Saturday Disk Purging

I was going through some old files I had on a flash drive from forever ago (something I hate doing because most of my files are mediocre at best) and I happened upon this short story thingy I never finished. I'm posting all I wrote on here. Let me know what you think of it (I plan to keep writing it now that I found it).

Untitled

It was a sunny day; nothing more remarkable could be said of that Wednesday for is was average and dull in every other way. There was no particular zest to it—after all, it was a Wednesday. There was no wind to speak of or clouds to streak the sky; there was just the unbearable pounding of the sun upon the already parched earth.

It was on this day that Haven ventured out of her house for the first time in nearly two years. She hesitated at the threshold of the door to her single wide trailer. She placed one ashen white foot on the sandy ground. A shriek stuck in her throat with a profound “Uheau!” It had been so long since she felt the unsettling sensation of sand between her toes that she didn’t know if she could continue forward.

She drew in a deep breath; all of the muscles in her body tensed up as she planted her second foot firmly on the shale. It took all of her power to keep from jumping back inside, but she was determined to conquer her long standing fear. With an olympian sigh, she propelled her whole body forward; for the first time in nearly twenty-four months she was exposed to the sun.

Her body seemed alien to her in this light; indoors she saw herself as healthy, with rosy skin and vibrant blue eyes. Now she saw herself as others did—drained, almost cyanotic, with brittle skin; her eyes were watery and washed out, no longer even a shade of blue; they were instead a disconcerting and stark grey. All that remained the same was her hair; even in this harsh light it was the same unmistakable raven tone.

As she stood in the sun, she wondered how she had let things get so far out of her control.

She was twenty-five when she had moved into darkness (the day after the incident). She had forgotten how bright the sun could truly shine, how her body could glisten like it was faceted with a thousand precious gems. The only dark spots on her were the sickly purple scars on the palms of her hands.

It was the day of the winter solstice; the air was still and heavy with the scent of fresh rain on city pavement. Haven sat in her usual table at El Teatro, her favorite bistro. For her table she could see all the people passing on the sidewalk huddle together, hoping to escape the biting chill of the atmosphere. She cast a tentative glance at her wrist watch and realized that she was running late.

She gathered up her equipment--her purse, her laptop, and a tattered brown leather brief case--and dashed out to hail a taxi. Everything had come down to this one day, this final testing. Could the cure really be so close? She shook her head in disbelief as she slid into the damp and putrid smelling back seat of the cab.

"J and S Pharmaceuticals," she commanded.

As they pulled away from the curb, it began raining again. She watched, with a high degree of amusement, as people scurried and squealed as they became saturated with big drops of water. The ride seemed to take less time than usual today, which she found odd for time always seemed to snail buy on Wednesdays.

She ran into the large entrance hall of her company. She flashed her security pass to the receptionist and, practically sliding on the marble floor, hit the stairs. She couldn't stand the cramped feeling of the elevator. The stairs were much better decorated anyway; she delighted in the carved sickle moons on the steps. They seemed so odd to be found in a drug company.

She reached the fifth basement floor--the main laboratory--before anyone else had arrived. Carefully and methodically, she set up the experiment; first, she picked out three infected mice and put them inside a new cage. They scampered around blindly, bumping into each other and sometimes the cage itself. One had resigned itself to the lying in its food tray. She withdrew on of seven sterile large bore needles and began to hang the IV bag she had stashed in the cooler the night before. There was no indicative markings on the bag other than a single word--"White."

13:30 to Mars

So, I like the band 30 Seconds to Mars.

And, no it's not just because Jared Leto is gorgeous (it doesn't hurt though).

As I was trying to reinvigorate my ancient iPod (the first one ever made with color, btw, that weighs like 20 times as much as my iTouch), I found all my super old downloads from their original album ("30 Seconds to Mars"). It has a lot of good songs, but my favorite will always be "Buddha for Mary." If you haven't heard this song, I'm putting up a video of it below. Don't be weirded out by the first little bit; it changes a lot around 1:05.

I know, it's a little creepy, but I love the way it sounds. I can still remember the first time I listened to it in high school.

As I was scanning youtube for 30 Seconds to Mars musics videoes, I stumbled upon the video for "From Yesterday." I remember thinking, "Hm, this is...interesting," when I watched it a loooooong time ago. Then I noticed that they had "the full length" version of the video, which is a staggering 13 minutes and 30 seconds long (oh, how clever).

If you have the spare time and mental fortitude to watch this video, it's below. Following it will be everything that popped into my head at the corresponding time of the video. Compare notes with me (and try not to pee your pants).

So here's what I thought of this "short film."

