead. At least when you expected something, you could plan for it. Honestly, stress was way better than disappointment. And walking was way better than sitting around. He was going for a walk. His locator was on, so they’d be able to find and contact him, and he’d rather move a bit and feel slightly productive than let his mistakes ruin his day.

B walked farther than he’d originally planned.

He entered the forest, and found whatever this insect in the trees was, it scared pretty much everything else away. That probably should have worried him. But in case you hadn’t noticed, it took a lot to make B care about anything.

There were some vines on the ground in scattered patches, but B refused to go near them. They looked dangerous, and B did care about that.

After a while of walking, B started to realize the trees were all the same. Maybe they reproduced asexually? Either way, it was odd and robotic. The branches all splayed out in the same patterns, but they had just been rotated to give the illusion of truth. B liked the pink though. It made for a nice color of the bark, matching oddly well with those insects and the transparent blue-gray of the leaves. Also, everything had such a specific noise. Like ticking. Like morse code.

Eventually, B stumbled across a cave. The sight of it surprised him. The distraction of everything he’d found had pulled him out of his thoughts, which was nice, but it had also distracted him from the fact he was nowhere near where he’d started. Logically, he shouldn’t go in the cave. But he was curious now. This planet had very weird biology. Did that biology also exist underground? B flicked on his suit’s headlamp. He wouldn’t go far, and what did it matter if he went missing anyways. No one would care but him. So B set off, heading down the cave and keeping a firm hand against one wall, so it would be easy to find his way back if this cylinder down through the earth ever became a maze. But it didn’t. Because it was a cylinder. A perfect cylinder, though slightly flattened at the bottom by some kind of liquid-caused erosion. B followed it for a while, before finding its end, with a giant metal wall, like a vault door. A sentient-built structure! This was great! Maybe B didn’t have to wait to be picked up after all. He knocked on the door, hearing the echo hollow surfaces tend to speak in. Then he waited. For a few seconds…

The door rumbled open, and the lights of the vault flickered on. Inside was an overflowing garden of green plants, the striking color feeling more alien than what had come before for just a moment. B was cautious when he entered the vault, caught off guard by the lack of people. The plants here were given free reign, fully natural and uncultured. His suit displayed a simple message: “Alert. Atmosphere breathable for your registered species. Hours of oxygen left: 31.5. Refill oxygen?”

“No,” B said, hesitant. The suit dismissed the alert in acknowledgement. B, quite nearly adrenaline-filled at this point, kept moving forwards. In the center of this vault, this greenhouse, was a giant pillar, a massive computer with screens displaying all sorts of statistics and so forth. The one nearest to B had a simple message:

20:25:32 NOTICE: Starting rain in location ‘CaloscuRegion’. Quantity is set to ‘significant’. Timeline is set to 9. Measuring Biosphere response…

“Wow,” B read another one. Then another. He read about all sorts of news, coming in from all over the planet. This wasn’t just terraforming. This was a planet-wide environmental control system. A true megastructure, like most systems dreamed of building. B didn’t know what to think. He’d found this. There couldn’t be much else like it in the entire galaxy.

B found another message, in his reading.

16:03:04 ALERT: Unidentified flying object landed in location ‘ViksyRegion’. ContainedLife is set to ‘true’. LifeDanger is set to ‘Unknown’. Measuring Biosphere response…

16:04:48 UPDATE:

  - Wildlife response ‘neutral’.

- Plant response ‘negative’.

- ParasiteOrDisease likelihood ‘low’.

- Overall Biosphere response ‘neutral’.

The planet had cared he existed.

The First to Respond

“Here we are,” said Azzi, as he piloted the shuttle down into lower orbit above the planet.

“So, we’re just looking for one guy?” his copilot, Oclweq, asked.

“It seems so,” Azzi said, “hopefully it’ll be fast. We can care for the guy then get back home without too working too much overtime. Jwen, you ready in the back?”

“Yes sir!” Jwen responded, her voice shaky from both volume and uncertainty.

“You’ll do great,” Oclweq comforted her. It was Jwen’s first rescue. Azzi and Oclweq tried to care as much as they could, but neither of them could compete with Jwen. Not at this moment. Not for whoever they were about to meet.

The End

Hello there! I’m at the end of the story this time. It’s crazy.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the story! Please let me know what you all thought about it. Whether you cared or not, one could say.

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

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Growing Up Synesthesia

Hello there! Long time no see. I’m back, with a new poem. And, better yet, just like the last poem its based on a random long word that starts with the letter S! But unlike sesquisyllabic, I’m actually going to define it here.

Synesthesia: When your brain connects your sensory information to multiple unrelated senses, so different actions will cause you to experience several senses at the same time. For instance, feeling a sound or seeing a taste.

Overall, it feels cool! It sounds like it can be very overwhelming at times, but its the sort of thing that strikes my curiosity. Anyways, introducing…

Growing Up Synesthesia

I sit on a bench pitched forwards, trying to parse through the colors ahead. In front lies a barrier a caterpillar of sound, travelers blurring with each others voices until they become a wall of aurora borealis. I can only smell one hole, bridging the gap from one side to the other. It’s a gap which sizzles as though grilled, burnt meat floats in the air.

If I were to ever stand I’d have to cross the forest. It’s a fearful place, I hear a woman apologizing over and over and over again. I hear a child’s cries. I don’t know if the two are related, but if they were, what the heck, man? That’s just a child.

I hear a lot of children. Their shouts translucent, blue notes playing in the breeze. Without context its haunting, but from my bench I can guess and I hope they’re having fun. I wish I knew for sure, but I can’t tread in that grove anymore.

Oh! One of the children stumbles into view, no sounds needed to see him. He’s holding his pants like he just peed himself. He hasn’t, he’s just trying to fit in his Dad’s pants. He isn’t, but I believe in him we all fit in our parents’ clothes eventually.

Two large blokes sit together, Invisible to all senses but sight. They’re facing away from the parking lot and the children including the child trying to be his Dad and me and into a forest I’ve never gone into. They start laughing and it’s pink and green. I hope I’m like them when I’m older, still excited to see new parts of the woods.

I hear a bird, behind me, tweeting. I don’t turn around to see its colors. I’d like to imagine it has a knife, waiting to strike when I least expect it. Jokes on the bird, I’ll always expect it for as long as I listen and for as long as I go deeper in the forest.

