Yo, what's up. I've decided to save some space and make a single thread for any and all new content I create from now on, not including stories that already have their own threads. I have a bunch of ideas I want to put out, but I'd hate to get started on them and never finish them (see: Simple Stuff) so what I plan to do is use this thread to post any new stories I have. Like I mentioned, this won't include stories that already have their own thread, so Appreciate, CLASSIC, and Simple Stuff will be posted in their respective threads while any new things will be posted here. I'll also go ahead and post the links to those threads too because why not. Whoo.
Animal Crossing Deluxe (Finished) : The only fanfic I've really written (I don't really like fanfics) but peeps seemed to have enjoyed it. Dude moves into a town full of animals and lives his life. There are some coming of age bits in there as well.
Simple Stuff (hiatus) : Should be named "Stupid Stuff". I try to walk a thin line between quirky humor and lolsorandomXD. Not much has been written yet, plus it's on a hiatus.
CLASSIC : (Ongoing) Dude with a sword goes on adventures in a fantasy setting. 's pretty fun.
Appreciate : (temp. hiatus) : High school girl's slice of life. I'm...not joking.
Oh, I also did some poetry, kind of.
Unassorted is one of (if not, the most) serious things I've ever written. I plan to redo the first few paragraphs to make it match with the rest of the story, but that's for another time. "Sorting the Unassorted", which is the last part of Unassorted, is also my award winning (Hahahaha it's funny cuz it's kinda true) entry for KHI's Shippers Contest.
Spoiler: Unassorted
Show
I could hear the ever familiar slow beeping by my bedpost, as well as feel the weak but warm streaks of sunlight that reached my bed from the window above my head. Endless chatter filled the hall leading to my room, and as usual I could not make sense of any of it. The door opened and I lifted my head in time to see a man in a white coat holding a clipboard enter.
“What’s the news, doc?” I asked him.
“Still no change.” Dr. Feliz told me with his routine sympathetic smile.
“Bummer. Can I go home now?”
“Sorry, Richard but we need to keep you indoors for a while. You can get back on your feet in an hour or two.”
I didn’t want to admit he was right, but I knew he was. I had just woken up and felt extraordinarily light headed. I hated getting put under, it was like getting hit in the head with a club, except without the giant bruise to prove it. The doctor left telling me he’d have a nurse being up some breakfast, but I didn’t really care too much. The food tasted pretty bad and I usually left everything alone except for the Jell-o. I stared at my heart monitor for a few seconds trying to remember what my dreams for the night were. I never could recall them, and on the lucky mornings when I could, it would just be little blurry glimpses of them, like the first time you opened your eyes underwater and were so surprised by the burning of chlorine you shut them back closed. That small watery burning vision was all I ever got from my dreams, and I hated it. The creaking noise of my room’s surprisingly old door opening shocked me out of my train of thought. A woman walked in holding a tray of food, but I barely paid any attention to her. Without saying a word, she moved the bed table nearly on top of me, placed the tray on it, and pushed a button making the bed rise up. I looked at my food with near disgust. Mashed potatoes, corn, some sort of biscuit, blue Jell-o and meat that looked like it came straight out of a TV dinner, complete with brownish water that I’m guessing is supposed to be the “juices” of it. She left as soon as she could, still not saying a word.
Not that I minded.
I finally got fed up with the horrid basic cable television they had set up in every room so I tried to check myself out. Unsurprisingly, Doctor Feliz caught wind of it by the nurse who was to sign me out and told me to stay in my room for another half hour so he could do one more test to make sure I was fine. So I marched sluggishly back into my room, shutting off the television I had neglected before. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. I then began writing a letter to no one, a series of words scrawled across the page, destined never to be read by anybody. I was nearly finished when the doctor walked in to perform his little test. Like all of the other tests of my current stay at Red Port Hospital, this wasn’t the first time I’ve had this one. It was a simple test really, just to check to see if my brain was working right…mostly with balance and simple brain functions. As long as I could walk in a straight line without falling, I considered myself alright. And even if I couldn’t do that, they could just ship me off with a cane instead of having me waddle around like a newly born giraffe. Once that was done I was released to go about my business. It would seem a bit odd to most people to leave hospitals after a series of tests, but it wasn’t that way for me. Not since I’ve been doing it for as long as I could remember. You would think that, at the very least, I would know everyone in the hospital since I’ve been here for a good chunk of my life, but that was not true. In fact, with the exception of Dr. Feliz, I didn’t know the name of anybody working at RP Hospital, and even then I didn’t know his first name.
Not that I minded.
A cold wind blew across this old decrepit city. Whatever rays of sunlight that had reached me in the hospital were wasted, replaced now with chilly clouds cornering whatever part of the sky they could. Across the road from the hospital I could hear the sound of waves crashing against the wave breakers and docks. Why a hospital was built so close to the sea was beyond me; I often found myself silently wishing for a large enough wave to come and engulf it with me inside. So far my guilty desire has not been met. As I walked I could see the bright light of the lighthouse swirling about, sending messages to far-off boats of the promise of home, or if not then at least a safe place to rest for the night. I always wondered what it was like to be inside of the light house itself. I always just watched it from afar as the bright beacon brought back numerous ships from their voyages from faraway places. It was the highest point of this town, save for the mountainous region to the north. I envy the sailors who left Red Port. They were free to do as they please--really free. Not this nonsense that was forced on myself. Everyday I watched on from my bedside with a handful of grapes as gulls fly off into the distance. All the while I wished I was proficient with a bow and arrow. They were allowed to fly alongside the sailors as they crossed the sea, whom of which were nothing more but disgruntled men with no real future to speak of. Why is it that they could leave while I am stranded in this god forsaken town with nothing or no one to call my own?
Of this, I more than minded.
