Den of the Cyphered Wolf

Sunday, November 14, 2010

War World (Draft 1 of Chapter 1)

“Kale I’m tired take the stick”

“You know Ariel, we could always just drift”

“What happens if we enter a debris field? You know the rocks out here go way too fast. We need someone to steer and keep this ship hole free.”

Ariel had known Kale since they were small. They had come up together on one of the many space stations rooming the galaxy. They had grown up at the port of the Aries watching the traders, scouts and salvagers come and go. There wasn’t much on the station itself and so the port was busy.

The scouts would bring news, mostly of what was around them They would be the first to know if another station was approaching or some moon or planet had something salvageable. The scouts would then sell that information to salvagers. Salvaging was a dangerous job. The information the scouts would give was almost never complete. Scouts seldom went planet side preferring to just point the way. Salvagers did the real work of exploring planets and telling who ever was in charge of the stations if it was worth sending an expedition, it was the salvagers who would take samples. Ariel and Kale were salvagers.

“Alright, Alright I’ll steer who knows maybe I’ll be known as the guy who was flying the ship that found Eden”

“Shut up and just steer. Eden my ass.”

“What’s that yellow dot, maybe I can get out of my night of duty”

“The sensors say there’s quite a bit of sulfur in atmo but for a quick nights rest with the suits we should be okay. Alright take her down”

As the two lower the rust bucket a silent explosion shakes the ship. Both turn their heads and realize that air is escaping through a giant hole in the hull. Both also realize that the controls are shot.

“Fuck, Fuck I don’t want to steer tonight you say. What’s that yellow dot you say”

“Just grab the emergency packs. We’re close enough to the surface so that we can use the chutes”

They jump, leaving home. The only place they had.
As Kale falls he realizes that he is not slowing down as quickly as he should. The cloth parachute is being eaten by chemicals in the air. He and Ariel hit the ground harder than they have ever from any airdrop.

Rubbing a bruised shoulder Ariel says, “So what do we do now without a ship or a way back to Canaan.”

“I’m thinking. We don’t know where we are. We don’t have much equipment and to top things off we know for a fact that this place is toxic if we stay here too long.”

Just then a red light shone from the horizon. The brief light in the night revealed an oddity about the earth Kale and Ariel were standing on.

As Ariel knelt she said, “Hey I can see myself in the ground.”

“It’s glass. The ground is glass.”
Kale knelt and rubbed his hand on the ground. “Fuck your right. We got to get out of this place.”

Another explosion went of and the two decided to walk towards it. Even if it was dangerous there was the possibility that people would be there. Maybe someone who could answer questions or even better help them get off this rock.

They walk for hours towards the flashing lights and booming noise, until finally from a ridge they see it more clearly. War. Violence but in the chaos they could not make out an army. It was just destruction. Then finally they realized that the warriors were not men but machines. Large slow ones with cannons on their backs fired into the field of glass which was now a field jagged with holes filled with sand. . Faster ones with smaller guns on their backs rocketed through the simultaneously shooing and bludgeoning anything near them.

Despite all of this violence not every machine was blasting what it could. There were smaller ones who while being ignored by the larger ones were picking up debris and cleaning the battlefield. They would determine if broken machines were still functional and if not would dismantle, store and transport what could be salvaged.

Ariel and Kale stood and watched as bombs and guns ripped holes into metal, could they even be called bodies? Most looked nothing like humans or even animals. They were machines.

“So where do we go from here,” Ariel said
“What?” said Kale as an explosion went off a half a mile from his ear.
“What’s the plan? I mean we decided to go towards the battle in hope of finding people but it looks like there are just machines down there”
Kale looked hard at the field. Thinking, he noticed something. “Every so often one of the smaller ones gets full and heads off somewhere. I guess we could follow

Robin the Hood (Draft 1 of Chapter 1)

It’s a day that makes any man think. Malik Locksley was soon to be a father. He had sworn to himself he would only marry after e had made something of himself. And through hard work

He had grown up in the eastern slum of the city. For most of his life he had no hope. He still did not know how he had done it. He scrapped and saved and begged. Then the banked loaned him the money, he needed to start the store. It was dangerous to keep it open but people need a place to buy the goods they needed. Too many good grocers had left the city. He stayed and the people thanked him with their business. Sure the young ones thought him an easy mark, but he knew everyone within five miles of that store, and when someone stole from him he would call one of the theifs relations, one they dared not cross. A mother, a father, an aunt. Malik was not rich, but he had enough to know his younger days of struggle were behind him.

