Night blanketed the region. The sky was completely devoid of stars and blacks and violets - lights from the bustling city and now quiet suburbs bleached them in a orangey-pink. A few cars passed on their way to either point A or point B. The hour passed for pedestrians and landed on delivery hour. Those that were nocturnal scurried about in the trash cans or readying to return to their dwelling. A freeway separated the wild nature from the built nature. This particular freeway had a gas station waiting to be refueled. 

     “What a beautiful night out. It truly is spectacular to walk home when they haven’t changed the bulbs in the street lights yet,” he said while staring into the abyss of the sky. “To think that you don’t just look upon a flat canvas and see a bunch of sparkly, white Christmas lights. But that we’re just a simple fish tank submerged inside an apartment beneath the ocean. Heh, more than that - amidst all this,” he sighed. “He stopped and said it was beautiful only when he created you,” he turned and bit the bitter coldness that was loneliness. A breeze began and he adjusted the hood on his jacket to better protect his ears and neck.

     The trucker finished his cold,stale coffee with still a bit to go, then refuel the station, then go to the fill up point, and then finally rest at the first checkpoint. The road block farther up state put him several hours behind schedule - hours he had to make up for by sacrificing sleep. He’d done it before and knew he could do it, but something about winter on the road just always seemed to entice sleep faster. He edged for a bit more gas to avoid a disaster like that.

     He took a deep breath to exhale the extra sting of the cold now that he came to the fact he had been day dreaming again. Hands in his pockets, he kept moving forward, home was only a bit a way and although he enjoyed staring into the night - swore to never enjoy it until he found, again, the one person who made it immaculately enjoyable. Then he began to dwell on how tired this insomniac expedition had made him and how he couldn’t wait to snuggle into his always warm comforter.

     In the vast expanse of blackness, a single blue speck lay in the perfect path a phenomenal event. Set in play centuries back before there were gas stations that needed refeuling and street lights to veil the sky, a fragment of an asteroid escaped a perilous journey towards a distant star. Over the years it collided with other space debris and changed course quite a bit, but it’s current trajectory was a clear shot through part of a hemisphere of a lonely blue planet. Stars pleading with this blue planet to look upon them once more, cheered on this fragment in hopes that it might stir in the hearts of the planet’s inhabitants. A long marathon it had, but in a bit, it will have crossed its finish line.

     By this point, a political gesture to cut unnecessary expenses, closed the sole agency charged to look upon the forgotten void and inform the media of astral shows. The documentation of the fragment approaching the atmosphere never finalized before the final signature and military satellites will simply turn their backs as it poses no threat. Some scientists will be sipping coffee or tea looking through telescopes, others sleeping, and others dreaming.

     This is unusually busy for an intersection at this hour. He thought waiting for a gap in the cars or technology to recommend when a safe time to cross would be. Unusually un-irritated, he merely sighed once more and just stood and stared into the sky at a particularly different flickering star in the sky. A doze was quickly approaching him and he began to day dream - or rather day-mare about once happy times.

     Completely irritated that he had managed to keep her up this long since her dream about him, she donned some layers and ventured outside. Choosing a rather comfortable spot on the lawn, she plopped down and laid her hands beneath her head and stared - attempting to connect the dots and find shapes in the clouds.

     Feeling a feeling quite similar to having one’s insides solidified and then removed without any prior incisions, he clenched his fists and tried to focus on pretending he was a dragon as his breaths visibly escaped him. It was weird because whenever this happened he felt her feelings, but dismissed them as insanity. He usually came to quite a sensible argument and proceeded with his day, but this night. And on this particular night, he saw a shooting star. For mere child’s play he wished to pass a message along that she wouldn’t throw away or burn. And then he saw another and a little bit after that, another.

     The driver, now having found a station that played anti-sleep music, merged onto the off ramp and slurrily signaled that he was approaching his destination. With his heater out, sleep was slowly drowning him.

     She was just about to drift off when a rather large cloud moved away from by her feet and revealed a spectacular show of colour. She wormed her way a feet back and propped herself against a a shadow to watch the sky’s play.

     He soon realized this was no ordinary meteor shower as different rocks began to burn different colours in their path. Finding a rather clean area of sidewalk to lounge upon and gaze, he sat - then lounged.

     The fragment was greeted by earth’s space debris. In celebration, they fell to close to the gravity well and lined the approach of the little survivor. Different debris were made or tainted with different metals and salts. Their colours ranged from bright reds to pure whites to vibrant greens and purples. A path was cleared en route of the soaring space rock.

     They quite much enjoyed the astral show and waited to see if there would be a couple of stragglers. Then they realized an oddly flickering star in the middle of where the show was was getting bigger and brighter. They were struck with awe as beating, pure white light splashed into the atmosphere in a ripple of gas exchange. Immediately it changed colours to a rather beautiful blue and earth green for being lights of scorching rock. It left a fizzing trail of spiraling fragments and space dust in white.

     The driver turned onto a now quiet road preparing for the next intersection to perform his U-turn. Distracted by a radio call and a wobbling tire, he came to the intersection.

     He rolled with the fragment wishing it could have landed by him. Unaware of the semi truck that was coming around the corner by the daze of what he just saw, he remained in the confines of the bike lane. Eyes closed, he wished he could’ve shared the sight with her. Now rather annoyed by his senses alerting him to the noise of industry, he remembered where the roll took him and tried to assess from where the tuck was coming from. He looked up and was instantly blinded.

     The driver had approached the intersection too fast.

     She was still locked in eye contact with the hurling space rock coming toward her. She didn’t feel a rushed urgency to move, just stare. And even though, she had a boyfriend, her deepest thoughts wished a science nerd from her past could’ve been there - this time anger didn’t well up at the thought of him. This time a rock cratered where she had lain at this beginning. It’s shape vaguely resembled a perfect heart. Free of blemish, ready to be sanded into a shiny blue-green krystaline. She waited for it cool and went back inside to turn on her computer.

Friend One continued (ignoring the fact that they are now locked in the amphitheatre), “And since I’m going to go on a whim and say you accept my apology and offer of friendship. You are without a doubt the most awesome, insightful, artistic, and vibrantly beautiful young woman I have come to know - reknow.” She began to blush a little as he was still on one knee, “And before some random, giant random thing comes to bring comedy to this down right romantic bliss,” he reached for her left hand - she speechless and red. “May I ask for your hand in…” her free hand tried to grab the escaping air “…merriment and help me up? My left side kinda just gave out one me, probably too much blood loss,” he asked pranking-ly.