The End

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

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Four Totally Normal Haikus

Hello there! Sorry, I’m a day late. The goal originally was to post on Friday, but Past Nathanael thought it would be cool for this poem to have an accompanying animation. I tried to finish it, and got really close, but didn’t quite make it. So instead, I have attached the storyboard of the animation alongside these four totally normal haikus!

Haiku

Here’s my first haiku. The ceiling's low underneath the expectations.

Sitting

Sometimes I wonder. What genre should I sit in? Does my work sit too?

Syllable Count

The fire’s wild near there, files flyin’ like flour through the air. Smile for real, unfouled.

Chair Choice

The last haiku sat. The chair was comfy with its sesquisyllabics.

The End

So, what do you think? Probably one of the first times you’ve come across the word “sesquisyllabic,” if I had to guess. It’s a good word. Google it, then try to use it today. I have no actual authority, but if I could assign homework that would be it. Anyways, I’m going to keep working on the animation so hopefully you all will get to see that someday. It uses a variety of sprites from a game I was working on once, so a lot of the hardest work was done already. Stay tuned, as that will probably be a Wednesday post if it does happen. I hope you all have an excellent rest of your day!

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

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Adventures of a Cardboard Box

Hello there! Long time no see. I hope your summer is going well, with all the adventures and whatnot. If you’ve done something cool, you’ll have to let me know.

Anyways, I am happy to announce I will be posting for the next four weeks! Five stories and poems in all. This specific one is a bit different than my usual style, but I got to rhyme a few times, which always means it was fun to write. Hopefully it is fun to read, or at the very least makes you think. I do think that is the goal of this particular story, though about what, that is up to you. Introducing… 

Adventures of a Cardboard Box

Ah, look at that. It’s a cardboard box, sitting on a hill. A lonely hill, at first glance. The cardboard box was a cardboard color, that off-brown. It was a common color, more common than bark here. But there was only one for a good distance around, so I guess we’ll have to settle with this one. Come on. Let’s get a closer look!

This box was upside down, so when the smarter critters of this world looked down from their cardboard planes they’d see a cross in its little flaps. Not that the box couldn’t be opened on both ends, it’s just that the skywards side was taped up and impenetrable.

The box was meant to be carried this direction, though. Whoever had opened it had opened it up from the wrong side. You could tell because this box had two little oval-shaped dotted lines, which could be popped on out to lift the thing. One was still in. The other had disappeared, having turned into the only part of the box for folk like us. Observers, who couldn’t do much with cardboard but peak in. The inside of the box was mostly hidden in shadow, like a nest of black fur. Maybe this box was empty! But it most likely wasn’t, the box-critter is probably sleeping. Here, let’s try to wake it up. A bit of wind would probably do the trick.

woooooooooooshhhhhhhhhhh…

Good job, good job, that’s— that’s a good wind. A constant breeze, which causes the grass about the hill to flow up and down in hollow V-shapes alongside those who traverse in boats on the opposite side of the dirt. The grass was once again alive, and trading gossip as much as grass ever does. Petty little plants.

Our box was not ready for the wind. It was pushed up into the air just a few inches, before eight-odd triangles covered in static-filled hairs erupted out of the box and clicked into place about the dirt and stone. That little handle-hole, the one which had been popped out by someone some time back, gained two round golden eyes, like lost fireflies who’d soared a bit too high in that night sky. The box-critter spun in a circle, looking about for whoever had spawned this wind. But after not seeing much of anything, it settled on making an annoyed Tik tik! sound, and started off on its way down the hill. Come on, let’s follow it. Maybe it’ll lead us to something interesting.

You know, I’m surprised this one is alone. They normally travel in groups! Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m sure the groups have an actual name, I just don’t know what it is. The box-critter doesn’t seem to know quite where it is going. It makes its way down one hill just to go up another. It seems to have a solid goal though, spinning about at the top of every hill before choosing which one it’ll go to next. It always seems to choose the tallest one, maybe searching for a good view, or something more useful. Do you think it’s lost? Is that why it isn’t with a group? How sad.

A sound was added to the music of the landscape. Up until now, the noise was basically just background, not really making for an important Observation. It was just acting out its part in the world because it had to, because it was always there, and because it was nice. The breeze made for a good chorus and the grass added some interesting verses. But it was all disrupted by the sad growling of the box-critters hidden stomach. Tik tik. The box-critter kept wandering. It kept looking for food. The firefly lights in its box’s handle-peephole grew dim. I… don’t like Observing this. But we’ve already chosen it as our Narrated, and I don’t see any other cardboard critters around to switch it with…

Here’s the thing about grass. As I’ve mentioned, they’re petty creatures, but they’re also important ones. Grass divides one place from another. Crossing grass has to happen no matter who you are or where you’re going. And grass can be very helpful, when they’re kind enough to use their role as Bridge to Everywhere to accomplish great things…

And, well, I’d really like to think grass is forgiving, whether or not that’s the case is up to you.

The grass didn’t react. Then one, tiny strand, one that had just sprouted and couldn’t even be really seen by anyone but ants and the smallest of Observers, decided it wanted to be what I’d just Narrated. It decided it wanted to try, even if it didn’t really like Observers as a concept. After all, what was the point of being an Observer? Wasn’t the world built to be interacted with? Wasn’t it a blade of grass so that it could talk with and traverse the dirt? The child blade sunk into the dirt, inverting its small piece of the hill quilt. And the rest of the grass decided to join it, in a rare domino effect. The box-critter fell into a sinkhole, and popped up on the other side of the grass, where a muddy-green sea expanded in all directions. The box-critter was sitting in its cardboard shell as though it were a boat, which meant it was very much exposed for the time being. Box-critters are simple beings. Just black fur, legs, and eyes. It clutched the frontmost wall of its boat-box and watched the waves pass by. It was either confused by how it had gotten here or happy with the view, it’s up to you.

Here, let’s blow the water, we can push the box-critter along. Create a V-shape in the water. Maybe someone traversing the hills will see it in the grass, and imagine up a story for the specific adventure that we’re causing. Who knows! The water passes by. The colors change, from green-brown to a perfect clear, with the roots of the grass rise upwards like seaweed in the water. Actually, some of the grass looks sick. Mushrooms, some fungus or another, was growing along their roots, trying to kill them off where they can’t defend themselves. The fungus is of an edible breed, let’s help out our box-critter while also aiding the grass that got us here.