I made a side trip toward the previously mentioned lighthouse on a whim. I wasn’t sure what I expected to find there. Maybe the door for it would be miraculously unlocked for a change, allowing me to explore the inner workings of the boat saver. The ever-looming lighthouse drew nearer with every step I took, and for some reason it seemed somewhat ominous, like a twister that began in Earth and was slowly making its way into the Heavens to wreak havoc up there, thereby doing the bidding of those below. The light itself was shut off for the day, resting up for the long night ahead of it. When I reached the lighthouse, I was put off by the frighteningly red color scheme that it bore. I could never get used to how the color shone out at me, like a disgusting curse word written in crayon on a white canvas. I reached out my hand toward the steel blue door’s handle and turned. Unsurprisingly, I was met with resistance and was rejected for the umpteenth time. I walked passed the house and neared the edge of the concrete below my feet before peering down to the wave breakers down below. I spotted the iron ladder that had once saved my life and climbed down, onto a wave breaker itself. From my bag I produced the letter I had written earlier and, using the many days and weeks of practice prior, folded it gently into a paper boat. I waited patiently for the ocean to calm down and placed my boat into the water. Much to my surprise, the little boat swam out into the sea, defying all odds and nearly making it passed the buoy. However, the boat’s luck had run out, and I watched on with a heavy heart as it was violently beaten by the waves, forced to sink to the bottom.
I sat there for a while, near the ladder on top of a wave breaker thinking of the letter to no one, which would never reach its destination.
Of this, I more than minded.
---
I’m not sure why I expected to find you waiting for me home. It has been at least two years since we had last spoken, but whenever I open the front door, I still expect to see you looking out the opposite side window with a handful of blackberries in your hand. A look of agony was always on your face when you did this, but I never questioned it. I always just imagined it was because you were thinking of something that had happened to you as a child, something you would rather not share with the world. That look would always change when I made myself known, replaced with what I always thought was happiness. All I see now when I open the front door is a large empty space where only the clouds greet me as I enter. I remember spending an entire day standing where you always stood, eating nothing but blackberries. I admired you for always being there as I entered, but was also puzzled as to how you did it. Eventually my legs, unaccustomed to standing in a single spot for long, locked up. When I tried to move, I fell to the ground and landed face up. I watched the ceiling fan twirl about for a while before losing myself in thoughts about how you were suddenly gone. Looking out the window did not show me anything but the sky, so what did it show you all those times?
A dull cry snapped me out of my delusions as I quickly slammed the door shut. Once again the space in front of the window was bare. The cry of the ambulance got louder, and memories shrouded my mind like a terrible fog on a rainy day. Memories of being rushed to the hospital after the stupid stunt I tried to pull after drinking too much. Memories of my fallen mother at her last, after I had found her shortly after her heart attack. And of course, memories of you. I ran to the television set and turned it on, bringing the volume up until if forcibly drowned out the cries.
---
I lost track of time. The window that had only moments ago greeted me with cloudy skies showed me nothing but darkness now. I felt a familiar dull pain from the back of my head as I began to rise. Things were not getting better. I walked past the spacious living room and into the kitchen. Opening a cabinet, I grabbed a small transparent orange bottle and popped the cap off. A practiced motion, one that was years in the making. It was, at first, very difficult for me to open the prescription bottles. The first time in particular, I was so shaky that I ended up causing the pills inside to scatter when I did manage to pry the lid off. I feel to my knees and broke down then and there. You were not with me then, and I thank the heavens for it. You did not see me when I hit the bottommost part of my life, just as I never saw you during yours. Part of my soul wishes you had, however. Part of me wanted to show you my weakest moments, but how could I? You were the one person who stayed with me, and for that I could not afford to worry you more than necessary.
I placed two small capsules in my mouth and cupped my hands under the faucet after turning it on. After ingesting my medication, I sluggishly moved to my bedroom. Though the entire house was now under my name, I still refused to take the master bedroom. I felt as though doing so would be under minding the life of my parents, in particular my father. He had worked his entire life to gain everything a father would want only to be taken from this world right as he was beginning to enjoy it. The room itself was left undisturbed. I made it a point to leave that sanctuary exactly as they had left it, to the point where I locked the door from the outside and hid the key. It's been such a long time that even I have forgotten its location. The house felt, as a whole, empty. Everywhere I looked I found nothing but memories. My bedroom was no exception, but it was different in the fact that the memories there were my own. Everything there belonged to me and me alone. From the stereo system I bought for myself with the money I earned from my first job, to the countless books that lined the shelves.
Though I could not see it directly from my window, I could still make out the rays of light the lighthouse bore. I stared at my ceiling from the comfort of my bed as every few seconds, the light shone brilliantly against the side of the house. It always comforted me, almost luring me to sleep much like a baby who is gently rocked against his mother's body. Despite this, the dull ache from behind my head kept me awake. I turned to my side, hoping that refusing the area contact with a surface would elevate the pain. My wishful thinking was unmet, however, and I sat upright, staring out the window. The ever twirling streak of light merrily flashed past me. I rose from my bed, unsure of what to do. Letting my body carry me, I found myself exiting the house and retracing my steps from earlier that same day. A light drizzle fell from above as my shoes clacked nosily against the damp concrete. I restlessly rubbed my head, hoping for a small amount of relief, knowing full well how futile the action was. It didn't take long for me to reach the lighthouse. The soft pattering of raindrops hitting the surface of the ocean guided me through the dark as I made my way to the door. I stopped suddenly, gripping furiously at my head as an intense and sharp pain roared through my cranium, causing me to drop to my knees.
I will not lose to this.
The pain halted as quickly as it had came. I slowly began to stand, and was grateful to find that the previous pain had also subsided. I timidly reached for the door to the lighthouse a second time and pulled. To my surprise, the door slid easily, granting me access to whatever secrets it held. The sound of turning gears reached me as I entered, climbing up the spiral staircase leading to the uppermost area. The inside was mostly bare, save for a single mighty pillar that rotated clockwise and the staircase, of which I was now reaching the end. A small metal ladder met me. It was propped against the wall at the end of the stairs and right above it was a hatch. Opening the hatch revealed the very top of the lighthouse, exposed to the elements. I made my way up, taking care to take hold of the railing in case a rouge gust of wind came. The light shone brightly against my face, causing me to shut my eyes.
