Wrote this just to practice ideas and generate a reasonable conflict for CYOA characters. I also...
Bleeding Memories (Worm metaphySIcal!CYOA)
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Wrote this just to practice ideas and generate a reasonable conflict for CYOA characters. I also wrote a whole introduction to display my self-commitment to actually finishing something to the end for once in my life. But really I only have about 3 months to write this thing before Cackles goes back to cool leg! And I don't know if I'll even be able to explore all the things I thought about really, really hard in an afternoon! Oh wells...
Original intro or something.
Writing checklist:
-Care too much. [x]
-Be a parasite. (Haven't read worm, kinda surprised I'm doing this at all. :0 ) [x]
-Be self-contradictory at least once. [ ]
-Explain narrative metaphysics in-story. [ ]
-Explain Kalpic Cycles in-story and theirrelevance to Entity Cycles. [ ]
-Explain nothing, because it's not important. [ ]
-Plant a lame joke and watch it grow into a tree. [ ]
Chapter Links(threadmark malfunction):
Original intro or something.
How do you make a believable conflict for a CYOA character?
CYOA is treated like a game, perhaps more closely resembling tabletop games.
The flaw with treating the CYOA like it's all just one big game where the world bends to your will, and yours alone, is that it is an echo chamber. Without true companions (or other players in table-top) to test your merits, you shape the adventure rather than the adventure shaping you.
Meanwhile, the author, who is both SI and conflict flinger ends up feeding themselves the narrative because the game told them to. Its flaw is that games are designed to be beaten. As well as the implications of end-goal events coming to pass. In a chaotic and reality bound world, probably wouldn't get seen by the protagonist.
So then, now the question becomes, how do you create a real challenge to something that at its very nature is designed to overcome all odds? How do you avoid becoming an echo chamber, repeating a similar narrative to the dozens of others that walked down this same path prior?
Well… Here is my answer.
CYOA is treated like a game, perhaps more closely resembling tabletop games.
The flaw with treating the CYOA like it's all just one big game where the world bends to your will, and yours alone, is that it is an echo chamber. Without true companions (or other players in table-top) to test your merits, you shape the adventure rather than the adventure shaping you.
Meanwhile, the author, who is both SI and conflict flinger ends up feeding themselves the narrative because the game told them to. Its flaw is that games are designed to be beaten. As well as the implications of end-goal events coming to pass. In a chaotic and reality bound world, probably wouldn't get seen by the protagonist.
So then, now the question becomes, how do you create a real challenge to something that at its very nature is designed to overcome all odds? How do you avoid becoming an echo chamber, repeating a similar narrative to the dozens of others that walked down this same path prior?
Well… Here is my answer.
Writing checklist:
-Care too much. [x]
-Be a parasite. (Haven't read worm, kinda surprised I'm doing this at all. :0 ) [x]
-Be self-contradictory at least once. [ ]
-Explain narrative metaphysics in-story. [ ]
-Explain Kalpic Cycles in-story and their
-Explain nothing, because it's not important. [ ]
-Plant a lame joke and watch it grow into a tree. [ ]
Chapter Links(threadmark malfunction):
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1.1
The perspective was an eye. It was my perspective, my eye, I knew without a doubt. Not a thought in my mind wondered as to why I was staring myself in the eye.
I stared at the unblinking, unfocused bulb that lacked both a lid to cover it and a socket to hold it. There wasn't any sense of awareness within, I dimly noticed, the pupils inactive and as still as death. My irises were the color of...-
It's green! Like my dad! A loud voice answered.
It's brown! Like my… A muted voice tried to answer, but stopped.
Sleeping thoughts in my head answered my call.
I agreed with the first. My green eye stared back at me, still as lifeless as ever, but that soon changed. Like a well flickering with light, the perspective came to life, expanding so that I saw the surrounding skin around my eye. I felt tired, just looking at the dark bags of skin, feeling as though the weight behind them would heavily burden anyone.
My perspective continued to expand until I saw both eyes and the bridge of my nose. I watched the expansion, not seeing anything out of the ordinary but the neutral face of an ordinary, young woman entering into focus. The fringes of her curly hair were just within sight- an easily identifiable feature. I didn't recognize her.
Under it all, I noticed something of interest. Her eyes slowly changed as the rest of her face came into focus. She looked as if she had seen something that had caught her interest, the curiosity lighting up in her eyes almost completely reducing the feeling of tiredness in the rest of her face. The dead look was gone, she was alive.
Rather interesting. I wondered what she saw. Did she see me as I saw her then? Was the value of my own face worth the interest? What did I look like? I look like me.
Guring my musings, I saw her lips adopt a light frown, eyes lightly focused, if somewhat giving off a dazed look. Perhaps she wondered the same as what I had wondered. Did that mean I could say something? Should I? I tested my lips, trying not to think about how uncomfortably close our faces were in this… place.
"Hello." My lips moved, but it wasn't me who greeted.
She didn't outwardly show any emotions on her face, yet I felt as if she were hiding something. A brief shock of alarm rang through my head, but I choose to ignore it.
I tried again, "Um, Salutations? Ahloha?"
The sound… It was coming from somewhere near me, it wasn't me, I'm not saying anything. Something wasn't right, but I still had control of… this voice. Should I tell her about it? Would she know what was happening? Why it was happening?
I should use the Voice…
Tell them my name…
I felt like I needed to use this voice to ask.
She didn't respond to my greetings, and somehow, I had a feeling that she wouldn't be speaking at all, so I took the initiative to bring out my concern. I made sure to stare at her lips so that even if she couldn't understand what I was saying, then at least she'd know that I'm trying to communicate my worry.
I held her focused gaze on where I imagined my mouth to be.
"Hey, I think something's wrong. I don't know what it is, but I'm not talking correctly somehow, my voice feels strange, like..." I took a breath, as did she, "It feels like someone else is talking for me."
After I spoke, I finally realized what was wrong. It wasn't me that was talking, because it's not 'me'. That's not my voice.
So then…
I looked into her eyes. She looked into mine with an unreadable expression- expectation, perhaps. She must be waiting.
And I understood.
"Is this your voice?" I asked, using hers. Her lips didn't move, but I already knew the answer.
She gave a small smile, as did I.
What if I tried to let her speak? I thought about it, wondering what I could do to encourage her to use her voice through me. I thought about the question I asked earlier.
'What's your name?' Hushed wind abound.
Thought the echo's hound.
'What's your name?' Whispered my mind's eye.
From you, to me, to I.
And She gave Her Answer.
"My name is Taylor."
The thought continued on in my head somewhere deep within my mind. A cluster of nerves, a sensation of crystal resonated. The thought cycled over and over, saying the same things, speaking the same words.
I witnessed myself experience myself, the act of logical interpretation self assuring itself. Yet there was no cause, no reason for being other than to witness one's self over and over infinitely. A recursive loop of subject matter that had lost all meaning, or perhaps never had a meaning to begin with.
There was no end to the madness, for saying that there were such a concept would imply another alternative of which there was none. Nothing did exist, neither did I, until I did. Existence breathed into my being.
At first, it was a subtle detail, a figment that could've been the subject of reality asserting its existence just as I believed I had once exerted my non-existence. I wouldn't ever know the answer, as even my memory gets hazy this far back.
Then, I heard things further away from my loop, like voices beyond a locked door, light brimming beneath the gap. I felt the lightness of air in my ears that I never knew I had, a soft suggestion in my eardrums bringing me closer to its seductive embrace and farther away from the loop. A beating in my veins, warmth on my tongue. A hint of iron in the air and in my body.
I opened my eyes and saw blurry whiteness. I didn't know what to make of it, so I stared. It changed, condensing to a darker shade of grey blue, unmoving lines settled in my vision. I stared for as long as the idle moment would last before undeniable curiosity set in.
I rotated the balls in my head around, gathering in the wealth of information that graced my presence. It was a room, that much I was certain of. Perhaps a bit on the small side, but then what was I comparing it to? Perhaps not as tidy as I imagined, but then why on earth did it have to be?
It felt homey, like I have lived in this place for years. A thought wandered into my mind, I wondered what time it was without really knowing why it was important. It was just something I did each morning.
Instinctively, I pulled myself out of the covers with my… hands. Really weird looking, pink star-shaped thingies with soft, floppy, flubby, elastic covers and bump cap tips that moved with a fluid dexterity, quietly handling the bed sheets with ease. I wondered what they tasted like.
The rest of my body briefly came into view as I noted in a glance, but I didn't wait to examine it as there was still a task that needed doing. Don't care how, I want the time now.
As if it were following coded instructions, my head turned and tilted in just the right way so that I was glancing at a black rectangular-shaped object that was roughly the same size as a tissue box.
A small green lettered interface told me that it was almost 7.
I needed to get ready for school. My hand reached out to the clock, grasping near it and… 'Wait.'
I stopped, and stared at my hand. I realized that there was no apparent reason to have moved my hand. I pulled my hand back. It were almost as if it were moving by itself, which would be ridiculous if I didn't just witness my own body seemingly acting of its own free will.
Of course, why I thought this odd at all was a curiosity in and of itself. When was the last time I needed to think about this?
I frowned. 'When was the last time I needed to think at all?'
I blinked.
When I thought about it for a few more seconds, the clarity of the situation opened with such bluntness, I felt surprised for not noticing it sooner.
I snorted at myself, rolling my eyes at my own lack of intelligence.
That's what Instinctual means, obviously. Things happen regardless of whether you wanted them to happen, actions taken that you didn't think about doing, because it just does.
The logic cemented in my mind and then didn't budge no matter how hard I tried to manipulate it, so that's how I knew it to be correct. That settled, I wondered as to what actions I'd take to get ready for school.
Last thing should probably be actually traveling to school and attending class, no brainer there, but what comes before that? What am I supposed to do in the meantime and what would be required of school that necessitated preparation?
Easy, I need to:
The shower was good. Exceptionally so. If I didn't believe there wasn't anything worth experiencing, I certainly didn't now.
I let the hot water wash over my face for a few more seconds, and just to be sure, I rubbed behind the ears so that any leftover soapsuds would wash away.
It was a deep shame that good things like these had to end at some point, but this was only the first task. I pulled/pushed/twisted/(!action:unknown) the handle/knob/level/(!object:unknown) to halt the stream of water that was filling up the tub indefinitely.
I gave out a sigh. 'What have I been missing out all my life?'
Quietness, sounds of draining water, and the soft drips of droplets falling from my hair into the pool of soapy water. I sat peacefully, half submerged in the warmth, and just listened to the ambient sounds. Eventually, the water receded down, down until only wetness and chill remained.
Pit-pit...pit-pit...pit…pit…
The urge to crank the water back on insisted on being fulfilled to get away from the cold and back into that comfortable place, however I resisted the temptation.
Grumbled out of my throat, I finally gained the strength to tear myself away and into a fresh towel.
Next on my agenda…I hadn't a clue how to shave legs. At the very least, I assumed the activity had nothing to do with actually shaving off the skin of my legs, so then it must have something to do with imperfections or undesirables that wouldn't cause self-mutilation.
I found the razor blades, quickly found out just how razor sharp they were, carefully put them back in the cabinet I found them, and promptly never touched them again. I didn't need them anyway.
Thankfully, the task of brushing my teeth seemed a lot easier (and less painful). I couldn't exactly see myself in the mirror, what with all the foggy stuff in the way and the blurriness of everything I looked at. And about the blurriness: It irked me immensely. I wanted it gone.
My call was heard. Invisible strings began tugging on my limbs, crawling over my tendons, silently urging me to walk. I tensed up, but it didn't last long, as a second later the strings were gone. The toothbrush stayed unmoving in my mouth.
A bit of worry launched itself into the pit of my stomach, a solid piece of lead that told me this was distinctly wrong. I pushed the feeling down my gut. It was probably the instinctual thing again.
Wetness fell from my nose, dripping onto the bathroom floor.
