crazyfurries | Entries tagged with fiction

Psychologists might disagree, but there's a fundamental difference between a human's mental breakdown and a mental breakthrough. Particularly in those whose jobs revolve around politics and combat. Parties who've been through both of these agree.

A mental breakdown is when you are crying and sick with fear in your closet trying to drink your own goddamned skull into shutting up at the nightmares.

A mental breakthrough is the time when you look up into the middle distance and begin to methodically plan how to get something done. A decision reached, the final damning cut in stone for your epitaph in many cases.

And secretly, some will tell you, after imbibing in enough of whatever brain intoxicant is applicable to their species... The breakthrough is the point of no return.

At nine years old I, ~~TYLER MARLOCKE~~, made the decision to put on my helmet and armor and bring my alter ego back from the dead. The time when I might've considered leaving the metahuman and superhero game had passed some three world-saving events prior to that. The decision to keep letting humans get superpowers was a world-saving event, I never really blamed the superpowers for the weirdness in my life. The thing about superpowers is this, they're tools. It's up to the people with them to use their powers responsibly, and not a lot of them do that. I'm not just talking about the metahuman community when I speak about this. The average baseline human often doesn't or can't ever really figure out the sort of power they have.

I didn't make the final breakthrough until much later after reviving my hero identity. I couldn't leave my world behind, as much as Milliways was home...I have family here. I have responsibilities here. In this world. In this universe.

I am a hero. This means I do what I can to prevent people from getting hurt, be it getting caught in political bullshit, stopping a mad metahuman, or making a mugger really sorry he picked his line of work. There is no super attached, and there is never going to be any need for it to ever do so.
I am baseline human, that means what I don't have in raw power I'm going to need to make up for in cunning, guile, trickery, gadgetry and whatever else I can learn. I will have to work for every skill in my bag of tricks and master all the mental and physical disciplines that I can.
I am a detective, this means I will figure things out, and find out who started things and what I can do about them.
I know knowledge is power. Ray taught me that, all of my adopted family in Milliways taught me and armed me with the best thing they ever could. Lessons. Sword lessons and meditation to keep a clear head from Ray Stantz. Boxing and detective work lessons from The Flying Squirrel and The Red Panda. Lawyering from Jennifer Walters and Peter Venkman. Forethought, preparation and scenario planning from Dominic Deegan and Atomic Robo... Marksmanship from Ellen, and survival skills from Adrian. These people are still the greatest ones I look up to, for intelligence, for moral standards, for perseverance in incredible odds, for being human and being able to cry and still do things anyways, and do them as right as possible.

I know I will never be able to lead a regular baseline mundane human life.

There is no such thing.

I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I turned my back on people like them.

I...I have a wonderful, brilliant warm woman I want to share this with. We've both been to the bizarre possible future of the human race...the Argonian empire. Neither of us want to see it happen. Not to our friends, our children, or our children's children and so on.

The world lost everything fantastic thousands of years ago to a stupid, stupid human magical mistake, because someone thought that not having superpowers would make everything better and safer. The other side of that coin is the world that could happen, but hasn't yet, where only superpowers rule but nothing has gotten better for anyone, not even the ones with superpowers.

I don't know where to start teaching that it isn't the powers that make the man, or what needs to be done...But I'll find out, and I'll start there, one at a time. Until then...some powers, must be reminded that they will be kept in check, and I'll start there.

Current Music: Logical song.

"Come on, we're going to be late for meeting up before the concert."

"Gimme a minute, have to check the latest on twitter."

"Fine, fine, what's going on for the city buzz?"

"Looks like there's a mash-up bankjob strike on the First National Banks in town...slime and zombie based... Regular Street Patrols from Ifron Tas Chalae network are giving out safe detour routes."

"You just love that Superhero Buzz app on your iPad."

"This is the greatest thing since they invented bulletproof spandex."

"The prop, the edge, the vessel and the base...currency sometimes, but not always." It always helped murmuring the bits that came in the middle of the night, when one was just getting the edges of a truly epic bit of a dream. Catching the idea was hard enough, with one's body sending the discomforted signals of being out of the warm cocoon of sheets and facing the sensation of cold air on bare skin.