We blew the fungus off the grass, so it floated atop the water, off-white islands just within reach of the box-critters’ pyramidal legs. It made for a solid meal, though the consistency of soggy mushrooms got dull after a bit I’m sure. The box-critter was creative though, bending the mushrooms in different shapes over the side of its cardboard boat and leaving them out to dry for a bit. Tik tik, it said.

Thanks for watching.

The End

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

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The Ridiculous Umbrella of Mr. Lerin

Hello there! I’m sorry, I’m a bit late, but I wasn’t certain what I wanted to post today. This story is one I’ve had on the back burner for a while, as when I first wrote it I wasn’t sure if it was what I wanted it to be. Now, after rereading it and editing it a few months later, I think it is ready. Its different in tone than what I normally write, but it still has the same style. I hope you all enjoy… The Ridiculous Umbrella of Mr. Lerin!

The Ridiculous Umbrella of Mr. Lerin

The lights flickered overhead, as the man slouched in order to avoid coming in contact with the ceiling. Erin looked up at this… creature of a humanoid, as it finally reached him. All light from the electric chandelier disappeared from the ridiculous size of this man and his pointed umbrella. It was a ridiculous umbrella. It was long enough that the man could use it as a cane. Erin wondered how much of the sun was swallowed when it expanded.

“H—hi, Mr. Lerin! W—welcome, we, ah, we…”

Mr. Lerin crouched down, so that perhaps he could mimic a normal height. But Erin was a child, so the kindness just felt patronizing.

“Where is your mother,” Mr. Lerin asked without really posing any question.

Erin pointed. It was easier than trying to overcome the whole talking thing.

The light returned, as Mr. Lerin left the room. It was flickering unsteadily, though it always had done that. At least it was there!

“You all good, sonny?” a cracking, pitched voice asked from one of several shadows the room had to offer. This voice was dwarfed by the one that had come before it, the one that still lingered in the room like the stench of wet wool.

“Y-y-yes, yes I am,” Erin told the ghost. There were a lot of those in this house. He didn’t know all of their names, though this one was named Asper.

“Excellent, that is good to hear.”

So yes, there were ghosts here. Two kinds, in fact. You’ve met both.

Let’s call them G1 and G2.

G2, or Asper, as Erin called it, was one of those idiots that only hid in shadows. Who didn’t accept the fact they were only sort of dead, who hoped to move on so much that they never fully took advantage of the fact they had a second chance. I recognize that definition is unfair of Asper, as Asper is almost a G1 at this point, but that is just a display of Geoffrey’s Theory. A G2 will become a G1 with time. An idiot can’t be an idiot forever, eventually they have to act.

Okay. As you might have guessed, Erin is not the narrator. I wish he was. No, I’m Arnollo Lerin, sadly. And yes, I have confidence in that my umbrella is ridiculous in nature, just as my height is ridiculous. There should be a limit to a man’s height, as eventually you’re just challenging the mountains, and I am terribly confident that I am not as good looking as those big rocks.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Lerin! Welcome, welcome. I’m sorry if Erin was caught off guard by your appearance, he isn’t used to your type of visitor,” Angelica announced as my back bent further to get under the doorframe.

“He was caught off guard, but I wouldn’t blame him.” I looked around the room, spinning in a slow, messy circle. The place was filled with bronze gears and silver keys. “I see your work is coming along nicely.”

“Hopefully, hopefully.” Angelica smiled, and shook her head, “Anyways, dear Lerin, do you have what I requested of you?”

“I do not, actually,” I shrugged, a movement emphasized by the length of my arms, “hopefully it wasn’t important.”

“Mr. Lerin!” Angelica stepped forwards, towards me. She had a woodcarver’s knife, which was not a terrifying tool, but in the hands of this specific individual it was foreboding. It felt longer than it was, closer to my neck than it was. “You of all people know that is just not the case!”

I nodded, careful of the motion so that I did not crack my skull against the ceiling. I did have an uncertain alliance with ceilings, which I did not wish to disturb. “I do know. But I also know that, as of this moment, I quit.”

“Quit!” Angelica laughed, twirling her knife in a lackadaisical arc from one hand to the next, “fancy yourself an independent, do we now?”

“No,” I brought up my umbrella, so that it was between myself and this hollow woodcarver, “just dependent on something else.”

 “Mm.” Angelica nodded, “I suppose, though you’d be wrong. I have contacts, Lerin. I know how the world works. You don’t.”

I nodded, “I know.”

“No, you don’t, dear. If you did, you would stay in your place. You already failed this game called life once, you really shouldn’t attempt it again.”

I nodded again. “You’re right about that. But that is why I’m a G2. I’m too stupid to figure out where I’m supposed to go next. Right?”

Angelica raised an eyebrow. “Geoffrey’s Theory?”

“Yes.”

Angelica opened her mouth again, but I was done losing this conversation so I stabbed forwards with my umbrella. It hit my former boss in the neck, and her neck collapsed in on itself as I poked a hole right through it. Angelica stumbled back, touching the spot I had just made, and glared at me. Her lips moved, but no voice came out.

“You know, if you were truly hollow you wouldn’t have a voice box anyways,” I pointed out.

Angelica thrust her knife to the side, and I saw a glimmer of silver to my left. Already close to my neck. I reacted as calmly as I could in such a scenario, and opened my umbrella. The resulting blast of air pushed Angelica back, her shoulders cracking along the wall. Her strike halted, hopefully. Hopefully.

I could still breath, so yes, it had. But that was a temporary solution. I couldn’t see her now. There was a giant umbrella very much in the way.

I struggled to get the umbrella closed, before Angelica could get another strike ready. 

    But it was too long a struggle. 

        Yet the strike never came. 

The hollow woodcarver was actually defeated. Well, this version of her, at least. Huh. What in the heavens do I do now?

I barely registered myself as I opened the door to the closet, letting the table stuffed in there crawl on out. It bumped into my leg in thanks. I moved to walk on out of the house, but stopped halfway. For there was a child in the way.

“What was that noise?” the child asked, for once not afraid.

“Me killing your mother,” I said. It was blunt, but I don’t think there was a better way to say that. “I thought it was necessary?”

The child just stared, not comprehending. A ghost, the Asper fellow, moved in between me and Erin.