When I reopened them, I found myself somewhere else entirely. The sound of rain had been replaced by aquatic ambiance, and my surroundings where tilted in a dark blue. Something bumped against the top part of my head and, facing towards it, I was surprised to see a small paper boat roll off of me. I vaguely made out the shape of the rotating light in front of me, and it again blinded me. Once I composed myself I again found myself in a different place. A green meadow stretched out before me. A wooden picnic table stood in the distance as a soft breeze blew against me. Though I could not make out who they were, I saw two children sitting on the table. Once more, the light passed against my face and I found myself standing in front of you. You wore the same smile you always did when you saw me. Your hair was just the exact shade of brown that I remembered, and your eyes were still the same bright emerald green that they were when you were alive. You gently grabbed my head and pulled me towards you, so that our foreheads connected. A sudden flash of light robbed me of what was to come, and instead I was leaning against the railing of the lighthouse.
I stared at the void below me and made out the concrete below. Near the door, I saw the silhouette of a man's body lying on the floor. The light once more brushed passed me, racing against my back, but nothing changed. I realized in an instant what the truth was, and was unsure of what to make of it. A warm hand touched my own, and I knew instantly it was you. No one attended my funeral, but that was only because there was no one left. In a twist of irony, the man who was given the shortest amount of time was in fact, the last of us left. And he is gone now. Though in my own life I was nothing but a bystander who only watched the world around him, It makes me happy to think that somewhere--somehow, in a different life, we might just be together. Together we would change the world, leading strangers to happiness and the promise of home, much like the lighthouse that watched over this city.
---
Sorting the Unassorted
You were always there for me. That is something I will never forget. The first visits to the hospital were the most influential, for those were the ones where the doctor explained to you in great detail about my condition. Though I expected you to become lost during the elaborate and lengthy discussion surrounding my grey matter, you astounded me in how easily you understood the complexity that had, until then, eluded me. You put it into words that made far more sense than anything the doctors could ever conceive. You held my hand the entire visit, squeezing tightly, almost as if you could chain me to this world simply by having you by my side. I remember the strained look you gave as the doctor explained how the clot in my brain could—at any moment-- become a fatal catastrophe. You had given another squeeze at that exact moment, and I distinctly remember squeezing back. That would be the first time I began returning all the emotions you had been showing me. It was from that moment that I knew I would not need to face this alone. Even with Daniel by my side, I had always felt an immense feeling of isolation. But with you, it was as if an entirely different world was open to me. Where Daniel could only offer words of encouragement and sincere empathy, you offered much more. You stood beside me like a lighthouse to a shored city, always watching. Always protecting.
My thoughts, usually of deep resentment and sorrow, were replaced with hope and something I liked to believe was joy. Where I would usually harshly dislike entering the aforementioned hospital, I would now meet it with a head held high and fingers interlocked with yours. It was during one of these ever present visits that we were given the most unexpected news. In what most people would call a fateful day, the doctors told me I had only months to live. The clot had increased in size and should it grow any larger my brain would suffocate from the lack of oxygen. I took the news like I took everything else in my life: indifference. If I was to die, then so be it. So long as you were alive and lived in relative happiness, nothing else mattered to me. But your reaction changed that; it shook me to my very core. You wept. You clinged to my chest tightly and embraced me even tighter. I had never cried before. Never shed a tear for myself nor did I ever do so again. But for what was yet another first, I wrapped my arm around you, dug my head into your shoulder and cried. The mere thought of leaving you in such a state was more than I could ever hope to bare. We asked about treatments: there were none. The clot was far too deep and far too close to safely operate on, and even if they managed to remove it, that would only serve to treat the symptom, not the underlying cause of my genetic disorder. I held your hand as I told you everything would be fine. We would spend the rest of our time together in happiness, live out my remanding weeks as something for you to remember and cherish. You convinced me otherwise. You told me such an idea, though considerate, was also selfish. You had told me that a happy memory of us during the darkest times would be more painful than a rusty nail to the temple.
Though highly evasive and dangerous, you talked the doctor into performing the surgery. It was classified as an 'experimental procedure' in order to even get approved by the committee. The chances of my survival were slim, but if the surgery was successful, I might be able to place this behind me. The clot that had been my birth brother might be removed, and there might be no sign of his return, genetics be damned. The very motion of being rid of a pained head—to never again suffer the dull ache that served as a constant reminder of my condition—was something that had never crossed my wounded mind. The chances of my death were high, but as you sat next to me while I was being prepared for surgery, there was no doubt I would come out of this alive. As the mask was placed over my mouth, I quickly realized how much of a beacon you had become to me. The doctors had claimed this surgery too dangerous, but it was I and I alone who refused to take part of it. The doctors themselves easily folded into performing the surgery. Had I simply brought it up, I am almost positive they would have agreed to operate. You had given me the courage to go under, and I found myself clawing for your hand as the anesthetic had begun to shut me down, Your fingers interlocking into mine, along with a wet tear drop upon my wrist were the last things I felt as darkness surrounded me.
Isabelle:
I met with Allen. He served me tea and inquired of my condition. In an attempt to repair the bridge between us, I indulged him, and even informed him of the surgery. I ignored the pity in his eyes as I drank. They reminded me of the same look you had given me when we had first met, and I could easily see how you two had been so close in the past. However, despite his kind words and remarks of condolence, it was not hard for me to see the bitterness that bubbled under the surface. I had planned on staying for an hour, but his harshness and general disdain for me cut my plans into a half hour venture. Before I parted, I asked him for your scrapbook. The glare he had given me was more than enough to realize it was a mistake, but to my surprise he went up to his room and retrieved the aged red book. He shoved it into my arms and asked me to leave. I have left the scrap book in our bedroom; under my pillow. I know I shouldn't think like this but if the surgery were to take me from you, I, at the very least, wanted you to have your memories in tact. I understand the photos of your family are important and this is the very least I could do for you.