And it helped to go over them again as the words bounded, rebounded and reflected off of their synonyms and antonyms... Somewhere, some many people had said the same idea, to keep a notebook handy for things like this even if one could barely manage a scrawl.

The basics caught up the the history soon enough, and that's when the pause came, with the dawning realization of how this was far too familiar. The wand/staff, the blade, the cup/cauldron and the pentacle/altar cloth...currency was anything and too mutable a form, but it was in every culture. The caribbean survival bag, the sorcerors kit and swag, thekitbag of hobos, oh and the homeless person as a powerful person had been DONE and done so well by someone else...

And by now the idea is mostly reeled in, even though there is a sense of mild disguist at the subconcious for fishing something

so old,

so used

so...

ANCIENT
.
.
.

And in that moment, the mass of that ancient leviathan of an idea slithering past the part of the subconcious that's still operating on it's last orders and won't stop...

One could feel that concept that'd seen

cAvemen come and go and empires fall

set it's gaze upon that which had set a

~~anchor~~hook into it's many hued and textured flesh,

and laugh at the small thing trying to hold

onto it as the ~~line~~ connection -snaps-

And one is left, the concious mind picking up and rejecting all that it has processed

leaving one reeling and grasping in the dim of the night

for one hold to grasp and not feel so small in the grand scheme of concepts

to crawl into the tiny comfort of the cocoon of sheets again

to sleep and dwell no more upon this.

....and in the harsh light of day all of this fades, even that deep unease in the core of oneself, leaving only those scrawlings half-legible in the notebook as a track or trail... Mere small hints and

concepts.

Sometime during college, she worked in the libraries as a page. She found it both heartening and completely frustrating. For absolutely clear reasons, it was a full larder of things to eat and absorb, but it was also full of pitfalls. There was no way of telling a good book from a bad one, since books unlike real food, gave no scent to the contents between the covers.

~~~~~~~~~~~

She loved the days when the books were gone over for conditions, for their problems with age and with wear. So many older books were sent to be put onto sale or free for the taking. Others were simply in too poor a condition to even do for that. It was like bargain hunting at the grocery store on those days of the month, she snuck a tiny razor in with her to slice off a tiny sliver of paper to get a taste sample, for something she had discovered, some books improved with age.

Some did not at all. Among these any copies of Pride and Prejudice were soundly shredded for the library's pet rat to nest in. Which on the whole was a far better use for it.
~~~~~~~~~~~

The children's books were simple sweets and too often many worn-out crayons volumes found their ways into her 'larder' when the monthly renewal came in. But sprinkled amid the mass of plain sweets were rich decadent gems, full of real information and carefully blended with wit. The Narnia series were alright in their own rights, like flavored creampuffs. Sometimes a new author would come in, or sometimes an adult author would write a book for children. She treasured pages from old copies of Terry Pratchett's work, they were like exotic fudge.

It was hit or miss with many adult books, but she could count on a child's book to provide a little cheer and 'empty' calories on a bad day, more so than any sordid romance novel.

Sometimes, the brain will not let go of a concept.

In those cases, I need other people's help to form ideas and get them down to get my brain to let go of the damn thing.

In this case, I want to do a parody of all those dating-sim based romantic mangas, where the ratio of boys to a girl is 5-6 to 1. Harem mangas. Except with the heroine having some sense and stuck between groups of either gender and have the plot based on BENTO box competition.

...I'm stuck on the stereotypes though, and this probably makes me a weirdass for wanting to do it.

So.

Friendslist.

.
.
.

Any thoughts?

Current Mood: confused

She left 6 years ago. Said she couldn't handle things on this side anymore, the threat letters for us living together, the gay-bashers, and skinheads.

We'd been together for a little over a year and a half before then, and I can't tell you how much I loved her then, and still do now. We used to have dates together, gazing at the place under the bridge where the barrier between places was so thin it was like looking into a swirling sunset.