“Good choice,” I said, smiling slightly, “protect the child. Congratulations! You’re now a G1. Anyways, I will leave you both alone. Just don’t chase me down and kill me in vengeance, and we’ll be on good terms.”

I moved a solid arc away, going around the edge of the room. The table— the one from the closet— was still following me. Not sure why. I left the house, and it was raining. I wasn’t going to use that umbrella of mine, because I didn’t enjoy fighting things that didn’t really affect me. The street was long, lit by a rhythmic series of slumped lanterns. Forward bound I was, I guess. With my new table.

It was always an experience, seeing a G2 gain the confidence to become a G1. Someday I will get that title as well. But for now, I’ll just stick to my own. Ridiculous height, ridiculous umbrella, as some wise woman once told me. A dead wise woman I’m leaving behind, but a wise woman nonetheless.

The End

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

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Plot Diagram

Hello there! How are you all this fine evening? I’m back, this time with a poem. It’s a short one, and I waited quite a long while before posting it. I wanted to make sure it was ready. But I think it’s time, I think it’s been enough months. And I’m happy with it! So, hopefully you all enjoy… Plot Diagram!

Plot Diagram

Have you ever plotted out your life? Yeah, me neither. But I’d be curious to see what the resolution is, how long it is and how long I have to wait before I hit the peak of my problems and start to solve them one by one. And if I could graph my happiness where would I end up? But that’s the great thing about stories, they’re a mystery the first time, and a puzzle the second, and you can view the diagram in full, label the peaks and valleys. The issue is when you’re stuck in the mystery, and still waiting for it to become a puzzle.

The End

So, what did you all think? Also, can you find the plot diagram in the image I choose for this post? It’s kind of hard to see, but I feel like it’s there.

Anyways, if you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

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When Time Gets the Hiccups

Hello there! How are you all this fine evening? It’s been a while, I took a bit of a break for finals. Hopefully everyone’s new year has started off well! It’s all very exciting.

Anyways, we’re starting this year off with a short story. I decided to try something new, because I wasn’t sure what to write at all. I think you can sort of tell, just from the layout of the story. But I am proud of it! It was a fun writing experiment. And who knows, maybe you’ll see more of this style. I think it could be interesting if used in a longer story, though it definitely works best in a short scale such as this. Hopefully you all enjoy… 

When Time Gets the Hiccups

“Howdy!” I say, to you. You are sitting across from me, across the table. Just sat down, actually. We are in a restaurant somewhere, some pizza place. “How are you doing today?”

You laugh. “I’m doing well… did you just say howdy?”

Alright, yeah, I didn’t like that either.

“Hello.” I say, to you. You are sitting across from me, across the table. Just sat down, actually. We are in a restaurant somewhere, some pizza place. “How are you doing today?”

You smile. “I’m doing well… how about you?”

“Oh, um, I’m doing well as well. Just kind of going.” There was a short period of awkward silence. “Any exciting plans this morning?“

You laugh. “Morning?”

I glance out the window. There were a lot of windows. They lined the far wall. It was most definitely not morning. It was, in fact, the evening. Well… swell.

“Hi!” I say. You are to the side of me now, we’re sitting besides each other, I guess. Because it’s the morning this time around, we’re sitting at a cafe as well, which honestly I preferred! Breakfast. I got coffee, and a scone. I love scones.

This time, this time was going to be it. “How are you doing today?”

You smile. “I’m doing well! How about you?”

“I’m doing well as well! Adapting, overcoming.” I wasn’t quite able to escape that moment of awkward silence. “Any exciting plans for this morning?“

“I do! Actually, right after this, I’m going to run on over to an interview.” you say, perking right up. “That’s why I’m so well dressed, otherwise there is no way I’d go out wearing this in this heat.”

“Yeah? Well, hopefully the interview goes well.”

“Thank you. I’m excited!”

You were late to the interview.

“Do I even try?” I wasn’t talking to you. And I wasn’t at a table. And all the windows were curtained and dark. I was talking to myself, in front of a cracked mirror. “It never goes right. Everything I do, any way I do it, I can only see it going terribly, horribly wrong.”

The mirror, as mirrors do, did not respond. I sighed, as that seemed like a fitting response for it.

“Why even try. If the choice is between bad and nothing, nothing’s probably the right call. Right?”

A series of thoughts broke through my mind, all at once. Four different situations, all of them bad, all of them falling out and down and whatever. I open my mouth, hesitate, and stutter something, the first thing that comes to mind.

“Howdy!” I say, to you. You are sitting across from me, across the table. Just sat down, actually. We are in a restaurant somewhere, some pizza place. “How are you doing today?”

You laugh. “I’m doing well… did you just say howdy?”

Alright, yeah, I didn’t like that either.

“I, um, well, I was trying something new. A new greeting. It wasn’t great, was it?”

“No, no! It’s just weird, coming out of your mouth. Anyways, how are you?”

“I’m doing well as well. Adapting, overcoming.” I wasn’t quite able to escape that moment of awkward silence. “Any exciting stories from this morning?“

“I do! I got the job!” you say, perking right up.

“Yeah! That’s epic!”

“Thank you. I’m excited!”

I was smiling. Awkwardly, but it felt normal enough. Time was passing smoothly. No hiccups at all.

The End

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

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The View Behind

Hello there! This is the last of the three poems in the Failures United™ Collection. It’s short, so I’ll keep my rambling short as well. I hope you enjoy The View Behind!

The View Behind

You look back, and find you aren't behind.

You're with everyone else;

Failures United™.

Making their way forwards together.

Towards progress.

The End

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

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Nobodies Enterprise

Hello there! How are you all this fine evening?

Welcome back! Today we have another poem for the Failures United™ Collection, an odd poem which builds on the last poem in the collection. If you are interested you can find that poem here, though you don’t have to read it to understand this poem. Anyways, introducing…

Nobodies Enterprise

Freedom!

from that line.

now you just have to make sure you stay that way.

Can't be too hard!

after all, we're Failures United™.

Ummmm...

how you doin'?

Taking it slow?

good choice, good choice,

Caution is the way to go.

It's not your choice?

Well, that's life, I guess.

You get out of line

just to find you're behind.

Right?

Well, I did warn you.

Besides, everyone's got that fear around here.

Nobody talks about it, though.

They don't look back.

they just keep going.

Well, just a part of life, I guess.

We're all behind in it.

Still failures.