      Friend Two smoothly retracted her hand, seductively moved in closer, and pushed him over.

      With a smile, “You didn’t think I would actually ask, didja?”

      Crossed hands and look colder than the emptiness of space.

      Trying to balance out the unevenness of blood in him, “Wu should’ve known that a proposal from me - of aallll people - would be equivalent to reading an encyclopedia dedicated to the endless, nerdy ice breakers and references known to our generation while at the same time watching the most romantic movies at a drive in theatre. And I’m not saying anything for certain, but it may also include costumes, extras, no cameras, and a more random series of events than has been unfolded in the past few months.”

     She raised a shoulder, leaned to the opposite side of said shoulder, and gave the look that I am unable to express as a male writer.

     “You know,” hesitantly, “for old time sake. You do know what they say about old theatres after closing?”

     Unimpressed.

     “Well, I just happen to all of a sudden see my bag of gear.” Short pause, “We could always open an unopened door and scope it out.”

     Slight shifted.

     “And now that we’re out of formal clothes and into what we used to do this in (jeans and tee)…” mustering an english accent, “…What say ye?”

     She speaks, “I finally accept your apology and agree to be friends again and what is the first thing you do!?” She leaned in and glared, “Ask for my help. If I have to be the man of this relationship then at least start wearing a dress.”

     Perplexed, but just as quickly picked up her origin - he shifted, “Well dresses ar…”

     “Leave something to the imagination,” she interrupted, grasping to try and help him up.

     Making sure he was good on two feet, “So since I’m the girl in this relationship,” He grinned victoriously-sweetly. “One, make me a sandwich jerk. Two, ground rules?”

     Loosely holding him, “Are you asking me or seeing if I have input.” He opened his mouth to speak, “And if you ever again ask me for a sandwich. I will put a large mouse trap between two pieces of bread with lettuce, tomatoe, vinegar, and lemon concentrate.”

     He checked to make sure his tongue was still there and pouted his understanding. “Well, I was doing both, but I suppose we should work on crossing the first bridge being friendship. Then, once we’ve relaxed for quite some time in the town of best friends again, we could maybe see about rebuilding that second bridge that leads to the gardens?”

     Judging his ability to stand, “Sounds good. I may ask for an explanation of what the hell you just said, but for now let’s see if we can’t find some oj?”

     He blacked out.

      “Yep, you fit perfectly as the girl.” She ‘love tapped’ him with her foot in his gut, then bandaged his finger. Having checked for a way out and giving up, a room appeared around them with pjs, bed, and nightlight. Already being in the pajamas, she turned the night light out and slid close to him to keep his tone from losing anymore shades of white.

      “This would probably be a good time to say thank you.”

      “Jerk,” as she rolled to the other side.

                                           Epilogue

He rolled off the bed.

Friend one had just made it to the back of the stage when he stopped. Mostly because the stage, project, and entire competition disappeared from all around him and left him sitting in a chair out looking an empty audience - but also because he refused to abandon a friend. Way down down center stage stood what appeared to be a conductor clad in pristine white garb with a krystal conductor’s stick. All around him sat the instrumentalists - faceless bodies save friend two on lead piano, Dinklespam on clarinet, and an unfamiliar face on lead violin (the section where sat friend one). Lead violinist turned to friend one, “Better use the bathroom now, we start the whole thing in a few minutes.”

     Once again confused, “I don’t have…” Friend one was cut off by a sudden urge in his bladder. Accusingly, “You put pee in my bladder!”

     Lead violinist payed no attention, “Time is running out.”

     Friend two glared back at the shuffling from the opening section. Friend one had made his way behind the amphitheatre to the bathroom, used it, and exited. To his expected surprise, his step out of the bathroom was a step into coastal waters. It is important to note here that although it is coastal water, this body of water lies between the now vanished bathroom and the amphitheatre. Cheers and jeers now muffled out across the water as he swam back; upon reaching the entrance guard one announced, “Ticket.”

     To this, friend one shuttered, “I-I’m in th-the orchestra. L-leading section.”

     Guard two, “Why are you shivering? And if you’re in the orchestra what are you doing out here.”

     “I h-had to use the ba-bathroom a-a-and this water is freezing.”

     Guard one, “Fine.” The water, shivering, and guards disappear.

     Lead violinist, “Ready? Remember to put feeling into your solo.” Looks directly at friend one with a death stare as friend two deathly glares.

     Friend one - horrified, “When did I get a solo?”

     Friend two, “When you were in the bathroom, right before you left for you requested it.”

    A crisp tap-tap-tap resonated throughout the air. The crowd drew silent as they darkened and the instruments lightened. The conductor pointed to friend one who struggled to memorize the opening solo at the last minute. All eyes turned to him as he steadied his instrument and readied his bow. The conductor nodded - as the last tap’s echo faded, so a peacefully distant cry played through listening ears. Three enraged eyes beamed to the source as the solo continued, completely off notes. As the cry faded, the bow was tipped forward and brought up to recognize the cry as a wail -switch - the wail become a firm sound. Confident in his ability - closing his eyes to the now slowly fading glares - sorrow en-captivated as heart-felt trembling echoed. The conductor approved onward, the lead violinist readied for an unannounced cue. As instantly as eyes watered so were hearts comforted by thallow notes resonating a hope for solace. The conductor left the violinist alone as he began an interlude to the rest of the orchestra and pointed to the drums. He drew a pattern of feint and slow beats building to audible and paced - laying base to the entire show. Tears of joy flowed from the audience who understood the tale encouraging further the lullaby to the first cry.

     The lead violinist, encouraged by the on the spot solo, recognized an inconspicuous beam in the eye from the conductor and lead in the rest of the section. Being the only, friend two chimed in hastened at first with the piano, but slowly gave into the vibrant colours by the two sections already playing. Friend one recognized the offer and spun off into a duet as the rest of his section rested from their intro. They first went back and forth from past entanglements, but slowly met each other note for parallel note until the conductor faded the drums out and let them play. The audience laughed as a picture of a one-on-one snowball fight painted the stage. Randomly, friend one was moved from his section to sitting back to back with the piano - closed eyes still lazily engaged with peace of a new spring. The violin glistened into being an older youth escorting the piano’s beautiful youth through a riverside forest cascaded by the winds section. Up from the crossroads approached a couple on separate paths - one played by a trumpet and the other the clarinet. The trumpet called to the violin as the clarinet called out. The violin sighed a farewell to the trumpet to find the piano duo-ed with the clarinet.The violin plead to the piano persistently till lashed out against. The symphony drowned out the solo violinist whose back was now to an empty wall. The conductor was calmed through the hastening of the tempo. Note played after note till the audience felt rushed and clung to the edge of their seats with a nimble few waiting for the original duo to play once more. The fanciful hollowness of the clarinet played with the piano in a glass case built by distant horns and cellos. The violinist ignorant to his bloodied neck fingers tried once more, the conductor sternly assisting him with his spare hand. A spare cry muttered as thallow pain sprang from his fingers. The sections, now playing in full, refusive to let him in for his syncing to the trumpet so easily.