Pit...pit...
'What.' Was the only think I could think of.
Pit...pit…
Visions looked down, instinctively reaching out to catch the tiny fallen thing seen. The drop landed in the palm of my hand, shining brightly in the light to be seen. More drops fell from my nose, a stars of wine freely painting the canvas of my skin.
Thoughts of interest enter, an intermixture of morbid curiosity and caution felt by my senses did seen. Was this what bleeding felt like?
No hurt was to be felt. The small portion of my lifeblood flowed quickly and painlessly, forgotten before it completed its unknowable purpose. Wandered away.
Eyes followed the stemmed flow of frozen ichor, down to the floor, down where no red imprint was to be seen.
I shook a little, uncertain where the blood went. It felt like it had just disappeared.
[BeingTaylor Is Suffering.]
The perspective was an eye. It was my perspective, my eye, I knew without a doubt. Not a thought in my mind wondered as to why I was staring myself in the eye.
I stared at the unblinking, unfocused bulb that lacked both a lid to cover it and a socket to hold it. There wasn't any sense of awareness within, I dimly noticed, the pupils inactive and as still as death. My irises were the color of...-
It's green! Like my dad! A loud voice answered.
It's brown! Like my… A muted voice tried to answer, but stopped.
Sleeping thoughts in my head answered my call.
I agreed with the first. My green eye stared back at me, still as lifeless as ever, but that soon changed. Like a well flickering with light, the perspective came to life, expanding so that I saw the surrounding skin around my eye. I felt tired, just looking at the dark bags of skin, feeling as though the weight behind them would heavily burden anyone.
My perspective continued to expand until I saw both eyes and the bridge of my nose. I watched the expansion, not seeing anything out of the ordinary but the neutral face of an ordinary, young woman entering into focus. The fringes of her curly hair were just within sight- an easily identifiable feature. I didn't recognize her.
Under it all, I noticed something of interest. Her eyes slowly changed as the rest of her face came into focus. She looked as if she had seen something that had caught her interest, the curiosity lighting up in her eyes almost completely reducing the feeling of tiredness in the rest of her face. The dead look was gone, she was alive.
Rather interesting. I wondered what she saw. Did she see me as I saw her then? Was the value of my own face worth the interest? What did I look like? I look like me.
Guring my musings, I saw her lips adopt a light frown, eyes lightly focused, if somewhat giving off a dazed look. Perhaps she wondered the same as what I had wondered. Did that mean I could say something? Should I? I tested my lips, trying not to think about how uncomfortably close our faces were in this… place.
"Hello." My lips moved, but it wasn't me who greeted.
She didn't outwardly show any emotions on her face, yet I felt as if she were hiding something. A brief shock of alarm rang through my head, but I choose to ignore it.
I tried again, "Um, Salutations? Ahloha?"
The sound… It was coming from somewhere near me, it wasn't me, I'm not saying anything. Something wasn't right, but I still had control of… this voice. Should I tell her about it? Would she know what was happening? Why it was happening?
I should use the Voice…
Tell them my name…
I felt like I needed to use this voice to ask.
She didn't respond to my greetings, and somehow, I had a feeling that she wouldn't be speaking at all, so I took the initiative to bring out my concern. I made sure to stare at her lips so that even if she couldn't understand what I was saying, then at least she'd know that I'm trying to communicate my worry.
I held her focused gaze on where I imagined my mouth to be.
"Hey, I think something's wrong. I don't know what it is, but I'm not talking correctly somehow, my voice feels strange, like..." I took a breath, as did she, "It feels like someone else is talking for me."
After I spoke, I finally realized what was wrong. It wasn't me that was talking, because it's not 'me'. That's not my voice.
So then…
I looked into her eyes. She looked into mine with an unreadable expression- expectation, perhaps. She must be waiting.
And I understood.
"Is this your voice?" I asked, using hers. Her lips didn't move, but I already knew the answer.
She gave a small smile, as did I.
What if I tried to let her speak? I thought about it, wondering what I could do to encourage her to use her voice through me. I thought about the question I asked earlier.
'What's your name?' Hushed wind abound.
Thought the echo's hound.
'What's your name?' Whispered my mind's eye.
From you, to me, to I.
And She gave Her Answer.
"My name is Taylor."
The thought continued on in my head somewhere deep within my mind. A cluster of nerves, a sensation of crystal resonated. The thought cycled over and over, saying the same things, speaking the same words.
I witnessed myself experience myself, the act of logical interpretation self assuring itself. Yet there was no cause, no reason for being other than to witness one's self over and over infinitely. A recursive loop of subject matter that had lost all meaning, or perhaps never had a meaning to begin with.
There was no end to the madness, for saying that there were such a concept would imply another alternative of which there was none. Nothing did exist, neither did I, until I did. Existence breathed into my being.
At first, it was a subtle detail, a figment that could've been the subject of reality asserting its existence just as I believed I had once exerted my non-existence. I wouldn't ever know the answer, as even my memory gets hazy this far back.
Then, I heard things further away from my loop, like voices beyond a locked door, light brimming beneath the gap. I felt the lightness of air in my ears that I never knew I had, a soft suggestion in my eardrums bringing me closer to its seductive embrace and farther away from the loop. A beating in my veins, warmth on my tongue. A hint of iron in the air and in my body.
I opened my eyes and saw blurry whiteness. I didn't know what to make of it, so I stared. It changed, condensing to a darker shade of grey blue, unmoving lines settled in my vision. I stared for as long as the idle moment would last before undeniable curiosity set in.
I rotated the balls in my head around, gathering in the wealth of information that graced my presence. It was a room, that much I was certain of. Perhaps a bit on the small side, but then what was I comparing it to? Perhaps not as tidy as I imagined, but then why on earth did it have to be?
It felt homey, like I have lived in this place for years. A thought wandered into my mind, I wondered what time it was without really knowing why it was important. It was just something I did each morning.
Instinctively, I pulled myself out of the covers with my… hands. Really weird looking, pink star-shaped thingies with soft, floppy, flubby, elastic covers and bump cap tips that moved with a fluid dexterity, quietly handling the bed sheets with ease. I wondered what they tasted like.
The rest of my body briefly came into view as I noted in a glance, but I didn't wait to examine it as there was still a task that needed doing. Don't care how, I want the time now.
As if it were following coded instructions, my head turned and tilted in just the right way so that I was glancing at a black rectangular-shaped object that was roughly the same size as a tissue box.
A small green lettered interface told me that it was almost 7.
I needed to get ready for school. My hand reached out to the clock, grasping near it and… 'Wait.'
I stopped, and stared at my hand. I realized that there was no apparent reason to have moved my hand. I pulled my hand back. It were almost as if it were moving by itself, which would be ridiculous if I didn't just witness my own body seemingly acting of its own free will.
Of course, why I thought this odd at all was a curiosity in and of itself. When was the last time I needed to think about this?
I frowned. 'When was the last time I needed to think at all?'
I blinked.
When I thought about it for a few more seconds, the clarity of the situation opened with such bluntness, I felt surprised for not noticing it sooner.
I snorted at myself, rolling my eyes at my own lack of intelligence.
That's what Instinctual means, obviously. Things happen regardless of whether you wanted them to happen, actions taken that you didn't think about doing, because it just does.
The logic cemented in my mind and then didn't budge no matter how hard I tried to manipulate it, so that's how I knew it to be correct. That settled, I wondered as to what actions I'd take to get ready for school.
Last thing should probably be actually traveling to school and attending class, no brainer there, but what comes before that? What am I supposed to do in the meantime and what would be required of school that necessitated preparation?
Easy, I need to:
- 1. Shower in the morning.
- 2. Shave legs.
- 3. Brush teeth.
The shower was good. Exceptionally so. If I didn't believe there wasn't anything worth experiencing, I certainly didn't now.
I let the hot water wash over my face for a few more seconds, and just to be sure, I rubbed behind the ears so that any leftover soapsuds would wash away.
It was a deep shame that good things like these had to end at some point, but this was only the first task. I pulled/pushed/twisted/(!action:unknown) the handle/knob/level/(!object:unknown) to halt the stream of water that was filling up the tub indefinitely.
I gave out a sigh. 'What have I been missing out all my life?'
Quietness, sounds of draining water, and the soft drips of droplets falling from my hair into the pool of soapy water. I sat peacefully, half submerged in the warmth, and just listened to the ambient sounds. Eventually, the water receded down, down until only wetness and chill remained.
Pit-pit...pit-pit...pit…pit…
The urge to crank the water back on insisted on being fulfilled to get away from the cold and back into that comfortable place, however I resisted the temptation.
Grumbled out of my throat, I finally gained the strength to tear myself away and into a fresh towel.
Next on my agenda…I hadn't a clue how to shave legs. At the very least, I assumed the activity had nothing to do with actually shaving off the skin of my legs, so then it must have something to do with imperfections or undesirables that wouldn't cause self-mutilation.
I found the razor blades, quickly found out just how razor sharp they were, carefully put them back in the cabinet I found them, and promptly never touched them again. I didn't need them anyway.
Thankfully, the task of brushing my teeth seemed a lot easier (and less painful). I couldn't exactly see myself in the mirror, what with all the foggy stuff in the way and the blurriness of everything I looked at. And about the blurriness: It irked me immensely. I wanted it gone.
My call was heard. Invisible strings began tugging on my limbs, crawling over my tendons, silently urging me to walk. I tensed up, but it didn't last long, as a second later the strings were gone. The toothbrush stayed unmoving in my mouth.
A bit of worry launched itself into the pit of my stomach, a solid piece of lead that told me this was distinctly wrong. I pushed the feeling down my gut. It was probably the instinctual thing again.
Wetness fell from my nose, dripping onto the bathroom floor.
Pit...pit...
'What.' Was the only think I could think of.
Pit...pit…
Visions looked down, instinctively reaching out to catch the tiny fallen thing seen. The drop landed in the palm of my hand, shining brightly in the light to be seen. More drops fell from my nose, a stars of wine freely painting the canvas of my skin.
Thoughts of interest enter, an intermixture of morbid curiosity and caution felt by my senses did seen. Was this what bleeding felt like?
No hurt was to be felt. The small portion of my lifeblood flowed quickly and painlessly, forgotten before it completed its unknowable purpose. Wandered away.
Eyes followed the stemmed flow of frozen ichor, down to the floor, down where no red imprint was to be seen.
I shook a little, uncertain where the blood went. It felt like it had just disappeared.
[Being
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"A lie born of itself will never voice truth. But a lie born from truth always speaks true, even if it means not to."
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1.2
My hand was too clean.
No matter how hard I tried to think around the problem, I couldn't comprehend how a nosebleed could suddenly appear, stop just as suddenly, and then leave no trace of its existence behind.
It was almost maddening how normal the situation seemed that if I had not noticed it happen, I would not have noticed it at all. I wiped at my nose for a third/fourth/fifth time and stared at the hand that came back as fresh as the day I was born.
Rotating my hand, I stared at it from below. It looked like a splitting star, the flares extending its reach out to the milky void of the bathroom's slumbering ceiling.
Volume tuned up, dilated sight. Light shined in my eyes and the star's shadow held tiny veins like little worms crawling through my flesh.
Around the clock goes. An eternity in my palm, a grain of time in an instant.
The star was untouched, just like the bathroom ceiling. A pure white to my… flesh tone. Skin palette of… painted limbs? Beating heart in my… hand?
I faded from my reverie, my confusion paving the way back to lucidity, then self-examination.
I had sidetracked myself, somehow. But why? I knew why, even before the question held meaning in my thoughts, before I could fear the sudden loss of control. The answer came an instant later, by a surprising source.
'Confusion paralysis.' My own voice spoke
The shock in my system was numbing, yet I pushed the feeling down. I understood something here and I needed the voice in my head to give light to this imminent knowledge.