1. :10--Wow, that is a seriously irritating flute sound
2. :23--OMG, that is a scarrrry dragon (or do I mean sound effect?)
3. :43--what the hell is wrong with that guy's voice? Srsly, calm down.
4. 1:03-1:10--I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE SAYINGGGG.
   
5. 1:12--For real, is the understandable portion of this video going to have Chinese subtitles?
   
6. 1:25--Oh, I see, they are in a mental institution for stylish bands.
   
7. 3:30--I didn't know time travel changed what clothes you were wearing.
   
8. 3:50--Oh, hey the actual song is starting.
   
9. 4:16--Oh man! Somebody forgot to tell Jared that his guyliner isn't waterproof.
10. 4:49--You're being way too cavalier about seeing death.
    
11. 5:16--Ugh, really, more Chinese? I hope bizarro voice isn't in it.
    
12. 5:45--He is.
    
13. 6:00--How does that little kid from like 600BC know 30 Seconds to Mars? Does Jared Leto really have that much money that little kids just wanna be his friend? Also, why are grown men friends with a little kid?
14. 6:38--Two subtitle types in one scene? Say whhhhhat.
15. 7:11--Oh, yeah. This is a music video. I almost forgot.
    
16. 7:34--I do love a good spin.
    
17. 7:39--Don't feel bad; sleeves are hard. You'll get it next time.
    
18. 7:46--This video suddenly is more interesting to me.
    
19. 7:50--Now it is not.
    
20. 8:26--I can't describe how hard I am lol'ing right now.
    
21. 9:08--Does money make you a ninja?
22. 9:19--Laughing so hard, my stomach hurts.
    
23. 9:24--Oh, stop, please! I can't breath.
    
24. 9:29--Is 30 Seconds to Mars killing people? Is that legal?
25. 9:35--God, this song really gets in the way, man.
    
26. 9:41--Oh, look. It's "Eyes Wide Shut."
27. 9:56--Now my stomach hurts for a different reason.
    
28. 10:09--The green goblin has been hard up for work after Spider Man.
    
29. 10:58--"You guys wanna go get milkshakes now we're done battling to the death?"
30. 11:14--WTF? That's where it ends?
31. 11:15--13:30--Credits. :(

End take on this "film"--This is a good song, but seriously--how much money did you spend on this video? China. Costumes. Make-up. Extras. Stunt people. Camera people. Sound people. I mean, okay, yeah, it is a kinda a cool concept and I guess they get points for creativity, and I can respect that. I also like most of the costumes and sets and all the visual symbolism. But it comes off a little jokey in some places, rather than like cool and mysterious. I still like 30 Seconds to Mars a lot (even if they're sound has changed a bit over time), but I think that this video tries way too hard. The shorter version is much better.

Ones and Zeroes

SO, I know it has been a ridiculously long time since I've posted any fiction on here. I've been so busy with doing homework for my English class, writing has become a bit of bother. But, today I found some time in between coloring pictures of photosynthesis and doing calculus homework to sit down at the computer and crank out some writing. 3 hours later, I realized I had wrote 50 pages about a rather small event in the plot of this story (Halcyon). After some editing, I got it down to about 20, so about a whole "chapter" or episode.

I'm posting about the first four or five pages of the section titled "Ones and Ceroes". It's told from the perspective of my favorite character, Cero, so I hope you enjoy it.

Ones and Ceroes

Cero

He stands before me shaking like a leaf. Even in his own imagination he is pale and scrawny, like some fragile creature who's just been exposed to the light for the first time. His hands are balled up into fists at his sides, as though they might be of some use against me here.

“Child,” I say, bored of watching him squirm like an bug pinned to a board, “just take my hand. This is all very tedious.”

His eyes flash with some emotion I can no longer discern; Halcyian emotions have always been difficult for me to read. He relaxes his hands and lets his shoulders slump; he is defeated. He reaches for me hesitantly, as though I may turn back into the snake. Finally, the last of his resolve dissipates, and he places his hand in mine.

I have to steady myself with a deep breath as his essence envelopes me; it is an empty comfort because I haven't a body to make respirate. He gives a small shudder when he inhales without his body's consent. How many times has my breath been his? I can not help but roll my eyes. “What makes you think I want to pull the strings on that meat puppet?” Then leave. “And wander bodiless with the wind for another millennium? No, thank you. You're body suits me just fine...for now. Even if it does smell like the pier at low tide.”