    He recognized the flow of the conductor’s hands. He eyed the conductor and played The Wailing of the Forsaken. Audience members now falling out of their seats as the violinist now stood and moved forward to down stage right. The clarinet cut itself off with a shriek and the conductor arrested all but the drums. It opened with a moan not distant from that of a sad song’s verse. Heavy laden with the sound of grief he let it’s strings vibrate out to a curdling silence. The drums rapped in rhythm of their heart beats. The drummer thumped the kick again-the conductor stopped him-the base of the drum was countered by the sound of summer. Vibrant and flowing with life - birds chirped in harmony to the picking of a flower. The flower was offered in query. Everything stared, desiring the violinist to answer the question. A few confused eyes reassured themselves with the conductor’s flat hands. Silence insisted, the audience pressed each others backs - writhed by the wanting of sound. Trembling hands fumbled for the notes to answer, shallow breaths attempted to draw in the audience. With a rap of his wand, the conductor suffocated the latter instrument - the hands no longer fumbled. A melody of sweet harmony and utter beauty was birthed. The flower was braided into a drape flowing down the back of the beautiful youth. 

     The conductor signaled a reprise by the horns - announcing the setting of glowing red sun a fore the details of swirling grays, orange, and pinks produced by the cellos, lead violinist, and flutes. Silence - night - settled. A stray flute blossomed into the air followed by an explosion of a percussion.This played in rhythm as the audience saw fireworks against a chorus of stars. The snares and cymbals played the finale drowned out by the BOOM  of a tribal drum. The silence had tucked the audience in for the night. The instrumentalists laid their pieces to rest. The conductor turned with arms reaching to the side - wand flicking inconspicuously to the right. As the audience went to congratulate the evenings story, a bow was pulled across bloodied strings. Keys pecked in tune of a starry night. The two now fervently playing their final piece - jaws dropped as each played multiple parts at once. The piano drawing a vale and spattering it with flickering stars also constructed a smooth, wooden floor with a moonlight view. The violin, played as a whole orchestra in one, resonated with a tune worthy of a dance. A crowd now gathered on the floor, each column had a pair. Slow was the initial build up - slow was the start of the dance. Feet tapped in syncing to the tune. Then, as a unit, the pairs stepped forward (some backwards) - a twang of tune - a step to the side - round went the lady guests. Repeated until the rise of twilight - the extras disappeared - the stars flickered brighter - the conductor with a grin to his audience. All twas left was guest one and guest two stepping, stepping, turning, and sometimes twirling the night’s final dance. The last string played. The final key stroked. A final, slow twirl and the two engaged in each others eyes, the violinist gasping - blood rushing off the soaked violin. Friend two stood from the piano, friend one stepped closer - neither breaking the conversation their eyes were holding. A thunderous applause from the audience shook the amphitheatre’s foundations to it’s very corner stone.

     Friend one took a stray, random floating blue lilly still without breaking contact. With the bleeding hand he took friend two’s hand meeting the base of their gaze with the flower. A radiant smile beamed from her face. (Friend one did in fact mutter her name here, but as the audience began it’s standing ovation, so was her name drowned out). “I can’t hear you,” she yelled.

     He repeated, “As lightening as this is,” he beamed, “I don’t know to play the violin except for when I played a nursery rhyme many years back.” 

    She laughed, “I thought I was the only one going mad with your craziness. I don’t know how to play the piano much either.”

     He handed her the flower and gestured an apology for the blood, “So’re we good again?”

     She leaped from her spot behind the piano and embraced him with the force of a constricting snake, “We will be, now shush. Don’t ruin the moment.” All but three were the last to depart, two embraced and one standing…oh! And the janitor, but he’s in the back. “I know.”

    He looked quizzical, “You know what?”

    “You were debating on when would be the right time to speak again. And you were about to say, ‘I love you’ when I said, ‘I know’. Am I wrong?”

    He let his shiftyness speak her accuracy, “Well there’s a whole couple languages I coulda said. For starters: elephant shoes, allahcuzoo, kokorodesune, ummm perhaps my favourite,” he broke to one knee…mostly because of the pain he was now feeling in his hand. “I love you too.”

    Somewhere the janitor cast a spark from a socket, the third one left walked away the lights going with him. All but the light from a peering moon reflecting a rising sun on the two friends remained.

author’s notes: um, ya…really i feel explanably worthful is that the ending sorta wrapped up more sappy than comical bc i watched tangled before getting back to the end of this. questions, comments, typos, concerns?

ohhhhhh! and yes, the word is thallow its another one of my own creations.

thallow: adj., adv. Used to describe a two part experience in which second or outside part is hallow, but the inside or first part is thick. Example: “The thallow pain in his fingers…” to the core it is a very thick (sharp) pain in the bone, but intitially where the wire has cut him it hurts less and differently. Or like the sad cry from a violin, its reverberation is depressive to the heart the closer to the string it resonates from, the more eerie it is.

Summer’s late afternoon settled over the landscape bringing a wave cool, refreshing air into the where a bouts of this conundrum. A tale of two friends sitting by a workstation to further their crafting of a krystal sculpture. Everything was going fine as the two laughed, lived, and lived some more - then in the evenings they would part in sharing salutations with families and return for a final good night - and on the side they’d do the some more laughing because the one friend practiced medicine. That it is only an important piece of information because i just needed a better ending to that very long sentence. So as their sculpture began to take shape, the comedian friend noticed that the other comedian friend - who it should be noted was actually a comedian - was laughing less and sculpting less. Then this happened: … . Then they spoke some words that went something like how words are typically typed. Impersonal, confusion, laughter after the mix up then total totalness - that was just a paraphrasement. This is how it happened:

     Dusk was setting in over the still yet to be named area that i totally won’t name until a better time and not just because i can’t think of a name. Anyways, dusk was setting in when … happened so now the first friend, “Wait what?” He exclaimed even though it was in question form. “I thought we could enter the project together?” Utter confusion was his expression because up until now they crafted separate pieces for different competitions. He figured since his competition dropped off the earth after setting out to prove that it was round, friend two would be flattered. 