'This was not in the nature order of things to become as disoriented as I did. The preconceived notion of a chaotic reality unbound by laws and order is not yet fixed, adaption comes later. For now, my mind...' My thoughts trailed away from me.
I understood, or at least I thought I understood what that all meant. However, there were gaps in the information, things I didn't fully comprehend the meaning of, hidden from view.
Somehow, for some reason, someone was intentionally keeping the missing bits out of grasp. And the weirdest thing of it all was that person was me.
If I didn't know how to recognize myself by now, I wouldn't be able to think at all. The nature of my being was connected to thought, for how could it be otherwise. This is me thinking right now. I am, as I was, as I will be.
That detached form of me was seemingly working intentionally against the whole of myself. For some reason.
I apparently had a limiter, that was technically me, prevented the learning of unexplained, blood-related anomalies. Also, seemingly preventing me from learning about said anomalies.
Interesting situation. But I didn't find myself caring all that much.
I felt less surprised and more undignified at the suddenness of a subdivision of myself giving unwarranted explanations.
I just wanted to know where all my blood went. I mean, it wasn't too long ago that I had my nosebleed. Perhaps the mirror would help?
Other than the fog from the shower obscuring most of my face, my reflection in the mirror seemed very normal.
On my face was a normal little/button/long/narrow(!description:unreferenced) nose, nothing out of the ordinary there. I checked my nostrils and was horrified and morbidly fascinated to find tiny spines in there, but there was no sign of red.
'Where does it go when it's not in your body?'
From a memory I instantly recalled remembering the moment I tried to recall it, I knew that blood was red because it makes contact with the oxygen in the air. Awhile later, the blood turns brown, then black as a result of… losing oxygen…?
The given information did not compute; faulty logic. That, and it wasn't info I intuitively understood, for the parts that I did. Intent behind statement not given.
I felt my face scrunch together, 'That doesn't make any sense. How does it lose oxygen when it was stated that blood turns red with oxygen?'
Trees. I recalled.
A disconnected recollection of jarring images and sensations brushed through my head, new features being called out and described.
Fingers grasped around an unmoving mass. Trunk.
Palms against a rough texture. Bark.
A whistle of wind, objects fluttering about. Leaves.
Branches high above, the awaiting sun, gently soothing.
Light. Shade. Warmth. Comfort.
I shook away from the fading impressions, wondering inwardly if this was normal.
'What did trees have to do with blood?'
And then I knew, this time without recollection, just pure information alone. It was short: Trees provide oxygen.
Unexpectedly, I was annoyed. Not just at the situation, but also at myself.
I still had no understanding of how the blood left, why it did, and where it went. Simply changing colors due to lack of oxygen didn't seem to answer anything. Internal questioning led to no answers, instead it might have just led to more questions.
Maybe I was just treating a completely ordinary thing as something it was not. I didn't need to suffer for this, did I? Every single pebble that went out of place did not have to be reinserted into a rock.
I may have overstayed my welcome in the bathroom, as the clock gladly informed me with its green little display.
Realization that I took a shower far longer than 30 minutes hit me like a solid sack of potatoes. It didn't even feel all that long- more like 5 minutes to be totally honest. In the end, the clock told me all I needed to know about how late I was going to be for school.
Rather than finish my scheduled tasks with a… breakfast/morning run/deliberate avoidance(!specification:unknown), I choose instead to skip to the last step. I used my Instincts to retrieve all of the necessary clothing garments, and used that same instinct again to reference proper positions and motions to equip the appropriate clothing in the correct order.
As expected, the functions worked as intended and I managed to put the clothes on. Whatever steps I was meant to take during the "get ready for school" task became irrelevant the moment I was fully dressed, and a new task came to my attention.
Go to school.
Its meaning conceived into knowledge of concepts. I saw additional words connect in my mind's eye, furthering pre-existing connotations and dispelling any uncertainties to the original intent. I understood now with only the few base words added to the core of my being.
Education. Establishment. Future. Responsibility.
I smiled to myself, excitement bubbling up in my chest at the potential wealth of knowledge. I was going to learn.
The bus ride taught me all sorts of things about this trip I was taking.
For one, it informed me of the existence of the world beyond the tiny home/origin. Buildings flew by the window, of a certain variety I felt expected, but couldn't interpret with my own imagination.
Great trees sprung in places where I looked, their high canopies reaching above the ground, entered the sky in a blaze of green and life. Branches and leaves, just like how I remembered them.
Bumps jumped the bus slightly with each passing crack of asphalt. A history was in each of those cracks, telling tales of a great war between the elements and man, a great many battles here, as my seat had told me.
Alias, the time spent watching the background scenery fly by felt like it had been too short, the visual sight of the school manifested into the corner of my eyes. My eyes passed over the sign of the building, reading the black-lettered inscription I knew to be this establishment's name, but…
I couldn't remember what it said.
I frowned in thoughtful concentration.
'Does it mean to say Blackwell?' I mumbled to myself, No, that's the Principal's name.
I cursed my bad memory.
Soon, I found myself disembarking from the bus, a small wave given to the nondescript bus driver. A mixture of disappointment and anticipation went through me as I left. A desire to stay in the bus lingered, the desire to move forward unrepressed.
Eagerly, I walked toward the school.
Unfortunately, I didn't have a backpack, like I had noticed all other people had on them, something I realize might have inadvertently skipped this morning.
Perhaps I had an idea of what to do about 5 meters away from the school, I think. It was related to the aforementioned backpack. Something to do with tiny, enthralled creatures watching each and every movement of everybody around me.
But what actions I should take, and actions I could take had a wide disparity between them. I think I could have opened the door using senses I didn't acquire and bodies I couldn't take, somehow, nowhere here. Maybe my hand things could push down the metaphorical black gates , like one of those super peoples I keep hearing mentions about being able to do.
I pushed at the doors to the school with my hands, not affecting the thing in the slightest. Undeterred, I tried to imitate shoving aside the doors with a wildly flung elbow I thought I saw myself doing seconds later.
Very quickly, I figured out just how fragile my body actually was when my limb made contact with the door.
In an instant, a jolt of lightning raced up from my elbow along my arm as I hit it. An gasp of air exited my lungs, pain receptors all over flaring up automatically in response. I doubled over, clutching my arm to myself and whimpering pathetically.
A hero whimpering. I scoffed at myself.
This is nothing. I assured, believing my own words. And so I let go of the pain I felt.
As much I may have liked the idea originally, I wasn't going to be punching cars willy nilly anytime soon. But this door problem.
I stared at the door, wondering if it even knew of my desires to pass it.
'I wanted to learn!' I thought at it intensely.
But nothing happened.
Finally, I allowed myself to kick the glass in frustration, annoyed by the simple fact that I couldn't get into the school, and it was all this stupid door's fault.
A second after I had removed my foot from the glass, a spider web of cracks grew from the point of impact.
A twinge of discomfort, although I couldn't say where it came from.
Looking at the cracked glass made me cringe in an interesting way that felt like something inside me was screaming, except I wasn't screaming. A curious situation to be sure, one that I couldn't properly describe. I wondered briefly if it were my Instincts trying to tell me something important, but the sentiment was simply too vague.
Maybe if I-
"Oh fuck." A hushed, voice whispered. It was dulled from being inside, but I heard the sense of alarm all the same.
I raised my head just in time to see that there was girl/human/youth standing a few feet away, a barrier of glass between us. A sudden nervous grasp clenching around my throat upon the realization that this was the first time I had ever seen another entity/being/character(!syntax:displacement) like myself. I wasn't sure what to say.
She looked similar to me, I recognized. Although the posture was different, the proportioned limbs shorter than I, facial features of a unique setup, petite build. She stood straight, eyes forward, mouth still slightly open. Actions made themselves known.
I saw her smile and laugh at the glass, making a few gestures to the few others around her. Some looked, taking interest, others did not, hurrying away from the scene. Why do you do what you do, stranger?
I saw her balance fall, her mind written on her face, mixed expression of emotion. She didn't act on her wire display. What thoughts are on your mind?
I saw her still in my gaze, frozen to time for reasons I could not decipher.
'Who are you?' I thought.
She did all of these things and yet none of them. Eventually though, virtue gave way to focus, the water cleared of impurities. In most rivers, the girl's actions narrowed down until there was only one course left, the same path that was being led. How peculiar.
Then I noticed all the details at once and the revelation hit me.
I wouldn't get the chance to say anything anyway since she had already started to hurriedly walk/run away from the scene the moment I noticed her presence, but that wasn't important. I had just made an important discovery, a concept that had not occurred to me until it had been made known by this girl's actions.
Of course there was this body, of course it acted to my wishes; a convention of perspective, was it not? But if it were more than just an extension of myself, then I was not just a bodiless void like I had previously thought. If a were just a void, no one would react to me.
Epiphany.
'I can be seen.' I echoed.
Suddenly, certain things started making sense. My actions are not only connected to things that I witness, but also to the act of being witnessed myself.
Conclusion: I have a presence in this world.
I soon found the thought in my head more ridiculous as the seconds passed. The realization becoming less and less of a revelation as my mind adapted.
In retrospective, I wondered why such a thing was of any concern previously.
If I could see them, they could see me, this fact I already knew. It wasn't really such a huge jump in logic.
Shouldn't let her see me. An absentminded echo thought.
Shouldn't have let her see me. An absentminded echo thought.
I didn't know who she was, but I needed to keep away from her.
It didn't make the most sense, then again, it didn't have to. It was a goal, goals were always to be followed, even if the means or the results don't come to a sensible conclusion. Perhaps goals led by other goals were cycles without end.
So then what was the End Goal? Should it have one at all?
There was a frown on my face as I jumped from shadow to shadow, keeping out of sight and out of mind. Nobody ever saw me as I moved between the gaps in the light, their future intent too preoccupied with what they were doing to notice a stranger hopping from place to place.
A door appeared before me, one that was of wooden design, the handle of an uncertain metal. A glass window with crisscrossing wires sat at head height. It is here. Called handle, not knob.
There were people sitting down at tables inside. They watched an ever changing mural of images featured on a blank, white surface attached to the wall at present, but that was a far cry from the image I saw.
A mass of bodies masked in a guise of perpetually changing scenarios. Willful intent of dozens individuals acting freely under multiple layers of possibilities, regardless of whether or not they occurred in real time.
It was like the girl from before, only it was happening to everybody.
In one instance, I saw a girl's flustered responses to a boy's actions that had never happened. The classroom's individual reactions to such an event unfold.
In another instance, I saw two different reactions to the same event, one for each instance of a plain looking individual standing up front taking notice of a picture on the mural, and either making a small comment to the laughter of his audience, or without any reacting at all.
Points of light began pricking in the back of my sight as I watched from the window, a headache slowly grew between my temples just by staring at the mess of potent possibilities.
'Those things aren't important, what was is that the lesson had already started without me!'
Urgently, I reached for the doorknob to open it, but suddenly there wasn't one to be found. I motioned the twisting my hand in an empty place, scratching the door with the tips of my fingers.
'What is this thing?' I confusedly whispered to myself.
Called handle, not knob. Reminded myself.
Like magic, the handle itself simply existed.
I started blinking, but the act didn't immediately remove it from reality. Cracks started plugging the gaps in my theoryless mind. Discomfort stretched a sinewy hand across my back.
I didn't understand until I finally did, and then I could finally put it all behind me.
'It was always there, I just didn't name it properly and the handle felt disrespected.' I reasoned.
I grasped the handle and entered the classroom, only to find that everyone inside was already staring at me.
There wasn't a nervous bone in my body as I instinctively took my seat near the border edges of the room. Head tilted down slightly and away, both to avoid being seen by her and to lessen headache impact from all of the distracting not-noise.
However, after I had taken a seat, the sounds of action and intent shifted direction, becoming more discreet in nature. It was abnormally quiet in current time.
A shrill, little chilling sensation ran up the center of my back to my neck.