United™.

The End

So that was Nobodies Enterprise! I hope you enjoyed it. If you want to see the other poem, here it is again. I will be posting the last poem in the collection tomorrow, so that’s exciting!

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

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Failures United™

Hello there! How are you all this fine evening?

Anyways, today I have a poem. And this is a fancy poem, because it is going to be in a series of three poems, which I will be posting today, tomorrow, and Sunday. It’s been a while since I did a poetry event! The last one, The College Collection, was kind of sad so hopefully this one is more optimistic. I’d love to hear what you all think!

Anyways, introducing….

Failures United™

Greetings!

Welcome, we're glad you could make it!

There's a long line,

so hopefully you can wait here a bit.

You'd be surprised how many people come through here,

And most people even visit again!

I guess we're good hosts,

or at least good at advertising.

We have a couple of people who stay year-round,

but we don't talk about them. Hm?

You feel behind?

Well, you are at the back of the line.

Just don't look ahead,

the ground's a good place for your eyes.

You want to stop?

If you exit the line you'll get pushed to the back,

and that's just another way to get here, pal.

Because we're all just Failures United™.

Welcome!

The End

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

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Fog in Purple Mountains

Image by kjpargeter on Freepik

Hello there! How are you all this fine evening? It’s been a while. Two weeks, instead of just one. I’m sorry, I had exams. They were very rude, and stopped me from posting last Friday.

While on the topic of annoying changes, just so you all know the link to the Non-Non-Blog has recently been changed so old links to the website may no longer work for a little while. On the positive side, it’s no longer a random stream of numbers, so that is cool. I’ve been changing the appearance of the website a bit lately, specifically in the home page, so if you all have any advice on how it should look that would be lovely.

Anyways, this is a story called Fog in Purple Mountains. It is an attempt to include both prose and poetry in the same story, which turned out pretty well, I think. It was a cool experiment at the very least. Before we actually get to the story, I will say this particular post is better read on my website, just because of the formatting of the page and the paragraphs. I hope you enjoy!

Fog in Purple Mountains

The mountains were purple and blue. They expanded out to the horizon, though that wasn’t particularly far here at Cayen. The clouds hung very low here, for reasons no research or experiment had been able to fully explain. Something about the high amount of rivers that filled the nooks in the mountains and turned the valleys into marshlands, alongside the high winds in the upper atmosphere trapping the fog down below.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” Fyna started, looking over the edge of the cliff and into the valley below. It was an excellent view, there was above average visibility today. “I’m going to fly down to the wreckage, and grab the battery. If it’s still there.”

“...Yes,” Waerren agreed. The word was well enunciated, came out slowly. It had a way of feeling uncertain in how it wavered in the air, though what Fyna had outlined was both oversimplified and obvious.

Waerren shrugged, before punching Fyna in the shoulder. “Look! It’ll be easy, you know all of the steps. You’ve finished everything else, and this is the last part you need! Just go in, be careful of the Cyafirse, and worse case we have to check another wreckage. There are a lot of those here.”

Fyna shrugged. It wasn’t Waerren’s shrug. His had been loose, excited. Fyna’s was half-finished and defeated.

“Look, sis, I know I’m only a year past my own Colyen, so I’m not necessarily the best source on all this stuff, but you got this. It’s only scary the first time.”

Fyna’s eyebrows twisted: “You only have one Colyen.”

Her brother just winked, “as I said, it's only scary the first time.”

Fyna sighed. “Thank you. I guess I’ll go now.”

Waerren nodded, and backed away from the cliff. His hands were restrained in his pockets. If Fyna did end up failing he wouldn’t be able to jump after her fast enough to catch her. But honestly, there was something comforting in that. Waerren was confident enough in her abilities that he wasn’t scared, so why should she be?

She looked back down the cliff again. For once, she would be jumping with a solid view of the ground. The visibility would be worse down there.

Deep breath,

jump!

the wind parted, 

pressing itself to her face.

Then it changed directions as she extended her arms, the wingsuit catching on the air and halting her decent as though she were caught by puppeteer’s strings

The ground was a bright blue, almost cyan

it could be easily confused

With the sky.

the purple mountains,

they grew as she reached the ground.

Fyna was smiling, which was expected, probably. Flying felt… Well, it was just pure adrenaline, with nothing in the way. Her mind was clear, as was her vision. If anyone saw her, they would probably think she had lost her mind. I mean, adrenaline made your pupils get bigger, and that was compounded with the already eye-enlarging effect of her flight goggles. Then add the now absolute mess of her wind-shredded hair, and that previously referenced smile.

Wreckage time.

Wreckages were always a sight. Grey, twisted metal, engines and wires exposed to the air. The copper strands were still sparking, which was a good sign for Fyna, if not the violet grass which was now beginning to mix with orange and red. Wreckages didn’t normally cause forest fires, not with all the rain Cayen got, but you never knew. One in a hundred was still a lot when the population was a thousand.

Fayn didn’t see a door, but she did see a window. Grabbing her window-breaker, a hammer with a pointed edge, she made quick work of getting inside the structure. The window was already shattered, it was just a matter of cleaning up the surviving thorns of transparent glass. The ship wasn’t super large, which made it easy to get to the cockpit. And it had planted itself right on its face, so the controls of the thing had already been torn apart. In other words, Fayn had her battery. The last piece of her satellite. She just had to go back up the cliff, then she was ready for her Colyen.

Oh, god.

She had done it.

She was ready.

       …was she ready?

It had been so easy.

Of course it had, she’d already done this 

twenty times over.

Fayn took a deep breath. She had to get back to Waerren. The fires were creating smoke, not a lot, but enough to attract the Cyafirse. The colorless creatures would crack her spine and drink its fluid and walk into town in her corpse.

deep breath.

Fayn slid to the ground. Carefully. It was really just sitting down.

It was going to be alright! She had an okay vision of what she wanted to do moving forwards, and now she would actually get to experience life and be independent and all of that. But she could be wrong. This would be a really bad time to be wrong.

It was really easy to mess up, 

and while people said you could pivot, Fayn didn’t really believe them.

She was curled up in a ball,

She really had to go.

She really had to go. Cyafirse were colorless. They could be right in front of her, written in font too small to see. She could panic later.

Fayn was barely aware of her surroundings as she left the hull, and made her way to the outdoors. Outside of the shield of the ship. Everything was blurry. She blamed the fog. The visibility was really bad.

