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D-Lotus
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PostPosted: Sun May 21, 2006 1:45 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

OK, I finally posted it. I must admit I have no clue as to how its going to turn out (except the final ending), so vote carefully, because it'll determine his succes or defeat.
Tempt

*Poll* for Chapter 2 is Up! Thumbs Up

Happy Voting
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PostPosted: Sun May 21, 2006 6:20 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The preacher - the preacher. The end is seriously frickin' Nigh and all of that. Voted, and winning.
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PostPosted: Sun May 21, 2006 6:49 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Crazy? Who's crazy?! Voted. Tied it for now. Smile
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PostPosted: Mon May 22, 2006 11:33 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Bleeble- wooarg! GOD! Went down to the wonderful shining toilet and flushed SATAN into the abyss! Yes, Lord, these people have sinned! FLUSH THEM TO HELL! WOOARG! Shocked
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PostPosted: Mon May 22, 2006 8:54 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Hmm, I was hoping the split personality would at least get one vote.... Very Happy
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PostPosted: Mon May 22, 2006 9:08 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I had to go for explicitly crazy.


Cause humpin people's legs is just that funny.
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PostPosted: Thu May 25, 2006 3:34 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Well, that's it. I hope you guys made a good decision, because the

poll is closed.


The decision was to be a typical street-preacher/village idiot.
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PostPosted: Sun May 28, 2006 11:08 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Well, here is my entry for Stoat's Big Red Hot H&M Competition. This is currently the third chapter. (aprox. 2000 words)- This one's shorter.

This is also a Storygame: you read, you suggest, and then you vote on your suggestions.

Story so far: Andrew Black (although his name isn't mentioned much) is outraged when he finds a letter informing him that he is inscribed in a political group, The Knights In White Satin. When he goes to the informative meeting, he falls in a trap hole into a dank cellar. There he is told his life is a mistake and that The Knights, in reality a secret society that censors the lives of people, have to put him back in his rightful place. A blackout later, he's in a meeting, an executive one. It seems he's head of a multi-national corporation. He demands a full report which he gets, unfortunately. Later, he goes home, where he discovers him beautiful wife. Eventually, they go to a restaurant, and in the bathroom, he is suddenly attacked by The Knights. He wakes up, stuck with his tangible imagination, which tries to convince him to kill himself in sake of The Knights. Andrew refuses, and they come up with a plan to act crazy so that the sacrifice would be of no use, therefore liberating him. He wakes up in New York, ready to act crazy...

Chapter 3: Toilets


The evening sun slowly set against the tall building, reflecting its shaky image on the sea. A cold, biting wind rolled its way through the semi-deserted streets. Men and women inside their rumbling, screeching cars steered their chromium-fronted vehicles towards their square, uniform homes. The traffic dwindled, the darkness edged in.

I sauntered along the streets, agonizing for ideas. Jumping from the empire state building sounded nice, but the consequences to my physique slightly outweighed my dread of The Knights. I draped my arms about myself, guarding from the chilling wind.

Begor, inspiration struck! A lithe note of creativeness slipped its way into my ear, playing its golden tune and whispering secretively to me. I chuckled and felt an immediate and incontrollable uprising in my chest. I gave myself up to this stimulus. The idea had come to me of becoming a street preacher, and shout or frighten people with obscene messages as they walked by.

I spotted someone walking and chortled again.

The man came bounding towards me in quick, long awkward steps. His curly red hair, amassed on his head, gave him the curious appearance of a clown, despite his foreboding looks and hunched shoulders. He was draped in a white coat that reached down and oscillated dizzily around his legs as he walked, obdurate in his gait. As he came closer, I could discern his features in detail. He was middle aged, and a large roman nose leadered as his most distinct characteristic. In contrast, a tame jaw softened his complexion and gave his bushy eyebrows a malignant feel. His strange complexion was completed by a round, wide forehead which he put to good use by furrowing and creasing it as he eyed me nervously. A strange man, to say the least.

I motioned to him, but he avoided eye contact and attempted to proceed past me in his ungainly manner. I stepped toward him, maliciously grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him to stop and turn. He glared at me, and I smiled mischievously. I breathed in deeply and prepared to discharge my message into his pale face.

“The end is nigh, man!” I screamed as he flinched in shock.

“Us mortal fools shall pay the price of our corrupt behavior…and…and…” I hesitated, as my experience in this field was limited.

“…And the flying scorpion-tailed toilets will come and wreack havoc among us!” I finished, dully satisfied with my apocalyptic message.

I was tired of being victimized, and my behavior had calmed me for a few seconds after my emulation. Then, as the man stood immobile, I picked my nose and glared in the most obscene manner possible.