Where previously there was a myriad of activity and fluctuating current of willfulness, there was now far less from before. Of the students who acted on event-based impulses, none of them gave enough insight at a glance to determine their personalities anymore than anyone else. Interesting.
Certainly unusual, not anymore than the multiple action thing . I quietly adjusted, looking past the adjacent window and listening to the sound of background sploots with meager interest.
"You're late, Taylor." I heard. There were small chuckles after his words.
The window, and everything past it disappeared in quiet realization as I noticed that I had been called out. I looked to the speaker.
He was indistinguishable from the others, featureless apart from his noticeably differing attire that approached casual formal. I don't think I could've described him even if I stared at him for an entire day. He just seemed too normal to be worth note.
I looked at his action intent. He had so few it was almost none.
I looked at what he wanted to do. He had nothing beyond what he had already planned today- which was standing almost entirely in one spot. There was very little future for this man.
I frowned, unsure as to what I was looking at.
"Uh, Taylor? Are you there?" He called once more. Again, there were chuckles from all around me.
I was annoyed at the addressing, feeling some sense of dignity being trampled on, even when I knew not why.
I communed, 'My name is not Taylor.'
A dull look in his eye overcame what little action overshadowed his character, a crack in reality, a figment hand slashed time at its heel. It reformed. Time resumed.
We blinked, both of Us confused. I was the first to recover.
The dazed look was still there, but he did seem to have recognized what I had said, "I, uh, yeah. My mistake. You're late…" Uncertainty, "...Miss Hebert."
Adequate.
It felt unnaturally quiet again after he had finished speaking and all sense of movement seemed to have stopped. I acted through intent, looking around me without actually looking. What I saw was unusual, to say the least.
Everyone was now watching me in an odd silence, a palpable a taste of uncertainty in the air hung above them. Even those whom I had found most inactive, most disinterested were staring at me. I found it very peculiar.
Were they waiting for something?
"...Right." He said, "We were in the middle of discussing Scion's disappearance and its effect on parahuman relations in..."
After awhile, actions in the class resumed once more in the foreground around me, as normal as it was before.
Curiously, I wondered why he was talking at all, even if what he did have to say was interesting. I listened intently for only a few minutes, before I had realized I was absorbing new information about this world and its inhabitants.
'I'm learning!' I gleefully cheered.
[Power(s): Thinker ?, Master ?]
My hand was too clean.
No matter how hard I tried to think around the problem, I couldn't comprehend how a nosebleed could suddenly appear, stop just as suddenly, and then leave no trace of its existence behind.
It was almost maddening how normal the situation seemed that if I had not noticed it happen, I would not have noticed it at all. I wiped at my nose for a third/fourth/fifth time and stared at the hand that came back as fresh as the day I was born.
Rotating my hand, I stared at it from below. It looked like a splitting star, the flares extending its reach out to the milky void of the bathroom's slumbering ceiling.
Volume tuned up, dilated sight. Light shined in my eyes and the star's shadow held tiny veins like little worms crawling through my flesh.
Around the clock goes. An eternity in my palm, a grain of time in an instant.
The star was untouched, just like the bathroom ceiling. A pure white to my… flesh tone. Skin palette of… painted limbs? Beating heart in my… hand?
I faded from my reverie, my confusion paving the way back to lucidity, then self-examination.
I had sidetracked myself, somehow. But why? I knew why, even before the question held meaning in my thoughts, before I could fear the sudden loss of control. The answer came an instant later, by a surprising source.
'Confusion paralysis.' My own voice spoke
The shock in my system was numbing, yet I pushed the feeling down. I understood something here and I needed the voice in my head to give light to this imminent knowledge.
'This was not in the nature order of things to become as disoriented as I did. The preconceived notion of a chaotic reality unbound by laws and order is not yet fixed, adaption comes later. For now, my mind...' My thoughts trailed away from me.
I understood, or at least I thought I understood what that all meant. However, there were gaps in the information, things I didn't fully comprehend the meaning of, hidden from view.
Somehow, for some reason, someone was intentionally keeping the missing bits out of grasp. And the weirdest thing of it all was that person was me.
If I didn't know how to recognize myself by now, I wouldn't be able to think at all. The nature of my being was connected to thought, for how could it be otherwise. This is me thinking right now. I am, as I was, as I will be.
That detached form of me was seemingly working intentionally against the whole of myself. For some reason.
I apparently had a limiter, that was technically me, prevented the learning of unexplained, blood-related anomalies. Also, seemingly preventing me from learning about said anomalies.
Interesting situation. But I didn't find myself caring all that much.
I felt less surprised and more undignified at the suddenness of a subdivision of myself giving unwarranted explanations.
I just wanted to know where all my blood went. I mean, it wasn't too long ago that I had my nosebleed. Perhaps the mirror would help?
Other than the fog from the shower obscuring most of my face, my reflection in the mirror seemed very normal.
On my face was a normal little/button/long/narrow(!description:unreferenced) nose, nothing out of the ordinary there. I checked my nostrils and was horrified and morbidly fascinated to find tiny spines in there, but there was no sign of red.
'Where does it go when it's not in your body?'
From a memory I instantly recalled remembering the moment I tried to recall it, I knew that blood was red because it makes contact with the oxygen in the air. Awhile later, the blood turns brown, then black as a result of… losing oxygen…?
The given information did not compute; faulty logic. That, and it wasn't info I intuitively understood, for the parts that I did. Intent behind statement not given.
I felt my face scrunch together, 'That doesn't make any sense. How does it lose oxygen when it was stated that blood turns red with oxygen?'
Trees. I recalled.
A disconnected recollection of jarring images and sensations brushed through my head, new features being called out and described.
Fingers grasped around an unmoving mass. Trunk.
Palms against a rough texture. Bark.
A whistle of wind, objects fluttering about. Leaves.
Branches high above, the awaiting sun, gently soothing.
Light. Shade. Warmth. Comfort.
I shook away from the fading impressions, wondering inwardly if this was normal.
'What did trees have to do with blood?'
And then I knew, this time without recollection, just pure information alone. It was short: Trees provide oxygen.
Unexpectedly, I was annoyed. Not just at the situation, but also at myself.
I still had no understanding of how the blood left, why it did, and where it went. Simply changing colors due to lack of oxygen didn't seem to answer anything. Internal questioning led to no answers, instead it might have just led to more questions.
Maybe I was just treating a completely ordinary thing as something it was not. I didn't need to suffer for this, did I? Every single pebble that went out of place did not have to be reinserted into a rock.
IIII
I may have overstayed my welcome in the bathroom, as the clock gladly informed me with its green little display.
Realization that I took a shower far longer than 30 minutes hit me like a solid sack of potatoes. It didn't even feel all that long- more like 5 minutes to be totally honest. In the end, the clock told me all I needed to know about how late I was going to be for school.
Rather than finish my scheduled tasks with a… breakfast/morning run/deliberate avoidance(!specification:unknown), I choose instead to skip to the last step. I used my Instincts to retrieve all of the necessary clothing garments, and used that same instinct again to reference proper positions and motions to equip the appropriate clothing in the correct order.
As expected, the functions worked as intended and I managed to put the clothes on. Whatever steps I was meant to take during the "get ready for school" task became irrelevant the moment I was fully dressed, and a new task came to my attention.
Go to school.
Its meaning conceived into knowledge of concepts. I saw additional words connect in my mind's eye, furthering pre-existing connotations and dispelling any uncertainties to the original intent. I understood now with only the few base words added to the core of my being.
Education. Establishment. Future. Responsibility.
I smiled to myself, excitement bubbling up in my chest at the potential wealth of knowledge. I was going to learn.
IIII
The bus ride taught me all sorts of things about this trip I was taking.
For one, it informed me of the existence of the world beyond the tiny home/origin. Buildings flew by the window, of a certain variety I felt expected, but couldn't interpret with my own imagination.
Great trees sprung in places where I looked, their high canopies reaching above the ground, entered the sky in a blaze of green and life. Branches and leaves, just like how I remembered them.
Bumps jumped the bus slightly with each passing crack of asphalt. A history was in each of those cracks, telling tales of a great war between the elements and man, a great many battles here, as my seat had told me.
Alias, the time spent watching the background scenery fly by felt like it had been too short, the visual sight of the school manifested into the corner of my eyes. My eyes passed over the sign of the building, reading the black-lettered inscription I knew to be this establishment's name, but…
I couldn't remember what it said.
I frowned in thoughtful concentration.
'Does it mean to say Blackwell?' I mumbled to myself, No, that's the Principal's name.
I cursed my bad memory.
Soon, I found myself disembarking from the bus, a small wave given to the nondescript bus driver. A mixture of disappointment and anticipation went through me as I left. A desire to stay in the bus lingered, the desire to move forward unrepressed.
Eagerly, I walked toward the school.
IIII II
Unfortunately, I didn't have a backpack, like I had noticed all other people had on them, something I realize might have inadvertently skipped this morning.
Perhaps I had an idea of what to do about 5 meters away from the school, I think. It was related to the aforementioned backpack. Something to do with tiny, enthralled creatures watching each and every movement of everybody around me.
But what actions I should take, and actions I could take had a wide disparity between them. I think I could have opened the door using senses I didn't acquire and bodies I couldn't take, somehow, nowhere here. Maybe my hand things could push down the metaphorical black gates , like one of those super peoples I keep hearing mentions about being able to do.
I pushed at the doors to the school with my hands, not affecting the thing in the slightest. Undeterred, I tried to imitate shoving aside the doors with a wildly flung elbow I thought I saw myself doing seconds later.
Very quickly, I figured out just how fragile my body actually was when my limb made contact with the door.
In an instant, a jolt of lightning raced up from my elbow along my arm as I hit it. An gasp of air exited my lungs, pain receptors all over flaring up automatically in response. I doubled over, clutching my arm to myself and whimpering pathetically.
A hero whimpering. I scoffed at myself.
This is nothing. I assured, believing my own words. And so I let go of the pain I felt.
As much I may have liked the idea originally, I wasn't going to be punching cars willy nilly anytime soon. But this door problem.
I stared at the door, wondering if it even knew of my desires to pass it.
'I wanted to learn!' I thought at it intensely.
But nothing happened.
Finally, I allowed myself to kick the glass in frustration, annoyed by the simple fact that I couldn't get into the school, and it was all this stupid door's fault.
A second after I had removed my foot from the glass, a spider web of cracks grew from the point of impact.
A twinge of discomfort, although I couldn't say where it came from.
Looking at the cracked glass made me cringe in an interesting way that felt like something inside me was screaming, except I wasn't screaming. A curious situation to be sure, one that I couldn't properly describe. I wondered briefly if it were my Instincts trying to tell me something important, but the sentiment was simply too vague.
Maybe if I-
"Oh fuck." A hushed, voice whispered. It was dulled from being inside, but I heard the sense of alarm all the same.
I raised my head just in time to see that there was girl/human/youth standing a few feet away, a barrier of glass between us. A sudden nervous grasp clenching around my throat upon the realization that this was the first time I had ever seen another entity/being/character(!syntax:displacement) like myself. I wasn't sure what to say.
She looked similar to me, I recognized. Although the posture was different, the proportioned limbs shorter than I, facial features of a unique setup, petite build. She stood straight, eyes forward, mouth still slightly open. Actions made themselves known.
I saw her smile and laugh at the glass, making a few gestures to the few others around her. Some looked, taking interest, others did not, hurrying away from the scene. Why do you do what you do, stranger?
I saw her balance fall, her mind written on her face, mixed expression of emotion. She didn't act on her wire display. What thoughts are on your mind?
I saw her still in my gaze, frozen to time for reasons I could not decipher.
'Who are you?' I thought.
She did all of these things and yet none of them. Eventually though, virtue gave way to focus, the water cleared of impurities. In most rivers, the girl's actions narrowed down until there was only one course left, the same path that was being led. How peculiar.
Then I noticed all the details at once and the revelation hit me.
