Twenty Thousand Dollar Bills - first page, draft

She woke up knowing there was someone beside her. She knew it was sure as you know that water will be wet or that the sun will warm your skin. She was sure right up until she reached out, and her arm passed straight through common air.

Suddenly awake, she sat up. She was lying in the top half of a bunk bed, with a backpack at her feet. Looking around the room, she saw two other similar bunks and two doors. All of the beds were empty, and the sunlight through the wind showed it to be late morning.

She felt a sense of unease, like she was waiting for another shoe to drop. Her heart ached with longing and despair for something she couldn't quite name. And her throat really, really hurt. She swallowed saliva, which did nothing to soothe her throat before unzipping the bag and hunting for a bottle of water. Her hand found it, almost by instinct, and she gulped greedily. It helped, a little.

Picking up the backpack, she climbed out of bed and tried one of the doors. It opened into a bathroom.

Her face in the mirror was pinched and pale. It was pretty enough, with dark eyes and curly dark hair wild around her face. Her skin was a little olivey, and the bags under her eyes were as dark and purple as bruises.

Sighing, she brushed her teeth with a travel toothbrush she found in her bag and climbed into the shower. The water felt amazing. She hadn't realised how badly her body was aching until she'd stepped into the flow.

Desperately trying to stave off thought, and knowing that no one was sleeping, she began to sing. She started softly at first, building up to a louder belt on the chorus. She loved to sing. She loved the sounds felt moving through her mouth, how expressive the music was. She loved that she could lose herself in it.

She felt sad, suddenly, almost as if she wanted to cry. She wanted to do...something. She wanted something in her life that was lacking, something she had no words for, no conception of, but wanted desperately none the less. The powerlessness of the position angered her, and she sang more loudly to drown the feelings out.

Finally, sung out, she stepped out of the shower and began to dress. She had nothing more to do but face the facts, which was that she had no idea who or where she was.

The Controllers - Summaries

These are notes, on a story which has lived in my head since I was ten.

Summary

One night, the UK is forever changed when an army of robots stage a hostile takeover. Five children are rescued and raised by a mysterious professor; Luke, Megan, Harvey, Shirley, and Rachel. Ten years after the initial attack, their base is finally found, and the Professor is killed. The teenagers set out alone, with the goal of finding the Controller’s base and defeating them once and for all.

While scavenging for food, they accidentally capture/rescue one of the taken humans, Lance. He has a memory chip on his brain which, when removed, destroys all memory of the Controllers. Harvey slips the chip onto Shirley. They keep Lance with them, rather than returning him, and spend more time exploring.

NOTE: The hypnosis is very short lived – a few hours. This is why the memory chips, which can also double as mind-control devices (they were originally intended as such; the memory bit is a side effect) are put onto the humans.

Unbeknownst to them, Lance has a tracking device as well as the memory device on him, and the Controller’s leader, Alan, finds them. He approaches Harvey, and reveals himself to be Harvey’s father. Harvey agrees to go with him, as ruling the UK is something he could definitely see himself doing. Due to his obsessive attraction to Shirley, he does not allow his father to destroy the group, though he accepts that they cannot kidnap Shirley at that point.

The group spends time exploring and gathering information. They briefly connect with one other group, who are able to tell them where the base is. Shirley and Lance connect, through late-night talks, and a magical moment on a merry-go-round which, surprisingly, still works. Megan is the only one who really misses Harvey, due to his general creepiness.

The group find the base and infiltrate it. (NOTE: The plans were at their original base the whole time.

IDEA: The plans where always on their original intranet. However, with their base destroyed, they need a new laptop and a way to hack into it. This becomes their goal, with Rachel and Luke working on this. When they get the laptop, they hack into the professor’s area (the password was Harvey; they tried all their names first, and find the base.)

They must separate to carry out their plan. Megan attacks Shirley, and Harvey intervenes, pushing Megan off a ledge and killing her. Harvey pretends to have been kidnapped, and leads Shirley to the control room, where his father is waiting. He and his father propose that Shirley join them in World Domination. When Shirley refuses, Alan tries to kill her, but Harvey shoots him. Lance has been planting a bomb while Rachel and Luke help people to escape the base. Just before the blast, Harvey removes Shirley’s memory chip, resulting in the total loss of her experiences since it was put on her. Harvey uses his father’s mind control devices, not to retake the world, but to subjugate Shirley. Lance sees her, a decade later, in a restaurant. She’s a perfect Stepford wife, with two children who are rude to waiters. Harvey is still a creepy douchebag.

Harvey’s Synopsis

Harvey Pendleton is the son of Alan Pendleton. His uncle Tom, having learned of the robot army Alan is building, kidnaps Harvey for his own good. In an attempt to get him back, Alan Pendleton unleashes the robot army across the UK. This attempt fails; Tom succeeds in rescuing five other children in his helicopter, and hides the six children away in a secret base, training them to, eventually, defeat the robots.

Harvey slowly grows to be obsessed with Shirley. He feels no pressure to deal with this, as the only other guys there are Luke, who isn’t interested, and the Professor.

At the age of seventeen, their base is attacked, and the Professor is killed. Harvey and the others escape, and begin searching for the Robot’s base. While searching, they come across Lance, and Harvey takes his memory chip, accidentally destroying his memories of the Robots. Lance also had a tracking device on him, which leads Alan right to Harvey. Alan approaches Harvey when he’s alone, and reveals himself to be the boy’s father. He wants to kidnap or destroy the group, but Harvey won’t let him (why? Does he want to see what Shirley will do without him? Can he spy on them somehow?). Having figured out what the memory chip does, he puts it on Shirley, and leaves with Alan.

