seib6466, The Reader

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5/26/2017 11:24 AM

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My StoryAAA




Where does one turn when the galaxy burns? What does one do when all that was taught has failed you? Child, the answer is simple. When order fails, you turn to chaos! When they galaxy burns, you let it fill you with joy! They have told you chaos consumes, that chaos destroys, but they did not say that it saves! For they fear this, this simple fact. Chaos is the only answer, for your God-Emperor sits dying, your brothers already dead, and chaos lives fully.

Recent Posts

Story Brainstorming Impass on 5/25/2017 8:45:46 AM

The concept of the story is for this astronaut to wake up in a familiar, but oddly different galaxy than before. I want to keep a since of realism to carry with the idea that this galaxy he finds himself in is definitely our, but no other humans will be present. It will then move on to surviving alone and exploring what happened in his absence, perhaps with some undertones of horror.

Story Brainstorming Impass on 5/25/2017 8:10:52 AM

Einstein's relativity is an incredibly cool and incredibly perplexing thing to learn about, its so weird that something so seemingly impossible is possible. I'll keep that in mind, I just learned the math behind it in physics. 

Story Brainstorming Impass on 5/24/2017 2:00:13 PM

I would like to emphasis that this is simply a way for me to overcome a bit of a thinking block and stimulate some more interesting thoughts, I am not asking for someone to give me a step by step explanation on how to write my story. Now on to Stryker, I am thinking of having it take place in a nearer future with slightly more advance technology that we have today, I want to stick with a fairly primitive humanity. Explaining cryogenics will be an interesting obstacle, but I want to maintain that since that humanity is still on the cusp of space travel. Perhaps having it has a early version still relatively untested and something happened to caused him to be forgotten in his near frozen state.

Story Brainstorming Impass on 5/24/2017 1:06:30 PM

I am in the very early stages of brainstorming for a story, and I have come up with a concept that interests me quite a bit. The only problem is that there is a hole that I can't find a proper explanation to fill. The idea is thus, a lone astronaut wakes up upon his small ship after being under the sleep of cyogenics for an innumerable number of years, centuries, or millennia even and finds himself in a universe he does not know (humanity is gone perhaps? Somehow transported to another dimension?). Coming to this discovery, he goes about progressing through the story (where ever that may take him). My main issue is, why was he put to sleep for so long? I haven't been able to find a reasonable explanation for such a question that satisfies me, an answer that makes a semblance of logical sense.

Lovecraftian Horror on 5/19/2017 1:55:28 PM

I must ask, who else here is thoroughly enthralled by the weird tales of H.P. Lovecraft? I can not help but pour over his writings of eldritch things and horrors beyond human comprehension, but I must inquire upon you, have any of you tried to feebly grasp his queer style of writing? It is something I have failed to create so beautifully. I simply can not describe something that is often times indescribable in such a way that Lovecraft spun his bewitching descriptions. If you do feel that you have grasped such writing, I would beg of you to share it, or if you have not attempted it, I entreat you to try.

Feature Game - The Planetary Exploration Society on 1/31/2017 11:22:51 AM

None of the text is showing up, just the choices I can choose

Writing Prompts: Week #5 on 1/31/2017 11:05:45 AM

Clear, because it happened to me!

Writing Prompts: Week #5 on 1/31/2017 11:02:33 AM

Shoot! I meant to do that! My excitement to post it got the better of me...

Writing Prompts: Week #5 on 1/31/2017 10:58:39 AM

Edit Lock

Writing Prompts: Week #5 on 1/31/2017 10:57:49 AM

A pen. A pen is a simple thing, for it holds mighty power in its own right. With it, great men wrote great proclamations that shook the foundations of society or signed away all that was to become all that will be. Artist created with a pen, a simple vessel of ink that flowed against a page to create stunning works of unimaginable scale, detail, and scope. It was the wand in which the real magic of the world was built!

“This is why everyone thinks I’m such a nerd… thinking about the wonders of a pen!” I muttered to yourself, walked through the nondescript school supply aisle in my local Walmart, and examining each pen with a calculating eye of a renown pen connoisseur… At least I thought I was, if pen connoisseurs existed. Running my hands across the many pens before me, from ballpoint to rollerball, with childish glee, before darting my eyes across the aisle to see if anyone was watching my strange ritual.