I wouldn't get the chance to say anything anyway since she had already started to hurriedly walk/run away from the scene the moment I noticed her presence, but that wasn't important. I had just made an important discovery, a concept that had not occurred to me until it had been made known by this girl's actions.
Of course there was this body, of course it acted to my wishes; a convention of perspective, was it not? But if it were more than just an extension of myself, then I was not just a bodiless void like I had previously thought. If a were just a void, no one would react to me.
Epiphany.
'I can be seen.' I echoed.
Suddenly, certain things started making sense. My actions are not only connected to things that I witness, but also to the act of being witnessed myself.
Conclusion: I have a presence in this world.
I soon found the thought in my head more ridiculous as the seconds passed. The realization becoming less and less of a revelation as my mind adapted.
In retrospective, I wondered why such a thing was of any concern previously.
If I could see them, they could see me, this fact I already knew. It wasn't really such a huge jump in logic.
Shouldn't let her see me. An absentminded echo thought.
V
Shouldn't have let her see me. An absentminded echo thought.
I didn't know who she was, but I needed to keep away from her.
It didn't make the most sense, then again, it didn't have to. It was a goal, goals were always to be followed, even if the means or the results don't come to a sensible conclusion. Perhaps goals led by other goals were cycles without end.
So then what was the End Goal? Should it have one at all?
There was a frown on my face as I jumped from shadow to shadow, keeping out of sight and out of mind. Nobody ever saw me as I moved between the gaps in the light, their future intent too preoccupied with what they were doing to notice a stranger hopping from place to place.
A door appeared before me, one that was of wooden design, the handle of an uncertain metal. A glass window with crisscrossing wires sat at head height. It is here. Called handle, not knob.
There were people sitting down at tables inside. They watched an ever changing mural of images featured on a blank, white surface attached to the wall at present, but that was a far cry from the image I saw.
A mass of bodies masked in a guise of perpetually changing scenarios. Willful intent of dozens individuals acting freely under multiple layers of possibilities, regardless of whether or not they occurred in real time.
It was like the girl from before, only it was happening to everybody.
In one instance, I saw a girl's flustered responses to a boy's actions that had never happened. The classroom's individual reactions to such an event unfold.
In another instance, I saw two different reactions to the same event, one for each instance of a plain looking individual standing up front taking notice of a picture on the mural, and either making a small comment to the laughter of his audience, or without any reacting at all.
Points of light began pricking in the back of my sight as I watched from the window, a headache slowly grew between my temples just by staring at the mess of potent possibilities.
'Those things aren't important, what was is that the lesson had already started without me!'
Urgently, I reached for the doorknob to open it, but suddenly there wasn't one to be found. I motioned the twisting my hand in an empty place, scratching the door with the tips of my fingers.
'What is this thing?' I confusedly whispered to myself.
Called handle, not knob. Reminded myself.
Like magic, the handle itself simply existed.
I started blinking, but the act didn't immediately remove it from reality. Cracks started plugging the gaps in my theoryless mind. Discomfort stretched a sinewy hand across my back.
I didn't understand until I finally did, and then I could finally put it all behind me.
'It was always there, I just didn't name it properly and the handle felt disrespected.' I reasoned.
I grasped the handle and entered the classroom, only to find that everyone inside was already staring at me.
VI
There wasn't a nervous bone in my body as I instinctively took my seat near the border edges of the room. Head tilted down slightly and away, both to avoid being seen by her and to lessen headache impact from all of the distracting not-noise.
However, after I had taken a seat, the sounds of action and intent shifted direction, becoming more discreet in nature. It was abnormally quiet in current time.
A shrill, little chilling sensation ran up the center of my back to my neck.
Where previously there was a myriad of activity and fluctuating current of willfulness, there was now far less from before. Of the students who acted on event-based impulses, none of them gave enough insight at a glance to determine their personalities anymore than anyone else. Interesting.
Certainly unusual, not anymore than the multiple action thing . I quietly adjusted, looking past the adjacent window and listening to the sound of background sploots with meager interest.
"You're late, Taylor." I heard. There were small chuckles after his words.
The window, and everything past it disappeared in quiet realization as I noticed that I had been called out. I looked to the speaker.
He was indistinguishable from the others, featureless apart from his noticeably differing attire that approached casual formal. I don't think I could've described him even if I stared at him for an entire day. He just seemed too normal to be worth note.
I looked at his action intent. He had so few it was almost none.
I looked at what he wanted to do. He had nothing beyond what he had already planned today- which was standing almost entirely in one spot. There was very little future for this man.
I frowned, unsure as to what I was looking at.
"Uh, Taylor? Are you there?" He called once more. Again, there were chuckles from all around me.
I was annoyed at the addressing, feeling some sense of dignity being trampled on, even when I knew not why.
I communed, 'My name is not Taylor.'
A dull look in his eye overcame what little action overshadowed his character, a crack in reality, a figment hand slashed time at its heel. It reformed. Time resumed.
We blinked, both of Us confused. I was the first to recover.
The dazed look was still there, but he did seem to have recognized what I had said, "I, uh, yeah. My mistake. You're late…" Uncertainty, "...Miss Hebert."
Adequate.
It felt unnaturally quiet again after he had finished speaking and all sense of movement seemed to have stopped. I acted through intent, looking around me without actually looking. What I saw was unusual, to say the least.
Everyone was now watching me in an odd silence, a palpable a taste of uncertainty in the air hung above them. Even those whom I had found most inactive, most disinterested were staring at me. I found it very peculiar.
Were they waiting for something?
"...Right." He said, "We were in the middle of discussing Scion's disappearance and its effect on parahuman relations in..."
After awhile, actions in the class resumed once more in the foreground around me, as normal as it was before.
Curiously, I wondered why he was talking at all, even if what he did have to say was interesting. I listened intently for only a few minutes, before I had realized I was absorbing new information about this world and its inhabitants.
'I'm learning!' I gleefully cheered.
[Power(s): Thinker ?, Master ?]
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@AXCN
Yes yes! I plan there to be much eldritch things coming in the future! For now tho, I'll try not to go Cthulhu on anyone.
@Galerius
"...The only road that I have ever known..."
@FractiousDay
Yep, kinda started realizing that I'm putting way too much symbolism and weird allegorical things in at a point where content is sparse and context is just plain confusing. I'm hoping in the next few weeks that I'll be able to write longer segments, so that way I get keep my allegories and run this plot along.
Some Notes on Chapter 1:
Yes yes! I plan there to be much eldritch things coming in the future! For now tho, I'll try not to go Cthulhu on anyone.
@Galerius
"...The only road that I have ever known..."
@FractiousDay
Yep, kinda started realizing that I'm putting way too much symbolism and weird allegorical things in at a point where content is sparse and context is just plain confusing. I'm hoping in the next few weeks that I'll be able to write longer segments, so that way I get keep my allegories and run this plot along.
Some Notes on Chapter 1:
The showering and bathing is an important ritual in the process of rejuvenation in our daily lives. It gives life, rebirth, change, and movement. In-story, water represents memory. Memory is a major theme. Literally and meteorically being washed in liquid memories gives not only a new perspective in life, but also the capacity of self-reconstruction. Water being memory is also a nod to the title.
As for the less forgiving aspects of water... well, we'll get into that a bit later. There's a potent reason we haven't looked in the mirror yet. (Oh shoot, I think I just made an unguaranteed promise...)
Blood, much like water, can also come to represent life, however it is of a inherently darker nature. Blood naturally is associated with violence in some form, can come to represent war or death, and makes some people squeamish if they see even a bit of it. It can also mean a life-contracting obligation or agreement on the part of the blooded if there is such a pact being formed. Of course then Not-Taylor just had a self-disappearing nosebleed, which could either mean inverse or cut contract or denial or whatever, so make of that what you will.
Also there's a hidden message in chapter 1 (It's not invisitext, I promise). There's a correct way to read it and an incorrect way, but I'll leave you to figure it out. Cheers!
Btw, the reason I didn't reply waaay earlier weeks ago is because I'm horrible at self-control. Also feel free to say whatever your thoughts are on the story, whether they include constructive criticism or not. I enjoy discussion, even if I'm trying to avoid doing that in favor of writing.As for the less forgiving aspects of water... well, we'll get into that a bit later. There's a potent reason we haven't looked in the mirror yet. (Oh shoot, I think I just made an unguaranteed promise...)
Blood, much like water, can also come to represent life, however it is of a inherently darker nature. Blood naturally is associated with violence in some form, can come to represent war or death, and makes some people squeamish if they see even a bit of it. It can also mean a life-contracting obligation or agreement on the part of the blooded if there is such a pact being formed. Of course then Not-Taylor just had a self-disappearing nosebleed, which could either mean inverse or cut contract or denial or whatever, so make of that what you will.
Also there's a hidden message in chapter 1 (It's not invisitext, I promise). There's a correct way to read it and an incorrect way, but I'll leave you to figure it out. Cheers!
AXCN
Live to Read - (Shippers of many Ships)
Oh yeah, this 'fic is definitely going for that JinglyJangles' feel to it but in a more (as stated before) eldritch context. Translation: Pure entertainment goodness!
Hamadryad
The Return!
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So if you want to write such a story that's certainly your own business, my problem is that you've not conveyed much information here. You've got four scenes here but each one has effectively the same thing in it and either of them would have served the purpose of presenting Taylor as freaking out. You may indeed be building to some but at the moment you've just got load of stuff that doesn't make sense, and since this is only the second chapter that's more of a problem. The practical element of this is that none of us will continue to read this story if its all allegorical like this, because frankly its boring to read something that makes no sense. The more literary criticism is that stories require conflict that we can understand to move forward.
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@FractiousDay
Thanks for the reply!
For chapter 2, I had two plans with how I wanted to go about introducing hooks- one plan was related to subtle power uses and forming a small base for thought processes. The other was to feature an endbringer fighting leviathan, switching between 3 perspectives, one on the ground, one for the endbringers, and another following Taylor. I felt that the latter was too disconnected, so I ended up not using it, but then did I missed out on external action which would've spiced things up?
Endbringer fight:
Thanks for the reply!
For chapter 2, I had two plans with how I wanted to go about introducing hooks- one plan was related to subtle power uses and forming a small base for thought processes. The other was to feature an endbringer fighting leviathan, switching between 3 perspectives, one on the ground, one for the endbringers, and another following Taylor. I felt that the latter was too disconnected, so I ended up not using it, but then did I missed out on external action which would've spiced things up?
Endbringer fight:
The oceans bellowed and roared with the effects of storm call. The shifting of tides push and pull to the effect of tsunamis crashing onto this continent's landmass, but landfall was not the objective.
The tides pushed to a certain point and did not move any further, stopped by a barrier of kinetic force. Water molecules halted mid-strike, drops of electrified rain grasped before they could unleash their payloads into the ocean's' depths. This was to be expected, this was the formality of battle.
Effort given to mass, a great wealth of fuel spent on layers of configuration. Arms spewed out of a vein-liven torso, curling up to the heavens as a imitative gesture to the complacent mortals viewing on the mainland. A vulnerable core of blacken gravity swirled in a chest of forming tendrils, freely visible to His opposition.
The core was fully revealed, weakened by not forming within a completely seated chassis of an armor body, such an oversight would never be done by either a distraction unit nor their designers. Would the opportunity arise to decisively end a fight, this core would be the primary target, a boon to the weak, a laughably provocative suggestion to the mighty.
However, this display was absolutely necessary, for one only needed to establish their dominion through sheer casualness- as was the Intended Image.
Legs and a head transitioned out of the Purple, not nearly enough time to raise another layer, but just enough to catch the scaly, green fist that came crashing out of the water's surface. The sudden air burst between two opposing forces pummeled away atmospheric pressure, a bubble vacuum left in its wake.
Shell-like identification structure presenting a four-eyed face, the personification of the Wrath of the Sea. Riptides edged the surrounding vicinity, roaring with liquid fever. This is what His eyes saw, a snapshot in time.