Harvey stays at the base with Alan, getting to know his father, and generally learning to be the next Robot leader. The group invade the base, splitting up so Harvey only runs into Megan and Shirley. Megan attempts to kill Shirley; Megan is on Harvey’s side, and though she knows that he likes Shirley, she believes that the fact that Shirley is here to kill his father, and that Megan will have “rescued” him will get Harvey to like her. Harvey pretends to go along with this, and then pushes her off a ledge. Shirley is horrified, despite the fact that he’s saved her life. Harvey tells her that he’s on her side really, that he was kidnapped, and that if she’ll just follow him to the control room, he’ll help her to kill his father.

Shirley goes with him, but Harvey’s plan was to show her his empire, and ask her to be his queen. He is attempting to sexually assault her, after her refusal, when his father walks in. Alan first assumes that they are fighting, and tries to shoot Shirley. Harvey must act quickly to stop him, and shoots him. Afterwards, he explains to Shirley how killing his father proves that he cares about her, and that she should accept him.

Lance walks in; his goal was to plant bombs, and he needs one up here. He threatens to kill Lance. Shirley distracts him, and Lance tackles him. Shirley trains the gun on Harvey, with Lance holding him. Harvey uses some sort of pocket controller, or code word, or something, to get a robot to walk up behind Shirley and hypnotise Lance. Shirley is distracted by the robot and turns, trusting Lance to hold Harvey; she’d forgotten that Lance isn’t immune to them, and Harvey is able to get to her. He takes the memory chip off her, which has two effects; she falls unconscious, as Lance did, and when she wakes up, she won’t remember anything from the point at which it was put on her. Harvey plants the bomb, and carries Shirley out of the building, leaving Lance there. He then uses mind-control devices – such as the memory chip – to enslave Shirley.

Shirley’s Synopsis

Shirley barely remembers a time before the Robots. From the age of six, she’s lived underground, with the Professor who saved her and four other children. She’s friends with Rachel and Luke. Megan doesn’t like her, and Harvey can be quite overly friendly at times.

When Shirley is seventeen, their base is finally found by the Robots, and the Professor is killed. They had intended to wait a while before attacking the base; the plan was almost ready to put into action, but all of the schematics needed were on the Professor’s computers, and they need a way to get back into the system.

While scavenging for food, they picked up another boy, Lance. He was caught by the robots at a young age. Unfortunately, Harvey removes his memory chip before they figure out what it is, and destroys his memories of the base. Very shortly afterwards, Harvey mysteriously disappears in the middle of the night.

The group continue to search for a way into the computer system, and from there into the Controller’s Base. They find one, and divide up jobs. Lance will plant bombs, while Luke and Rachel get everyone out, and Megan and Shirley try to find the Controller’s control room and smash everything. Lance will meet them there, to plant the last bomb and get them out.

Shirley and Megan run into Harvey, who is revealed to be Alan (the Controller)’s son. Megan tries to kill Shirley, thinking this will please him, but he pushes her off a ledge, killing her. He uses this to convince Shirley that he’s really on her side, and they head to the control room, where he tries to convince her to become his Tyrannical Queen. Alan walks in, and threatens Shirley, believed Harvey and Shirley to be arguing. Harvey shoots him, unable to do anything else before he hurts Shirley. Lance walks in at this point, and Harvey turns the gun on him. He’s been watching them (through Lance’s tracking device?) and knows that Shirley has feelings for him. Shirley distracts Harvey, and Lance tackles him. While Lance is holding Harvey, and Shirley has a gun trained on him, Harvey summons one of the Robots. Shirley turns, startled, and forgets that Lance is not immune to hypnosis. When the Robot hypnotises Lance, Harvey manages to get the memory chip that he planted on Shirley off her neck, and she falls unconscious. Harvey carries her out, and uses his father’s mind control devices to control her for the rest of their lives.

Character Building: Mina Stafford

Character Building – Mina Stafford

My Parents

My father was an alcoholic. My stepfather raped me. My mother hated me, to the point of letting it happen. One time, she put out a cigarette on my arm when I dared to even suggest that something wasn’t right.

Fuck you.

My Most Prominent Physical Feature

I don’t have one. Yeah, I know the question is ‘most’, so obviously I do have a most prominent feature, even if, overall, the most prominent is only like one out of ten on the prominent scale. But I work hard on not being noticed, and a big help in that is the lack of prominent features. My hair is curly and brown. My eyes are brown. My skin is a little tan, not so much as you’d really notice. My features are even, nothing too noticeable. I get freckles in summer. Nothing special, really.

Scars

There’s a gash along my arm where my dad smashed a mirror over me, and it broke. And there are cigarette burns on my shoulders. There’s a scar on my other elbow where I broke it when I was seven.

Vanity

I try not to think about my looks. My parents told me I was ugly constantly, but I was pretty enough for my stepdad to fuck me. Go figure.

I went through a stage of wanting to cut my face, but it hurt too much, and then it healed. And my mom beat me black and blue for having a mark where people could see it. I didn’t do it again after that.

I pluck my eyebrows and wear a little lipgloss. Since my skin is pale and my eyes are dark, that’s generally enough to look normal. I don’t eat much, so I stay a little too thin. My mom called me fat a lot, and sometimes I remember that when people offer me food. I mostly live on coffee.

Kinsey Scale

I’m straight, I think. I can’t imagine being attracted to a woman. It took me long enough to be okay with being attracted to men.

Erasing Past?

Ha bloody ha, what on earth could I possibly want to erase? Fuck you.

Favourites

My favourite flower is a lily. My favourite colour is indigo. My favourite song is Let the Bodies hit the Floor.

Trust

Who do I trust? Seriously? No one.

I trust Leo, in the sense that we could send each other to prison. I trust that he likes me, that he wants me around, that he likes living with me. I don’t trust that it’ll last forever.

I don’t trust anyone in my family. I don’t have any close friends. I do trust my colleagues not to sell me or Leo out, though, of course, I don’t trust them to the extent that I trust Leo.

Turning Point

Leo. Leo loved me as much as he could, and it was uncomplicated. It was simple. Every day he loved me, I hated the world and myself less.