                   By the way just so you won’t start wondering, neither friend will be named…EVER…

     Friend two was a fan of sorts of separate pieces, “I just don’t want it to get in the way of our project.” Of course when the last letter was shared it was more intrigued-ragefull with a hint of concern than just concern. “I mean think about it, really.” This look was somewhat of a puppy faced pwease.

     “I did and I have and I think it’ll be a splendid idea to finish our project and let the world see it.”

     Friend two wrapped an arm around friend one, spun to face the work in progress and then put thier own arm around friend one, “Found this laying around, need a hand?” Was the easy approach to what was coming up next. Friend one was just all the more confused. “See, I’ve heard from an extra source that our project should be shown to the world when it’s ready.” Friend two gestured to the incomplete sculpture during this with the limp arm. “And in honour of that, I also got a great new idea.”

     Friend one was at this point in a further state of confusion because the sculpture that a second ago was on its work stand - now held up his hands. Then he remembered to grab onto it before it dropped and shattered. “Such as? And how did it get from down there to up here?”

     Friend two, during that explanation went off to gather some tools, returned. “Well instead of our current vision, how about we  go with something a bit more abstract.”

     “Such as?”

     “Like it would look awesome if you don’t add on to what we agreed you would and instead, work on the lights around the stand.” The sculpture had once again, in a matter of an eye blink, went from straining the muscles of the friend to resting peacefully on the stand - as expect-able, once this realization hit the friend, he was quite surprised…and confused. “And while you’re doing that, I’ll add some things that should make it a bit abstract.”

     A light bulb was now perched in his still ‘sculpture holding’ hand open-ness. Aside, “The ‘ell did this light bulb come from?” To the friend, “OK, I guess.” And with dog’s head cocked confusion, “what?” It should be noted that the light bulb dangling above his head still hadn’t turned on because it was in his hand. “You want me to abandon the project while you keep at it, but also by adding someone else’s ideas?”

     With no concern for confusion or attention because of a preoccupation with adding the new ideas to the sculpture, “Yes, what do you think? Be honest.”

     It finally occurred to him that the light bulb came from the socket above him so he began screwing it in, “I think it is a horrible idea. It was supposed to be our project.”

     Shivers now went down his spine as the spare arm from before once again wrapped across his shoulders. It spake, “But I like the idea, the other person likes the idea, so it should look better.”

     Friend two now decided it was time for some input, “If it doesn’t work, then you’ll be let back on” The new, It, now began helping with sculpting.

     Friend one retired for the time being. Partly because he had nothing to do with all his newly aquired materials, but mostly because he needed a break to ease his head of just what exactly happened. So he returned some time later, “Ok, so what exactly happened?”

     Friend one annoyingly turned away from the project, “We just felt that there should be some change. Got a problem with it?”

     “Yes, it’s our project.”

     It spoke, “Right, ‘our’ project.”

     Friend one, “Dinklespam! I shoulda known it was you.” Then completely, unaccusingly to friend two, “So your just going to abandon our project?”

     “I’m not abandoning anything. And what do you have against Dinklespam?”

     Author’s aside: mwhahahahahaha! I named a character and it completely threw you off guard. Especially with its reference to an old cartoon on Nick. Just felt I should rub in the exasperation that there is finally a name to a character…

     “You’re working on a completely new project with the neighbor known for selling beautiful creations for spam.”

     “I only did that…and what about you,” yes a name would’ve been put here, but as it were, a cat jumped onto a shelf and knocked over metal ware creating a loud noise drowning the name out. Dinklespam continued, “Let’s just all get along here so we can go back to working on our project.”

     Friend one, completely outraged that there’s no defense or sympathy from friend two as to their original art work,      “Except that, you won’t let me in on the project! I would love to get back to ‘our’ project, but it’s in the corner!”

     Friend two, “I’m working on a new project now, if you don’t like it then leave. It will probably be for the better anyways since your the judge for the competition now.”

     In the course of this, friend one went from enraged at Dinklespam to being clothed in judge’s attire and given a mallet shaped pen. His confusion now showing like an ogre’s dumbness, “How did I? When did? I’m not a judge!” He then stubbed his toe on the old sculpture that had transported itself from the corner to right in front of him, the inscription read: Strike with shatter to abandon. He asked when was that put on there, but no one payed attention - he then noticed an inscription on his pen: Shatter. “I swear I just feel like I’m the target of some dry humour story.”

     Friend two, “You know what? I’m tired of you constantly annoying me and pissing me off.”

     Dinklespam, “Yeah, just let your friend be if you still want to work on the project. But understand that no matter what you choose,” Dinklespam gave a very stern but innocent look, “you won’t work on the project because it’s finally mine now.”

     Friend two, “Just leave” She unscribed friend one’s name off everything except a clipboard.

     Friend one, needless to say, couldn’t decide if he was more furious or confused at what just happened. But definitely shamed and aggravatingly astonished at the amount of blind stupidity now infecting the area. Then completely confused as out of no where, they were at a booth at the competition. Looking up pleadingly, “With how everything’s been going so far, can the punch line not actually be a punch…or any other form of physical abuse…please??…??”

     Dinklespam, “Blah. And thats what this piece represents: whatever it was I just said. Can I be awarded my spam now?”

     Judge two, “You’re kidding right? That’s just a formless glop of clay.”

     Dinklespam, “It’s art.”

     Friend one (coincidentally also judge one), “Look Dinklespam, this mallet shaped pen gives us the experience to say, get some. Come back to this league’s competition when you have something artful enough to challenge atleast one other thing here.”

     Friend two, “Stop judging, just because it’s a formless glop of clay doesn’t mean it can’t be used as something.”

     Dinklespam, “Yeah, think of if I had made something. Or better yet, you enter something and I’ll judge it.”

    Judge three, “Do you even understand what a competition is?”

    Friend one, “I have no comment to stupidity, but can that be our new award? As the prize they can get an all expense paid trip to Isle of No Return…Until You Learn How to be Smart and Figure a Way Off.”

    Friend two, “Or your the retard who should be sent there. Look at what I made without you!” A twisted piece of metal and glass is held up.

    Friend one, “I’m confused and car sick just trying to figure it out…”

    Dinklespam, “I don’t care what it is. I think it could be better, but you made it so I won’t say anything.”

    Friend one, “Seriously, does someone have a muzzle or a shock collar that we could use?” Looking around for a response: friend two looks angered, Dinklespam is trying to figure out why that was asked, judge two inconspicuously agrees, and judge three answered ‘i wish’.

