Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Writing Starter #43
My first thought is to have fun with it without drawing any suspicion. If I'm going to decide to end world hunger or take over the world, that can all come later after some well thought out decisions. But right now, at least I can enjoy it. I decide to go to the zoo, it's the first place that comes to mind where I would be able to take advantage of something like this. I start with the penguins, and make them start fighting each other, to everyone else's astonishment, until the zookeepers break it up. Next I make a elephant shoot out dirty water from it's trunk all over a very nicely dressed woman who clearly doesn't want to be there. Lastly, after feeling quite powerful, as I walk by the ostrich cage, I realize I have a considerable amount of authority with this wand. I had always disliked ostriches, they simply frightened me. With a flick of the wand I decided to completely rid the world of ostriches, then I head home.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Science Fiction Story
Lyndon Porter sat in his office overlooking the entire field. The lights blinking, the motors humming, it was what he enjoyed more than anything. He gazed down into the bicycling arena, where the real power was managed. He looked to the production meter; it was only about half full, which was not nearly the normal production by 1800. But that was to be expected, as the entire graduating class of 2157 had the day off today for their ceremony.
Lyndon had seen many classes coming and going, each with many difficult decisions to make. He had to decide which graduates would be integrated into society, and which would be "transferred," as they liked to call it. The term allowed for ignorant people to choose ignorance, but everyone knew where nearly 90% of students went. Modern society couldn't sustain the luxuries of the entire population, so the clear answer was to eliminate the majority of them. And while it was a bit of a gruesome tradition, it managed to kill two birds with one stone, as troublesome field workers could be easily eradicated. This is why the government didn't care if people knew where transfers really went, or even wanted them to know. It instilled fear into the field workers, and encouraged good, cooperative behavior.
There was one worker, however, that Lyndon would be reluctant to transfer: his son Aaron. Lyndon had pushed endlessly to try to save his fate, but tragically, the board wouldn't allow it. Aaron had always been a bit of a revolutionary, the kind of citizen they didn't want influencing society. Lyndon had always been so hopeful of his son, that some day he would realize how great he had it in the field, that the field was life before pain, before loss.
As he gazed upon the field, watching the slaving, tiring workers, he remembered the days when he was one of them. He thought of how lucky these young men and women were, to be able to look ahead to a bright future of luxury and prosperity, and to imagine that their work was contributing to it constantly. Every memory he had was in this place, and he couldn't seem to let go of a single one. He remembered hiding in the bathroom with his friends before lockdown and secretly roaming the facility all night. He remembered weeks where he wouldn't stop laughing during a meal. He remembered the days when he would look forward to spending the rest of his life with his friends, with his sister, with his wife.
A sharp pain seared his head and he looked away, towards the cages. Lying in the cages were something, and the only thing, that even the most powerful man in the field feared. To the field workers, they were simply known as snakes because of the way they moved along the floor, and that was how Lyndon always thought of them. Biologically speaking, however, they were so much more than snakes. They were a government developed species designed to tear human flesh to shreds. They were a cross-breeding of a piranha and Komodo Dragon.
What was possibly their greatest weakness was also what Lyndon loved most about them. These snakes, which were really more like enormous, vicious lizards, required a constant flow of water to each of their six appendages and their mouths. They would last for a few hours without this, but after that they would grow weak and collapse.
What Lyndon loved about this was the irony. The energy created by the field workers pumped enough water up to the snakes to keep them going, and also powered every security measure to keep them locked down. They were supplying their own prison by powering it every second of their lives. Without the snakes, the security guards wouldn't be able to contain all of the field workers, there were simply too many.
As Lyndon continued to span the room, he began to feel uneasy. He noticed there were far fewer snakes on guard than normal. He quickly attributed this to the shortage that occurred every year around the time of graduation. There would be a sudden drop off in energy due to less workers, so they made energy cuts in the field, which meant less snake cages available. The day of graduation, however, required even more snakes at the ceremony, which meant less at the field. It always made Lyndon nervous, as he found a sense of security with the snakes. He felt that with a powerful, ferocious outside force such as them, it was ridiculous for humans to even consider fighting among each other.
Lyndon listened, and noticed the constant hum of the field had ceased. He quickly turned towards the workers and realized every worker had gotten off of their machines and began to stare down the guards. As the guards began to approach them, they stood their ground. A guard began screaming at a certain worker and began to engage him, and although the worker tried to fight back, he was quickly brought down by the sharp electrocution of his nightstick. Soon each guard followed, going around attempting to bring down workers one by one. As with the first, each worker would only begin to fight back when he was attacked, and most didn't stand much of a chance.