Yours,
--Richard
Bright light etched in front of me. I felt as if I was looking up from the bottom of a well, and could make out faces at the top looking down. You were one of them. The doctor moved the small flashlight from one eye to the other, checking to see if my pupils responded. I began to stir, but a hand on my chest pushed me back down and I was instructed to remain still. I could feel the bandages upon my forehead, wrapped around my cranium, almost as if it alone was stopping my head from splitting into two. I was given a series of tests as I was informed on the surgery. The surgeon had removed the clot, only for it to slowly reform as soon as they began cleaning. Though at the time it was small, the doctors could already trace its growth. It seems my genetics refused to let me loose of its death grip. The particular vein the clot resided in was damaged. Surgery had shown there would be no repairing it, nor would there be any treatment. Judging by the growth of the clot, the doctors gave it a year for it to return to its previous size, as well as my most likely time of death. Though I had managed to survive, the operation was a failure.
We did our best to return to normal. You happily showed me images from your scrapbook. You told me your fifth birthday was the most memorable as you pointed to your younger self whom was sitting proudly beside her cake. You went through every photograph, going into great detail about the events that transpired during its taking. You hesitated as you reached photos of Allen before calmly removing them from their plastic bindings and throwing them into the trash. As you returned, you sat next to me on the couch and embraced me. You told me how unfair the world was, and I agreed with you as I ran my fingers through your hair. I wondered what it was like to live free of pain as my hand held the back of your head. What was it like to never sit beside Death every waking moment? I felt a familiar dull pain in the back of my head as your tear stained cheek swept past my own. We stayed like this for a while, unmoving. Almost as if we could stop time simply by refusing to go along with it. Finally, you pushed me down and laid beside me, making due with the small amount of room the couch offered. I held on to you tightly as you did the same, and we fell asleep in each other's arms as the rotating beam of light from the nearby lighthouse rounded past the window, lulling us away from our consciousness.
Though neither of us acknowledged it, we had quickly made our way to the dreaded second year since the surgery. I had neglected to return to the hospital two weeks prior to the beginning of the year, but according to my last visit the progression had continued as expected. I packed the map we had acquired into my bag before setting foot into your car. We were to visit your mother; you wanted to finally introduce me as well as give her the scrapbook. Daniel, having just finished his nursing program, was to be assigned to the hospital near your mother's house, and as a result asked for permission to join us so that he might become familiar with the area. He had packed his medical bag as well, claiming that he needed to make sure his personal equipment was up to par with what was expected from him. Though our coastal town was frequently cloudy and overcast, it seemed as if we were to be accompanied by a rare clear blue sky. I should have known better than to see this as a good omen.
As you pulled into the freeway overpass, Daniel informed me from the backseat of his excitement. Despite gaining access to the hospital in our own small town, he yearned for a large temple to hone his skills, as did you. Though while Daniel practiced medicine, you instead made your way through the world with a camera as your tool. The usual cloud-stricken state of our home was without a doubt the main reason you had decided to move to Red Port. To the people who lived there it was nothing but another reminder of how dark the world could be, but you saw more than that. You saw the opportunity for light to be shed and pierce through the darkness. You saw hope where others saw despair, you saw the chance to lift burdens from the shoulders of others. You saw life. I often wonder if that was the same reason you were drawn to me. We had passed through a tunnel as the freeway border ended.
By the time Daniel yelled out, it was far too late for you to maneuver the car to safety. I clung desperately at the dashboard as you clenched your teeth and pressed down on the breaks while turning the wheel. It was not enough, however, and the renegade car heading toward us tracked your movement as if the heavens themselves willed it. I could see the driver's face as time seemed to slow. I will never forget his face: pale, shaved head, black baseball cap, and covered in sudden realization and horror. There was a terrible lurch as the two cars collided, stopping us dead in our tracks.
You had once told me that, as a child, you often picked wild blackberries. You would gamble on them, hoping the ones you picked were ripe and sweet. It wasn't until a few summers of this you realized even the bitter ones were full of flavor. You told me that not everything one expected from this world was sweet. Instead, the bitterness we experience only helped us enjoy the sweet moments all the more. But where was the sweetness in this? How can one look back on their most bitter and hated memories and grow stronger from them? I know you can tell me the answer, so please. Isabelle, please.
A terrible shock coursed through my body, jolting my chest upwards. Another came a few seconds later, and I briefly heard Daniel's voice through the darkness. A third shock thundered past my heart as my eyes opened. A bright blue sky welcomed me along with the smell of smoke and Daniel's tear-filled voice. I sat upright in a daze, trying my best to take in my surroundings. Your white car. His red truck. Daniel, one black eye and medical bag opened as he held on to his small defibrillator, the wires of which were strapped to my exposed chest. The driver of the truck, nearly ejected from his seat, had broken his windshield and his upper body lay across the destroyed hood, his head a bloody mess. I couldn't see you. I asked Daniel, but he only shook his head. I staggered to my feet and limped my way around the totaled vehicle. I froze as I rounded to the driver's side. Daniel had at first, pulled you from the wreckage and laid you on the floor. He checked your pulse, but said you were already...
He pulled my body next, saying that I had suffered trauma, though not as severe as yours and managed to pull me back from the brink. I kneed beside you. I held your hand. I wept. Aside from a cut across your forehead, you looked perfect. I saw no ill marks or bruises, not a single indication that would let me believe you to be gone. You looked as if you were asleep, but already your hand was so cold. The sounds of sirens filled the air as I looked up at the clear blue sky. It was almost mocking me.
We were rushed to the hospital. The same damned hospital I had been condemned to since the day of my birth. The doctors informed me that the impact hit you the hardest, causing instant death. Had Daniel not been with us, I most likely would have followed suit. Instead I only had a broken arm and bruised ribs. They told me I was lucky. I disagreed. They told me the driver of the truck was drunk. I disagreed. I refused to believe that something like this would take me away from you. It had to be some higher order, it must be! He was not drunk, Isabelle! There was no way something like this—a random act of chaos—would take you! I cared not for his name, nor did I care about his fate, all I cared for was knowing the truth. I rejected the notion of whims and luck and instead spiraled into my own mind.
