At_Your_Throat, The Wordsmith
Oh, goodness. Revamping this entire profile page, because I sound far too emo and not too much like my actual self. Sorry, 2014. Go back into your little hidey-hole where you came from!
Hi! I’m AYT, or ATY, or, or.... basically any horrendous variations of my acronym. If I could change my username, I would. Damn you, 2014!
A bit about myself:
-I’m fifteen (!!!) years old and a freshman in high school.
-I live in Texas.
-I’m an avid reader and even if it takes me some time to churn out stories and the courage to share them, I love reviewing and beta-testing!
-I have an adorable dog named Cosmo.
-I like summer and fall the best.
-I love tea!
Thanks for reading my profile! I’m always here to talk to if you need it. Feel free to recommend me cool books that you have read! I’m constantly looking for new and fresh books.
In a small, German village life is small. The Children play, the birds sing, and the Woman gossip that is until on a small fateful night that strange happenings occur and the village is thrown into a chaos.
In this German tale you play as the young man, Guy, who is forced to be in his chimney and has the burden of finding his dear sister and his love and to find a way out of this demonic situation.
But the real question is the one that many can not answer; are you brave enough?
The world was a quiet place once. A place where you could run your hands through silk-thin waterfalls, listen to the birds sing in the mornings and chase the sunset. That all changed one day, when the clock appeared in the sky.
It’s been counting down the years, months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds. Nobody knows what will happen once it runs out.
The clock ran out today.
Recent PostsTriggering? on 5/23/2019 11:27:46 AM
I’m excited to see your first story when you’re done! I know it will be great. If you need a little more help, you can check out the Help & Info section on the side bar. Looking forward to seeing you more often! :) !
Triggering? on 5/23/2019 8:10:21 AM
Hi hi! It sounds like you found your way to COG (Choice of Games). I’ve been in their discord a couple times and I understand how it’s like. I’m sorry about your son, and your mom. I don’t advise going back to Choice of Games, it’s really not a very welcoming or accepting place as far as new people go. But welcome (if you are new to CYS because I haven’t seen you around before, might just be me not being super active) to the site!
Just Another Day In HELL on 5/2/2019 8:26:37 AM
Thanks for the review. I would have edited it more thoroughly, but at the time I had tunnel vision on making deadline. I capitalized God due to the fact that everyone’s job was also capitalized to draw attention/signify it’s relevance, as well as being a stylistic choice. The ending could be radically improved, of course.
Just Another Day In HELL on 5/2/2019 1:37:05 AM
Quick disclaimer that I wrote this a bit shy of midnight and just finished formatting it for CYS. I tried to make it funny but at the same time fill up space. Have a nice time reading this and I apologize if the ending was cramped, I was going to hit 1k too early.
Edit 1: To explain the ending, she’s a goddess of putting things to 100% (but only things she touches).
Everyone was meant to be something interesting. From birth, we had marks on our bodies. These marks denoted our future in society, and each job had a different one. It was easier to sort people, then, when it first started happening. Engineer, doctor, artist, mortician. The weirdest one I’ve seen was murderer; and those are pretty rare to come across. Nobody was ever made fun of. Nothing was questioned. From the moment you understood the soul marks, you understood your destiny.
Nobody was quite sure what to do when they saw my soul mark.
There was a new alphabet for interpreting these marks, and was very accurate. So accurate to when my parents found out, or rather, the hospital staff found out, they were sure that had been reading it wrong.
Not every child is born a God, but I was.
I’ve been wondering over that fact since I was old enough to understand it. What kind of God am I? Am I one who causes slight inconvenience to man? Am I responsible for USB cords not charging things immediately? I must be affecting cell service. Or maybe I’m a God of guilty conscience.
The first time I remember being told about it was in fourth grade, in Ms. Fulmer’s class. Recess. The wind was nice and cool, and smelled like the aftermath of the night before’s rain. The empty lot across from the playground was vibrant with wildflowers; kids had climbed the fence to go snip a few with safety scissors. The rest of us stood huddled in a massive ring over the woodchips, our shirt sleeves pushed up to reveal our marks.