Lyndon was confused, this didn't seem like the average revolt that he had seen so many times. It seemed weak, pointless. Suddenly he heard a roar, and through the doors came every single graduate, wielding bare fists and an intense rage. The other workers began to erupt with them, and soon there was revolt coming at the guards from every angle. The cages opened up and the snakes began to crawl out, but there were only about twenty to the thousands of workers engaging in a full-scale rebellion. Bodies began flying everywhere, of workers, guards, and snakes.
As Lyndon gazed upon the action, falling into complete shock of what he was seeing, he heard a buzz come from the other direction. The light above his doorway turned green; it had been unlocked, and he was now in grave danger. He thought of where he could go. There was just the one door. He considered breaking the glass and jumping, but if the fall didn't kill him, he'd be jumping into the greatest and bloodiest revolt he had ever seen.
Just then, as he thought about leaving the door where his attacker would certainly be entering, it opened up, and in marched his son, Aaron Porter. Wearing his graduation suit in which he was sure be executed in later that evening, he walked in with an anger in his eyes that had been building up under years of work and oppression. He charged at his father, wielding a blunt, rusty, but deadly knife.
Lyndon stood motionless. He thought of every possible way he possessed to fight back. There was a gun under his chair, another under his desk. There was tear gas in the ceiling that could be released at the touch of a button. He could even overpower his son after years of defense training, and most likely turn the knife back onto him. But as he looked into his son's eyes, he saw the same eyes that he had for the first 30 years of his life, the ones he had hoped he would see until he had died. Aaron had his mother's eyes from the day he was born. It froze Lyndon, he could move an inch. And as he stood there gazing into the terrifying eyes of the greatest love of his life that was stolen away from him, the knife was plunged into his chest, and he fell to the floor, dead.
Lyndon had seen many classes coming and going, each with many difficult decisions to make. He had to decide which graduates would be integrated into society, and which would be "transferred," as they liked to call it. The term allowed for ignorant people to choose ignorance, but everyone knew where nearly 90% of students went. Modern society couldn't sustain the luxuries of the entire population, so the clear answer was to eliminate the majority of them. And while it was a bit of a gruesome tradition, it managed to kill two birds with one stone, as troublesome field workers could be easily eradicated. This is why the government didn't care if people knew where transfers really went, or even wanted them to know. It instilled fear into the field workers, and encouraged good, cooperative behavior.
There was one worker, however, that Lyndon would be reluctant to transfer: his son Aaron. Lyndon had pushed endlessly to try to save his fate, but tragically, the board wouldn't allow it. Aaron had always been a bit of a revolutionary, the kind of citizen they didn't want influencing society. Lyndon had always been so hopeful of his son, that some day he would realize how great he had it in the field, that the field was life before pain, before loss.
As he gazed upon the field, watching the slaving, tiring workers, he remembered the days when he was one of them. He thought of how lucky these young men and women were, to be able to look ahead to a bright future of luxury and prosperity, and to imagine that their work was contributing to it constantly. Every memory he had was in this place, and he couldn't seem to let go of a single one. He remembered hiding in the bathroom with his friends before lockdown and secretly roaming the facility all night. He remembered weeks where he wouldn't stop laughing during a meal. He remembered the days when he would look forward to spending the rest of his life with his friends, with his sister, with his wife.
A sharp pain seared his head and he looked away, towards the cages. Lying in the cages were something, and the only thing, that even the most powerful man in the field feared. To the field workers, they were simply known as snakes because of the way they moved along the floor, and that was how Lyndon always thought of them. Biologically speaking, however, they were so much more than snakes. They were a government developed species designed to tear human flesh to shreds. They were a cross-breeding of a piranha and Komodo Dragon.
What was possibly their greatest weakness was also what Lyndon loved most about them. These snakes, which were really more like enormous, vicious lizards, required a constant flow of water to each of their six appendages and their mouths. They would last for a few hours without this, but after that they would grow weak and collapse.
What Lyndon loved about this was the irony. The energy created by the field workers pumped enough water up to the snakes to keep them going, and also powered every security measure to keep them locked down. They were supplying their own prison by powering it every second of their lives. Without the snakes, the security guards wouldn't be able to contain all of the field workers, there were simply too many.