Rocket on. Wingsuit open. Land.

“Everything alright?” Waerren asked.

“Yeah. I got the battery.”

Waerren whooped, and threw his hands into the air. “Nice! Congratulations!”

Then, his voice grew smaller. “It’ll be good, Fayn. No one ever knows what will come of their Colyen. That’s a part of why it exists, I think.”

That didn’t make sense, but Waerren hadn’t really expected to.

The End

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

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Metaphor I'll Remember Later

Hello there! How are you all this fine evening?

After two weeks of short stories, it’s time for some poetry! About metaphors. But it isn’t necessarily a metaphor itself, unless it is. That’s for you to decide.

Anyways, this is a poem about some random page in my notebook. I don’t think there is too much I can do in terms of introduction, so… here is Metaphor I’ll Remember Later!

Metaphor I’ll Remember Later

Hello there! How are you all this fine evening?

After two weeks of short stories, it’s time for some poetry! About metaphors. But it isn’t necessarily a metaphor itself, unless it is. That’s for you to decide.

Anyways, this is a poem about some random page in my notebook. I don’t think there is too much I can do in terms of introduction, so… here is Metaphor I’ll Remember Later!

Metaphor I’ll Remember Later

The chair I’m on's built oddly.

It’s meant to bend flat,

so the middle sits comfortably.

But should you shift edgewards

there's a sharp metal bar

hidden underneath all the dull cloth.

It’s been a long day,

so I draw a long line

which squiggles

back and forth

down the page

the long way round.

It means something to me,

but I won’t write what

so I'll have to guess myself.

I write a caption,

at the bottom of the page;

An arrow,

a line aside another line.

“Metaphor you’ll definitely remember later.”

Some time later,

four more arrows,

four more lines:

“I remembered at least once.”

“At least twice, in fact”

“Still remember!”

“Poem?”

I’m not certain

if what I remember now

is what I thought then.

But there’s a lot you can read from

Lines.

The End

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

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Lizard.

Hello there! How are you all this fine evening?

This is a story about a herpetologist, which is what I have just learned is the title of one who researches reptiles and amphibians. It is also the result of trying to include the word lizard in every sentence of a story, just because- though I have not held to that prompt in the second draft. A story where everything is compared to or is a lizard is not as good as it sounds. Don’t worry, I have spared you all.

Anyways, introducing… Lizard.

Lizard.

Aric felt cold, like a lizard might, where there was no solution besides running about and looking for sunlight. The problem with this was, unlike a lizard which lives outdoors, Aric was trapped in the dark confines of this winding passageway. Aric was in the labyrinth now, wandering helplessly about its cornerless passages and perfectly symmetrical doors. There was a monster here too, though Aric had not found that specific aspect of the labyrinth yet. He had been told it was a hairy thing, unlike a lizard at all. The piles of brown strands blowing like tumbleweeds up and down alongside him seemed to back this little snippet of information up.

Aric breathed in deeply, and heard a much, much larger breath in unison. It pushed him back towards its source, as the vacuum the breath left had to be filled by something. Aric looked behind himself in a quick glance, and saw a faint shape, an outline which seemed to somehow tower taller than the ceiling itself. The wood beams meant to hide the sky and entrap those with wings had to warp upwards in order to keep the illusion that this passageway was unbroken. This monster was much larger than anything Aric had ever dreamed of before, even beating out the whooping lizard of North Harima.

Aric guessed it was coming for him, darting forwards like a lizard on a road just feet from a carriage’s wheels. The hairy shadow gave chase, rhythmically shaking the ground as it constantly grew ever closer, each step sounding like claws on metal and stone.

Aric was deathly aware of his panting breath. There! Was that an exit? A lone ray of sunlight shone on the ground before him, a sign of new possibilities. His shoulder hit the wall as he attempted to follow the newest curve the maze threw at him, the burst of pain that signaled a new bruise reminding Aric he was no lizard. He had no scales. The sunlight may not save him.

He reached the sunlight anyways.

The End, for now.

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

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Believed Definition

Hello there! How are you all this fine evening?

Welcome to Believed Definition! A short story in which I'm experimenting with some new ways of setting up a magic system and world. I'd love to hear what you think about both! I had a lot of fun writing this story, so hopefully it is also enjoyable to read. At the very least, you get to read about a creature with eight arms, two mouths, and no legs. Because that isn't only slightly unnerving.

Believed Definition

“So—” 

The man paused, before restarting, “So, um—”

“You good, man?” the small eight armed creature beside him asked, its two mouths switching off every other word to spin its meaning into an oscillating pendulum between sarcasm and honest monotony.

“Yes— yes, I’m fine,” the man continued, “just, you know, trying to figure some things out.”

“Understandable,” the arachnid (for that was the closest one could get to a definition for such a creature) agreed.

The man nodded, as he also agreed. With himself. The nod meant something, it wasn’t meaningless. He was doing excellently.

The problem was the bridge, or lack of it, really. He had been on it only minutes ago, but after pausing to take in the view a local naiad, a water spirit, thought it would be a wonderful decision to take the ancient foot-pounded stone bricks right out from under the man’s feet, in yet another act of vengeance well and truly halting his progress for the hopefully temporary time being. And so the man, a tallish and starving humanoid with a beard of battered gray hairs and clothing which had once been quite expensive, was soaking wet and trapped back where he had started.

The man was named Edda. His many-handed friend was named Hecatoncheires, though no one called him that. And… neither of them actually knew the name of that naiad, but she was staring at them from beneath the waters, to make certain they wouldn’t be able to get across. She couldn’t just go off and let them find another way after all, lest her name go down among the followers who turned their backs on the heavens. Lest she become, well, like these two.

“I don’t suppose you have any more of those beans?” Hecatoncheires asked, though he already knew the answer.

“No, I used the last one two days ago, Hecate. You know that.” Edda responded, scratching his beard in a way he thought looked thoughtful.

“Hm,” Hecate grunted with both its two mouths.

“Hold that thought!” Edda shouted suddenly, pointing— “There’s an idea!”

“What thought?” Hecate asked, spinning every which way. That was the only way to explain it, really, as the creature did not just go in a circle, but rotated in a full sphere with all eight of its hands. Then it spotted the little thing. A wire of light hanging on the wind, moving steadily towards the river.