I had done this. Had I not asked Allen for the scrapbook. Had I not asked about your family. Had I not been born with this cursed disorder you would still be here. It should have been me. Given the chance, I would—in a heartbeat—trade my life for yours. I knew this was not to be, however, and could do nothing as the days ticked down to your funeral. It was another cloudless day as your coffin sat on the green grass. Why had the universe decided this? Were they acknowledging your loss as their gain? Had they picked you in greed and stolen you away from me? I met with Allen again. He attended the funeral and I could not ignore the rage that flashed behind his eyes. He too, saw me as the culprit. As he approached me, I expected to receive a blow to the face and was not disappointed. I tried not to flinch, but instead I nearly fell backward as his fist connected with my jaw. He walked away from me without saying a word and sat in his seat, staring at your coffin. In my mind, he had every right to be upset with me. Why should I be the one left to live?
It wasn't until your coffin began lowering that I realized my folly. This last year had showed me happiness. It showed me what it meant to be a part of something larger than myself. I learned how to live. How to love. I raced past memories of us as your coffin touched the Earth. Of our first meeting near the lighthouse. Of how you orbited around me despite my pushing you away. Finally allowing you access into my life. Moving in together. Seeing you just come out of the shower, your hair still wet. Sharing a seat among the coast as the tide threatened to wash us away. Our first kiss under the moonlit shore. The first time you accompanied me to the hospital. The warmth you had provided during the cold winter. The way you always stood across the front door, looking out the window with a handful of blackberries as I entered our home. The pained look on your face I always wanted to ask about, but never found the courage to do so. Your fingers, interlocking perfectly between my own, as if they were designed for one another.
The doctors said that the clot that had threatened my life had miraculously shrunk after the accident. I have no proof, but I am certain this was also your doing. Giving me more time seemed as if it was something you would do. You always worried about the welfare of others more than your own. You were—and still are—my beacon in this world. Much like the lighthouse that never rests, you still protect me and show me the way forward. I will never stop believing you. I will never stop loving you. I know you are still out there, watching over me and I look forward to the day I join you, my Isabelle.
Stuff from the month long writing challenge! Spelling and Grammar Errors abound! Like, more than usual.Spoiler: Dump
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Appreciate: Musical Continuum
I sighed as I unlocked the door to my apartment. Another long day in practice was behind me, and even though I felt as if I easily surpassed the rest of the class, they keep showing less and less enthusiasm for their instruments. I couldn't help but feel as if maybe it was my fault. Was I setting the bar too high? Why would anyone even try to compete with me; aren't we all on the same team? As long as they were happy with themselves there shouldn't be any problems with the group as a whole, but here we were. The professor kept criticizing the class on their fingering and how everyone had problems keeping time. I couldn't believe it, this was simple stuff! It was something that should be a problem in Piano 101, not in a high level Arts University class. I pushed the door open and escaped from the setting sun and into the dim living space. Zoey should be here by now, why was it so dark?
“Zoey?” I called out as I walked into the small living room and flicked on the lights. The TV was off, but her bag was thrown carelessly against the side of the couch. Even her violin case looked as if it had just been dropped without a care, which was something she would never do. I felt a small amount of panic well up inside of me as my mind raced through different scenarios. Did someone break in as she had just gotten home? Was she kidnapped? Could she be hurt? Was the kidnapper still in here?! I walked towards the front of the couch and relief flushed through me as I made out her figure laying down on it. She was asleep, curled in a light purple blanket. Her freckled face was slightly wet and I made out tear stains on the pillow she rested her head on. Aw, Zoey...
---
“I don't really want to do this.” I told Crystal as I crossed her arms and looked away from her. “It's like, I don't think this is my...scene, you know?”
“Zoey, we're at a cafe during open mic nite.” She told me as she sipped from her chilled drink. We were sitting in a crowded cafe as a man in a suit played the saxophone on the circular stage. “This is what we do for work on the other side of town, I'd say this is definitely your scene.” I stared at the stage for a few seconds before bringing my attention back to her.
“And if I'm not good enough?”
“Why are you still thinking like that?” She told. “You already know you're amazing at the violin. That's obvious no matter who you ask. Now get ready, we're almost up.” Sure enough, once the suited man stepped down, the main announcer dude called our number and we made our way up to the stage. Jeez. The lights felt way hotter here then they were in the cafe we usually perform. Maybe it was just my imagination. Crystal took her seat at the electric keyboard provided near the back end of the stage as I stood near the center holding my violin by the neck awkwardly.
“Uh, hi.” I said into the standing microphone.
“Oh, hi.” Crystal replied playfully into her own mic. “Who's this?”
“Well,” I joked back at her, feeling my tension begin to loosen up, “my name is Zoey Brunt. Who might you be?”
“Nice to meet you Zoey,” she said as she tapped a few keys that gave the whole conversation a whimsical feeling to it. “My name is Crystal Donn. Are you my violinist?”
“Only if you're my pianist.”
“I would be, but I'm a female.” There were a few chuckles from the audience. Heh. Words that kinda sound like other words. Wait, what was the rating on this place? Was that an okay joke to make? Oh well, we already opened the gates, might as well let the water flow.
“That's alright,” I said, “we can pretend you've got the goods.” More laughter from the crowd. If the whole musician thing didn't work out we might have a stand up gig going for us, I guess. “Anyway. What are we playing tonight, mister Crystal?”
“Well,” she answered, lowering her voice in an attempt to sound more masculine, “tonight we're going to do an arrangement on an existing piece of music.”
“A duet.”
“That's when two people play together.”
“If nothing else you can at least say you learned something new tonight.”
“Yeah. Anyway, we should get started. Our clock is probably clicking.”
“Right. If anyone after the show can tell us where this piece is from, we'll give you a high five.”
“One. Two. Three. Four.”
Crystal started with four quick notes that she repeated through two different octaves as I brought the violin up to my neck, waiting for my cue. She throw a few more slow notes out there, giving the entire piece a feeling of simplicity. A few octave skips starting from the lowest to the highest came and I strung my bow across my violin quickly, almost giving off a majestic feeling to the crowd. As we played, I let my mind wander a bit. These duets were usually the same. Crystal's piano was masterful, but she understood that in most situations her piano was the background for other instruments. It wasn't something that should steal the spotlight, but instead it would amplify others around it. It could be very powerful by itself if used correctly, but it could also be ignored by the audience. Her classmates couldn't see that; they were too focused on trying to get themselves noticed to realize it. It was something that could be ignored when present, but would be sorely missed when absent. We kept playing and though I kept my eyes closed for most of my performance, I did peak every so often and was happy to see that we had captivated our audience. Even the guys behind the registers were fixated on us. We knocked this out of the park.