For a whole second, Two Great Beings observed their opponent in mutual respect.
And then the moment ended with the rushing return of atmosphere, the rapid assault of liquid impaling hundreds of times into an unfinished body, the core of black devouring huge swathes of water, and two beings fell below the waves.
It wasn't hard not to see the presence of a massive fight going on in the distance. Arcing points of energy lighting up the ocean, thunder stuck from somewhere above and underwater causing a tremor of sorts to rumble through pass the car suspension.
Endbringer sirens wailing across the city, tension palpable in the air.
Daniel didn't know what to make of it at first. He knew what those sirens meant, everyone knew. It was just that he didn't know what he himself was supposed to do. He sat in his car, stuck in slow motion, waiting for his thoughts to catch up with the rest of him.
'Was it 600 miles off the shore? 60 miles? No, wait. Where are the shelters…'
Myrtle beach had plenty of endbringer shelters. He got to know about the locations of some of them during his vacation, as his tour guide helpfully pointed out the day before, but mostly he was just shocked that he found himself in the situation of having to decide to or not to use one at all. He didn't know if he was far enough away from the coast to just start driving.
'Will they even protect against an endbringer attack? Which endbringer is attacking? What if that's actually behemoth out there? Do the shelters even protect against flooding? Lightning? Can I just keep driving?'
Daniel didn't know the uncertainties, and that was what was distressing him most about this entire situation. He didn't want to be stuck in one place, to not know that a thousand tons of concrete could collapse on him if the capes failed to repel the attack, but he didn't want to start driving and realize that he had inadvertently trapped himself in heavy traffic and not be able to go anywhere in the middle of an attack.
Other people probably were thinking the same thing he was. He thought he had a 50/50 chance that he could make it out of the city if he starting driving now, so that's the plan he went with.
He had overestimated humanity's capabilities.
A giant vortex of pressurized water was forming deep underwater, the currents dictated by this new force presented the swiftly changing battlefield into a hazard in and of itself. He stabilized his position, manipulating the gravity well of his core in sync with that of the planet. He refused to yield, even as a wild boat crashed into his sternum, was violently torn apart and eaten by his core.
The capabilities of these human inhabitants had access to a wide variety of electronic observation systems, both locally developed and shard-based. Many with the visual acuity necessary to make out the proper details, however none of the current observers were looking where they needed to be. They were alert, but not aware.
He needed them to witness these events unfold.
This opponent was a crafty one, using its element advantage to its full bearing. Underwater the situation is exacerbated tremendously.
With the use hydrokinesis-powered propulsion to 'fly' through the water at physically improbable speeds, given its size. His foe cleaved off great slices of uppermost layers without offering a chance of retaliation. Spikes impaled from all directions, crushing weights tens of thousands times greater than the gravity of this planet shut out all possibility for combat maneuvers.
Current power levels rate at just over expected ratios for the subject persona known as "Leviathan." An acceptable amount of escalation for the opponent, an unacceptable amount of Image damage. Ultimately, if such circumstances continue, victory would not be convincingly assured.
He expected no better a response from the opponent, for He would have done the same under similar positions.
The core in His chest launched forward, trapping the waves within its infinite maw, carving a path forward with great haste in an attempt to remain viable in an ever changing environment. But "Leviathan" was faster, quicker and in a natural state with which it reigned supreme.
The Two Beings exchanged blows, fists collided, bodies smashed into one another. Super-dense columns of heavy water spirals merged with the ever changing orange arcs of lightning to create a spectacle of viscous, underwater pillars. Surely an alien sight to behold, if anyone could've seen it directly.
With lightning and the malevolent turn the ocean had taken, any of the surviving aquatic organisms that somehow lived through the dozens of underwater, pulp-inducing impacts would not be considered survivors anymore by this point.
He was growing weary, or rather, His appearance suggested this was the case.
There never was much time to create many layers, only enough to prepare for a short-lived battle. Of the few successfully developed, much of it had been shed, until only the bare-minimum skeleton and core chassis remained.
The tides pushed to a certain point and did not move any further, stopped by a barrier of kinetic force. Water molecules halted mid-strike, drops of electrified rain grasped before they could unleash their payloads into the ocean's' depths. This was to be expected, this was the formality of battle.
Effort given to mass, a great wealth of fuel spent on layers of configuration. Arms spewed out of a vein-liven torso, curling up to the heavens as a imitative gesture to the complacent mortals viewing on the mainland. A vulnerable core of blacken gravity swirled in a chest of forming tendrils, freely visible to His opposition.
The core was fully revealed, weakened by not forming within a completely seated chassis of an armor body, such an oversight would never be done by either a distraction unit nor their designers. Would the opportunity arise to decisively end a fight, this core would be the primary target, a boon to the weak, a laughably provocative suggestion to the mighty.
However, this display was absolutely necessary, for one only needed to establish their dominion through sheer casualness- as was the Intended Image.
Legs and a head transitioned out of the Purple, not nearly enough time to raise another layer, but just enough to catch the scaly, green fist that came crashing out of the water's surface. The sudden air burst between two opposing forces pummeled away atmospheric pressure, a bubble vacuum left in its wake.
Shell-like identification structure presenting a four-eyed face, the personification of the Wrath of the Sea. Riptides edged the surrounding vicinity, roaring with liquid fever. This is what His eyes saw, a snapshot in time.
For a whole second, Two Great Beings observed their opponent in mutual respect.
And then the moment ended with the rushing return of atmosphere, the rapid assault of liquid impaling hundreds of times into an unfinished body, the core of black devouring huge swathes of water, and two beings fell below the waves.
It wasn't hard not to see the presence of a massive fight going on in the distance. Arcing points of energy lighting up the ocean, thunder stuck from somewhere above and underwater causing a tremor of sorts to rumble through pass the car suspension.
Endbringer sirens wailing across the city, tension palpable in the air.
Daniel didn't know what to make of it at first. He knew what those sirens meant, everyone knew. It was just that he didn't know what he himself was supposed to do. He sat in his car, stuck in slow motion, waiting for his thoughts to catch up with the rest of him.
'Was it 600 miles off the shore? 60 miles? No, wait. Where are the shelters…'
Myrtle beach had plenty of endbringer shelters. He got to know about the locations of some of them during his vacation, as his tour guide helpfully pointed out the day before, but mostly he was just shocked that he found himself in the situation of having to decide to or not to use one at all. He didn't know if he was far enough away from the coast to just start driving.
'Will they even protect against an endbringer attack? Which endbringer is attacking? What if that's actually behemoth out there? Do the shelters even protect against flooding? Lightning? Can I just keep driving?'
Daniel didn't know the uncertainties, and that was what was distressing him most about this entire situation. He didn't want to be stuck in one place, to not know that a thousand tons of concrete could collapse on him if the capes failed to repel the attack, but he didn't want to start driving and realize that he had inadvertently trapped himself in heavy traffic and not be able to go anywhere in the middle of an attack.
Other people probably were thinking the same thing he was. He thought he had a 50/50 chance that he could make it out of the city if he starting driving now, so that's the plan he went with.
He had overestimated humanity's capabilities.
A giant vortex of pressurized water was forming deep underwater, the currents dictated by this new force presented the swiftly changing battlefield into a hazard in and of itself. He stabilized his position, manipulating the gravity well of his core in sync with that of the planet. He refused to yield, even as a wild boat crashed into his sternum, was violently torn apart and eaten by his core.
The capabilities of these human inhabitants had access to a wide variety of electronic observation systems, both locally developed and shard-based. Many with the visual acuity necessary to make out the proper details, however none of the current observers were looking where they needed to be. They were alert, but not aware.
He needed them to witness these events unfold.
This opponent was a crafty one, using its element advantage to its full bearing. Underwater the situation is exacerbated tremendously.
With the use hydrokinesis-powered propulsion to 'fly' through the water at physically improbable speeds, given its size. His foe cleaved off great slices of uppermost layers without offering a chance of retaliation. Spikes impaled from all directions, crushing weights tens of thousands times greater than the gravity of this planet shut out all possibility for combat maneuvers.
Current power levels rate at just over expected ratios for the subject persona known as "Leviathan." An acceptable amount of escalation for the opponent, an unacceptable amount of Image damage. Ultimately, if such circumstances continue, victory would not be convincingly assured.
He expected no better a response from the opponent, for He would have done the same under similar positions.
The core in His chest launched forward, trapping the waves within its infinite maw, carving a path forward with great haste in an attempt to remain viable in an ever changing environment. But "Leviathan" was faster, quicker and in a natural state with which it reigned supreme.
The Two Beings exchanged blows, fists collided, bodies smashed into one another. Super-dense columns of heavy water spirals merged with the ever changing orange arcs of lightning to create a spectacle of viscous, underwater pillars. Surely an alien sight to behold, if anyone could've seen it directly.
With lightning and the malevolent turn the ocean had taken, any of the surviving aquatic organisms that somehow lived through the dozens of underwater, pulp-inducing impacts would not be considered survivors anymore by this point.
He was growing weary, or rather, His appearance suggested this was the case.
There never was much time to create many layers, only enough to prepare for a short-lived battle. Of the few successfully developed, much of it had been shed, until only the bare-minimum skeleton and core chassis remained.
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I'm glad you enjoyed it. <3
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So I'll say before anything else, that this is your story so you can write it however you want.
But once again, you appear to have written some very nice prose, that is technically correct and even quite elegant, but that fails completely to tell me anything as a reader. I think perhaps you are getting too caught up in the writing and need to sit back and have a think about what exactly the story is about, and how you should convey that information. Now the post you've quoted above indicates that this is something you've done before, and that @AXCN likes this style. Good for you both, different people like different types of stories and that's fine.
But in what is pretty much the climax of the first arc of Worm, the fight with Leviathan, I still don't know what is going on. I might even extend this to say the writing actively hinders the development of understanding. I will admit I'm somewhat uncharitable when it comes to 'alien perspectives', like dream sequences I never find they have anything significant to contribute and are often somewhat pretentious in my opinion. As such I did not read the Endbringers' perspectives with great relish. Similarly, unless the story specifically deals with it, Danny's narration is also superfluous. With Danny you've definitely shown him to be hurried and scared, but that doesn't actually advance the reader's understanding of the story, as this doesn't seem to be a character study, it seems to be a standard (though oblong) cape story.
Now, I shall use an example from my own writing if you'll excuse me, I'm currently rewriting a long story that I wrote a while ago. The reasons for this rewriting are largely irrelevant here, other than to say some people said things happened without reasons to and I was railroading the characters, which I think was a fair assessment. I'm therefore writing it in a biographical style, so that the reader can see the events that have led to X or to a character doing Y.
Now writing biographically is pretty boring, especially at the start, so I was concerned I might not draw in the readers fast enough. I thought of ways to prevent that, and decided to write a sort of oblong prophecy part in poetic verse at the start. I made references to various mythological figures in the universe's fictional pantheon, and made hints to various events.
The stars were dark across the heavens. Yet an Empire shone out. Doom Drum's Divinity, Doom Drum's Iniquity, the missing'd God.
How long was it? A year? A day? A thousand lives of men?
An Old Man stood atop a hill and saw the imperishable glory of Dawn.
Was he there at all? Or a compensation of the mind? Anu's light shakes the Gray Maybe, the mercy of God.
The Snake, the Fox, the Dragon, the Nine-by-Nine Coruscations, bound to the earth, as above, so below.
To slide across a rainbow road from end to end, the Dragon stretches, his wings across the Void.
The ground shakes, the wind roars, the fortress in ruins.
His eyes are gone, burned away, yet he sees still.
He sees the beginning and the ending, the Void-like-Chaos.
He searches for wisdom, yet across creation he finds only ignorance.
In ignorance he dies.
How long was it? A year? A day? A thousand lives of men?