But my actions had no visible effect on him. He was as pale as the white-washed building he stood against, and his complexion had adapted a look of astonishment. He just stood there, staring at me, and gaping. I began to feel uncomfortable under his unmoving eyes, and ceased in my vulgarity. The silence continued, and even his elongated forehead gave only a blank expression.

I stepped backwards and attempted to walk away, but his eyes suddenly turned on me with fervor. He held me by the arm, and I was startled by his strength. Suddenly, I was aware of a strange piercing emotion I decided to categorize as fear. For the first time, I began realizing that street-preaching is a tougher job than it seems.

“You…you…you’re…right!” said the queer man, clutching his hair. Without warning, he pulled it off, revealing a bald head. He waved the wig in front of my eyes dramatically.

“But…but, how could you know? How could you have identified the insignia of the red wig? How…how is it possible you know of the flying scorpion-tailed toilets?” he asked me, excitement in his voice.

This time it was my turn to be amazed. My jaw began hanging slightly as he spoke, and with each absurdity, I convinced myself he was the crazy one.

“You are wise, wise beyond anything I understand. You…you must come with me. I am on my way to the Sacrament of No Significance. You must come and preach to us, for I can feel a strange power inside you.” he insisted, and began dragging me in the direction he had been going to.

I was too dumbstruck to resist, and let myself be carried along as he praised me and recounted stories of flying toilets enthusiastically.

“My name is Bob Loaf, you should know.” he told me.

Bob Loaf!?

“Yes, it’s a very special name.” he said, suppressing a tear. “It was bestowed upon me by my grandmother, who lived in poverty most of her life and was inspired to name me after having tasted for the first time-”

“-a loaf of bread?” I guessed.

“How did you know? Your powers of vision are even greater than I thought possible!” he exclaimed.

“Look,” I said, disengaging myself from his grip, “I think you have the wrong guy, I was just-”

“Nonsense! You’re too modest. We’ve arrived, anyway.” he said, pointing into a dark alleyway.

He pulled me in, and we only walked a few steps before he stopped and knocked on a wooden door concealed in the dark. A shutter opened on the bottom portion of the door, and a voice whispered questioningly. My companion dropped on his knees and answered in a series of excited whispers that enlivened whoever was at the other side, because the door immediately opened wide on its creaky hinges.

I was led through, and followed lifelessly as Bob talked to other strange men. Whatever he said, the men became awed and bowed to me before running back into the dark corridor I was being guided through.

Finally, we emerged from a curtain into a wide auditorium repleted with light. There were thousands of people standing below the stage, wearing flagrant red wigs and making racous statements about ‘The End’, the only two words I could clearly make out from their bawling. My companion walked swiftly and awkwardly to the speaker, adjusting his wig slightly. He stopped in front of the mike and grabbed it passionately.

“Welcome, doomed mortals.” he said. The immense crowd suddenly grew silent and all kneeled in neat rows. Bob’s tone of voice and speech suddenly changed drastically. In this environment, he seemed infected with confidence, and I decided he must be the leader of these people.



“We are gathered in this Sacrament of No Importance, to celebrate our insignificance and unimportance in relativity to ‘The End’.” he said, stopping dramatically on his last words.

“Today,” he resumed, “I thought it would be a day of routine, a day in which I would as usual consume my time counting the days until ‘The End’.” he stopped again theatrically, this time turning his head towards me.

“But it was not so. For as I was walking on the streets, consumed in my morose thoughts, a gentle, calming voice, yet a voice that spelled intense doom, spoke to me.”

The crowd gasped simultaneously. I was too stunned by the impossibility of it all to even start running, which is what I should have done. Bob stared at the crowd eerily, about to make his conclusion, and he stared for so long, that it seemed he was going to lunge forward and attack the crowd with his long Roman nose.

“That voice was the voice of a man, of a prophet, who is here among us today. He is going to speak in this very moment. Remember, for those of you who haven’t yet done so, please write your name and social security number in the register as you exit. And now…” he paused, suddenly realizing he had not asked my name.

“…The Prophet of Doom!”

I felt a push from someone behind me, and I stumbled towards the speaker as thousands of adoring eyes contemplated me. Regaining my composture, I assumed the position behind the speaker, scratching the back of my head uncertainly. Of all the people in the world, I had to run into these whackos. Coughing lightly to clear my throat and gain time, I considered my position. In essence, I was still trying to prove I was crazy, and what better way to prove it than by preaching to these loonies? Gathering up my courage, I spoke as ominously and sinisterly as I could.

“Fools!” I spat, “Fools, your deaths approach faster than you ever imagined. In this moment, the flying scorpion-tailed toilets descend upon us, spreading the reek of death and the underworld which we are doomed to! Pray, fools, for the day of reckoning is here, the judgment day has come!” I shouted.

I surprised even myself with my eloquence. Then, for effect, I cackled horribly into the mike. I saw a shudder course through the kneeling crowd, and grinned. Then, something completely unexpected happened.