Animal

I don’t like animals, or rather, they don’t like me. I’ve never had a pet.

Computer Savvy?

I have to be. I’m not as good as Leo or Ciaran, but I know enough to google an error message, which is more than most people seem to these days. I can generally find my way around a bit of new technology easily enough.

My bed

I wake up neatly. My covers and pillow tend to be straight, so I just slide out and don’t even make the bed.

Hot or cold?

Put on a coat. Take off a coat. It’s not complicated.

Morning or Night?

I like morning from the underneath. I don’t do getting up early, but I like staying up late and watching the sunrise. Leo and I did that from the top of a tower block once. It was grey and shitty and wonderful, all at the same time.

Blood Relatives?

Ha. Ha. Hahahaha. Fuck off.

I have no family. I have no blood relatives who I’m close to. I’d happily disown anyone who claims to be related to me, and, in fact, have. Do you know what they did to me?! Do you know what my mother did? That evil, stupid, selfish bitch! Fuck off and leave me alone!

Work Space

My work space is very well organised. I keep all the papers and cards related to each identity in separate envelopes. I have a desktop computer. I have various containers and paper-holders, all in black and silver. It’s a desk made for working.

Can you cook?

Can I cook? I can microwave, and I can boil things, does that count? I’m pretty adept at ordering takeaways, how about that? Who cooks these days? Who has time?

Preferred Means of Travel

I like driving. I like being in control of where I'm going, with no one bugging me, just me, and my own space. I like smoking while I drive. I like the feeling of being on auto-pilot. I like not relying on anyone else to take me places.

Irrational Fears?

I have enough rational fears without coming up with any irrational ones, thank you very much. I have fucking nightmares where I have to live with my parents again for whatever reason, and I know I can never escape, and I would rather fucking die.

Cutie Mark

What the FUCK is a cutie mark?

If you could time travel?

I'd go back and save Leo. Or maybe go back even further and save myself. How about that?

Superstitious?

I'm agnostic, does that count? I'm not sure whether god or any sort of higher force exists or not. I pray when I'm frightened. Would that be a kind of superstition?

Your ideal partner?

Leo. Go to hell, bitch.

Your hands?

My hands? What kind of question is that? I keep my nails short because long nails annoy me. I don't paint them. There's a scar on the tip of my left index finger where I accidentally sliced it open once. You can see the veins on the back. Is that enough for you?

What do you smell like?

What do I smell like? Are you insane? How am I supposed to know what I smell like? It's the background smell!

Leo told me I smelt like paper.

Favourites?

Are you fucking serious? You want to know my favourites? Fuck you. I like black, is that enough fucking information for you? I like coffee. I like cucumber sandwiches. My favourite time of year is autumn, because the leaves look nice, and because it meant I got to go back to fucking school instead of staying at home all day. My favourite vice is smoking. That or fucking drinking, I haven't decided.

If your life were a genre...

Horror. Dark and gritty Brit flick. Slasher movie. All very grey and rainy.

Two Songs

In Too Deep, by Genesis. When I left home. When I met Leo. Loving Leo. Not being able to love Leo.

Objects in the Rearview Mirror May Appear Closer than they Are. And my father's eyes were blank as he hit me again and again and again. I hear that ugly, coarse and iron voice, then he grabs me from behind and he pulls me back. I still believe he never let me leave, I had to run away alone.

For My Lover. Every day I'm psychoanalysed.  They dope me up and I tell them lies.  And everybody thinks I'm a fool...they don't get any love from you.

Character Building: Eloise

 As part of a writing exercise on HabitRPG (posts here and here) I've spent the last month answering questions about two of my characters.  This is Eloise's questionnaire.

For background; Eloise Richards, is fifteen-years-old and lives with her Aunt Portia. Her life is reasonably idyllic, apart from a few things. She is home-schooled due to her issues with ADD and recurring nightmares, which prevent her from sleeping. She is also saddened by being separated from her parents; she was born as the result of an affair, and each of her parents has another, legitimate, daughter. Eloise was sent away in order to uncomplicate

Eloise lives in a universe very like ours, apart from the fact that certain people have special powers, including Eloise herself. If it sounds like X-Men, that's because I loved them when I was thirteen and first invented the character!

Character Building: Eloise

My Parents

- By Eloise Richards

My father, James, was poor and handsome. He lived in the icy and distant land of Nova Scotia, in a small wooden shack with his mother.

One day, Morgan, the daughter of the richest family in the small town fell in love with him. She married him, even though he didn’t love her. As long as he married her, his mother was safe and warm, and since he was a good man, that was the most important thing.

Then he fell in love with my mother, Violet. Violet was the daughter of the local mob-boss, my grandfather, Vincent. Vincent had promised her to his lackey, Terry the Weasel. But, love would find and way, and Violet and James ran away together. They had a daughter, me, who they loved madly. But then, Morgan and Vincent found them, and made them go back home. I was given to Portia, James’ sister, to raise.

I haven’t seen my parents since I was three years old, but I know they love me. They risked everything to be together and have me. It’s not their fault they couldn’t make it work. Sometimes people just aren’t that strong. I’ve forgiven them.

My Most Prominent Physical Features

Oh my god, are you serious? I have two bright green streaks in my hair! Plus my nails, are, like, green and silver? So three on one hand are green, and two on the other hand, and all the other ones are silver.

It’s to do with my mutation. See, in my blood, I have two additional substances, a venom and an elixir. The venom is what makes my nails green, and the elixir is what makes them silver. When I stab someone with one of my nail, I can inject them with whatever’s in that nail. The venom makes people woozy and sick, the elixir makes them feel great!

Normally, they balance out in me. If I venom someone, I’ll get the great elixir feelings, and if I elixir them, my venom will hurt me, until my body makes more and they balance out. My hair will also change colour slightly if I use one or the other. The colour in it is made up of both.