My best friend Mason grinned as everyone ooh’d and aah’d when they saw his. We’d known each other since diapers, and he had always been proud of his mark. He was supposed to be a Race Car Driver. I didn’t know what that was, of course, but looking back on it now, it was pretty vague. He died last summer in an illegal car race on the highway.
Back to the story.
His arm had a bold, thick mark of a racecar on it and all the girls touched it with interest. A few announced their jobs with excited energy, each naming an equally interesting career like Astronaut, or Journalist, or Coal Miner (I tried not to laugh at that one because she looked so excited). When it was my turn, I pointed to the bold mark of the planet on my arm with sass.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be, but I think it’s cool!” I said proudly. The other kids shifted uncomfortably. For a society adjusted to knowing everything, the uncertainty of my mark was startling to them. They got the teacher.
Mrs. Fulmer smiled at me and took a look at my mark. There was a brief moment of silence before Mason swaggered up to her and put his hands on his hips, giving her the worst stink-eye I’ve ever seen; green eyes bulging and lower lip jutting out similar to the overbite of a pitbull, if it were 4’7” and a ginger. The worst combination.
My teacher looked confused at first, like the children, before her face flickered to a soft smile I quickly acknowledged as fake. She announced recess was over and herded Mason and the rest into the school building with a bit of poking and prodding with a meter stick she’d found from the fifth graders’ recess before ours.
Soon it was just her and I standing under the tarp over the buddy bench. She told me to sit, so I sat.
Mrs. Fulmer liked to stand.
She folded her arms in front of her. “Do you know what a God is, Natalie?”
I chewed on my lip, debating over a response. “Isn’t a God someone who writes a big book? And who makes things with magic?”
Mrs. Fulmer didn’t have a good sense of humor.
I don’t remember much else from that day besides going home and trying very, very hard to valiantly bend a mental spoon with my mind.
Years went by. I’m in high school now, about to graduate in a few months, and it seems as if the only superpower I have is pushing people away when they get weirded out by the fact I’m supposed to be a God, and finishing assignments two minutes before the teacher takes it up and somehow ace-ing it. If that’s an actual power, I’m not sure, but it should be.
Sometimes I snap my fingers and hope something happens. Nothing ever happens. I go to the empty lot that used to grow with wildflowers when I was in elementary school and try to stare down the greenery to see if I can make them grow with the sheer power of ADHD.
My parents tell me not to worry about it, and I’ll figure it out when I get to it.
I slump into my seat in Statistics. I’m late, and I yank the zipper open to my backpack and heave my massive, cluttered binder onto the desk as quietly as possible. Which apparently, is not one of my superpowers either.
The teacher gives me a lazy-once over before resuming her rant about how grape flavored lollipops aren’t actually grape-flavored; likely a ploy made by the lacrosse boys to get her to talk so they can finish up last-minute homework. The girl behind me taps my shoulder, and I turn my head 40 degrees so I can talk to her, but I don’t have to look at her past my coffee.
“Hey, Nat? Can you plug this charger in for me? It’s not working and I think I just have some really bad luck with electronics. I’m supposed to be a politician, so...”
I nod grudgingly and take the small white brick in my hands, finding the electrical socket and shoving the prongs in. “Thanks so much! I’m at 100% now!”
Black, Female or Gay? on 4/29/2019 12:59:28 PM
Bi Mixed Female - Bi White Female
I think. I don’t really know how this works.
Contest SHAME 11: Surprise SHAME! on 4/16/2019 3:13:12 PM
I am very disappointed in all who did not submit for the contest. Very, very disappointed.
Another Dumb Birthday Thread on 4/5/2019 9:30:30 AM
Happy birthday, Mayana! I hope your day is filled with good things :)
Ban me please on 3/25/2019 12:44:16 PM
What the hell kind of name is YeepusYorpus?
Ban me please on 3/25/2019 12:42:01 PM
So, you’re him, but not him?
how you create choices for a story on 3/13/2019 2:31:06 PM
What’s against the rules? Kicking out someone who refuses to type with any form or semblance of grammar, claims to be 17 and a junior in high school, and then flat out refuses to write on a writing site? You make me laugh.