There was a window through which a small stream of light filtered inside, in the middle of the ceiling. The auditorium was illuminated with powerful artificial lights, so the natural light, already fading with sundown, was barely noticeable. Therefore, it came as a surprise when a loud crash, and the shattering of the window into thousands of sharp glass shards marked the entrance of a flying scorpion-tailed toilet.

It was an awkward creature, with large vulture wings emerging from the water box, and a poised red scorpion tail attached to its back. It fluttered madly around the auditorium, making strange clanking noises as the toilet seat slammed against the rest of its body.

I had been right about the reek of death. As it crazily flew over the quailing and reverencing crowd, large clumps of brown substance splattered over the room, seemingly expulsed from its interior in jolts, which greatly distressed its flying capacity and strained the already overloaded wings. At last, with a great clank from the toilet seat, it released a bucketful of evil-smelling water which spilled onto the head of a small boy, and managed to fly to the window and through, disappearing from view.

I just stood there, mouth open wide, hands and arms hanging limp, and eyes unblinking.

Eyes unblinking.

Had I not been through a whole myriad of strange occurrences already, I would most probably have gone insane. Thankfully to my experience, I recovered. However, as impossible as it seemed, my predictions of the end of the world were becoming real. The end of the world is really coming!

When I looked at the crowd, I found them bowing in my direction, even Bob, who had been watching everything from behind the curtain.

“The prophet has spoken.” he whispered, then repeated more loudly. Swiftly, the chant was taken up by the crowd, until it began to grow into a loud crescendo which finally reached its climax and settled into silence once more.

Well, this could work to my advantage. This was my chance to be a religious leader, and I could use these people to somehow prove I was crazy, or even go farther, and challenge The Knights.

But before I could even speak, someone broke the silence. It was the father of the little boy who had been splashed by the acrid water.

“The true prophet is here!” he said, holding up his son, “He has been splashed by the sacred water, clearly picked out among us to be the true prophet.”

The little kid began crying. Half the crowd turned towards the new prophet, unsure. I could see if I didn’t do anything I was going to lose them. But did I really want them? Wouldn’t it be better to detach myself from these looneys? And was the end of the world really coming? Maybe I should forget about everything and seek help from The Knights- at least maybe with them I would be safe from this ‘end of the world’?


*image courtesy of brown trail schools.

Well, this is a multi-faced decision. The question is: Does the hero want to leader these people? If so, what does he say? And once he has their confidence, what does he do as a religious leader to prove he's crazy (or do whatever he wants, its up to you, if you ever dreamed of being a sect leader)?

If he doesn't wan't to leader them, what does he do, especially with the end of the world coming? Does he seek refuge with the knights?

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Last edited by D-Lotus on Mon May 29, 2006 8:54 am; edited 2 times in total
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PostPosted: Sun May 28, 2006 11:42 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Go for it. Who wouldn't want to be the religious leader of a group of people afterall?
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PostPosted: Sun May 28, 2006 1:34 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I think he should experiment. If everything he says actually happens, then he won't need to work hard at convincing anyone that he's the person to listen to.

It's possible that the squirrel brainwashing device has given him godlike powers for a while, in which case it would be a good idea to wreak revenge on those Knights of White Satin who've made his life so utterly miserable until now.

It might give him some satisfaction anyway. Stop him dwelling on all those scorpion toilets Shocked
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PostPosted: Sun May 28, 2006 3:49 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Yeah. For verily there shall be talk of false prophets! And these false prophets shall raise up high the little people. Yet ware! Those that follow such shall be swallowed by the Apricot Jam of Death.

Only one righteous one shall lead you in the few remaining moments upon this earth!

I care not whether you listen to me, for soon we shall all be drenched in the Scorpian tailed toilet water of oblivion.

Fools! Fools all! Mwahahahaha.

And so on.
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PostPosted: Sun May 28, 2006 6:08 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
Apricot Jam of Death


Lol. That's good, but lets take it a step further.

Lets say (hypothetically) that you manage to gain their confidence.

Then lets say that you want to a) keep pretending to be crazy to trick The Knights or b) challenge The Knights with your followers, or c) something else.

If you chose a, what would you do?
If you chose b, what would you do?
If you chose c (if you suggested something), what would you do?

The decision point involves what to do to gain their confidence (or not) and also what to do afterwards. Smile

By the way, is that picture annoying, or helpful to visualize the scene?
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PostPosted: Sun May 28, 2006 8:25 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

roman --> Roman
lung --> lunge
Miriad --> Myriad

The Sacrament makes me think of a Cthulhu cult without the blood and gore. Shocked

I think leading the people to challenge the Knighthood would be good. But then, in regards to what Shady said, does he actually have conditional godlike powers now?

The picture isn't annoying, just a little distracting...