An Old Man stood atop a hill and saw the imperishable glory of Dawn.
Was he there at all? Or a compensation of the mind? Anu's light shakes the Gray Maybe, the mercy of God.
The Snake, the Fox, the Dragon, the Nine-by-Nine Coruscations, bound to the earth, as above, so below.
To slide across a rainbow road from end to end, the Dragon stretches, his wings across the Void.
The ground shakes, the wind roars, the fortress in ruins.
His eyes are gone, burned away, yet he sees still.
He sees the beginning and the ending, the Void-like-Chaos.
He searches for wisdom, yet across creation he finds only ignorance.
In ignorance he dies.
I then decided this was nonsense. It didn't actually convey anything, given I didn't plan for it to be used in the story, and it was a bit poncy. As such I'm going to eventually replace it with a sort of non-canon media res scene, where two main characters discuss events in a cryptic fashion, alluding to various other things in the story. I realised that if I was trying to foreshadow from the start it was best to make sure everyone was clear it was foreshadowing. In general, I contemplated exactly what I was trying to show in the scene, and why I was writing it.
In conclusion therefore, try and take yourself out of the action and have a look at what you're writing.
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I took a bit of time to think about it, and I was down for a little while, but then got better. In that time, I realized I was doing alot of things I don't fully understand how to successfully do without building the self-assurance to lead up to them. This style of writing, while fun in its own right, isn't all that sustainable in the long-term for me, unfortunately. I found it rather difficult to condense my thoughts that I started numbering segments to make sense of it all. I think I would've stopped eventually. But then by that point, whatever pre-planning I had before I started this might not function in story after.
I'm still quite inexperienced when it comes to creative writing and, really, I've always been more of a reader than a writer. Recently, I want to start changing that, however my issues revolve around not having the most internal confidence that I'll jump toward any encouragement, and not really understanding my audience. (That I have an audience at all is actually kinda surprising to me.)
I'm grateful toward AXCN and others who have taken interest, so as long as I continue enjoy writing, and what I write interests those individuals, I'll happily continue. But I also want to self-improve as much as possible. I'm not sure how I'll do it, but hopefully I can find equal equilibrium between what I do have and what I want to work toward.
Also, JinglyJangles' story, Glassmaker, features an unreliable narrator, which I think is the similarity being referred to. However, I'm new to SV and forums in general.
Also one more thing: Is that TES?
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That's all fine,no one will mind if you get things wrong or go back and redo stuff, I would advise just continuing writing, trying out different styles to see what you like. I've found a couple of times that I could write 100k of something I thought was cool and then realise it doesn't have legs and abandon it,but that's still good learning experience so just have a go.
yep. I was trying to get as many references to Lorkhan in as possible really, but I decided I could do it better without being so direct
Jaune Pendragon
King Of Servants
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Hmm.So is taylor still in there?
and definitely watched.
Can anyone give me a list of Taylor is suffering SI s?
and definitely watched.
Can anyone give me a list of Taylor is suffering SI s?
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After a quick search, because I can't remember any off of the top of my head, I managed to find this. And then I remembered, yes, there is actually another Being Taylor is Suffering SI fic in existence, except there's much less of the "suffering" part. I read this a long time ago, but was put off a few paragraphs in, so I don't really know much about it beyond it being a power-fantasy type story.
And then... I couldn't find any others. A great shame.
Edit: I just found this thread. Perhaps not quite what you're looking for, but there are plenty of interesting examples of an SI (and other beings) living inside Taylor's head.
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I like what you have so far, and i frankly don't understand the criticism from Fractiousday (and is that really the right name/person to talk about the downsides of allegory?), unless there has been some heavy editing.
I think the actual chain of events is very clear so far, and i like trying to figure out the nature/identity of the narrator through the little clues in the text.
I'm wondering if the descriptions of multiple views like rivers are something mundane being described from an alien view, or if my initial thought is right, that this is the kind of precog that the simurgh is supposed to have, or maybe just any kind of precog or sensory power. I can't figure out which girl it is supposed to be at the winslow door, but Taylor cracking the glass seems to have alarmed her. Is that because Taylor is acting strangely, or is the glass breaking a sign of superstrength?
I like not knowing the normal things that scene descriptions usually focus on, and i love the interaction with a world the narrator doesn't understand.
I think the actual chain of events is very clear so far, and i like trying to figure out the nature/identity of the narrator through the little clues in the text.
I'm wondering if the descriptions of multiple views like rivers are something mundane being described from an alien view, or if my initial thought is right, that this is the kind of precog that the simurgh is supposed to have, or maybe just any kind of precog or sensory power. I can't figure out which girl it is supposed to be at the winslow door, but Taylor cracking the glass seems to have alarmed her. Is that because Taylor is acting strangely, or is the glass breaking a sign of superstrength?
I like not knowing the normal things that scene descriptions usually focus on, and i love the interaction with a world the narrator doesn't understand.
Film
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NOT MINE/MINE
The film starts rolling. A gender-ambiguous voice starts speeding through its lines without warning.
"Who thought that this would work without the lyrics in mind. It's not the tale I truly should give praise. A bold gesture, to describe, to step on something else and sleep inside its hide." This continues on for some time.
At the same time, words hand-written in a feverish scrawl scramble through the images, jotted down directly onto the reel itself. An abhorrent mess of barely legible words on implied lines that sound like persuado poetry, if not for the lack of rhyme.
A name out of tune. Distrustful feeling of shame. I'd rather be better than me. Perhaps I'll be you. I don't know. And that's the greatest tragedy of all.
The rest tapers off until catching back into text that was never actually written so much that it imprinted itself directly into the minds of the audience.
I'll wear you like a skin. Til' the dark threads wear thin. You'll be my first, and I'll be your last.
Combined with the narrator's voice, "-because a wanting for a wanting throne is still an empty home alone."
"I'll tell you who I am."
I'll tell you what I am.
"I'll tell you what I want."
I am you.
I am me.
I am secretly the thing that wants to be,
The very best that I could be.
I'll take what you have and what you are,
I'll shine a light on the most distant star,
I'll take a tiny taste of something I could never have and never had known,
And wish I truly was,
Because it was something I was never supposed to have.
Should we share?
[]
DIRECTOR LOOSENS UP
When the Director finally stops mumbling after the last line was finished, she realized that she never actually wrote a single line of dialogue that actually made a bit of sense. Because at the grand scheme of things, when all was laid out and done, when thought was given and words came out, everything seemed to end up like this:
"Hmm… I never really thought this through, did I?" She said before being devoured by the movie projector.
Not a sixtieth of a minute later, the door to the booth opened up to reveal a long line of picture-identical clones standing front to back. The first walked forward and sat in the previously occupied seat. The new Director turns to face the audience in the theater, which really didn't accomplish anything since, well, the Director was already facing that way to begin with on account of sitting in the projection booth, and that the audience was assumedly facing toward the screen anyway, but it was the thought that counts.
"Hi! I'm Cackles and I died!" The voice is just as gender-ambiguous as the film voice, which itself was now rolling on a continuous loop. It's the kind of overly-cheery, hyper-aggressive grass growing, obnoxious voice that stated in clear bold letters: Do Not Trust With Flammable Objects.
"I came back to life after repeatedly dying trying to plan out the details of this current reality, because as you may or may not know-"
The bus driver from approximately 5 minutes ago or 1 year ago, depending on how one looks at the situation, suddenly appears in the booth. But something seems strangely amidst about his current state of being. Hazy.
The new Director continues, "-this man is not really a man."
Whispers start in the theater as the shape of the bus driver turns his head toward her.
Let me rephrase that, "I mean, he's not a real person. In fact, none of you are eith-"
The bus driver interrupts her with a "What the fuck is that" before she can say anything of note. Following his train of eyes, the Director sees that the driver was staring at the projector, completely baffled by something.
A physical roll of tape about 1 seconds long, fed into the machine on one end and came out on the other, flopping out onto the ground in a tangly web of film noodle. It's not obvious, but if you stared long enough, it becomes immediately apparent that an endless stream of tape was being generated out of a single, second-long roll of tape, seemingly without loss.
"Oh, just ignore that silly old thing!" Cackles cackles.
"Then where is that extra stuff coming from? Are you hiding it somewhere?" The bus driver lightly taps the machine and it responds by spluttering up a few tiny bones and a femur.
"It's not filler, I swear." The Director says with an assuring tone and a smile, "We should really be getting back to business now, or you know, eventually. Let's go for a walk."
The bus driver simply glanced briefly at the tininess of the room they were in before saying absolutely nothing.
Then the Director interrupted, "Because it's better to move around a little instead of standing around, talking to each other's disembodied heads. Give the body something to do and it exists, you see."
[]
EXPLAIN YOURSELF
You didn't really have a good response to that, so you and the Director start walking together. Apparently, something seems to have changed in the intern, because the Director's voice starts out in deeper, yet softer tones, more relaxed. Although, that might have just been a result of the sudden change in perspective.
"Okay so, when I said you weren't a man, I really meant you aren't really someone who has ever existed before. You do have a 'look' or a 'likeness.' That by itself implies a sense of identity, but you aren't actually someone with quantifiable traits. I could guess what you look like or plant preconceived ideas of what a bus driver is or isn't on you, but you don't have a true lock on your characteristics. You're literally a walking void in space, a slice of a human shape cut out from a human-shaped cookie cutter."
You see the logic so far, if only because the Director says so.
"You were made intentionally vague, just enough so that I could picture you as anything I wanted, without needing to repress the idea that you were actually just a blank in a story that had no definable character traits. I intended to return later and figure out who you actually were afterwards. The only reason you are you and exist at all is because of the objective fact that you live on through the memory of others."
The Director reaches over without pause in speech and makes you nod your head in agreement. The act is so surprising and utterly deprived of common human decency that you fail to notice the sudden change from past-tense to present-tense. Unless you did, in which case, no you didn't.
"If everyone forgot about you right now, at this very moment, you could and would suddenly be anyone.
"You could be that girl from the hallway." You transform, changing into the ambiguous shape that is the undefined girl without a name.
"You could be Danny." You just disappear, because Danny was never around.
"You could even be me, too." You turn into a carbon copy of the Director, except whereas you are walking, the Director seems to still be seated in her chair. Its metal feet screeching in agony as it shoves itself telekinetically forward.
"But most importantly, you could be Taylor." You shift into Taylor Hebert.
However, it's apparent that the shifts messed with you somehow because you are now several dozen colors of confused.
"I'm sorry I can't take your confusion away. That's what vagueness is. A really, really confused state of identity. At least, you are not alone. Everyone is like this, bus driver."
The Director smiles sadly as if about to give some profound truth, and you could only listen intently.
"See, the truth about this reality is that everyone and everything that has ever existed in it is in fact Taylor Hebert."
You take this in and find yourself seeing the universe in a different light. Or maybe that was the light of the projector shining brightly in your face.
"See, in reality, you were just another Taylor, but without the name and without the traits that defined the original. You are like this since the real Taylor was someone with traits and an identity, but in the hands of one who doesn't know any better, you became no one.
"This place?" The Director gestures toward the theater wall, presumably waving at a nondescript horizon, "Is an empty island. The only things it could reference were the things it could not know, so it was without a clear of an idea of what it wanted to be, or what it was supposed to be. The landscape didn't exist, the people didn't exist, and really, you were its solo inhabitant, Taylor.
"Without living beings to embody it, it is nothing. As you were the only one here without a bit of certainty to your character, you too became a non-entity like the world itself. You were someone who desperately wanted to be seen, so much so, that you started seeing yourself as entirely different beings to detract and confirm. To silence what you always knew, but didn't want to face. And to believe a trustworthy lie."
You do whatever it is you do when you are reading paragraphs.
"You wanted to belong somewhere even if that somewhere was so vague and uncertain that it became its own certainty in its unknowable nature. This became your home, even when you didn't really belong or feel through the entirety of that massive, doorstopper." The Director references a large block of wood in the corner of the booth that looks suspiciously like it could block an entire doorway, much less hold the door.