But six years ago she said she couldn't take it anymore. She didn't come out and say it directly, she left a letter, saying she would be waiting for me on the other side of that barrier.

Six years ago. I still get letters from her, from the other side, every month or so. They appear in my business binder, sometimes just appear at my elbow when I'm working at my desk. They always come in a soft lavender parchment, with the smell of her perfume.

I plan to go and see her, stay with her someday soon. But I have a lot of work to do yet before I leave.

This world has to be left in better condition than what I found it in.

Current Music: Eileen Ivers - Crossing the Bridge

"Excuse me?" She said, stepping up beside me at the bus stop. "I need an answer to a question."

"...Hit me." I was bored, and really didn't have much else going on.

"How would you define 'love'?" The lady next to me didn't look as she asked the question, flipping open a leather bound book and getting out a pen.

I looked at her a moment starting to speak, as I tried saying the usual line...but it wouldn't come out. Instead something purple-pink drifted out of my mouth, feeling like a hug from my mother, the taste of my first kiss, and the smell of sweet wine and fruit.

"Mhmm... yes, very good answer thank you." She smiled and mist sucked into the pen and book. "Move two steps over to the right please."

Stunned and really at a loss for what had just happened, I complied and took two long steps over into the street staring at her.

I didn't even see the bicycle messenger coming at me head on.

And that kids, is how I met your father.

Current Music: Seether - Get Stoned

I just had this dream about a writer for comic books, she's sitting at her desk writing out this script and I get to see the last few pages of her most recent story and it's this mind reader asking if all of the reasons she didn't talk to certain people were because of..some kind of imagined hate or not and it was kind of like the pages were screaming... and the writer is at this convention table and she's...less than she was before like something was missing from the last time I saw her and she saying... 15 more stories until I die.

15 more stories until I die and she had written 14 other graphic novels...

Attack of the Edit: Pact with literature

Current Mood: artistic

yesterday: I had the weirdest dream about two dog things wandering about the earth, water spilling from their mouths like fountains.

fuck all I wonder if it's my brain pulling a metaphor on rabies.

today: weird random shapes and colors for the first dream.

Second dream was like fractured pieces of a ficlet. Two girls were told before their wedding night that one would make a choice in who they would wed and the other would have the choice made for them. After each met and talked with their suitors, one being a beast with the head of a man and the other being a man with the head of a beast. At the end of that day the beast-headed man announced that the sister who had made no moves would be his wife. And the other sister was pleased for she wanted the luxury that the man-headed beast displayed. Her victory soon became like ashes for her husband was a horrible person and his country was always swallowed up by death or war, and eventually she was cast out from his kingdom.

Extremely short funnies!

A languid colorful form lay over the arm of the couch every so often giggling. The more serious one on the other end cast a dubious look in her direction and gave a sigh.

"I don't want to know, do I?"

"Probably not."

"Is there ever a sane moment with you?"

"No. I left my sanity in my other set of pants. It's right next to the jelly vibrator, the fobo's guide to banana trees, and some rather funky chocolates."

" ..augh..fug.. GAK." The other figure gave a shudder and a twitch. "..you're foul."

It's to be said for rogues, that the only dumb ones are the dead ones or the FAMOUS ones. Smart ones stay in the low area and that's how they like it. sitting around the pits tossing in stolen lamp oil and living slightly fatter than the rest, but not so's fat i'd get lazy. That's right I said I. Sharrup you git I'm trying t'make a point. What point? Well see here Mr Oi've got royal blood. Why don't you just make it quicker and go yank the rocks off a monster? Yeh en't allowed to be clever as a royal, sakes they live up in fancy nancy things get kidnappered by dragons, flumoxed by wizards, shot stabbed, frozen, flayed and gods only know whot else 'appens in them places. And that's just from outside thot castle! Goooor... Yeh got all sortsa loonies, rich ones wanting power, dumber than th'becside ova mucker's cart when it come to ruddy sense. No sirree. I likes my life. It en't the best but it sure as hell beats the alternative!

PS: Blame

ampersand for this.