Scars

I have a scar along the side of my foot. I was playing outside, and I’d taken my shoes off because, you know, I was four. There was an old tin on the ground, with a sharp lid. Portia took me to A&E, though she didn’t really need to, I just frightened and bloody.

There’s a scar just below my knee from where I cut myself shaving when I was about thirteen. Another scar on my left hand, in the webby bit between index finger and thumb, where I stabbed myself with a pair of scissors when I was eight.

Vanity

I’m really pretty! My eyes are violet, which is really unusual, and my hair is so dark and glossy. I use honey on my skin, like Portia taught me, so it pretty much stays clear. I do an adorable little blinkyblinky thing when I’m trying to be cute!

Sometimes, I worry that I’m fat, but I try not to dwell on it.

Kinsey Scale

I’m straight, I think. Some girls are really cute, but I don’t like them like I like guys. Especially Sven. Sven is so cool. He’s really smart, and he has these cute little glasses, and I have this dream, of like, sitting on his lap and hugging him while he wheels us around. He has really muscley arms, and green eyes, and just a little bit of stubble.

Happiest Memory

Last week, Sven smiled at me, and I kept catching him looking at me, and we were kind of talking, and I said he should come visit me, and he said only if I buy him dinner, and I went all blushy and giggly, and does he want to go out to dinner with me, like a date?! Oh my god!

Also, last summer, when Portia and I spent every day out crafting in the garden, and every day was lazy and sunny and luxurious. And one day it was so hot that we put on swimsuits and danced under the sprinklers, and the cold water felt awesome!

Events to Erase

Oh my god, I really don’t know. Maybe the nightmares, do they count? I’ve had nightmares for the past few years, you see. That was part of the reason why Portia started homeschooling me, because I was having so much trouble sleeping. They’re kind of fun, sometimes though.

Maybe I could delete one of my sisters? That seems mean. Maybe Megan. I think Megan. Or Kathy. Does it have to be one?

Favourites

My favourite ice cream was black cherry, but someone just told me that Turkish Delight ice cream exists, so now I’m not sure. Portia said she’d get me some to try. With, like, chocolate ice cream and sprinkles. Yum!

My favourite colour is green. My favourite flowers are daisies.

Trust

I don’t really get this question. It’s a bit like when you’re reading a book, and someone gives you a funny look and asks if you believe everything you read. It’s hard to explain how you can know something isn’t literally true and yet still suspend your disbelief for the sake of enjoyment (when I mentioned these thoughts to Portia, she made me write an essay on the subject!).

I trust most people. I think most people don’t actively try to hurt each other and thus won’t try to hurt me. I don’t think I have any enemies. Maybe my sisters, but they’re not a big part of my life really.

Turning Points

When my parents had to give me up, because they loved me. That was a big turning point in my life. That and the dreams and being homeschooled. I don’t think I’m old enough to have any turning points from internal realisations yet.

Animal

If I were an animal I’d be something cute but poisonous. Like a scorpion! Or a snake! Except, not, because those are creepy. What’s cute and poisonous? A frog? I’d be a frog. A sweet little green frog.

Computer Savvy?

If I had to fix a computer, I could maybe figure it out with some help. I know the obvious stuff, like email and facebook, of course! And I can follow directions. Portia once got an old one, and made me take it apart and put it back together, but I was completely amazed when it actually worked!

My Bed

One time, I woke up upside down. I’m not quite certain how that happened. Generally, I wake up with one pillow on the floor, and the duvet like, sprawled everywhere.

Hot or cold?

I haaaaaaaaaaate hot! I hate when I get all sweaty and gross! But I don’t like being cold either, like when it’s all frosty and you can’t feel your fingers. I like when it’s like brisk and sunny, or when it’s like warm and I can sunbathe, but not when I have to walk around and stuff.

Night or Morning?

I’m a morning person! I love mornings; the sun’s shining, and it’s time to start the day! If only I didn’t feel so tired all the time; still, going to bed early helps a little with that.

Blood Relative?

I guess I know aunt Portia best. I live with her, after all! I know my parents love me; that’s why they gave me up. It was so hard for them. They both miss me everyday, and my mother lights a candle on my birthday, but it’s okay, because I know that Megan’s mom and my granddad forced them apart.

I’m not really close to my sisters, especially not Megan. Kathy and I see each other occasionally, but she’s mean and weird.

My Desk

My desk is pretty! I have a pink laptop all covered with purple and silver sticks, and a fluffy pink pen! I got some glittery pink trim, and it’s all around the edges, and I laid it with a purple tablecloth! And there are silvery jangly bells on the drawers! Portia says it’s too messy, but I can find everything, and it has silver tinsel! My desk is awesome!

Cook?

I’m a pretty good cook, I guess. I make a great apple pie. We have a tree in the garden, so it’s real easy. And one time I made acorn pancakes, and they came out really good. I’m good at soups and casseroles. I’m a vegetarian, so I can’t cook meat. I never learned.

Travelling

I like cycling! I love my bike! It’s pink, and Portia and I painted daisies on it with nail varnish. It has white handlebars, and trim, and four speeds, and I’ve just mastered 90rpm, so I can keep that going for ages! I thought of doing duathlons or something, but I don’t like swimming!

Irrational Fears?

I'm frightened of falling asleep. That's silly right? It's just, I had such terrible dreams when I was younger. Really weird and frightening. Like, I'd be strapped to a chair, being eaten alive by rats. Or I'd be chased over rooftops, or drowning. I go better at escaping though, as I got older. Like, when I had the same dream a few times in a row, I'd be a little bit better at climbing or untying myself. Or I'd somehow find a bike and escape that way.

What's your cutie mark?

I don't know what a cutie mark is, sorry. Do you mean the thing that makes me adorable? I crinkle my nose in a cute way, and when I'm confused I tip my head to the side. I know I'm doing it so it's more like a parody than actually being sickening. I have really big eyes, so when I wear make-up I accentuate those. They're violet, which is unusual! And they look so striking against my dark hair.