As Lyndon continued to span the room, he began to feel uneasy. He noticed there were far fewer snakes on guard than normal. He quickly attributed this to the shortage that occurred every year around the time of graduation. There would be a sudden drop off in energy due to less workers, so they made energy cuts in the field, which meant less snake cages available. The day of graduation, however, required even more snakes at the ceremony, which meant less at the field. It always made Lyndon nervous, as he found a sense of security with the snakes. He felt that with a powerful, ferocious outside force such as them, it was ridiculous for humans to even consider fighting among each other.
Lyndon listened, and noticed the constant hum of the field had ceased. He quickly turned towards the workers and realized every worker had gotten off of their machines and began to stare down the guards. As the guards began to approach them, they stood their ground. A guard began screaming at a certain worker and began to engage him, and although the worker tried to fight back, he was quickly brought down by the sharp electrocution of his nightstick. Soon each guard followed, going around attempting to bring down workers one by one. As with the first, each worker would only begin to fight back when he was attacked, and most didn't stand much of a chance.
Lyndon was confused, this didn't seem like the average revolt that he had seen so many times. It seemed weak, pointless. Suddenly he heard a roar, and through the doors came every single graduate, wielding bare fists and an intense rage. The other workers began to erupt with them, and soon there was revolt coming at the guards from every angle. The cages opened up and the snakes began to crawl out, but there were only about twenty to the thousands of workers engaging in a full-scale rebellion. Bodies began flying everywhere, of workers, guards, and snakes.
As Lyndon gazed upon the action, falling into complete shock of what he was seeing, he heard a buzz come from the other direction. The light above his doorway turned green; it had been unlocked, and he was now in grave danger. He thought of where he could go. There was just the one door. He considered breaking the glass and jumping, but if the fall didn't kill him, he'd be jumping into the greatest and bloodiest revolt he had ever seen.
Just then, as he thought about leaving the door where his attacker would certainly be entering, it opened up, and in marched his son, Aaron Porter. Wearing his graduation suit in which he was sure be executed in later that evening, he walked in with an anger in his eyes that had been building up under years of work and oppression. He charged at his father, wielding a blunt, rusty, but deadly knife.
Lyndon stood motionless. He thought of every possible way he possessed to fight back. There was a gun under his chair, another under his desk. There was tear gas in the ceiling that could be released at the touch of a button. He could even overpower his son after years of defense training, and most likely turn the knife back onto him. But as he looked into his son's eyes, he saw the same eyes that he had for the first 30 years of his life, the ones he had hoped he would see until he had died. Aaron had his mother's eyes from the day he was born. It froze Lyndon, he could move an inch. And as he stood there gazing into the terrifying eyes of the greatest love of his life that was stolen away from him, the knife was plunged into his chest, and he fell to the floor, dead.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Writing Starter #42
Doctors will certainly still be necessary in the future. Intelligent machines may be able to treat a patient if you plug symptoms into it, but may diagnoses aren't that simple. Also, if such machines were to exist, there are government agencies in place such as the FDA that will require extensive security measures for these machines. While I do think it could be possible that doctors and drug companies could hold out cures to make more money, most of these companies function on grants and donations already, and if such events started to occur, I believe a system would begin to occur that would require a contract from these companies saying they will release a cure if found, and then people will be more likely to donate to them.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Writing Starter #41
The man walks into the hall and no one is there, which he doesn't seem to find very odd because it is the middle of the night, but he was seeking assistance because he can't figure out how to un-bend his bed, and was told there would be a nurse on staff to help him 24/7. He goes back into his room and the nurse who had been assisting him is standing there. He is confused because he doesn't know where she came from, but she explained she must have snuck right by him. She fixes the bed and he goes back to sleep without suspicion.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Writing Starter #40