    There was now an audience gathered around the stage where sat judges two and three at an aside table and friends one and two and dinklespam stood around the old project. Dinklespam held friend two in a grip with hollow pieces of material, both glaring at friend one who held the pen…and was also ultra confused because he had no clear recollection at how their old project made it onto the stage, into the competition with his name entered whilst he was the judge. He thought, This just doesn’t seem possible. The crowd now occupied with their own creations and the two judges looking over the tallies, the trio had at it once again.

     Friend two spoke because friend one was still trying to add everything up, “Thank You for being one of the extras in my audition.”

     Dinklespam still just held.

     Friend one, “Wait what?”

     Friend two, “Dinklespam says I should enter my art into better competitions. So I am.”

     Friend one, “This is the best, they have categories for virtually every talent. And what do you mean just an extra?”

     Friend two, “Somewhere I know that, but it’s spam against you.”

    Friend one, “So you feel more secure listening to spam than to an a good partner?”

     Friend two, “See, it goes back to the project.”

     Friend one, “How?!”

     Friend two, “You set it aside to be shattered and he stood ready to pick up the pieces.”

     Friend one, “It’s sitting right here. I’ve been trying to get us to keep working on it during this whole confusing whatever it is!”

     Friend two, “Dinkle spam says that I think your trying to shatter it by wanting to work at it.”

     Friend one completely confounded, “Am I seriously the only one who sees the reality of this? Even though I feel that there’s still something I’m not seeing here??”

    Dinklespam, “Just admit it, I win, you lose.”

    Friend two, “I think it’s better if we just leave it here.”

    Friend one, “You do realize the implications of what your saying, yes?”

    Dinklespam, “That you’re going to shatter the project.”

    Friend two, “That now that I’m working on a new project, I’m saying that I never once cared about that project.”

    Friend one, “Just making sure that you know I’m not the one whose been holding the real mallet called shatter.” Friend one walks off into the summer sunset accompanied by a haunting project.

Author’s note: this is officially my first piece in which I used symbolism to transcribe something. even though i hate when english professors and teachers make us find other authors symbolism…i think i understand a bit more now, why they used it. also, this is a new style that i tried out. ive been dying to get back to scott pilgrim vs the world comics so i tried writing how i thought a comic strip would be verbalized…

The silence was sickening. The entire crew had been sitting still without talking for the past hour. Running silent still wasn’t enough; the enemy was still aware of their presence. Sitting there mocking them like a child verbally abuses defeat. There was only one option left; they had to get out to contact fleet command.
“Commander, only the one knows we are here. I suggest we send out single craft to distract it while we surprise it from above.” the pupil officer whispered as quietly as he could to his commander halfway across the deck.
The commander nodded in agreement and sent word of the plan down to the pilot deck. “We salute your sacrifice. You will not be forgotten amongst our ranks. Peace be with you on your most dangerous mission.” Two thuds reverberated throughout the ship, he just sent two pilots to their demise. The enemy now pre-occupied with the new threat lost awareness of the stealth ship above. “Now,” the commander ordered sternly.
It was an average night in Bellfeild county. The midnight blue sky was dotted with thousands of glowing white orbs. The moon was at half crescent and radiating pure light onto the fields below. On this particular night, a single cow had wandered to the very fringes of the pastures. Staring off into the open fields beyond, it had fallen asleep. Only to be abruptly awakened by two pesky glow bugs. It swatted at one.
A greenish light now surrounded the cow in a perfect cylinder. For reasons the cow could not comprehend, it was stunned. She tried to move back to her group, but was unable. She wanted to cry for the farmer, but was silenced. The light, now blinding, began to rise. The cow was in utter terror and yet amazed. The feeling of rising into the air with the free birds. She had just cracked a smile when she entered pitch blackness. Now being able move again, she cried out in terror.
“I want that specimen alive! Stun the creature.” Two darts glided past the scientist’s head. The enemy collapsed. “Perfect, now I can begin my research.”
The commander ended the funeral with a prayer to God. Having done so many times in the previous wars of Galinteld, he immediately switched to the task at hand. No glimpse of remorse in his tone. “Prime minister, that planet you requested us to scout.”
“Yes?” The prime minister responded intriguingly.
“We met enemy scouts, we lost two of our pupil pilots and we have eight of our master deckhands in the infirmary. Though not actually in the immediate fight, they sustained massive joint fatigue from holding their places for so long. Our scientist reports that the creature is of a master scout status. They have far superior senses than the humanoids Scout Craft 79B reported. They were spread in natural formations around the house. We believe they are stationed at night when the humanoids retreat to their fortresses.”
“I see. This affair will be handed up to the Ministry of War. Did it ever attack?”
“Like I said, we lost two of our pupil pilots…Despite the amounts of sugar tranquilizers we induced it with, it reacted very violently before we used salt capsules. It was in a cage at this point so none of the Ministry’s infantry was injured.”
“You are to send that specimen directly to the Ministry of Science. The Minister of War is issuing orders to invade the planet. He has requested you find valuable techniques for getting past these scouts. He also wants your pilots trained in how to fly with them about and send a full report of ALL your attempts…Bolden the titles of your attempts that worked. You are given the title of Field Mission Director. You are limited four attempts every other four nights. Do you understand your responsibilities?”
The commander grinned, “I accept this Holy Mission to further expand the influence of His Majesty.”

The farmer headed out feed his livestock. Still groggy from last night’s uncomfortable sleep, he rubbed his drooping eye lids. He was about to start the tractor engine when he noticed he was short one cow. He frantically called to his son to herd up all the animals while he secured the hole in the fence.
“I checked the fence Pa. There aint no sign of hole. Not even a possum could get in with that barbed wire you put in last week.”
Stunned, the farmer left the chores to his son and headed into town to get the latest word from the diner.

silence…pure silence…
the heart begins to pound in the chest, silently echoing through the body. The feeling of immortality…no! Pre-death has consumed the body. Sweeping away at the feet. I walk freely towards it for no apparent reason…only God knows my actions reasoning. Vertigo, dizziness, consciousness. A blue canvas has been stretched in front of me. The painter still drawing and erasing the clouds; giving them animation. The heart stops. Nay! Time stops; seconds become hours. The wind, as it violently glides past, Will become my savior. Hands that I do not know. Hands that have no reason. Hands that care…the wind keeps gliding. Those hands hav failed. The cord spent begins my cordial greeting with death…Is he kind? Adrenaline now rushing. The hours that were seconds now become days. I pray. A prayer to save, to protect, to guide, my imminent death. Green becomes the sky, the sky becomes closer…he is cruel. The hair became tosseled and woven into the grass. Next came the head, hurtling into the ground like a sweet strawberry onto concrete. The neck snaps, while shoulders pop. The pain, the shock, is most greater. What once supported a fine being, further propelled a fine show of gore. Words are too slow, thoughts are too fast. ‘Im sorry, my love. Your colonel will inform you soon. I will watch you with love from above. I pray…’
silence, pure silence, the medics in green are never called to come with life saving gear; just death preserving contraptions.