If you could timetravel?

I'd go back in time and see my parents, when they were young and in love. Maybe I could keep them together, if I were older, and not just a baby.

Are you superstitious?

No, of course not! I mean, I have my lucky charm bracelet, and I occasionally make deals with god, but that's not really superstition, is it? Just, you know, habit.

Your ideal romantic partner?

Ooooh. Hm. He'd be tall. Handsome, of course. Maybe, like, blond with blue eyes, or dark-haired. Or blond with brown-eyes! That'd be nice! And maybe he'd be in a wheelchair. Wheelchairs are awesome. My friend Sven – I've mentioned Sven, right? - has one called a dragon, which goes up and down in a really cool way! I could, like, sit on his lap and we'd go zooming around. Not on Sven's lap, of course! Just...someone like Sven. And maybe he'd have, like, Sven's eyes? Sven has pretty eyes, all greeny. And he has really strong arms from wheeling himself about in his old chair. And a nice smile.

Your Hands

Five of my nails are green and five are silver. The thumb, middle and little finger of my left hand are green, and the same fingers are silver on my right hand. The other nails on each hand are the other colour.

If I stab people with those nails they're injected with one of two substances that live in my blood stream. The silver nails inject people with a substance we call elixir, while the green ones inject them with venom. My venom makes people feel sick and weak; if I get them with all five, they can barely move. The elixir heals the venom. If someone just has the elixir without the venom, they feel great!

I'm generally on an even keel because I have equal amounts of both. It's only when I start losing one or the other that it all goes a bit weird. If I lose my elixir, I get my venom poisoning, and if I lose my venom, I get the boost from my elixir. It has to go into a living creature too, I checked. Plants don't work. If they did, I'd just drip all my venom into a tree everyday and walk around on an elixir high.

More Favourites

I like valentines day, and spring! I like cycling around and feeling the sun on my skin, but not when it's too hot. And I like hot chocolate, and bourbon biscuits, and tea. My favourite colour is pinky purple and silver. My favourite outfit is light green, but with like a silver scarf and some pinky purple bits on it and stuff. It's pretty!

If your life was a genre...

It'd be an indie film, like Happy-Go-Lucky! Or like a super hero movie? Or gritty teenage fiction! With lots of sunshine and pretty colours and music!

Smell?

I really like trying out new stuff, so I smell like whatever I try that week! This week I have a really nice strawberries and cream shower gel! And my shampoo has australian paw paw flower in it, and it smells amazing! And I have this really nice vanilla bean hand cream, and some passion flower perfume!

Two Songs

Oh gosh, two songs that describe me? Oh wow, what to choose! Maybe, like, What Makes You Beautiful? Hee! Or There She Goes?

Maybe Go the Distance from Hercules? That was such a good movie! But yeah...I've often dreamed of a far off place, where a great warm welcome would be waiting for me. It's about travelling, and searching for your real parents, and wanting them to love you when you get there.

And I Think I Love You for...oh, no I can't say. It's a secret!

Sleeping in the Indigo City

Citizens in the Indigo city sleep between rivers.  Every bed made has two wooden rivulets on it, one running down each side.  At some point when citizens are sleeping, they fill with water.  The water is blue, not the indigo of the waterways.

If you wake in the night, you can watch lily pads slowly drifting by.  When you awake fully, they are gone.  No one quite knows where they come from or where they go, but no citizen of the Indigo city would dream of sleeping in a bed without rivulets.

Purity in the Indigo City

There's a place in the Indigo city where three buildings meet in a diamond shape, the fourth quarter open.  The narrow paths run along the waterways, down this empty corner, to a hidden place where the buildings meet.  Taliesin waits there.

There's a circular space in the hidden corner.  Taliesin walks on dark, emerald green grass, waiting for Elizet.  There is a statue here too, Purity, a maiden glancing coyly.

The citizens of the Indigo city rarely reach the statue.  As they get closer, the waterway between the paths narrows, and they are able to skip across.

The sun has not yet set, and high above her, Taliesin can see a circle of sky between the buildings.  When the sun sets, the moonstones set in the walls will glow in the darkness.  When they shine, Taliesin won't see the high walls of the buildings any more; only the open space of darkness, lit by tiny lights.  There is a galaxy here, if one cares to look for it.

The Indigo City

In the Indigo city, every street is a waterway.  The water is inky purple and is studded with iridescent moonstones, glowing like stars.  There are no streetlights, only the moonstones, and the light which spills from the buildings like the music that accompanies it..

When Elizet goes to meet her lover, she walks along the narrow paths which surround each building.  At some intersections, the waterways are narrow enough for her to skip over.  At others, there are small bridges, waist-high when raised, which lower at the touch of a button to allow passage.  Other times, Elizet has to walk far out of her way to find a place where she can cross.  The citizens of the Indigo city are used to this kind of circumstance.  They don't mind.  It is a pleasure to walk beside the unmarred surface of the waterways.

Elizet and her lover plan to meet at the Angel.  The Angel is made of a pale grey stone, and stands atop a tall column.  Stairs wide around the column, not high enough so people can stand next to the Angel, but high enough that they can touch the hem of her skirt.  Water cascades down from this landing, turning the spiral stairs into a waterfall. 

The citizens of the Indigo city where waterproof shoes, so Elizet's feet do not become wet as she climbs the stairs.  She can feel the water sloshing coolly against her toes, but is not dampened by it.  Above her, the Angel gleams in the starlight, glowing silver against the inky purple sky, like the moonstones that light the waterways.

The Edited Eugene Morris

My first version was written in a rush, as soon as I found the right voice.  This is the edited version.

Eugene Morris

I swear to god, someone up there has got it in for me.

For fuck's sake.