The girl becomes obsessed by this dream and begins to draw pictures of the dragon everywhere she goes. Sometimes the dragon is soaring through the sky, sometimes resting on the ground, sometimes with herself. She starts calling the name of the dragon, something in ancient Chinese sounding like "Lusari." One day she tears down all of her posters and draws a spiraling, circular shape on her bedroom wall. It begins to glow and she whispers to her parents, standing frightened from the doorway, "It's time," and a long red appendage reaches out and pulls her in, then the circular shape on the wall disappears with her.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Writing Starter #39
She panicked, but didn't want to make a scene. She was sure it must have been a hallucination, but at the same time so sure of what she saw. The chilling air that engrossed her entire body was unlike anything she had felt before. Then, as out of no where, she began to feel the same chill crawl up her right leg, just as before. She shook her leg and turned to the right, where she saw the same figures appearing near a young boy. She sprinted toward the boy, whose hand was being taken by the figure. She swatted at the hand of the gray figure, but as she did, it completely disintegrated into the air, taking the boys arm with it. A loud cry sprung into her ear immediately, and as she slowly looked to see where it was coming from, she saw the blood streaking and spraying onto the floor out of the gaping red whole that was left on the boy's shoulder in the place of his arm.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Sestina
In an abandoned laboratory slaved a chemist
Surrounded by a sea of lush green
His life's prize so extremely delicate
To wipe away the thought of royalty
They would burn down the propaganda
And evil would reside in isolation
He worked in complete and utter isolation
A lonely, but very hopeful chemist
He enjoyed his freedom from propaganda
Where he could reside in a world bright green
The forest here was royalty
And he slept in its clutch, ever so delicate
His formula couldn't be more delicate
The slightest twitch, he would die in isolation
And the world would live in the tyranny of royalty
He was indeed the most skilled chemist
And had a passion for anything green
He felt himself under the spell of its propaganda
The world needed to be freed from this propaganda
So powerful, yet so extremely delicate
For when attacked by a virus of bright green
Created in the forgotten world in isolation
By an old, angry, and bitter chemist
To seek revenge against the ones sustaining royalty
They sit upon their thrones, an ignorant royalty
Their identities littered among propaganda
Shoved in the face of a talented chemist
Whose tipping point was all too delicate
He fled to a world of isolation
To spread to the world a sea of green
The globe, soon, will only be green
No peasants, no knights, no royalty
Everywhere to go would become isolation
Without a virus of propaganda
The world will flourish powerfully, no longer so delicate
At the hand of a love lost by a chemist
Surrounded by a sea of lush green
His life's prize so extremely delicate
To wipe away the thought of royalty
They would burn down the propaganda
And evil would reside in isolation
He worked in complete and utter isolation
A lonely, but very hopeful chemist
He enjoyed his freedom from propaganda
Where he could reside in a world bright green
The forest here was royalty
And he slept in its clutch, ever so delicate
His formula couldn't be more delicate
The slightest twitch, he would die in isolation
And the world would live in the tyranny of royalty
He was indeed the most skilled chemist
And had a passion for anything green
He felt himself under the spell of its propaganda
The world needed to be freed from this propaganda
So powerful, yet so extremely delicate
For when attacked by a virus of bright green
Created in the forgotten world in isolation
By an old, angry, and bitter chemist
To seek revenge against the ones sustaining royalty
They sit upon their thrones, an ignorant royalty
Their identities littered among propaganda
Shoved in the face of a talented chemist
Whose tipping point was all too delicate
He fled to a world of isolation
To spread to the world a sea of green
The globe, soon, will only be green
No peasants, no knights, no royalty
Everywhere to go would become isolation
Without a virus of propaganda
The world will flourish powerfully, no longer so delicate
At the hand of a love lost by a chemist
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Writing Starter #38
I've been pretty busy since moving to Michigan
I stuck with lacrosse, I hope you did to
I have a great time, but it's a lot of work
It takes some effort to show up so much
I'm staying strong in school the best I can
No idea where I'll go to college
Do you have any clue at all?
It doesn't seem like most people do
I stuck with lacrosse, I hope you did to
I have a great time, but it's a lot of work
It takes some effort to show up so much
I'm staying strong in school the best I can
No idea where I'll go to college
Do you have any clue at all?