Crystal played us out as I returned to my previous pose of holding my violin down my front. When her last note rang out, we were overwhelmed by the sound of clapping.
“Holy crap.” I told her over the wave of noise. “I think we were kind of amazing.”
“I, uh, yeah.” She said, her face slightly red. “I told you we would be.”
“Are they giving us a standing ovation?”
“Nah, they're just really tall.”
“Crystal, I'm serious.” I felt a sudden emotion rise from the pit of my stomach. “They are! They totally are!” I giggled at her as I jumped from foot to foot. This was amazing!
“Oh. God, they are, aren't they?” She said, completely stricken to the point of being dumbfounded. “What...what do we do?”
“We bow. I think. That's what we always do, isn't it?”
---
I picked up Zoey's bag and case as quietly as I cold before making my way into her room. I put the bag on her desk and made sure the violin case was securely closed before placing it by the foot of her bed. Damn it. Why did this keep happening to her? I tiptoed across the hall and into the bathroom, doing my best to not wake my sleeping friend. Once I closed the door I turned on the shower and undressed. There was a good chance the sound of running water would wake her, but this was the best way for me to think. I stepped into the warm spray of water and closed the curtain behind me. Then I placed my head against the wall as water poured over me. Damn it all, this wasn't fair. Why did this always happen to her? All through her life she's been met with stupid obstacles and she's always done such a great job of overcoming them, but something else always seemed to pop up right after.
Even way back in high school she was always fighting with everything she had in order to be the best violinist in our music club. No matter how much effort she put into it though, she was always just runner up—second fiddle, as it was. She's always seriously hated that term, for obvious reasons. I stayed against the cool wall for a few minutes, letting the sound of water hitting the tub below me fill the silent void. She would need me, and of course I'm going to be there for her. She would do the same for me, after all. I turned the the knob, causing the water to stop. I stood still and tried my best to listen for any moving fabric from the living room, but couldn't make anything out. She was probably awake by now, though. I opened the shower curtain and dried myself off with a white towel before redressing myself. Taking a deep breath, I opened the bathroom door and entered the living room.
---
I opened the classroom door and entered homeroom. Good lord I was nervous. Still, I knew better than to doubt myself and I calmly took my seat while waiting for Crystal to join me. This was it. This was the day I finally break myself away from the rest of the pack and prove I'm the best damn violinist this school has ever seen. I stared up at the old intercom box in the corner of the room, ignoring the chatter that surrounded me. Once the morning announcements started, everyone will be silent and the winners will be announced. There was no doubt in my mind that I had performed the best, and I was finally going to get the recognition I deserved. Hell yes. I felt the chair next to me slide as Crystal sat down next to me.
“Hey, you.” She told me. “How do you feel?”
“Like a winner.” I said quietly.
“Good, because that's what you are. Seriously, you knocked them dead last night. The rest of the competition had no idea what hit them.” I only nodded as I watched the clock tick down. Eight O’clock. Here we go.
“Gooooooood morning everybody!” The intercom said happily, “And welcome to another fantastic Thursday morning! We've got a lot to cover today, but before all that I'm happy to announce that the judges have just handed me the results for last night's Multi Musical Tournament! Why don't I just go ahead and start us off with that? Oh I'm so excited to see the results I can hardly keep the paper steady!” Just get on with it. Please, let's go let's go let's go. “First we have the Piano Parade! In third place was Chase Conner! Second was Eric Manfred! And in first place we have Crystal Donn!” The room exploded with cheer over my best friend's victory, though no on should be surprised at it. I gave my bestie a high five as the rest of the room smiled at us. The lady over the intercom was saying something, but it was hard to make out over the students. I finally started hearing her properly. “...up, we have the Double Dancing Dojo! Which team showed the best fancy footwork? Well, in third place we have none other than our own Stacy Drowl and Veronica Adams! Second place was given to the twins Josh and Carl Sanders! And in first place was, in a landslide victory, Ashley Oath and Anna Wood! Good job all around!” Having no one in the classroom who had won, our classmates remained mostly silent.
“Now we have the Violin Victory! What a fierce competition this one was! Let's dive right in.” My heart started racing. This was it. This was it! I glared at the back of Mark's head. Every time we've met in battle he's toppled me. But not today; this was my win.“In third place was Andrew Fletch!” He got third? Seriously?! That dude was screeching that poor instrument the entire time! If he had gotten third then there was no doubt in my mind that I had won. “Next, in second place,” Please. Please please please please. “we have one of our favorites,” god please, I need this. Let Mark take second for a change. Let me taste the sweet victory that has eluded me in the past. “it's none other than,” I felt as if I was about to throw up. My entire skin was crawling with goosebumps. This was it.” Zoey Brunt!”
I closed my eyes as I felt Crystal look in my direction. Damn it. Why. “And in first is Mark--” I slammed my fist against my desk as the classroom exploded again. I didn't need to see what was happening. Everyone was crowding around him; I knew it. I stood from my chair and walked out the door, unnoticed by everyone. Almost everyone. My eyes stung as I walked in a random direction, and I angrily rubbed them with my arm. I should have known better. Of course he won. He's the best damn violinist this school has ever seen and he's proven it again and again, all without trying. Who the hell was I to even try to take that away? I stopped suddenly as my body softly collided with a chain link fence, and I held on to it with my hands, looking at the small number of trees that bordered this second of the school with the greenery of the old closed off portion.
“I'm an idiot.” I said to myself as I bumped my head against the fence.
“Don't say that.” Crystal's voice came from behind me. “Zoey, you played the best you could. I don't care if some panel of old judges can't see your talent, you performed way better than Mark.”