It's not like I've got some kind of issue with dead bodies or anything.  Really, in my line of work?  Might as well be allergic to money.  Or drugs.  Or to lying itself.

Seeing the corpse of someone I knew and whom I'd never expected to see again?  That fucking threw me.

The chief's looking at me expectantly.  I give a grave nod, and the mortician pulls the sheet back over her face.

"Those bastards," the chief says into the silence.  "It'll be a damn good day when we finally bring them down."

'They' are the local mob, who I've been investigating undercover.  Me?  I'm Eugene Morris, bullshitter extraordinaire.  The truth ain't black or white, and neither am I.  And nor is that corpse on the table.  We were two of the only three mixed race kids growing up on our street.

She - Javina - was my next door neighbour when we were kids.  Her big brother - the third kid - and I were close. Right up until we were all teenagers, and I suddenly found his little sister a lot more interesting.  It didn't even last that long, just a month or two, but that was long enough for Troy never to speak to me again.

Goddamit it.  Thinking of Troy, and his mama, and his mama's baby girl under that sheet?  Christ.  My mum taught her mum how to braid Javina's hair, for fuck's sake.  Her mum was white, and didn't have a clue how to deal with mixed hair.

"It's their style," I said to the chief, commenting on the state they'd left Javina's body in.  Fucking christ.  "Any idea of motive?"

"Nope."  The chief slapped a hand to my shoulder.  "That's your job."

Of course it was.  I'd better get some kind of bonus for this.

***

Finding the motive, it turned out, was the easy part.  Practically handed to me on a silver fucking platter.

It was later that same day; yesterday now, must be.  I'd nipped out for another pack of fags when I'd seen Ernie looming at me out of the shadows.  And trust me, Ernie can fucking loom.

I'd greeted him, with a dash of curiosity.  Ernie didn't normally approach me in public.  Ernie didn't normally come out in daylight.

He'd grinned, asked what I'd come out for, then offered me a cigarette.  He was holding out a match when someone came up behind me and dropped a sack over my head.

I spent what was probably the whole night having the fucking shit kicked out of me.  Eventually, during one of his fag breaks, he found the time to explain it to me.

"The boss found out about you, Eugene," he said, lighting another fag.  Fucker.  I'd never even got to take a single drag of mine.  I glared balefully up at him from the floor, my head turned sideways.  I was trussed up like a turkey.  Ernie'd never been one for fighting fair.  Probably why he was so successful at it.

He didn't wait for me to reply.  I wasn't fucking planning to.

"So this," he continued, "is your punishment.  The girl," he grinned at me, "was your warning."

"You killed some girl to warn me you were going to kick the shit out of me?" I wheezed.  I could taste blood.

He waved the match out, and sat there in silence, grinning at me, like a goddamn pumpkin.

"Or are you planning to kill me too?"  I continued, when it was clear he was just going to carry on sitting there with that fucking look on his face.

"We're not going to kill you, Eugene," he said.  Well, thank fuck for that.  "We're going to keep you.  And if you don't do what we want, we'll kill another one.  Who was next?  Natasha?  Tia?"

I was having trouble breathing.  Not because of what he'd said, because he'd broken a few of my fucking ribs.

He finished his fag, then stood up, rubbing his hands together.

"You could just offer me fucking money," I suggested.  "Instead of brutally slaughtering your way through a chronological list of my exes."

"Nah," Ernie said, picking up a baseball bat.  "We'd never trust you if we had to buy you."

Well, shit.

Limericks: A Collection

There once was a dino named Tim

Who decided to go to the gym.

He ran for a bit

To try to get fit.

But decided it wasn't for him.

There once was a girl who read too many books

And there were many who told her she would lose her looks

She just rolled her eyes

And said, to their surprise

“You know, I just don’t give a fuck.”

There once was a hedgehog named Jo

Who wanted to learn how to row

She got a small boat

And a waterproof coat

And said, “now how do we make this thing go?”.

The way to win the heart of a fella

Is not to scream or yeller

But to smile demurely

And learn how to curtsey

And giggle beneath an umbrella.

The Devil Jones and Two Minutes

“Two minutes of your time sir?  Just two minutes.”

He was a nondescript looking salesman.  His suit, eyes and hair were brown, or maybe grey.  No one really looked.  He had no distinguishing features.  We can call him Jones, though it really doesn’t matter.

Jones could generally be found in the middle of a crowded street, near where you live.  It wasn’t quite clear what he was selling, but then, who pays attention to salesmen on the street?

The offer he made was always the same.  “Two minutes of your time, sir, ma’am?  Just two minutes.  Two minutes of your time, for whatever you want.”

...

The most subtle deal Jones ever made was with a woman named Christina.

She was on a train.  She wasn’t sure how she’d gotten there, but that didn’t surprise her because she also knew she had a migraine.  She was in too much pain to try to remember anything, or to be surprised that she couldn’t.

The world swam around her, and she fought off the temptation to throw herself out of the window.  She’d give anything to make the pain stop.

She staggered down the train, trying to find somewhere where she could sit and rest.  The majority of the seats were full, and the ones that weren’t were facing backwards.  The migraine made her nauseas enough; she couldn’t handle motion sickness as well.

As she walked past, one of the other passengers looked at her sadly and shook his head.  She couldn’t quite figure out who he was, or why he seemed familiar.  She couldn’t spare the attention to try to figure it out. 

Christina kept walking, practically on auto-pilot, knowing she couldn’t stand in the aisle and unable to find a place to stop.  She’d walked nearly the entire length of the train before she ran into Jones.

“You don’t look well,” he said, stating the obvious.  She was pale, slick with sweat, and swaying slightly.

Christina didn’t risk speaking.   She didn’t want to make any noise.  She shielded her eyes and nodded gently, trying not to jolt her pounding head.

“I can help you,” he continued, with a sympathetic look.  “Would you like a migraleve?”