The character could always annoint the little boy who got splashed. Say he's his successor or something. Someone has to show a new prophet the ropes, right? Him helping to "train" the little boy, who is one of the Sacrament, might win their trust.
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PostPosted: Mon May 29, 2006 1:09 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

i think that he should experiment to see if everything he says comes true. After all, it can't hurt right? Wink if it works, wreak havoc. if not try for religious leader.
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PostPosted: Mon May 29, 2006 1:24 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Good chapter D, made me laugh. Very Happy

Noticed a few things:

Quote:
Begor, inspiration struck!


I don't have a clue what that means. Is it some olde worlde word? Or just wrong? Wink

Quote:
and wreck havoc among us


Should be wreak.

Now, this may sound a bit cruel, but I think, as he has wowed the crowd so much by proclaiming the end of the world, and then the doombringing-toilet thing flew in, that the crowd would still believe pretty much anything he would say. So let's say that the boy isn't blessed by the water, that he shouldn't be a prophet (as Andrew clearly should keep the job), but that it marked him for death. Now, that isn't half as bad as it sounds. It means that he has a sacred purpose, to be Andrew's right-hand man, and when the time comes, he will ascend before anyone else. Babble like that, to keep the father happy.

Of course, the boy will be lavished upon so it makes Andrew appear to be benevolent and kind, the first one to depart should be treated with such kindness, furthur shoring up his status.

And then, when we have the masses good and enthralled (those social security numbers are gonna come in handy), we can spread out word to the masses, accompanied by video footage of the scorpion-tailed toilets cascading filth down upon unsuspecting innocents, and that the only way to salvation is to join his cult. When he has sufficiant membership (most of the population of the United States should do it; they love that crazy stuff) he can challenge the knights. :biggrin:

*holds breath* Shocked
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PostPosted: Mon May 29, 2006 8:59 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I took away that picture and added in a smaller one (although it is a bit blurry, you get the point.)

I also corrected the spelling. Begor is an Irish exclamation for surprise...I was reading too much Frank O'Connor.

Good suggestions, everyone. So I take it that most of you want to take control of the cult as a first step?

Maybe I should have two polls, the first one for taking control, or not, unless there is a concensus for or against it.
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PostPosted: Tue May 30, 2006 5:02 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

This is a Poll to determine the first step in the decision.

Keep suggesting while its going so I can make another poll based on those suggestions.
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PostPosted: Tue May 30, 2006 6:28 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Great chapter!

Yes, I think that he should probably expiriment with what he can possibly 'make' happen. Call down the furious rain of marshmallows, to feed all the hungry worms who have sent the distress call to these galactic toilets. Let his people know that their lives depend on collecting as many of these worms as possible and building a great bonfire of them to signal the beginning of the war. Predict that all true prophets will soon learn how to fly and shoot laser beams out their asses so they can thereby conquer the invading toilets, despite the innevitable loss of much human life. Fun!

But most importantly, the Truth of the Knights in White Satin shall soon be revealed in the ashes of the burnt worms.
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PostPosted: Wed May 31, 2006 1:40 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Voted to gain control of your flock, and winning.

And you might want to change the title D. it still says chapter two.
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PostPosted: Wed May 31, 2006 3:15 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Voted for regaining control of your fanatical followers. Muwhahahaha! We can use them to influence politics and then take over the government! Very Happy

*holds breath* Shocked
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PostPosted: Wed May 31, 2006 2:12 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Quote:
And you might want to change the title D. it still says chapter two.


Thanks, its fixed.

Well, this poll seems decided, so I'll give it another day, and then we can move on to the next poll.

Quote:
We can use them to influence politics and then take over the government!


I'll add that to the next poll. Smile
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PostPosted: Wed May 31, 2006 7:40 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Pretty good chappy on that one.

I say that you take control of the cult and use them against the knights.

I also say that you should start wearing a woman's dress as your 'sacramental robes.' Why not go the whole way? Wear a feathery boa too.

As far as the kid goes... Claim that he is the next in your line of prophets... perhaps even destined to be your vessel for your second coming, your reincarnation.
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PostPosted: Thu Jun 01, 2006 9:14 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

ok, here goes the final poll.

Final Poll for Chapter 3!

Choose wisely, you never know what you'll get. Wink
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 05, 2006 10:54 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Poll is closed.

The decision was to experiment with his new powers. New chapter up sometime today (guaranteed).
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D-Lotus
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 05, 2006 4:16 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Well, here is my entry for Stoat's Big Red Hot H&M Competition. This is currently the fourth chapter. This one is the final, and longest one.

This is also a Storygame: you read, you suggest, and then you vote on your suggestions.