Hecate lunged forwards, grabbing the thought right as it hit the invisible point of no return over the river. The creature tumbled downwards, where the naiad moved to grab Hecate and pull it and the thought underwater. For a scary moment, Hecate was reminded of the fact he couldn’t hold his breath, or swim at all.

Edda grasped at one of Hecate’s arms, heaving the orb of hair-blanketed limbs back onto safe, damp soil. “You got it?”

“Yessir,” the pair of mouths stuttered.

“Excellent!” Edda laughed, “Let me see what I can do.”

It wasn’t a big thought, just the phrase ‘Hm’, but Edda had a plan. And besides, he wasn’t great at big sentences yet, especially not without any paper, and he had lost his notebook and pens several weeks ago at this point, after the Lord of Caves had demanded it as passage. One of his worst attempts at bargaining, if he was being completely honest.

Hm.

“I don’t know if that was a good choice of word,” Hecatoncheires muttered.

Edda glanced up at him, “You know I don’t get a lot of choice, Hecate.”

“I know, I know!”

Edda looked back at the wind wire.

“You could give up,” another voice added, from a bit down the slope of moss and rocks the pair was standing on. The naiad.

“I could,” the man agreed, “but I also can’t.”

“Why not?” the naiad asked, in a voice similar to waves hitting rhythmically on the rocks below a waterfall, should the water be trying its best to not anger a god who had chosen those rocks to be its champion for some reason or another.

“I— I have the feeling you know,” Edda responded.

The naiad inverted her face, which was a motion which, for those well versed in naiads, meant a great disappointment or discomfort was being felt on her part. Her lungs— she did have lungs, an optional thing for water spirits— let out an odd gurgling noise. “But it would make things so much easier for me, you have no idea.”

“I— wait, I think I got it.” Edda lifted the thought above his head: “Abbreviations!”

“What?” the naiad asked.

“Silence,” Hecate interrupted, “let him explain.”

“You be silent!” the naiad exclaimed.

“How ‘bout you both be silent,” Edda proposed with a certain kind of hesitance, “the phrase hm, see, it could be an expression of thought. But it can also be an abbreviation, for either ‘hectometer’ or ‘her majesty’.”

“So?” the naiad asked.

“So, um—”

“Pallas,” the naiad offered. A mistake on her part. Names mean something. They provide their own definition, even when abbreviated.

“Pallas, naiad, hm H.M,” Edda uttered, waving his hand in awkward and ever growing circles as the thought expanded in the air. It flew towards the naiad, illuminating the river which was her domain. The skeleton of the bridge could be seen on the riverbed, and the mountains which arced and curved around them, the Rhinoshorns. But, most noticeably, a beacon shone in the air, the coming rain, water destined to flow down to the Pallas river below, alighting in shapes like vines clinging to the clouds. Edda grimaced. That would be a problem later.

Problems were not short in coming though, as the Pallas river suddenly exploded into flood. Edda, slow on his feet, barely had even registered the threat before Hecate had started running, pushing the older man along as the orb of limbs searched for higher ground. Arms weren’t great for running. They didn’t bend quite right. And Edda kept tripping on the rare rock who had sworn itself to the Second Earthen One, trying to add to his chances of perishing.

They had barely crossed any ground at all before the water rose to Edda’s waist, and completely overtook Hecate. The poor arachnid was taken under by an invisible current starting to spin clockwise in the river turned lake.

The water stopped expanding, luckily. But when Edda tried to move, he found he could not. Pallas, a naiad now more powerful than anything she had ever believed she could accomplish, rose over him. “What have you DONE!”

“Turned you into a lake 100 meters wide? And nobility by naiad standards, no less,” Edda explained in a soft, apologetic voice.

“You’ve doomed me! Kolaro will boil me to nothingness, to make sure I don’t use this power to rebel. I can’t defend myself from all seven of the oceans!”

Edda nodded, “yes, yes! You can’t fight them all by yourself! But you can with help. Join me and Hecate on our journey. Help us cross where the bridge once stood.”

Pallas’s fists swirled like balloons about to pop, and Edda closed his eyes. For if they did pop, the resulting explosion would just be meters away. And Edda knew drowning to be one of the worst ways to Death in this world.

But the explosion never came.

“Fine. But if I come with, I expect you to fix this,” Pallas ordered.

Edda opened his eyes once more, to find himself looking at the ground and the green of the grass trying to escape their roots and swim to the surface for air. A hairy arm floated into view, and Edda was reminded of the fact Hecate couldn’t hold his breath. He had to speed up this conversation. “I— I can try to fix this, er, predicament you are in, though I am not as skilled as people say I am.”

“You’ll pull through,” the now noble naiad decided, “because I don’t think you could get by with one more enemy. Your list is just too long at this point.”

Edda smiled weakly, though he saw a flaw in that logic. After all, how would one more enemy change anything?

“I’m glad to have you on board. Now, can you please stop, um, drowning Hecate there? The eight-armed arachnid has much less lung capacity than you’d expect from someone with two mouths.”

The End, for now.

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

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Rainwatcher

Hello there! How are you all this fine evening? Hopefully, if you are subscribed to my blog, you didn’t receive this post in your email! That is because I was planning to post two things today, and didn’t want to spam you all. The two poems are definitely not connected in any way, so that’s cool, and not sarcastic. If you would like to read the other poem, you can follow this link here.

Anyways, this is a poem I wrote a long time ago. More than a year ago, now. I never posted it because I thought I’d hold onto it until the right time. I think now is as good a time as any, though. We’ll see. I hope you enjoy it: Rainwatcher!

Rainwatcher

I love watching the rain

as it

dances

among the trees.

Even if it's

cold

I hope

to see

where it

grows.

Yes, I know, it’s one of those annoyingly short and vague poems literature teachers tend to get really excited about. Little do they know, I’m still learning how writing works, so I have no idea what I’m doing!

[nonnonblog]

We Call It The Monster Tree

Hello there! This poem is the one you were supposed to get an email about, but for some reason wordpress decided to send an email for both posts, so sorry for spamming you all. Anyways, the two poems are definitely not connected in any way, so that’s cool, and I’m not being sarcastic.

This is a poem I wrote a long time ago. More than a year ago, now. I never posted it because I thought I’d hold onto it until the right time. I think now is as good a time as any, though. We’ll see. I hope you enjoy… We Call It The Monster Tree!