  The needle was lowered gently onto the rotating disc below - suspended, slowly, gracefully. The guests waited for the defining moment of contact. The moment in which the first strike is made producing that screeching noise only heard by such an archaic device of sound. The moment in which music begins flowing into the air pumping momentum and cadence into by standers and dancers. The will to dance, the inspiration to show off active art skills to either make a point or create yet another final sign of affection with the person our most tender emotions are given to. As the music continues to reverberate its waltz like cadence - of course, that song is queued for last. It is the final tempo designed to be the most romantic piece, the final, perfect “never let it end” memory before the subjects depart to their lodgings for the night. As the screeching halts, as the instruments begin their intro, the lead pace is set to that of the racing heart. The orchestra meets the racing, mixed emotions; reassuring them that they are just as scared underneath their mask of expertise. As the ice breaker song outros, so the dance floor becomes filled; souls longing to meet new friends. So the screech has played.

     The two began circling around and round - waiting, anticipating who would strike first - the fear resonated through out the area. The bystanders waged solo bets as to who would win and who would never dance again. The one victim was lean with skill chiseled into what his mass lacked. The other, large with mass dimly grinned as he expected this to be an easy pummeling. Swiftly the victim attempted the first strike by pushing off and sprinting to close the distance. With ease the mass raised a single arm expecting him to ram into it. Instead, at the last second-mid pace, the victim turned exposing his back, but struck the mass with a surgically placed elbow. The mass, caught off guard, began to recoil his arm while halting the problem with the other. The victim then ducked and rotated under the recoiling arm placing another surgical elbow into the spine (avoiding the kidney strictly to prolong pleasure) and pushing off by pushing away. The tower, dazed and disoriented, spun and charged with an outstretched fist. Dodge-swing-swing-dodge-dodge-strike-swing-dodge-swing-pummel-swing-dodge-strike - both now bruised and the victim bloody.

     Out of fate’s kind heart, so the record skips to the final number.

     Dissapointed as the guests maybe, so must the waltz proceed.

     The mass, enraged and confused grabs the nearest weapon like shape from the surrounding rubble. The victim forcing a blood thirsty grin as fear is pulled from a nearby rubble pile also. For the final time, the two circle around each other. For the first time the terms to their duel are sidelined: victor no longer gets a prisoner but also a ticket home. In a furious fit, the mass rushes unexpectedly, side stepping the missing defense and striking the victim in the ribs - by standers now finishing their dances to watch the main attraction shudder as the snapping of bone reverberates off the broken buildings. The mass retracts and shoves the victim backwards going in for a strike across the head, the victim wills a block just in time. Disengages and reengages trying to quickly end this. Blind with rage, the mass simply arrests the incoming strike. The victim attempts to retract.

      They had been dancing all night, the shortest night of their lives. The order had come unexpectedly, the young lieutenant fought to get all the right strings pulled to let as many of his men spend their final night home with the ones they’ll miss the most. Sitting on the balcony of the historic hotel, he listened as they celebrated and cheered for the last time in a long time. In time for the final song, a warm feeling wrapped around him from behind. The people parted as they entered the center of the dance floor - waiting for the screech of the final record. Slowly they built up their own ice breaker waltz - syncing before engaging in the dance that means the most. Gracefully, he took her hand and comforted her waist as she warmed his shoulder. Together they closed the distance to such a degree that man would consider it impossible to not step on each other. The guests cheered the couple on as they began their final song. Step-step-step-turn-step-step-twist-step-turn-gaze. Both hearts beating, minds racing to stay connected to each other. Long past the end of the song did they dance until they could feel each others hearts. As they held each other, they listened to each others beats slowly return to normal - remembering each others warmth before they would succumb to coldness until next time reunited.

A twilight had risen through the town. Every lamp, house, and candle was lit in a feeble attempt to push out the deep blackness of night. The moon had hidden itself behind the horizon of thick evergreen trees hugging the edges of the town. The lodgings were boarded so as to not let even a single ant smuggle through a crawlspace. Rays of light poured out the sides of thick curtains, magnified by their milky white fabrics. Down the quiet, dust-settled road, the church bells tolled signaling the march of the Council. The thick doors swung open emitting more light. Hooded figures standing tall glided down the white marble steps onto the sidewalk in single file. The head of the line held a comfortably sized lamp post upon which was nestled a peacefully swaying six-candle lantern from a metal rod. The empty, black cloak was in deep contrast to the pure white under robes visible with each step. Following were twelve other similarly dressed figures holding similar lanterns. But these only went half their bodies length and strung across their backs were rods of silver the length of just over their upper body. The cloaks of which they wore were also not as black as the leader’s. The bell resonating throughout the town, the flickering of the torch light, the line moved in unison. Turning off the main road and onto a sheet rock path, they headed silently into the forest - the bells now a simple echo of the trees.

               Shadows flickered off the ghostly foliage as dense masses crisscrossed from tree to tree. The two-man wide path, now over grown with moss and weeds, was indistinguishable from the forest floor. As the lights from the town began to sink behind bushes and trees, a darkened house rose in the clearing ahead. A chill swept over the path tosseling leaves and cloaks. The lamps along the path extinguished immediately at the touch of the icy wind. The thirteen formed a crescent around the house; a profile appeared at a dimly lit window downstairs. At the same time a black figure poured into the dark second story window.

              A tall, thin man rushed out of the door straight for the black cloak. Hesitantly, “P-Please, i-it only gets worse and worse each night. My wife and I can’t even gather our dearest belongings from the upstairs. An-and there’s no rest in the day, they just stare and mock at us. Slamming doors, dropping china and-“

              “Be at rest,” the hood interrupted. “We have discussed your plea and decided upon the proper method.” A howl from within the house slammed the door shut, “Promptly remove your wife and child.”

              The man’s pale face shot white, “I tried bringing them to the church not four nights ago.”

              “And?”