Christina couldn’t think of anything better.  She knew from past experience that migraleves were one of the few brands of pill that could take the pain away.

“It’ll just took two minutes of your time,” Jones told her.  “Two minutes.  Okay?  Nod if you agree.”

Christina nodded.  She’d agree to anything for that pill.

Jones handed it over with a grin that Christina missed, because she was still shading her eyes.  “Wonderful,” he said.  “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Christina took the pill.

Christina was walking down the train again, her head pounding.  Jones had taken the last two minutes, and she repeated the journey and the deal endlessly, never getting any further, never realising that she was making the deal in a dream.  Unfortunately for her, deals with the devil still count even when they take place entirely inside your own head.

On the outside, her body seemed to be in a coma.  Her family watched helplessly as her life ticked away in two minute increments that she didn’t realise she was selling over and over again.

...

Jones met Tom at a party.  Drunk on cheap champagne, Tom was discussing his plans with anyone who’d listen.

“Look at her,” he said to Jones, holding out a mobile.  On the screen was a picture, of Tom himself standing with his arm around a beautiful woman.  “We’re getting married!”

“Congratulations,” Jones said.  “You must love her very much.”

“I do!” Tom took another swig of champagne.  “I’d give anything to make her happy.”

“Two minutes,” said Jones.  “Would you give two minutes?”

“Two minutes?!” Tom slurred.  “In a heartbeat.  I’d do anything to make Caroline happy.”

“It’s a deal,” said Jones, and shook Tom’s unresisting hand.

Caroline was happy, though she never met Tom.  Jones had taken away the two minutes in which he was conceived, and Tom was never born. 

...

“Two minutes sir?” Jones asked the businessman rushing past.  He was back on his street, where he did most of his business.   “Two minutes of your time?”

“Get out of my way!” The man snarled.  “I can make a fortune in two minutes!”

“You’d give two minutes for a fortune?”

“Of course I would!”

“It’s a deal,” said Jones.   The man would have found his smile sinister if he’d taken the time to turn and look at it.

The man made his fortune, but, only two short years later, Jones took the two minutes in which he could have escaped, and the man burned alive when his mansion caught fire.

“Two minutes?  Sir, ma’am?  Two minutes?”

The King and the Teacup

Below are the fragments of a story that I had in my mind one day when I woke up. It seemed like it would be interesting if it were coherent.

***

“I once had a room that resonated alternately with the King’s watch, a teacup, and the boardroom at Werther’s International. The most interesting thing happened on its birthday – it used to listen to half a teacup.”

“What was the other half?”

*

Her mind fogged, and the original room came into view.

“The headboard was different. It was more delicate.”

“I know the one! Great headboard!”

“Fantastic headboard!”

“And that teddy was by the vase.”

*

A story about a wizard who spies on the King, and a young girl who tries to get close to the King. A young King who needs to recall the way his room was for an ancestor in order to communicate with him and get his help? Advice? Against some kind of evil.

It’s perfectly normal to spy on the King. The wizard is benevolent.

- slipping right through your hands, she's a -

Once upon a time there was a witch. The magic had made her hideous, but it also made her beautiful.

Young men came for her, seeking to use her glamoured looks in the way in which one normally uses young women. She let them come, enticing them and later using their blood and lights for her spells.

One day, for reasons best known to herself, the wicked witch did not let a certain young man approach her. Instead, she unveiled herself of her magicks, letting him see her true form, and giving him the option to escape.

He did, of course, and she let him.

When he was an old man (and she still young, by the standards of witches) he wondered why she'd chosen him, and what would have happened if he'd entered her lair willingly, without needing to be fooled as the others had. If he'd made the other choice.

Of course, there is no way of knowing.

Deathday

Log 1

This is to be a record of my discoveries while journeying on the planet Ekal.

Honestly, it's quite a coup for someone as young as me to be chosen for this mission. I've only recently graduated from the OmniCorps Training Academy, and I'm already being sent to investigate a whole new planet, by myself!

All right, it's only at the secondary research stage. Ekal has already been eliminated as a threat to the Federation, due to sheer lack of weapons - at least, as compared to those as standard on Federation ships. And it's true that relatively few of those who study at OCTA do so in order to become explorers, as I did. Rather, they go into weapon development, working for the MiniPax Dept. So it's not like I had a terrible amout of competition.

Still, this is a coup. It's what I've always wanted to do.

I must stop writing now - it's time to land. This journey has passed so quickly. I was in hypersleep for much of it, of course, and I've barely wiped the sleep from my eyes, figuratively speaking.

Log 2

I met my guide today - Sehkmata, her name is. An Ekallian who has agreed to show her planet to this outsider. Willingly, of course, but it seems not entirely of her own good nature. She seems almost sulky with me.

At first she pronounced my name as Teraglik!o, with that irritating k-click they include in each of their own names for whatever reason. I corrected her; "Teraglio".

She laughed at me, the only time I've seen her face crack a smile so far.

"Sehk!mata" was all she replied. I find it impossible to pronounce her name, but I believe I am forgiven, as she cannot leave the k-click from mine.

Before now, I don't believe I've fully appreciated just how useful an invention my communicator is. Except for those who are interested in spending years studying such things, only one language is spoken on Terran now, and subdialects do not differ enough to make communication difficult. Out in space, however, it is a different matter. It's not that no one can hear one scream, as was once said. Rather, no one can understand what one screams.

The communicator works, I am told, by analysing voice content - pitch, tone, timbre - to come up with a meaning. It then manipulates the sound waves sent to my ears, forming them into words I will understand while retaining the essential meaning. It is not perfect - that's why part of my training included knowledge of how the little gizmo works, to enable me to make my own decisions - but I am told many of the bugs are out of it now. There are many tales, in the Omnicorps Scic-Dev, of experiments in the early days. These experiments consisted mostly of attempts to break or confuse the little machine, such as by saying something in a tone which one would normally use for an entirely different statement. Or of speaking an entirely fictional language (surprisingly, it had no problem making sense from babbles). With the huge archive of languages, tones, and accents it has access to, it has very few problems making me understood.