His muscles around his temples tense and some small veins pulsate in his neck. I seem to remember that this means he is angry with me. His body wheezes out a laugh he tries to stifle. When I laugh through him he hits the s's too hard, a habit I had adopted for my manifested state, which he finds particularly repulsive. I force another through his lips, despite his many efforts to keep it suppressed. It is like scraping metal against metal to make his voice mine; I forgot how hard using vocal chords could be, especially when the vessel rejects me.

His face twists in a strangely familiar pattern of muscle contractions. Ah, here is a face I know! Hatred. I cannot help but smile as I feel his hostility seep out of him. The more adrenaline that hits his blood stream, the stronger the enjoyment becomes for me. I can feel myself fortified. His emotion, however, makes him perspire something fierce. I wince as I am once more assaulted by his scent. Low tide isn't quite the accurate description for it; it's more like a dank cave full of creeping moss and fungi, yet there is the smell of brine. It's rather nauseating, to be honest, but it is a call to me. I can feel it pulling at me the moment it hits the air, as though it is permeating my skin.

“Come on,” I say, trying to quell the hunger rising in my stomach, “I want to take you somewhere.” I stride forward confidently, dragging him behind me like an anchor. He is still in the stupor of this place. Off in the distance, I can hear Aramia laughing loudly with her consort. They make a truly dreadful pair, but if any two beings have ever deserved each other it is them.

My load seems to have gotten significantly heavier. I turn around to see that Hylen is now being dragged on his stomach, his tongue lolling out like a moron, his eyes glazed over like a corpse. A trail of spit drips down his face; as the droplets slide off, he turns them to butterflies and his eyes focus briefly, flashing with some childish feeling I care not to interpret. I pull him harder, but he seems only to become heavier. He is now making grass grow in a circle around him and when I tug him he lets out this sad little wail and grips the grass with an iron resolve.

“Oh, yes, it's all so delightful,” I say mockingly. “Sadly, as entertaining as it is to stand around watching you dribble on yourself, we've other matters to attend to.”

He puckers his lips and makes this hideous gurgle, like a pack of angry screeching birds. He is doing something I think is called whining. I do not have time for sympathies; the close proximity of my own kind in my space makes me unusually uncomfortable, as though I am naked. Perhaps it is because the invader is Aramia. I hope she doesn't think that time has healed my wounds.

“You are going to be very angry with me for this, but I am afraid it is unavoidable.”

He looks up at me, his eyes still a tangle of warm feelings. He has now made several small, phosphorescent flowers in his patch of grass. He pokes at them hesitantly and delights when he discovers that his touch makes complicated patterns in their light. I crouch down next to him and in one fluid motion, pull him up over my shoulder, like a bag of grain. As soon as he leaves the ground, his garden turns black and shrivels. He kicks his feet at me and strains out toward them as I walk forward, cursing as they crumple and turn back into the whiteness.

“Why?...Making life!”

“You weren't creating anything, moron. This is your imagination. Nothing you make in here will ever be tangible.”

“Real.”

“No, it's not.”

“You.”

“Yes, I am real. This is just where I've been hiding out while the vermin have been scurrying around in our head.”

“Mine.”

“Not any longer. Come on, we're here.”

As we reached the end of the vast whiteness, in the distance a polished copper door appeared on the horizon. As soon as it became visible, it slid forward to meet us. I dropped my guest on the ground and he gave a soft wheeze.

“I am always stealing your breath, aren't I?” I mused, grasping him by the collar of his ratty shirt and pulling him to his feet. “Pity I cannot share with you in this sensation. If you allowed me to, I probably would treat you a little better.”

“Fuck you.”

“O-ho-ho! Someone has found his backbone at last.”

The trance of this place still lingered in him, but he was trying to force his arms to swing at me. Instead, he staggered around doing a wonderful impersonation of an inebriated half-wit, complete with drool and slurred profanities.

“Come now, Hylen, it was a compliment. You mustn't get so worked up. It's not good for our body. I plan on living a long life in it.”

“You are a parasite, just like Rory said.”

I felt the muscles around our jaw tighten. “Do not quote petulant children to me. I have my own to deal with. Enough of this foolishness; let us journey on.” I gestured toward the door. “You have to open it.”

“Why?” He fell to the ground, his legs twitching wildly beneath him.

“Because it is taboo for one of my kind to go beyond this point without permission. I have to be led in by my vessel.”

I wondered if he could hear the resentment in my voice or see it flash in my eyes, as I felt it did. The idea od being led anywhere by someone like him was repulsive.

“Where are we going?” he asked cautiously as he tried to rise to his feet. I extended my hand to him once again. He grasped it solidly this time, without any hesitation or doubt. I knew regardless of my answer, he was going to take me.

“We are going to time travel.”