People respected the man. He was generous rather than greedy, knowing how much luck played in his rise as work. He did not mind people owing him, even if it wsa not for the store. Most knew him as a man they could come to if they needed help paying a bill or feeding a child.

That is how he met is wife Sharri. Sharri’s sister was a single mother and Sharri asked him for help. At the time she was trying to become a teacher. They both talked about politics, and how things in the city needed to change. The ones with money stloe from the ones with the least of it to lose, and those just struggled on.

They saw themselves of like mind and became partners in everyway. Now she was giving birth to their first child.

“Have you thought of a name” The doctor asked.
They had not known if the child would be a boy or a girls so they both agreed on the name Robin.

“Robin Locksley” They said in unison


“Again.” Millerson thought “Every weekend. Why am I still friends with this guy. Miller was seventeen but looked thirteen. If that were not enough to get him picked on he was also a nerd. There was a time in his life when he denied that fact, but each attempt to be cool was more laughable than the last. Eventually he gave up and just ran with it. That’s when the beatings started, Every god damned day he would be tripped or punched, or stolen from. There was only one kid who had the decency to stand up for and that was Robin.

It was not a rock solid friendship though. The two were as different from each other as a stone is from a feather. Every weekend Robin would find some party or concert to go to and would drag Millerson with him. Things would be fine for a while the two would joke but before long a pretty girl would come along and Robin would follow her. Miller who would much rather be at home watching the latest stargate, would be left twiddling his thumbs.
“Hey Millerson” It was Marry.

“He does it every gd time.”

“Yeah I’m sorry for the time it was me.”

“Not your fault, its just I know it's going to happen so why do I keep letting him talk me into being a third wheel.”

“Mind if I keep you company”

“Better than drinking twenty cokes by my self. I know this pisses you off too.”

“ What d you mean”

“Its obvious to everyone you still like him”

“Everyone but him you mean. Eh Forget it.”

“You’re right it’s none of my business. So while MR. Mac Daddy over there gets his game going’ what are you going to do.”

“I was going to go home and get some sleep there’s a track meet in the morning. There is going to be some Canadian team from across the river there.”

“Good luck and kick there ass for me.”

“Will do see you round.”

Me Attempting to break my God Damn writer's block.

It's all cyclical isn't it. For weeks I've felt out of it because I haven't had the time to write something to my liking and now that I have a spare moment or two my mind is blank. As I think on the matter I realize that this is not the first time it has happened. It always takes me months to get back on the creative streak I found my self in previously, but I don't have months. If I want this grand digital experiment to continue I need to find some damn thing to write about- the election eh I already gave my thoughts on that damn thing, school - what's to say. I wake up go to class work on some group stuff, work on some projects. That's my life. Politics, the truth of the matter is that the current scene is in a state of flux and I want to give this new congress a chance to fuck up before I rip them a part. Or a little more honestly, I currently have no political opinions I feel strongly enough about to write on. The twenty-third anniversary of my birth. I feel old but I felt that way before Thursday. Nope.

In short. I am in a good mood. Damn, it's hard to write when I'm not pissed. I could get back to writing Seven Ladies, Orientation, Game, or Robin the Hood, War World, Reflections or a half-dozen other stories, but I don't remember where I wanted take them at the moment and it would take too long at to recollect my thoughts on those. Maybe if I had a week with nothing to do but sit on my ass but now I've got about an hour. By the time I figured out what I wanted to write on those again it would be time for my life to speed up again.

I got nothin'.

I could write on health care, but there is that time issue. Maybe a thesis on why Terry Goodkind's opinions on the issues of the death penalty, affirmative action, and economic regulation are wrong, if not crazy. Maybe later

Monday, November 8, 2010

Should I get personal?

I find myself in a moral dilemma I haven't been writing "me stuff" for a while because I've been busy but my mind keeps wandering to it. A while ago I started writing my autobiography, but then over the summer someone close to me died. I feel as though if I leave that part of my story out of the tale it does a disservice to her death by saying it was not important. At the same time my story is not only my story. If I tell it truthfully it would show those close to me in a moment of weakness, furthermore if I wrote the story and I liked how it turned out it would seem to me as almost profiting from her death. If I write about it honestly it could help others who have suffered feel as though they are not alone. Right now it doesn't matter all my personal writing is on hold anyway and even if it were not I am writing my autobiography in roughly chronological order so I have a long way until I get to that part of it.

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