The communicator does the same thing to my speech, of course, changing it to another's language while keeping my meaning. What a marvellous little gizmo it is.

Log 3

I have been on Ekal for several months now.

From watching the Ekallians, I have learned that I was wrong to think Sehkmata sulky. As a race, they tend towards withdrawel, and show little emotion. Blunt, they might be considered on Terra, or within the Federation as a whole.

Ekal, as a land, is rather arid and dry, apart from near the riverbanks. There, the land is lush and what we could consider fertile. However, Ekallian crops do not need as much water as Terran ones require, and nor do Ekallian people require as much water as Terrans do to survive. This realisation came very uncomfortably, I can assure you. Sehkmata has agreed that we can move nearer to one of the rivers for the rest of my stay here, as the environment there tends to be more suitable for "Terran weaklings" such as me.

The k-click irritates me less now.

Log 4

It is fascinating how very different cultures tend to celebrate the same things. The Ekallians have festivals, similar to Terran Mardi Gras, days to honour parents, a day on which gifts are exchanged (the Ekallians have no complex reason for that last one - I asked. They do so because they enjoy it).

Tomorrow, Sehkmata tells me, we are to visit an old friend of hers, for another celebration. She was called away before I could ask her what it was. Something similar to a birthday perhaps, or a name day.

Log 5

The Ekallians do not celebrate birthdays. Instead, they celebrate deathdays.

All seemed familar when we arrived at the home of Sehkmata's friend. There was a cake, gifts, decorations - exactly as one might find on Terra. I asked Sehkmata what the celebration was in aid of, presuming it was a birthday. Instead she whispered, "deathday", and my blood turned to ice in my veins.

How macabre, how chilling, how utterly sick, to celebrate such a day. I passed the celebration in a daze, hiding my emotions behind a bright smile, as I have been taught. I believe Sehkmata suspected something, when I disappeared so quickly afterwards, but I needed to be alone.

Log 6

I remember a lesson back at OCTA, which discussed some of the more unsettling customs we might find on other planets, in other cultures which are, quite literally alien to us.

"You may be disgusted, or shocked, or dismayed, or all three," said the professor. "And that's fine now. But, once you leave this room, you must never show that. Your role is to record, not to judge."

So, I shall record. I will go to Sehkmata now, and ask her everything I need to. And I will refuse to show anything other than curiosity over the subject. I refuse to embarass myself or OmniCorps any further.

Log 7

Audio

Sehkmata?

Yes?

How do you...how do you know when to celebrate someone's deathday?

I - I'm sorry?

How do you know which day is their deathday?

It's the day on which they die. When else could it be?

But how do you know?

I am sorry Teraglik!o, I do not understand that question. Do you not celebrate Deathdays on Terra?

No...we celebrate birthdays.

Birthdays?

tone is shocked

Yes.

tone is puzzled

End of Audio.

Log 8

Today, I finally asked Sehkmata when her own deathday is. The communicator changed the date she gave into a Terran form; June 13th. A date only a few weeks away. I did not ask her the year.

Later, I checked the communicator. Perhaps it was in error, with its translation. That phenomenon is not entirely unknown.

I asked the communicator to confirm some words in the Ekallian dialect, words which I knew were accurate. The words for food, hunger, thirst, hydration, sleep, crops...commen words which one could have understood from a simple game of charades, without such a complex and bug-prone piece of equipment.

"Define 'deathday' in the Ekallian dialect." I asked.

"Deathday: the anniversary of the day on which one dies."

"Define "dies" in the Ekallian dialect."

"Dies: to cease living. To expire."

Log 9

Sehkmata and I do not discuss deathdays further. We celebrate hers each year. I refuse any invitations to celebrate mine, not wanting to go through the explanation of why I do not know when it is - or to have someone offer to find out.

It is true, I am a failure as a universal-geographer. But I mind less and less. I am happy, here on Ekal. Sehkmata and I are unable to have children - Terran and Ekallian biology differs too greatly, although there seems to be little difference on the surface - but this does not trouble us too much. Ekallians have long lives and breed seldom, I have discovered. It keeps their population stable, which is the only way it could be, considering the lack of fertile land.

Log 10

For a while I have been confused over the uses of 'yesterday' and 'tomorrow' on Ekal. For years, I had simply assumed that the communicator had been mixing them up, and settled for cursing at it in Terran the few times it had come up. Communicators do not translate curse words. Seemingly, the original developers assumed the meaning would be clear without a literal translation. But no, the comm defined 'yesterday' as 'the day before today' and 'tomorrow' as 'the day following this one'.

I asked Sehkmata about the discrepancy earlier today, and she seemed confused. After a lot of talking (and some diagrams, drawn in the sand), I believe we got to the root of it. Ekallians see time as flowing backwards - from the time we know nothing about, to the time we see clearly, and know everything of. It does make a kind of sense.

Log 11

It is not June 13th, but still, Sehkmata died today.

Log 12

I have worried all these years for nothing. Watched over her on that day, all for nothing.

The Ekallians see time as travelling in the opposite direction to the rest of the known universe. Why did it not occur to me that their language would reflect this?

One's deathday, the day on which, as the communicator claims, one ceases living, is, to the Ekallians, the day on which they are born. Before - or, rather, after that day, as they would say - they do not exist. They cease to exist upon that day. They cease to live.

Their birthday is the day on which they believe they enter this life, knowing everything that is to happen, or which has happened, as a Terran would see it.

I have worried for nothing.

I shall return to OCTA. Einstein was right - when one travels faster than the speed of light, one grows younger. I shall reach there barely two years after I left, with a wealth of information on the Ekallians, and fresh for my next assigment.

End Log.