            “I wrote the plan down. We got our gardening things and headed outside. Once I closed the door we broke into a full sprint for the town,” he began to whimper. “They-a a bone chill swept our ankles. Shadow hands clenched tight and pulled us to the garden shed. We heard loud bangs from the log shed and then the d-door flew open. And the hands dragged us right back into the house. The table I had used to write the plan down on was,” he sobbed. “w-was contorted or crafted into a cross with ‘no’ scribbled in blood. BLOOD!”

            A cloaked figure stepped forward to comfort the wailing man. The leader put his hand on the man’s shoulder, “The Council’s decision would have been more precise had this information been given last hearing. None the less we are prepared enough. James, prepare the shield. I will go in and retrieve the family.”

            A cloak three heads down on the right dropped peacefully onto the frozen grass. The rest followed suit and began following his instruction. They attached the silver rods to their lantern posts. With four they created a diamond, James touched his hand on the lead post and mouthed a prayer. Instantly the candles began pulsing into ever brighter and taller flames. Three focused rays shot out to the other lanterns and four walls of light now connected the lanterns. A ringing clash was heard from inside the house; a moan and two wails of terror later and a thin woman in hand with a young boy darted for the light. The leader was seen backing out of the doorway thrashing the lantern wildly into the house. A shadow low to the ground chased after the family, but was stopped suddenly and writhed. The lantern inside the door had impaled the shadow.

            “Jessica! Roy!” shouted the man as they embraced each other in new found confidence and comfort.

            “James!” Came a desperate shout. The Leader was struggling to keep the shadow pinned.

            “We got ‘em! They’re safe in the barrier!”

            “James, it’s bad! They don’t even bother with the mirrors no more,” a strange confidence filled his fainting voice. The air was rapidly icing.

            “Phineas, head this formation. Double barrier and keep your heart strong,” James reminded him. He turned back to the Leader, “Fear not what He doesn’t fear.”

            The shadow finally dispersed and the Leader dropped his cloak, “There’s no time to remove the windows from the sills. They remember the first incident in the child’s room. Tapping on a clear night if I recall properly. But I’ve never seen such a-such a mess.”

            Almost preppy, “We can do this one. Just as easily as all the rest you guys have down in this town. Be warned that we are dealing with an angry lonely manifestation. Do not give in!”

            Waiting at the door for a square barrier to erect around the house, the front door shuddered on its hinges from powerful blows. Moaning echoed through the place, drowning the distant bells and prayers. Light simmered into the house and all its nooks and crannies. Deep growls and shouts now revolted from the house. The door broke free of hinges, flung inward dragging the two Councilmen inside, and forcefully shutting it again. James toppled into the middle of the room, while the leader was thrust head first into the opposing wall. A deep simmering shadow fought fiercely to blotch incoming rays of light; James arose to his feet clutching his limp arm.

The leader’s nose lightly pouring blood, “James, your arm-“

“It’s fine! It’s throbbing, but I can still use it,” he replied defensively.

     “Right, then grab our…” he looked intently around the flickering room for their lanterns and satchels, “Quickly, look for any candles.” They rummaged through all the desks and drawers on the first floor. When James emerged from the kitchen for the second time with gashes across his robes and the Leader from the den with a limp, they silently looked forward up the stairs. Deep cackling laughter pierced the thick air.

     “Brother Michael,” hesitated James, “We can no longer rely on the devices of our fellows.”

     Still gazing unblinkingly up the stairs, “No, we must face this evil before it permanently maims us. Steady hearts now, lad.”

     They set off up the stairs immediately. The air now pulsating around them as flickering holy light disappeared from the windowless staircase. A mirror hung half way up shaking violently, threatening to fly off the wall. Desperate incantations began whispering the instant they passed it. Pale figures danced their hands in tune with chimes. The corner of the mirror exploded in a small spray of fine glass shards as thick, white fog began crawling out.

     Instantly James shouted, “Silence those who curse Thy name and whose feet are quick to bloodshed!” The fog contracted immediately and the figures dissipated to dust as they were swept away by a sudden chill.

     They reached the top of the stairs. Michael was swept off his feet, “B-bless t-those who keep to the path of the light.” The once long hallway was lined with seven sets of doors (three bedroom doors to the left, one guest room immediately on the right with two closets and the master bedroom at the opposite end) was gone. The lamps that lined the halls were spilling a bright red blood, which they now noticed flowed down the stairs and was ice cold. The six doors were ripped and torn off their hinges; ghouls freely visited and dashed into the holes. The door to the opposing room was replaced with a crimson stone archway carved with skulls. Flowing from the nose and mouths was thick dark blood. Vapor streamed from the eyes.

     The pressure exploded around them as Michael began a prayer. A warmth lifted them as a furious moan of defeat bellowed through the waterfall of blood. The hallway returned. The lamps burned a pure white flame now unchallenged by any shadows. The same demanding light now poured in from the cracks in the doors - all from except the second door on the left. “That’s his room,” exclaimed Michael.

     James peered down the hall on either side as they moved in on the door. The pressure intensified with each step. Disbelievingly, “Michael, I don’t have a right feeling about this.” They paused at the door, “It’s too…It’s too real.”

     Michael slid his hand onto the handle, “Ye of little faith. Do not leave on me this close to the end!”

     “Why, if He cleansed the rest of the house does he leave us to the source?”

     “You dare question,” Michael stood aghast, “Him?”

     “I’m challenging the power of this case. Look!” He swung a pointing hand to the stair case, “It’s still tainted.”

     “We must finish this job,” he grabbed James by the shoulders and shook him, “Doo no-ot gi-ive in! Come to it Brother!”

     A glaze passed from his eyes, “Thank you Brother.”

A distant voice called the sleeping child, “Roy. Royy. Royy!”

The lad tossed in his bed as the mid morning sun swam through the window. Blearily opening an eye, “Yes, Father?” No one answered, “Be down in a minute.” He crawled out of bed and into his day clothes. The after smell of breakfast wafted up the stair case – waffles and fresh brewed syrup. He stopped at the mirror on the stair case to fix his bed hair and proceeded into the kitchen. He greeted his mother as she helped him to a serving of breakfast, “So where’s dad?”

“Out to town again. Honestly, ever since that new Councilman came here, this town has just been flocking to the town every chance they get.” She remembered her agenda, “Why do you ask dear?”

Not wanting to cause alarm and figuring it was just in his dream, “Oh, nothing. Just thought I could ask him to show me how to shoot from horseback.”

“Now what have I told you boys about hunting in these woods!”

“That we may accidently kill an animal we didn’t mean to or even another person, but we set up targets in that old part when we practice.”

“I will not repeat myself. No hunting.”

“Yes mom.”