Story so far: Andrew Black (although his name isn't mentioned much) is outraged when he finds a letter informing him that he is inscribed in a political group, The Knights In White Satin. When he goes to the informative meeting, he falls in a trap hole into a dank cellar. There he is told his life is a mistake and that The Knights, in reality a secret society that censors the lives of people, have to put him back in his rightful place. A blackout later, he's in a meeting, an executive one. It seems he's head of a multi-national corporation. He demands a full report which he gets, unfortunately. Later, he goes home, where he discovers him beautiful wife. Eventually, they go to a restaurant, and in the bathroom, he is suddenly attacked by The Knights. He wakes up, stuck with his tangible imagination, which tries to convince him to kill himself in sake of The Knights. Andrew refuses, and they come up with a plan to act crazy so that the sacrifice would be of no use, therefore liberating him. He wakes up in New York, ready to act crazy. When he pretends to be a preacher, he is sized by a group of wacky believers who hail him as a prophet, yet someone challenges his rule...


Chapter 4: Final Judgment


I cleared my throat nervously, reflecting on everything that had happened. It didn’t seem possible, even after all the jumbled explanations. Yet, there I was, facing a multitude of delusional believers in red wigs. There I was, ready to become the leader of that outlandish gathering, ready to parade myself in front of my bizarre devotees, ejaculating nonsensical warnings about the approaching apocalypse.

And what made sense anymore, after watching a toilet with wings and a tail fly in through the window? And what mattered anything, if, true to my predictions, the end of the world was approaching?

Now, my leadership of the red-domed followers was crumbling under the challenge of a three-year old child. Why did they turn from me, after I had prophesied and forecast the arrival of their divinity?

But how is it possible that my erratic visions had inexplicably turned to truth? Was there some celestial power in my voice that developed my fictitious projections into reality? Surely it could not be simple and wondrous coincidence. There must have been some power granted to me. And who else would do anything like that, excepting The Knights, in another of their perplexing ploys?

They may have given me the weapon that will bring their destruction.

I was not vengeful by nature, nor vindictive. I did not find any strange pleasure in causing pain, in retaliating. But with The Knights, I wished to end them only so that I could lead my life again, a life they had intruded upon and taken to experiment with. I had been content with my life, and I had never asked for excitement. I had been unwillingly pulled into a strange world I did not understand, a world I had thought to understand and enjoy in the past. Now, all I wanted was to go back home, to be among my family and friends, enjoying a day at the park, at the beach.

But I sensed that there was something hidden behind The Knights. Something that my human nature called comprehend, to grasp. Such is one facet of human nature; the desire to know the truth. There was no going back. If I had powers beyond the supernatural, then I would use them against The Knights. If not necessarily to bring their demise, then at least to understand.

The red wigs, hanging perilously from the apex of their owners, smiled at me, urging me to begin. I had the power. It couldn’t all be coincidence.

I raised my hand into the air and motioned for silence. Even the small usurper ceased his wails. I let my imagination wander.

“The giant apricots will come. They will…reveal the truth.” I attempted to sound as solemn as I could. “They will come from the heavens, much in the same way as the flying scorpion-tailed toilets did. They will crash through our walls and smother all of us.”

I saw people near the walls begin to sidle into the others nearer the center.

“..And through the ceilings, by the way.”

The furtive movements stopped.

“And when they do…” I continued, as my ideas began to clear, “…they shall first smother and smite the false prophet with their organic juices and soft, hairy skins!”

The crowd gasped, and the father of the boy began shaking considerably. But then my good side took over, and I added,

“Although he won’t really be smothered or smite, because…well, because the apricots aren’t really that big…” I said, somewhat confusing myself and everybody else as well.

“Which is to say, they’re still giant, but the ones that hit him aren’t going to be that big, because the apricots don’t really…like to…kill.”

The throngs of red wigs and accompanying faces were looking at me strangely.

“They still cause death, though, and you should still be scared of their doom bringing, but its not really their fault, since they’re forced to fall off this big tree, up in heaven.” I searched desperately for plausible argument.

The father of the boy had stopped quailing, and was now wearing a self-satisfied grin, proof of my failing, which was also evident in the stares from my audience.

“Did I tell you guys it was apricots, not apples, in the garden of Eden?” I summed up, completely lost in my own line of reasoning.

In response to my question, the father of the boy picked him up again and began moving towards the stage, holding the infant high up for everyone to discern. The majority of my supporters began bowing to the pair as they passed through the passage being made for them.

This is harder than I thought, I thought.

I had destroyed my claim because of pity for the boy. Now, I was paying the consequences. My only chance of success at the moment was that the giant apricots began raining down on us soon. After all, it couldn’t all be coincidence, right?

I waited. Nothing.

Bob approached me cautiously. I saw the father and son standing behind him. He rested his hand on my shoulder compassionately.

“Sorry, buddy, your fifteen minutes of fame are up.” he whispered into my ear empathetically.