We Call It The Monster Tree

Outside my house there lives a tree,

we call it the monster tree.

It sits hunched over with branches curled,

claws weaving among layered leaves,

mimicking matted brown-green fur.

This tree

we call the monster tree

sits over a yellow brick path.

If you wish to travel in our home,

you must cross within its reaching claws,

or tread on grass-laid ground.

Few people praise

the monster tree,

it stands out from the rest.

As others flower towards the sky

its claws just dangle down,

farther and farther towards the ground,

aching to entangle the path.

But during the rain

under the monster tree,

there sits a dry place,

as its curled claws

form a woven umbrella

to protect one

from the rain.

So, what did you think? If you would like to read the definitely not paired poem, you can follow this link here.

[nonnonblog]

The Sewer Hospital

Hello there! How has your evening been?

Welcome to what is the second part of a challenge I set myself on last week, which is to have a series of stories where each story had to include at least two references to what is going to happen in the next one. These references could be vague comparisons or metaphors, or direct statements- but they had to be kind of odd. As you will see in this story, where things start to go a bit more off the rails compared to the last one. I will be continuing this story, though next week I think I will write something more standalone. So, stay tuned for that!

Anyways, I hope you enjoy… The Sewer Hospital!

I woke up in a hospital bed, the back of my head wrapped in bandages.

My first instinct was to sit upright, but whoever was to my right immediately stood over me and stuttered: “Whoa whoa whoa, hold up there, take it slow…ly.”

I froze. The person now standing over me was a perfect black-gray replica of me, down to my hair being so much of a bird’s nest that you could make out the individual strands in my shadow. My shadow, the one standing over me, right now, in the hospital, talking.

“Um.” I said, my brain as stagnant as the rest of my body.

“Okay, before you say anything-”

“Get off of me!” I pushed outwards, as if trying to shove myself out from under a boulder. But my hands just found empty air, the shadow dispersing and reforming between my fingers. I scrambled back, so my spine was pressed against the metal bars making up the end of this hospital bed.

I stared, frozen again, at the mirrored figure looking back at me just inches away. My shadow didn’t seem to know what to do. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be thinking. I know I’d said I’d love to meet my shadow or whatever, but here it was, and all I could think was what all did this thing know about me, what all had it seen?

My shadow plopped itself down back on the opposite side of the bed, cross legged. I was starting to notice it wasn’t perfectly symmetrical, didn’t perfectly match me, which was odd. I mean she, my shadow, was definitely me, but she had her hair back in a ponytail. Mine was down. Hers was longer, too. Both were messy and, as I’d said, bird’s nests.

“So…” I started after a bit too long a wait.

“So!” my shadow responded, with much more energy than I had had in a very long time, “How are you feeling?”

“Alright.” I said, “Why are you here? Am I hallucinating? Dreaming? Dead?”

“I don’t think so, no.” my shadow responded, “I don’t know how you got here, actually. You fainted, and it didn’t look like the human ambulance was going to make it in time, so I, um, grabbed you.”

“Okay…” I thought for a moment, “that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why not?”

“When I touched you right now, I went right through you. How could you grab me if you’re intangible?”

My shadow’s face was a blur of darkness, but I could swear she was smiling. “I didn’t even know I could be three dimensional until an hour ago, let alone talk or hold things. I just know it isn’t easy. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold it up.”

“Don’t leave yet.” I burst, “Sorry, sorry, that was a lot more forceful than I meant it to be. I just mean, don’t leave without explaining where exactly I… am.”

“Oh, sorry! You’re in the hospital. In the sewer.”

Sewer? was my first thought. It took a little while for me to actually voice the question, though.

“Yeah, sewer. You all don’t have a good opinion of sewers, right?” my shadow asked, “It’s like, where you send your trash, or something.”

“Yes…” I agreed, “why am I in a sewer?”

My shadow disappeared, sinking into the floor, extending from the bed I sat on.

“No, don’t—” I threw my arms forwards, as if to catch it before it fully fell off its spot on the bed, but the shadow was still intangible. It still reached the ground, deflating to be just a flat sketch on the tiles. Okay, Petia, think before you freak. You’re in a sewer— which made sense— you just had a conversation with your shadow— which—

None of this made sense. I was either dead or dreaming, or maybe insane? Perhaps I was in a hospital, but wasn’t interacting with the reality around me properly. Was that a thing? I was a physicist, not a physician.

I placed my feet on the floor, then withdrew them— it was cold. I wouldn’t say stone cold, but it had certainly never seen anything close to sunlight, or the heat that came with it. Where had my shoes gone? Oh. Over there.

The room was pretty empty. I was in the center, on a bed. A big medical examination machine was on one side, a chair on my other. And, in front of me, weirdly symmetrically placed, was a table. Undecorated. With my shoes sitting on top, in front of a mirror I hadn’t seen before, my reflection staring back at me. I looked stunned.

“I— I, don’t look at me! I— I can’t believe you’re down here,” my reflection stuttered, but the shock quickly shifted to my surprise: “Oh, you want my help! Sorry, I can’t grab your shoes for you, you have to do that yourself. And quit staring. You people—”

I looked away, and the voice in the mirror vanished. This was too much. So much was happening. Shoes.

I stood up, and just dealt with my discomfort as I slowly edged towards the table. I didn’t look up, just stared at the floor. No more mirror, please.

Grabbed my shoes, and dropped them on the floor. The gray felt like a blemish there on the ground. I slipped them on. They didn’t have laces, thankfully. I could just leave. Please, nightmares, don’t let the door be locked.

I grasped the handle, which was nearly as cold as the door. In fact, the whole room seemed to be getting colder. My breath was visible in front of my face, now.

I yanked the door open, and pulled it so that it would slam into the wall, the springy doorstop vibrating an odd chord that I barely could hear as I rushed out of the room into whatever was beyond it.

I was in a sewer. It looked like a sewer. And, in front of me, was a microwave. It had arms, legs, and a face. A clock face, that is. At first, I thought it was an art piece, an odd statue or sculpture. Then it struck a pose and announced itself to the world: “Why HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO pal!”

It’s voice echoed like the fire alarm that had brought me here. And the door behind me finished the arc I had set it on, clicking shut.

The End, for now.

As I said at the beginning of this post, this story is a continuation of a series of short stories I am posting! If you are interested in reading the first story, or any of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!