It doesn't seem like most people do
Writing Starter #37
I'd love to spend on a day through the eyes of a hippopotomus
Leading the charge to a swamp, so very moist
I would fight the others and emerge triumphant
Or fall in utter defeat
I could move to a pasture of green
And spend the rest of my life withdrawn
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Sorry Poem
Declan I'm sorry
For not being a real friend
For abandoning you
At the slightest provocation
I was stupid when I was little
We all were
I would do anything to get ahead
The truth is, I missed the days
When we would hang out together
Thinking of new fantasy worlds to create
Those were the days
When life was easier to figure out
Please forgive me for not standing by you
Like you always did for me
For not being a real friend
For abandoning you
At the slightest provocation
I was stupid when I was little
We all were
I would do anything to get ahead
The truth is, I missed the days
When we would hang out together
Thinking of new fantasy worlds to create
Those were the days
When life was easier to figure out
Please forgive me for not standing by you
Like you always did for me
Writing Starter #36
Silence reigns supreme
Stirs around but can't come out
Speak another day
Talks begin to swarm
There's a way out, through a voice
Tension lasts no more
Stirs around but can't come out
Speak another day
Talks begin to swarm
There's a way out, through a voice
Tension lasts no more
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Shakespearean Sonnet
The night grew darker, but I didn't fear
The gangs of ghosts that soon began to show
The end of all the loneliness was near
They all believed I didn't even know
But I had found the key to every door
The door that led me out of danger's clutch
And what was lurking there was even more
More frightening than leaving the door shut
Unleash the beast but not unleash on me
It paves the way for me to soon escape
The walls fall down and soon I'll surely be
Away, at home, at ease, and mostly safe
But terror fills my heart and trembling hands
Because the beast now roams among the land
The gangs of ghosts that soon began to show
The end of all the loneliness was near
They all believed I didn't even know
But I had found the key to every door
The door that led me out of danger's clutch
And what was lurking there was even more
More frightening than leaving the door shut
Unleash the beast but not unleash on me
It paves the way for me to soon escape
The walls fall down and soon I'll surely be
Away, at home, at ease, and mostly safe
But terror fills my heart and trembling hands
Because the beast now roams among the land
Writing Starter #35
A true scholar, this man, of the nation of Nepal
His work was thorough, was never stopping
The research of the land, he knew it all
Subhash Ram Prajapati
An author's son, he too would write
On philosophy, religion, culture and art
The highest education gave him the slight
Advantage to give his career a magnificent start
His work was thorough, was never stopping
The research of the land, he knew it all
Subhash Ram Prajapati
An author's son, he too would write
On philosophy, religion, culture and art
The highest education gave him the slight
Advantage to give his career a magnificent start
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Memory Poem
In 5th grade, my brother Patrick
decided to steal
all of my friends,
or at least the ones
I liked.
Every day, we would go to their house
I convinced myself
they wanted me there too,
but he was older
so he was cooler
and I didn't stand a chance.
I felt betrayed
I felt unwanted
and above all
I felt alone
without anyone to talk to
about how no one would talk to me.
One day I called my old friend Declan
we hadn't been friends for a while
I thought of him as "uncool"
because everyone else did.
We hung out
without my brother
and we had fun all day.
He treated me
the way I wanted to be:
wanted.
decided to steal
all of my friends,
or at least the ones
I liked.
Every day, we would go to their house
I convinced myself
they wanted me there too,
but he was older
so he was cooler
and I didn't stand a chance.
I felt betrayed
I felt unwanted
and above all
I felt alone
without anyone to talk to
about how no one would talk to me.
One day I called my old friend Declan
we hadn't been friends for a while
I thought of him as "uncool"
because everyone else did.
We hung out
without my brother
and we had fun all day.
He treated me
the way I wanted to be:
wanted.
Writing Starter #34
The haze, the fog, the erie feeling of the night
Perhaps this is why I am uneasy of what I see
Or it is a sign of what is truly going on
Certainly I could be the only one to notice such a scene
A man lurking in the woods at this hour,
No, this could not end well
Yet I drive on, uncaring of the fate of the resident
Perhaps this is why I am uneasy of what I see
Or it is a sign of what is truly going on
Certainly I could be the only one to notice such a scene
A man lurking in the woods at this hour,
No, this could not end well
Yet I drive on, uncaring of the fate of the resident
Monday, April 8, 2013
Pantoum Poem
Dogs are born to protect
Barking up a storm
Doing what they love
Keep all at bay
Barking up a storm
They know where their ground lies
Keep all at bay
From the cold bitter world
They know where their ground lies
Come so long ago
From the cold bitter world
To the home they now care for
Come so long ago
Doing what they love
To the home they now care for
Dogs are born to protect
Barking up a storm
Doing what they love
Keep all at bay
Barking up a storm
They know where their ground lies
Keep all at bay
From the cold bitter world
They know where their ground lies
Come so long ago
From the cold bitter world
To the home they now care for
Come so long ago
Doing what they love
To the home they now care for
Dogs are born to protect
Writing Starter #33
Aromas creep from under seats
Fighting for a turn, fighting for attention
The half-eaten hot dog sneaks in from under a seat
A tube of toothpaste rises towards the ceiling
The scents are unsettling, each filled with disgust
They do not agree, not a pair of them
Old-man is defeated by the stronger hobo
And the bag of cranberries can not withstand tomato soup
Fighting for a turn, fighting for attention
The half-eaten hot dog sneaks in from under a seat
A tube of toothpaste rises towards the ceiling
The scents are unsettling, each filled with disgust
They do not agree, not a pair of them
Old-man is defeated by the stronger hobo
And the bag of cranberries can not withstand tomato soup
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