Slowly, I came to my senses, and began moving towards the curtains as the pair of usurperers took the stage. I walked along the passage way, hearing echos.

“…but before my son can pass judgement, he needs the medication for his asthma. Donations would be…”

I was shoved out into the cold and dark. Shivering, I realized I only had a shirt that read I (heart) NY to guard me from the chill. I emerged from the alleyway, draping myself in my hands.

I began walking through the streets, lonesome and hurt. Life lasts so little. Fame, money, a beautiful wife, and a horde of followers, I had it all. And now, nothing.

This time, I hadn’t even needed The Knights to steal it away from me. Maybe this was what life really is like, maybe The Knights are only a representation of that cycle. Why had I been blaming them for everything? It wasn’t their fault that they were unconsciously repeating a cycle established by mankind milennia ago.

I was gripped by an alien sensation of sadness that began creeping through my veins until it finally reached my heart. I choked, and cried. I wasn’t sure of what I wanted anymore. I wanted to understand what the world was really all about, and at the same time, I’d rather be at home, in the comfort of my bed.

In moments like these, the melancholy and gloom block out the circulation of blood to the head, draining the food of thought. In these moments, crazy, destructive thoughts emerge from the despondency. These thoughts often lead to plans that are often not very admired later on, when the dust settles.

I’m gonna jump off the empire state building.

It was stupid, but I was confused, hurt, and blinded by my emotions. In a way, the idea calmed me in the same way yelling prophetic messages of doom did. I began running towards the tall building I could see towering above the city, and which I knew to be my objective. After half-an-hour, I reached its glass doors, panting heavily. It was almost nightfall, and the attendant at the desk was beginning to lock everything up. I knocked, and he looked around at me. He nodded ‘no’ and shrugged, pointing at a sign that indicated the visiting hours.

“Sir, I have a flight to LA tomorrow, and this is my last chance.” I lied, shouting through the door.



He repeated his gesture, pointing at the sign again. I fumbled in my pockets, searching to see if The Knights had left me any money. I pulled out a brown leather wallet from my pants pocket, and grabbed a wad of bills, waving it in front of the glass doors. I couldn’t believe my luck; not only had they seemingly left me over a thousand dollars, but the attendant had taken the bait, and was now making his way towards the door. He waited for cars and people to become sparse, then he unlocked the door and grabbed the money from me, while whispering surreptitiously,

“You’ve got twenty minutes.”

I ran to the elevator and pushed the button. The man sat counting the money, mouth open agape, until the elevator doors open, and I went inside. As the elevator began making its way up, I paced nervously. But my conviction was made, I was going to end it all, and in grand fashion. I realize now that I wanted people to notice, that I wanted somebody to help me, to tell me what the hell was going on.

The elevator bell rang, and the doors slid open. I stepped out into the cold once again. There was nobody there. The view was incredible, and stunningly beautiful. I felt even more grief, because I realized that I didn’t want to die, and that I was leaving a handsome world. But it was too late. I couldn’t turn back, now that I had made my decision.

I climbed to the rafters, and looked down below me. The cars appeared very small. Suddenly, a voice spoke from behind.

“Hey, you, what are you doing?”

It was immediately accompanied by another gruff voice. “I’ll bet you 20$ that this one jumps off, Bernie.”

“Are you kidding? He doesn’t look like he’s got the…” his sentence was cut short as he saw me breath in deep. “Hey, man, don’t do it!”

I jumped.

The air felt pure and clean as it streamed past me. I closed my eyes and let it carress me. It felt so good, letting myself go. It was as if the wind were wrapping around me protectively, assuring and comforting me. It was as if I were draped in silk, in…satin. Suddenly there was a flash of white, and I felt extreme pain, as if someone were scratching my legs off, cell by cell, and then displacing them. I tried to scream.

Then suddenly, I was sitting in a chair, facing a man with graying hair and penetrating eyes.

“Huh?” I said.

The man grinned widely and clapped his hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry, you’re all right now.”

“Wha-what happened?” I asked, perplexed, but suspicious.

“That’s what I’m here for. To explain. My name is Agent A, the head of the organization known as The Knights in White Satin

He extended his hand to me, and I took it, my suspicions confirmed. However, I felt much better now, after being saved from death. Man has the characteristic of appreciating life more when he has almost lost it. This was a chance to get many of my questions answered. This was the head of the organization, he had to know everything, or nobody would!

“But I’ll let you ask a few questions before I begin to explain further.” He said, sitting back in his own chair, one without arms and of a simple design. I was sitting in a stool, but our surroundings were vastly different to those I had seen before. In contrast with rooms of blank, white walls with no doors, windows, or furniture, this room was richly decorated. There were famous paintings hanging on the wall, such as the Mona Lisa and El Guernica. Trophies, guns, knives, a rusty sword under which said a sign “Excalibur”, and all sorts off odd objects, such as Charlie Chaplin’s boots. The furniture was a blend of Victorian, Napoleonic, medieval, and classical. There was a table between my stool and his chair made out of a slab of stone, which apparently had the engravings of a code of laws in latin. There was a glass of water resting on the stone near me.