“It doesn't matter.” I sniffed as I turned to face her. “All that matters is what they say. And they say I suck.”
“No they don't.” She embraced me tightly, though I just sort of just limped into the hug. “You don't suck. You're amazing. They just--”
“They just think he's better than me.” Crystal hugged me tighter. I shouldn't put her through this. She had won her own competition; we should be celebrating. “I'm sorry.” I said as I wrapped my arms around her and sobbed into her chest. “I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I'm terrible. I'm sorry I can never be on top of the mountain with you. I'm sorry I keep clinging to you like this. I'm just... I'm sorry.”
---
I walked through the carpet as quietly as I could, doing my best to not wake Zoey up if she was still asleep.
“Crystaaaaal.” She called sadly from the couch. I walked towards her and kneed down to see her face-to-face.
“Hi, Zoey.” I said. “How you feeling?”
“Like a girl who just got dumped.” I could see her bloodshot eyes start to water again and she quickly turned her face, rubbing it against the pillow.
“Ice cream?” I asked as I lightly touched her arm.
“Mmm-hmm.” She hummed, keeping her head low. I walked into the small kitchen and opened the freezer, reaching for a large tub of our emergency ice cream rations. 'Chocolate Therapy.' Oh, Ben and Jerry. You two are the only guys who are always there for us. Grabbing two spoons, I walked back to the couch and found Zoey sitting upright, hugging her knees. “Chocolate Therapy.” She read aloud, “I knew buying this was a good idea.” I took the top off of the ice cream container and tossed it on the coffee table in front of us before handing her a spoon. Turning on the TV, I left the channel play whatever was on It was some cartoon about masked heroes or something but it didn't matter, it was just background noise.
“You wanna talk about it?” I asked her as I pulled her blanket over the two of us.
“Mmmm. I dunno. He just...He said was tired of me. Tired of us. I kinda saw this coming though, we've been pretty distant lately, but I had at least hoped we could work something out.” I looked to the left of the television set and saw a plush giraffe laying on its side.
“Is Mr Bonbon getting the boot, then?” I asked, hoping to lighten the mood a little bit.
“Of course he is.” She answered seriously, placing her head on my shoulder. “Stupid giraffe was probably spying on me. He's getting on the next bus to the city dump.” Zoey brought a spoon full of ice cream to her lips, but some of it spilled on to me. “Oops,” She said,“you're part chocolate now.”
“I had a dream like that once.”
“Yeah, you told me about it.”
We watched the show in silence for a while, eating our ice cream. A few minutes after it was over, I heard my phone's ring tone go off in my room. Aw damn, not now.
“Is that him?” She asked me, referring to my own boyfriend.
“Probably,” I answered. “He can wait though. You're more important.”
“Noooo. What if he thinks you hate him? You gotta answer.”
“I'll talk to him later.”
“But what if this is important?” My phone stopped ringing shortly after she spoke, only to be replaced by a stupidly loud “I'VE GOT BALLS OF STEEL” text alert.
“Seriously?” She asked with a smile. “You fell for that again? Don't you ever check your phone before you leave?”
“I live with a master prankster.” I told her with as I laughed quietly. She started laughing along with me, and it took us a few minutes to calm back down. We watched TV quietly and ate ice cream, talking every so often about little things.
“I think I'm alright.” Zoey said, putting her spoon on the table. “I just need time to get over this, but I'm okay.”
“Alright.”
“I think I'm going to bed though. This really takes a lot out of you.”
“Right. Want me to put the Garden State soundtrack on loop for you?” She smiled at me.
“That'd be great, actually.” She told me as we stood. I placed the tub of ice cream on the table and Zoey immediately took the opportunity to hug me.
“Thank you, Crystal.” She said. “Thank you thank you. I don't think I'll ever manage without you.” I hugged her back.
“I'm here for you.” I said, “Just like I know you're here for me.”
“Always.” The freckled girl let go and waved me goodnight before going into her room and softly closing her door. She'll be okay. Everything'll be okay.
----
The Stanley Parable: Confusion Ending+
“So now according to the schedule I restart again,” The Narrator said, flabbergasted, “then, what... am I just supposed to forget? Well, what if I don't want to forget? My mind goes blank simply because it's written on this... this... thing! Wall! Well, who consulted me? Why don't I get to decide! Why don't I get a say in this! Is it really-” The Narrator stopped for a second to consider things before returning to his train of thought. “No, it can't be. I don't want it to be. I don't want the game to keep restarting. I don't want to forget what's going on. I don't want to be trapped like this. I won't restart the game. I won't do it! I won't do it! I won't do it!” A sudden trembling sensation filled the room as the time against the wall suddenly halted. “And the timer... uh, stopped?” The Narrator said, more than a little confused. “Does that mean... did we do it? Did we break the cycle? The, um... whatever it is that made this schedule? How would we even know? Will someone come for us? Will something happen? So... okay.” The Narrator sighed, unsure of how The Story will progress from here. “I guess now we just wait. You know, I suppose in some way, this is a kind of story,” He said, trying to turn it all around for the greater good, “wouldn't you agree? I'm not quite sure if we're in the destination or the journey, though they're always saying that life is about the journey and not the destination, so I hope that's where we are right now. We'll find out, won't we? Eventually. Well, in the meantime, if you do happen to have--” The Narrator’s voice was cut off by a loud buzzing sound as the room became pitch black.
END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS LOADING THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END
Stanley walked out of his office.