Finally, I overcame my unusually stubborn indecisiveness and settled for a small package of gel pens. They were beautiful really, their simplicity and ergonomic design screamed perfection, a perfection you could not deny! With newfound excitement, I rushed to the checkout and very nearly threw my money at the cashier. Not waiting for the receipt, I made a mad dash to my car and began speeding home. With my home insight, I couldn’t contain yourself… then the telltale sirens and lights exploded into my rear view mirror.

Letting out a defeated sigh, I pulled over, my house only two more blocks ahead. I looked in longing as the officer approached with sluggish confidence. With his hands in his belt and stereotypical aviators obscuring his eyes, he leaned down to my window and gave the oh so standard question, “Sir, do you know why I pulled you over today?” A bit of sarcasm seeping into his smug tone.

“No sir, I can’t say I do.” I gave my bland response, a innocent smile on my face.

The officers cockiness slid away when he spoke next, “Sir you were going 60… in a 30 zone. I’m going to have to ask for your license and registration.” He said as I pulled it out and he snatched it out of my hand.

Minutes ticked by as the officer sat in his car, his lights flashing in my rear view mirror, mocking me. Idly I began taping my fingers on my steering wheel as I thought of my perfect little pens, sitting in a plastic bag in the passenger seat. Every now and then I glanced at my side, at those perfect little pens. They screamed for me to open them! But this dreadful officers ate away at those precious minutes that I could be writing.

Nearly jumping out of my seat, the officer jolted me from my thought as he shoved the ticket in my face, “I had to write you a ticket today sir. Next time, watch the speed limit signs.” He said before swaggering back to his squad car.

Reading the ticket, I stared at the amount and let out an exasperated grumble. 169 dollars, just what I needed to ruin this day. I thought as I pulled into my drive way and dashed into my house and onto my desk’s small chair. Throwing the ticket and my small package of pens onto the desk, I threw open my journal and tore into the plastic keeping me from my glorious pens! Feeling each one with silent glee, I made little doodles using each pen to see which would be the one I used, the extension of my imagination.

With each one tested and carefully examined, my pen was chosen. It may not look any different from the three other pens that came with it, but this pen gave me a feeling that the others could not. Beginning with anger, I tore into my journal…

Today was supposed to be perfect! Today was the day I was to get my perfect pen, and I did. But it was ruined by a dreadful officer who wrote me a ticket! A god forsaken ticket! I wish I could just will the ticket away. I wish I never got that damned ticket…

As soon as I wrote that last sentence, I heard the sound of paper crumbling… then again. Looking up to find what had disturbed my near religious practice, I watched in utter awe as the ticket I had received slow crumbled into a smaller and small ball, until it was squished into nothingness. Wide eyed, I ran my hand over the the place it had just been, it was right here! Slowly, my eyes drifted to that final sentence that I had written… Could it be? No! It was impossible, but I had to satiate my curiosity…

A 100 dollar bill appeared on my desk…

Once again, I was greeted by the crinkle of paper as a small green ball appeared on my desk and slowly grew bigger and bigger, then it slowly un crumbled into a pristine bill. Astounded, I snatched it up and held it to the light… It was real! This pen wasn’t just a pen! It was the pen, the perfect pen, the all powerful pen! I couldn’t let this go to waste…

This pen has an unlimited supply of ink…

This time I wasn’t greeted by any noticeable indication that I worked, but I trusted my pen to the unthinkable. An idea slowly began to roll around my mind as I thought of all the possibilities! Writing away my hunger, my thirst, my fatigue, and my need for the restroom, I began to write, no to create, the greatest thing I could possibly create.

For days and nights, I wrote and I wrote as the world around me warped and changed in impossible way. The cities changed to mighty castes, only possible in the realms of fantasy and birds became mighty dragons. In sheer awe, I walked around the tangible world I had written into existence before sitting under the shade of a tree and wrote once again. Again, the world warp as the castles became continent sprawling cities of fly cars and untold technological advancement. I travelled faster than light as I explored the galaxy that would have never within my reach without this pen.

Again, I wrote and I wrote as I created countless fantasies, might heroes, dreadful villains, and even untold nightmares. I everything that could be written, I wrote. I became a god, a king, a knight, a cyborg, and a dragon. I saved, I killed, I married, I hated, I cried, and I laughed. Time became inconsequential as I rode the waves of my imagination, through worlds of untold creation. Until, finally, I sat in a blank white room with my precious pen in my grasp. Running my eyes over its simple, ergonomic form without a thought. I had thought all that I could write and I had written all that I could think, now I sit thoughtless with a useless pen meant for unending use.