It suddenly struck me that I could be talking to the most powerful man in history, the head of an organization that has absolute power over the world.

“So, uh, what just happened?” I asked carefully.

He slapped his knee and smiled.

“Did you like it?” he asked with childish delight. “Its our new design for teletransportation. We’ve been trying to reduce the pain at the end, as you noticed. That’s the failure of plane traveling.”

“Plane traveling?” I repeated.

“Why, of course! What other way would there be of doing it? We’ve always had plane traveling, although not as advanced as it is now. In the old times, when I was young, the pain was indescribable. But of course, there was that incredible satiny feeling as if you’re being draped, right?” he said, watching my reactions carefully.

“Y-yes, I remember. Right before the white flash.” I recalled, wincing.

He slapped his knee again.

“There you go! And that’s we we’re called The Knights in White Satin

“But what the hell was up with the toilets?” I asked angrily.

“Ah, you see,” he said worriedly, “there are many worlds apart from ours. Unfortunately, a world needs a source of energy to survive. Most worlds devour other planes of existence to get the necessary energy- ”

“- and our world is being ‘eaten’ by a bigger, badder world?” I interrupted.

“Not exactly.” he responded, surprised. “Our world is lacking a source of energy. For millennia, there were abundance of planes of existence that Earth could feed on. We thrived, amassed energy; unfortunately at the expense of innocent alien beings. It wasn’t our choice. The universe is made of planes. When one plane eats too many others and amasses too much energy, it explodes, creating innumerable others. The cycle continues. However, if a plane loses its energy, it disappears. Often, planes make alliances or become enemies, eating at one another.”

“I guess we made some deal with the plane of imagination, huh?” I asked, quickly catching on, and amazed.

“Exactly.” said agent A, pointing his finger in the air. “Politics in our universe revolve around plane usage. It’s a cruel world out there.” he said sadly.

“But how does that explain the toilets?”

“Ah, the toilets, of course.” he smiled, then frowned sourly. “An irregularity. Nothing more. A mere distortion, an anomaly, a loophole! A simple abnormality caused by the weakening energy of our world. We need energy, we need to feed on another plane, and if we don’t achieve our purpose soon, these anomalies will increase in number until we dissapear!”

A shiver ran down my back.

“True to your predictions,” he continued grimly, “The end of the world is near.”

“But…but, wouldn’t the eating of other planes bring the next plane closer?” I said, searching desperately for an idea.

“You mean like tiles sliding into one another when the one in the middle disappears?” he said, trying to clarify.

I nodded.

“When planes are eaten, they create a vacuum in space that doesn’t fill up until an overcharged world explodes, creating what scientists call a ‘supernova’. Every world is eventually doomed to explode or dissapear. The object is to maintain a balance. Earth scientists can only explain this process of eating planes and worlds in the term ‘black hole’.”

“But how exactly can we get planes?” I asked.

“In the last century we have, through negotiation and plane traveling, achieved to reach a small accumulation of planes that have enabled us to survive. But now, we have depleted our deposits. Think about it in this way: its like trying to fuel America with only oil from Alaska.” he said, laughing.

“What about negotiating with other worlds so that they’ll lend us some planes?” I asked thoughtfully.

“Unfortunately, we have angered our neighbors, and we are being blockaded. It is little they could do, in any case.” he responded, pausing painfully upon each word.

“What about Mars, Venus, and Jupiter?” I said.

“As they are in our same orbit, the centrifuge around the sun keeps them out of our reach.”

Suddenly my anger flared. “And what do you want with me? What have I done to get mixed up into this? Why are you toying with me?”

“Be calm, Andrew.” smiled the man. “I’ll explain. Just sit down again.”

I sat back down on my stool.

“A long time ago,” he began, “Plutonians were the most advanced race in the universe. They lived in close plane proximity to earth, but instead of devouring our planet, plutonians used it as a vacation resort. Our variety of species, plant life, and animals during the Neolithic age fascinated them. Overtime, plutonians in search of excitement began experimenting with our ancestors.” He paused, growing red.

“Our species evolved into what we are today. The plutonian planet became overcharged and created a ’supernova’, our current sun. It also created numerous planes of existence on which we have been feeding on ever since. The planet we call Pluto is a reduced and lifeless version of what it used to be.”

“Look,” I said, “You’ve sat here for twenty minutes explaining senseless stuff which I’d rather not even know, and I still don’t know why I’m involved.”

He rubbed his eyes wearily.