She pauses as if thinking deeply on your continued silent staring, "You know what I think? I think that you just wanted a friend, even if that friend ended up being yourself."
A set of fingers presses gently against your eyes, except they weren't really yours, if they ever were at all, "Shh… It's okay. I think I know how I can fix everything now."
You are me.
You are Taylor Hebert.
But you are also not.
You look to beyond the theater booth, past the audience, past the flaming tarp that was once the fourth wall, past the boundary of the other audience; all without giving any a second glance, you look towards the one destination that really matters.
[]
DESTINATION'S END
'Who am I now?' Those thoughts filtered through my mind.
My body felt lean and wispy and quite unsure of itself.
Voices touch my ears as I try to stretch my limbs and reach out, but I can't seem to move. Seemingly, I knew where I was. I am on the inside of a dipped surface, smooth and waxy, like an ivory bowl carved from stone.
If there is one emotion I felt right now, I would say that I'm feeling deeply annoyed with myself.
"Maybe you just don't know where you are anymore."
There is another feature. Its name is Thought. Its meaning is a gentle buzzing, only familiar if only because it means not to be. I feel the sensation of my limbs, legs and arms, and extra things. The structure is wrong as all things here tend to be.
"Feeling better? Or perhaps you already were, it's of no consequence either way."
Such a soft whisper somewhere close. Through my senses, I realize that it was my own voice blabbering nonsensical sounds to myself, mumbling wordless tones that could only come from a very upset mind. Oh no, not again.
"Your doorstep will always be on the fringe between the waking world and this dream. You chose when to let yourself out or to peek out the blinds. I'm just your neighbor. Just like everyone you see just outside your window, even if the sights make no sense. Or when the sights make too much sen-"
I try to block out the noise by mushing my head on the inside of the bowl.
[]
a/n: i'm going to
The film starts rolling. A gender-ambiguous voice starts speeding through its lines without warning.
"Who thought that this would work without the lyrics in mind. It's not the tale I truly should give praise. A bold gesture, to describe, to step on something else and sleep inside its hide." This continues on for some time.
At the same time, words hand-written in a feverish scrawl scramble through the images, jotted down directly onto the reel itself. An abhorrent mess of barely legible words on implied lines that sound like persuado poetry, if not for the lack of rhyme.
A name out of tune. Distrustful feeling of shame. I'd rather be better than me. Perhaps I'll be you. I don't know. And that's the greatest tragedy of all.
The rest tapers off until catching back into text that was never actually written so much that it imprinted itself directly into the minds of the audience.
I'll wear you like a skin. Til' the dark threads wear thin. You'll be my first, and I'll be your last.
Combined with the narrator's voice, "-because a wanting for a wanting throne is still an empty home alone."
"I'll tell you who I am."
I'll tell you what I am.
"I'll tell you what I want."
I am you.
I am me.
I am secretly the thing that wants to be,
The very best that I could be.
I'll take what you have and what you are,
I'll shine a light on the most distant star,
I'll take a tiny taste of something I could never have and never had known,
And wish I truly was,
Because it was something I was never supposed to have.
Should we share?
[]
DIRECTOR LOOSENS UP
When the Director finally stops mumbling after the last line was finished, she realized that she never actually wrote a single line of dialogue that actually made a bit of sense. Because at the grand scheme of things, when all was laid out and done, when thought was given and words came out, everything seemed to end up like this:
"Hmm… I never really thought this through, did I?" She said before being devoured by the movie projector.
Not a sixtieth of a minute later, the door to the booth opened up to reveal a long line of picture-identical clones standing front to back. The first walked forward and sat in the previously occupied seat. The new Director turns to face the audience in the theater, which really didn't accomplish anything since, well, the Director was already facing that way to begin with on account of sitting in the projection booth, and that the audience was assumedly facing toward the screen anyway, but it was the thought that counts.
"Hi! I'm Cackles and I died!" The voice is just as gender-ambiguous as the film voice, which itself was now rolling on a continuous loop. It's the kind of overly-cheery, hyper-aggressive grass growing, obnoxious voice that stated in clear bold letters: Do Not Trust With Flammable Objects.
"I came back to life after repeatedly dying trying to plan out the details of this current reality, because as you may or may not know-"
The bus driver from approximately 5 minutes ago or 1 year ago, depending on how one looks at the situation, suddenly appears in the booth. But something seems strangely amidst about his current state of being. Hazy.
The new Director continues, "-this man is not really a man."
Whispers start in the theater as the shape of the bus driver turns his head toward her.
Let me rephrase that, "I mean, he's not a real person. In fact, none of you are eith-"
The bus driver interrupts her with a "What the fuck is that" before she can say anything of note. Following his train of eyes, the Director sees that the driver was staring at the projector, completely baffled by something.
A physical roll of tape about 1 seconds long, fed into the machine on one end and came out on the other, flopping out onto the ground in a tangly web of film noodle. It's not obvious, but if you stared long enough, it becomes immediately apparent that an endless stream of tape was being generated out of a single, second-long roll of tape, seemingly without loss.
"Oh, just ignore that silly old thing!" Cackles cackles.
"Then where is that extra stuff coming from? Are you hiding it somewhere?" The bus driver lightly taps the machine and it responds by spluttering up a few tiny bones and a femur.
"It's not filler, I swear." The Director says with an assuring tone and a smile, "We should really be getting back to business now, or you know, eventually. Let's go for a walk."
The bus driver simply glanced briefly at the tininess of the room they were in before saying absolutely nothing.
Then the Director interrupted, "Because it's better to move around a little instead of standing around, talking to each other's disembodied heads. Give the body something to do and it exists, you see."
[]
EXPLAIN YOURSELF
You didn't really have a good response to that, so you and the Director start walking together. Apparently, something seems to have changed in the intern, because the Director's voice starts out in deeper, yet softer tones, more relaxed. Although, that might have just been a result of the sudden change in perspective.
"Okay so, when I said you weren't a man, I really meant you aren't really someone who has ever existed before. You do have a 'look' or a 'likeness.' That by itself implies a sense of identity, but you aren't actually someone with quantifiable traits. I could guess what you look like or plant preconceived ideas of what a bus driver is or isn't on you, but you don't have a true lock on your characteristics. You're literally a walking void in space, a slice of a human shape cut out from a human-shaped cookie cutter."
You see the logic so far, if only because the Director says so.
"You were made intentionally vague, just enough so that I could picture you as anything I wanted, without needing to repress the idea that you were actually just a blank in a story that had no definable character traits. I intended to return later and figure out who you actually were afterwards. The only reason you are you and exist at all is because of the objective fact that you live on through the memory of others."
The Director reaches over without pause in speech and makes you nod your head in agreement. The act is so surprising and utterly deprived of common human decency that you fail to notice the sudden change from past-tense to present-tense. Unless you did, in which case, no you didn't.
"If everyone forgot about you right now, at this very moment, you could and would suddenly be anyone.
"You could be that girl from the hallway." You transform, changing into the ambiguous shape that is the undefined girl without a name.
"You could be Danny." You just disappear, because Danny was never around.
"You could even be me, too." You turn into a carbon copy of the Director, except whereas you are walking, the Director seems to still be seated in her chair. Its metal feet screeching in agony as it shoves itself telekinetically forward.
"But most importantly, you could be Taylor." You shift into Taylor Hebert.
However, it's apparent that the shifts messed with you somehow because you are now several dozen colors of confused.
"I'm sorry I can't take your confusion away. That's what vagueness is. A really, really confused state of identity. At least, you are not alone. Everyone is like this, bus driver."
The Director smiles sadly as if about to give some profound truth, and you could only listen intently.
"See, the truth about this reality is that everyone and everything that has ever existed in it is in fact Taylor Hebert."
You take this in and find yourself seeing the universe in a different light. Or maybe that was the light of the projector shining brightly in your face.
"See, in reality, you were just another Taylor, but without the name and without the traits that defined the original. You are like this since the real Taylor was someone with traits and an identity, but in the hands of one who doesn't know any better, you became no one.
"This place?" The Director gestures toward the theater wall, presumably waving at a nondescript horizon, "Is an empty island. The only things it could reference were the things it could not know, so it was without a clear of an idea of what it wanted to be, or what it was supposed to be. The landscape didn't exist, the people didn't exist, and really, you were its solo inhabitant, Taylor.
"Without living beings to embody it, it is nothing. As you were the only one here without a bit of certainty to your character, you too became a non-entity like the world itself. You were someone who desperately wanted to be seen, so much so, that you started seeing yourself as entirely different beings to detract and confirm. To silence what you always knew, but didn't want to face. And to believe a trustworthy lie."
You do whatever it is you do when you are reading paragraphs.
"You wanted to belong somewhere even if that somewhere was so vague and uncertain that it became its own certainty in its unknowable nature. This became your home, even when you didn't really belong or feel through the entirety of that massive, doorstopper." The Director references a large block of wood in the corner of the booth that looks suspiciously like it could block an entire doorway, much less hold the door.
She pauses as if thinking deeply on your continued silent staring, "You know what I think? I think that you just wanted a friend, even if that friend ended up being yourself."
A set of fingers presses gently against your eyes, except they weren't really yours, if they ever were at all, "Shh… It's okay. I think I know how I can fix everything now."
You are me.
You are Taylor Hebert.
But you are also not.
You look to beyond the theater booth, past the audience, past the flaming tarp that was once the fourth wall, past the boundary of the other audience; all without giving any a second glance, you look towards the one destination that really matters.
[]
DESTINATION'S END
'Who am I now?' Those thoughts filtered through my mind.
My body felt lean and wispy and quite unsure of itself.
Voices touch my ears as I try to stretch my limbs and reach out, but I can't seem to move. Seemingly, I knew where I was. I am on the inside of a dipped surface, smooth and waxy, like an ivory bowl carved from stone.
If there is one emotion I felt right now, I would say that I'm feeling deeply annoyed with myself.
"Maybe you just don't know where you are anymore."
There is another feature. Its name is Thought. Its meaning is a gentle buzzing, only familiar if only because it means not to be. I feel the sensation of my limbs, legs and arms, and extra things. The structure is wrong as all things here tend to be.
"Feeling better? Or perhaps you already were, it's of no consequence either way."
Such a soft whisper somewhere close. Through my senses, I realize that it was my own voice blabbering nonsensical sounds to myself, mumbling wordless tones that could only come from a very upset mind. Oh no, not again.
"Your doorstep will always be on the fringe between the waking world and this dream. You chose when to let yourself out or to peek out the blinds. I'm just your neighbor. Just like everyone you see just outside your window, even if the sights make no sense. Or when the sights make too much sen-"
I try to block out the noise by mushing my head on the inside of the bowl.
[]
a/n: i'm going to
- Location
- United Kingdom
Might want to threadmark it. Now I've got to remember what this is!
Amazingly surreal!
The floating eye thing definitely gives the impression of a 'window, and in the 'perspective coming to life' thing seems to be almost done interchangably with 'I'.
Wierdly, 'The Voice' is capatalized, so that seems to imply that they think of it
This definitely feels like it is conveying something, and it gives me a much better idea of what the SI!Taylor is.
My first guess is that the being has powers of 'perspectives', or a similar concept, but at this point, it could be a pretty wide array of conceptual powers.
If you are taking a CYOA, are you going to post your build?
The floating eye thing definitely gives the impression of a 'window, and in the 'perspective coming to life' thing seems to be almost done interchangably with 'I'.
Wierdly, 'The Voice' is capatalized, so that seems to imply that they think of it
This definitely feels like it is conveying something, and it gives me a much better idea of what the SI!Taylor is.
My first guess is that the being has powers of 'perspectives', or a similar concept, but at this point, it could be a pretty wide array of conceptual powers.
If you are taking a CYOA, are you going to post your build?
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