“Now hurry up and finish eating because I need you to round up all your friends and tell them to stop tossin’ rocks and making that terrible rapping sound on your window. Your father won’t like having to replace something of his grand-fathers.”

“But I told you, mom, they aren’t the ones doin’ it. The farm hands even said so. They don’t know what’s causing the rapping, but it aint my friends and their rocks” He finished his breakfast in silence.

Black arced across the black - moving like a draping curtain deciding it wants the show tho go on. The stage clustered with the shadows of shadows and resonating to echoes and hidden, muffled sounds. And in one fell swoop, the curtain closed and opened again. Time demanded another show be played, but the stage remained thick with shadows spawned from oozing light. The audience desperate to make out the show, astounded that such a piece could exist. Was it stage fright? Did the actors, actresses, and props all come under plague by the same ravaging disease to the point where they were just too sick to continue the show?

Desperation motivating the curtain winch.

Foiled by yet a another cinch. Act I long past - Act II just closed.

And so Act III, lucky number three, continues the show.

Muffled sounds now become clearer. Actors Alas! Nay, more shadows passing to and fro to monitor the non-happenings ever so. So the curtain drapes once more, setting the way for Act number four. Perhaps a lesson is here to be learned? Acts I-IV went by ever so fast. How was the audience to have the lesson last?

Slowly now, the intermission roles. The audience blinded by white lights - relieved at last, looks to itself to reflect the play of flawed holes.

As quickly as a pin drops, so the lights speak, “The play you’re enjoying has yet another peak.”

A spider bites the hand of an audience member in the dark. Never to be known till two acts past when the brain receives its jolting spark.

And so the play continues unforgiving of the cripple now in stark.

As a new day turns in the chapters of this unforgiving play

so the hours read aloud leave no respite for those in its way.

A happy play the writer mocks!

Nay, this one shall say.

Spite and angst and pain shall be the paper, ink and hand that write the lay.

But shall the audience ever see, so the play will finally take speed.

To laugh is to live and to live is to feel writhed.

When the audience sees, just before final happiness is awarded.

The actor must make one final pit fell -

that shall he fail so the lesson must be retaught.

But in spite of all that is wrought, a victory shall give love to be the hand that holds the pen taught.

goal: write a short story for class (fail)
challenge: without including title, use only 777 words (accomplished)
________________________________________________________

“Loading map…/”
“Welcome Spr6”
The masculine voice spoke, “Capture the flag.” Birds chirped in the background. The beautiful blue sky radiated an inviting luminescence in the deep ravine. The full metal spire on the other hand, dominated the environment. Its general deck running along the lateral lines and rear ran up to the turret deck. And, if one could stomach the nauseating height, the flight deck equipped with a pair of Banshees and a single M19 SSM Rocket launcher. Parked in the cool shade beneath the turret deck were three Warthogs – two turret and one rocket hog. Across from the tower was the concealed entrance to the inside of the spire. Gallantly and confidently constructed, lay the three ramps leading up to the exposed flag - a reminder to all the soldiers stationed that this was a war zone! Death be to the shy, peaceful, and uncoordinated.
Sub lieutenant Spr6 of the MSK Army’s Special Strike division quickly browsed through a roster and intelligence report of currently stationed troops, allies, and enemies. Battle hardened and crafty, he was a prime candidate for a recon operation in the Army’s secondary server. Today, however, was a relaxing day in the ravine. Noobs foolishly duked it out with each other using rockets and grenades, trying to create epic war stories for later gloating. And with no enemy opposing them, the peace would be perfect for some combined R&R plus tactical driver training – and a perfect date.
“Spr6: same as usual?”
“Carmella: sure”
Private Carmella of MSK’s Night Security Team had a charming face shield, bulky armour, mad driving skills and a friendly personality. As a stand alone soldier she held her ground. But paired with Slt. Spr6 the two become a lethal enough force to deal deadly accurate blows to even the most experienced aimbotter. Add a gold ole M12 LRV Warthog jeep into the mix and they become unchallenged.
“Spr6: heh, you know over here in America it’s usually the guy who drives their dates around.”
“Carmella: 1. technically this is international territory 2. Im the better drive”
Fish-tailing sharply around the corner, Carmella barely corrected their direction in time to hit the natural ramp perfectly - another text book landing and fish-tale around the next corner. Spr6 timed himself to jump off the hog the instant it got to the ramp; Carmella drove once around the enemies spire and swung the hog around. With flag in hand, he leaped for the Hog; gliding perfectly into the turrets shoulder bracers. The masculine voice came back, “Red team, flag stolen.” A few seconds later, “Red team, flag captured.”
“Spr6: booyeah!”
“Carmella: did you see how I stuck it back there?”
“Spr6: masterfully done as always”
“Spr6: but with no enemies, its just too easy”
“Carmella: joyriding”
“Spr6: =)”
Spr6 assumed his place in the back of the Hog once more; Carmella floored it also managing to interrupt the two noobs still trying to show off. Time passed with each lap they took around the two bases, mostly showing off each others skills. Then, on their fifth lap, disaster struck. Fear took hold of the ravine. Time appeared to have disappeared all together. With the noobs long gone, the silence chilled their very cores. Spr6 turned his turret to the sky.
“Carmella: what team is he on”
“Spr6: BANSHEE INC!”
Carmella swung the Hog in a tight u-turn, dodging for the cover of rocks. The ground burst around them as blue bolts of plasma were fired from the aircraft. The eerie screech of its engines passed over head, circling for another flyby. Spr6 opened fire: precise, slow bursts. The two closing in on each other, Carmella dodging for every piece of cover she could get the hog through. A giant green blob blasted from the central cannon of the Banshee. Swerve, the ground behind and to the right exploded driving the Hog forward and nearly tipping it. Alas, the precision of the bursts prevailed. On his turn around, the pilot was shot down. The Banshee crashed to the ground beneath.
“Pilot: ns!”
“Spr6: ty, nice driving”
“Carmella: anytime”
“Pilot: im out”
“Spr6: well, it’s just us again”
“Carmella: wanna ride?”
“Spr6: sure”
“Carmella: hey kid, you want candy? hahaha”
“Spr6: how about we skip the formalities?”
“Carmella: let me just pull over”
“Spr6: haha want to go to another server?”
“Carmella: nah, I’m done for now”
“Spr6: alright”
“Carmella: I’ll log into xfire. Give me a minute”
“Spr6: 7 over here…”
“Carmella: that late already?”
“Spr6: sadly =(“
Both exited the lonely ravine and entered back to their respective desktops.
“Spr6: I guess this is goodnight, see you”
“Carmella: morning babe.”