“I’m getting to it. After thousands of generations, humanity has lost its plutonian blood. However, among all family histories, there must be one in which a vast majority of its members married at an old age, reducing the number of generations. The plutonian gene survived in this family until now.”

“Let me guess, my family?” I said, groaning.

“Correct. You’re .00007 % plutonian.”

“So what? That still doesn’t tell me anything.” I flared again.

“Yes it does. Plutonian blood is very powerful, because they added many innovations and technology to their bloodstream before the catastrophe. Their blood got us through the Ice Age. A willing sacrifice of even the smallest percentage of plutonian blood, if used correctly, could transport a whole world. It must, however, be willing, as the plutonians made it so it could be no other way.” He looked at me warily.

Now it all made sense. The Knights wanted me to sacrifice myself so that earth could be transported to a source of planes. They had tried to coax me through everyway possible before deciding to tell me the truth.

“Would that mean I have to kill myself?” I asked shakily.

“Yes.” whispered Agent A.

I got up slowly, walked towards him and looked at him in the eye. I drew my arm back, and let my fist fly into the face of the most powerful man in the world with a dry sound. He reeled back and fell over, crashing onto his chair and bleeding from his nose.

“Bastard.” I spat.

He got up and smiled. The he went over to a desk and pulled out a stack of paper, a pen and pencil, and a knife. He left them on the table, and then walked out the door. He turned around before leaving.

“Your name and what you did will be known to the world, kid.”

He left. There was no clicking of the lock. The door was open. A tear rolled down my cheek. I took up paper and pen, and began writing, recounting my story. I started with anger, darting from the experience with my imagination to when it all started, unsure of where to begin. Then I used humor, trying to alleviate things… I described myself and everyone else as picturesque, as comical. But the truth remains that now I have to make a decision. The fate of the world rests in my hands. If I accept, I die. If I don’t accept, we all die. Life is cruel, vicious. I ask myself, why me?

And yet, am I the first to die? How many millions have faced worse deaths than mine? If I die, I die as a hero. Many weren’t even granted a grave.

But I don’t want to die.

The decision is mine to make, although it seems fate has conspired against me. I think I understand my destiny, and I can’t help but cry myself out. Once again I am confronted with my two natures. One desires to be back at home, the other desires to understand, to explore, to investigate, to continue.

Nobody can help me now. Not my country, not my family, not my friends. Not you, my reader.

Nobody.

As I grasp the knife, I can’t help but think,

“To be, or not to be;
That is the question.”

THE END

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LordoftheNight
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 05, 2006 4:33 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Good ending, and even a Shakespearian quote thrown in for good measure.
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 05, 2006 4:46 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Good ending D, though I don't understand why they stopped him jumping, if that is what they wanted him to do.

Congratulations!!
Cheers
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D-Lotus
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 05, 2006 4:57 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

chinaren wrote:
Good ending D, though I don't understand why they stopped him jumping, if that is what they wanted him to do.


That's easy enough to answer: He had to give his life willingly towards the cause. If he just killed himself for no reason, nothing would happen.

Maybe I should have made that clearer. Ah well, its done now, and I'm tired. I'm taking a trip tonight, and probably won't be back until August, so if you have any questions, better adress them today!!
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 05, 2006 9:41 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Have a good time Dani. Smile
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PostPosted: Mon Jun 05, 2006 10:16 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

3 hours 'till departure time.

Thank you everybody that read my story and hung on until the end. It really helps a lot to have an audience to talk to. I appreciate it.

Well, goodbye! Very Happy

Happy reading, writing, voting, and everything else!
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PostPosted: Tue Jun 06, 2006 12:12 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Congratulations on getting your storygame finished D!

Random it was, but I enjoyed it anyway Wink

Your huge cash prize is on its way to you!
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PostPosted: Tue Jun 06, 2006 12:30 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Well done D, kooky ending. :biggrin:

Have a fun trip! Very Happy
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PostPosted: Sat Jun 10, 2006 2:54 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Really wierd, yet still pretty cool. Did you have all the stuff about planes worked out from the beginning? And this q won't be answered till Augusty...
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PostPosted: Wed Jun 21, 2006 1:29 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Well, actually, I have access for a bit, so iŽll tell you. Half and half. I was thinking of the planes, but wasnŽt sure exactly how it was all going to tie in. This story I planned, but one of your decisions put me a bit off track (the last one). I guess you canŽt plan everything in a storygame (therefore the beauty and also inconvinience).

Well, thanks all, I guess this story is ready for the archive.
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Did you think this story was too random?
Yes; the story confused me and I still don't understand
0%
 0%  [ 0 ]
No; the explanation at the end cleared everything up
100%
 100%  [ 5 ]
Total Votes : 5
Who Voted: Chinaren, DeadManWalking, LordoftheNight, Solomon Birch

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