"I'm not crazy i'm not going crazy." I clung to my cloak and shawl in the cave. I did not know how to survive on my own. Stupid merchant girl. I was alone, only by stumbling into this cave had I found it, my hair was foul. not washing it had made it become matted and tangled and even touching it now hurt.

I was, no I am alone. I am alone, no one can help me. I cried, not having slept in several days, unless from exhaustion. My head and hair felt like they were burning without any heat, when I slept it was fitful and I would awake screaming and sending the brush into convulsions. Madness, that what it was. The hair was driving me surely mad.

It is, it will drive me mad. I can't beat to look at the knife to shear my hair but I must. It hurts to do so and it feels like I've plucked out my own eye or fingernails for doing so. With a harsh scream I threw the mess into the tiny fire I had made with what few matches I had left. I cried myself to sleep as the fire burned the matted remains of loose soft waves, wanting to go..to something, anywhere but this damp cave, this horrid life, away from the screaming nightmares.

It began with tiny hard hail, no one took much notice of it until they saw what the pellets were. Solid gold little nuggets and half-formed gold bugs falling from the sky. People crammed into the streets fighting over the nuggets and bugs grabbing up handfuls. She saw things differently, smoky skull clouds wifted out of the golden shower and she ran under eaves along the streets, grabbing someone's discarded unbrella. She wasn't going to be touched by a drop of it if she could help it.

There was a quick stop at the general store, where she bought an oddly large amount of sealed jars and food and insisted upon getting all her change in silver and copper.

It wasn't until 12 hours later that the symptoms began... where people had first been touched by the gold, a patch of their skin and slowly their hair was turning into gold. And not soft gold, but a heavy hard to move sort. Soap did nothing to clean or stop the rash and soon the city was in panic.. people who never woke died a peacefuldeath as their skins hardened into gold and they suffocated in their sleep. Others face the harsh and painful reality of feeling their very bodies slowly become statues from the inside out and wide awake while suffocating, for with their skins of solid gold..they no longer had the flexibility to breathe. Only moving water wasn't affected, it only carried granules into the sewer system and then passed through the surrounding area harmlessly. Anything that had been touched by the pellets or half-formed (as it was later theorized, the bugs had simply had the ill fortune of being alive while getting caught in the storm) bugs turned slowly into solid gold over the span of several days.

Several days later, people came investingating to find a town near entirely made of gold. There were few living things there to be found and upon deconstruction of several statues, found that only the kidneys and bladder had been untouched in the bodies converted.

They found a young woman, near nude, brassy from all the reflected light, with jars of sealed food and water, sitting in a tub filled with vinegar and piss.

The first time she had done it was when she was 9 after she had lost a dare from a peer. She had to eat one of every pamphlet from inside the nurse's office about sex, drugs and venerial disease. Lucky for her that time she had been allowed to ketchup on the paper while she ate the words one panel at a time. Days later she found herself craving this again, but eating the pamphlets didn't work to make her less hungry. they were just paper again.

Eventually the cravings went away but every so often she'd get them so badly that one time while in the doctor's office she stole a medical magazine she found herself drooling over and secretly at home, ate it with a canister of frosting in her closet. It tasted like heaven, and for a while her cravings were satisfied. Even stranger, later she was able to write an entire essay about liver degeneration for her class with very little research needed.

As time passed on, she took to lurking in used-bookstores, buying cheap science, math and history textbooks, sometimes even hanging around the colleges to find more. Science she found, needed lots of garlic, while math, which later grew to physics had a bitter almost ashy taste and was best oddly with carrots, peanuts, and a little raspberry vinegar. History was like a rich steak so often she found herself pouring soy sauce, or steak sauce or even the odd old favorite of ketchup. It went on for years..

Then on a whim, she tried eating a fashion magazine.. ...and promptly started heaving over the toilet.

She hasn't touched a book since. Thankfully she's been able to squeak by with that scholarship she had, and thanks to the internet, passed with flying colors. Now if she could get away from her current addiction of eating printed out fiction, everything would be great.