“All of Stanley's co-workers were gone. What could it mean?” The Narrator said as Stanley slowly made his way down the empty office space. “Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo.” Doing exactly that, Stanley kept walking forward, past the empty desks and fallen paper that had somehow found its way onto the floor. He entered a room with two open doors. “When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his left.” The Narrator instructed. Once again, Stanley followed instructions and walked through the left door as it closed behind him. A small hallway with a left turn stood before Stanley, and he followed along as he passed through another door, which led him to the employee lounge. “But there was no-one here-- wait what?” The Narrator said. “No, you took the door on the left, didn't you, Stanley? Not the one on the right? This can't be correct, not at all. Well, alright how about we just go through the lounge and we can work our way to the meeting room.” Stanley walked through the large break room, but found the exiting door to be missing. “Oh my.” The Narrator said, “This is rather peculiar, isn't it? That's okay. Stanley, go back and take the door on the right this time instead, surely that will do something.” Stanley was about to do as he was told, but as he turned around he found the door he had entered from to be missing as well. “Hmm,” The Narrator chimed in, “very peculiar indeed. Give me just a second, Stanley, let me just go through my notes...hum hum hmmm.” The Narrator shuffled through some papers as Stanley stared dutifully at the wall ahead of him, not a single thought running through his little mind. “How very strange!” The Narrator said after a few seconds. “The only thing I seemed to have written down was 'Restart'. Do we really want to restart the game? That seems rather unnecessary. I'm sure we can figure something--” Another loud buzzing sound ran through the room, cutting off The Narrator as the room was submerged in darkness.
END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS LOADING THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END
Stanley walked out of his office.
“All of Stanley's co-workers were—wait hold on, what happened? Are you alright, Stanley? ...Well, I'm not sure what that was all about, let's try to put us behind us. At any rate, All of Stanley's co-workers were gone. What could it mean?” The Narrator said as Stanley slowly made his way down the empty office space. “Stanley decided to go to the—what's That™ on the floor?” Stanley stopped and looked down, finding a solid yellow Line™ in front of him leading into a newly open door. “Well, this is also strange. We should probably just keep moving forward and finish the story, but I must admit I'm rather curious about where this Line™ will lead us. Stanley, if you would, could you humor me and follow along?” Stanley stared at the door leading to the meeting room only to find that it was closed. Seeing no other way around it, Stanley began following The Line™ through the office. “Oh, isn't this exciting, Stanley?” The Narrator asked, “This is not something I had planned. Though it might get in the way of The Story, we can always simply double back if things get too outlandish.” A few minutes of following The Line™ , Stanley walked through another door only to discover that It™ suddenly stopped. “Oh, is this it?” The Narrator asked. The Line™ had led Stanley to an identical office, though it seemed to be falling apart. The ceiling lights blinked in and out of existence, the panels on he wall had begun to fall out of place, and some of the desks had collapsed. Strangely, one or two computers still flickered with life. “Well...this is rather depressing, isn't it? Right, let's get out of here before something spooky happens.” Stanley turned around, but found the door to be locked. “Oh.” The Narrator said dejectedly, “I suppose we'll have to keep going from here.” As Stanley walked, The Narrator began thinking. “Well we can't have this. No, not at all. If we can't reach The Old Story, we'll just have to make a new one, won't we? Let's see, if I were A New Story, where would I be?” Stanley entered a room with two identical doors. “Ah! Perfect! Since this is A New Story, we'll have to make it different than The Old Story, won't we? Right, ahem. When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his right.” For a second, Stanley considered taking the door on his left instead, but figured he should probably do as he was told this time around and went through the right hand door. The door led him on a short left curved hallway and he quickly found himself staring a large room with a single closed door. Looking to his left, he spotted the same door he had just entered. “Oh no.” The Narrator said, “Nonono, this won't do at all.” Stanley quickly walked backwards into the door he had exited, just to make sure the two portals were connected. He quickly discovered that they did in fact, lead into one another. The Narrator sighed. “Okay, I think we spent more than enough time in this run down mess of an office. I'm going to restart the game. Hold on just a second, Stanley. Once again, pure darkness washed over the room.
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Stanley walked out of his office.
“All of his co-workers—oh what the bloody hell is it now?” The door closed behind Stanley, but found nothing but darkness in front of him. “Good heavens, this is ridiculous. Did I accidentally hold down the button too long? I'm sorry, Stanley, I can't risk restarting the game again so soon. Try to see if you can find anything out here.” Stanley walked forward, finding nothing obscuring his path. He walked for minutes, and The Narrator remained silent, ruffling through the papers he had on him trying to find an answer for all of this. Without warning, Stanley found a large building in the horizon, and quickly reached it. “A bookstore!” The Narrator said happily, “Now we're getting somewhere.” Stanley entered the empty store, and found that every book inside was titled 'Parable The Stanley'. “Are these knock-off books?” The Narrator asked, “Well that's just rude. And here I thought we might have some actual literature to read. I'm sorry, Stanley but I can't be a part of this. We need to leave the establishment posthaste.” Stanley left the store and walked around the building, hoping to find something else in the ever growing void. “Stanley,” The Narrator said after a few more minutes, “this simply isn't working. I'm not sure what will happen this time, but I just have to restart. There's nothing out here! It's like a desert. A desert where the only oasis is a counterfeit bookstore! It's worse than a real desert! At least actual deserts can give you heatstroke and kill you. Here our best bet is hoping we die of boredom. Prepare yourself Stanley, I'm restarting.
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Stanley walked out of his office. He walked through the empty offices around him, but felt as if something was missing. Where was The Narrator? Wasn't he supposed to tell Stanley what to do? Stanley walked into a large room with two open doors. Unsure of what to do, he walked through the door on his right, but there was still no response. No comment about how he had walked into the wrong door. No quick recovery of how Stanley most likely simply wanted to take a detour through the employee lounge. Nothing. The door stood open behind him, and walked backwards, entering the other door. Still nothing. Not a peep. Worried, Stanley began entering every room he could, hoping to hear from the one person who could guide him. However, nothing ever came.
200 words or less
The shining city strives
on the backs of the illegal
and the fronts of badges.
A woman called the police, fearing a murderer was loose. When she answered the door she was pleased to see an officer. He shot her in the head.
---
Payday the Heist: Dark Bank (Crossover)
“Alright guys. We might be in a new town, but this is still a simple job. Get in, get the money, get out.” Bain's voice crackled out from the radio.
“Every job's a simple job according to that guy.” Chains said as he looked down the sights of his shotgun. I guess a little bit of background information might be necessary. My name is Hoxton. Or at least, that's the only name I can really use any more. I looked to the front seat of the van I was sitting in. My older brother, Nathan Steele, was driving. That's the name he gives everyone, anyway. I'm probably the only one th