Cowardice

She

Was

Just

So

Unbelievably

Beautiful.

From the second she stepped into my life, she snatched my attention

Like a comic book convention captures fans

And I was her biggest one.

Because at her name's slightest mention

I'd imagine her face in all its perfection

And suddenly, BAM.

An extension in the length of my p-

Pencil lead, you perverts.

UPDATE: Blogiversary!

So... ahem, NaNoWriMo was a moderate success. Came nowhere near to the 50,000 word target, but given that I had a SO MUCH stuff happening at the same time, I'm pretty proud that I managed to pull out 8,000 words. Plus, I know exactly how every aspect of my novel should go, so give me until the end of winter and I PROMISE I will finish the novel by then. And I'll definitely post it on here, though I might have to break it up across a few posts, since 50,000 words in one post is gonna be one hell of a long page.

Anyway, on to the main point. My blog's one-year anniversary is coming up and I want to do something special in celebration! And to do that, I'll need your guys' help! I want you to go to my ask.fm and send in your name (or whatever name you want to show up in the story) along with a short biography of your character. I'll be handpicking 16 characters for the story, so the more interesting and exaggerated you make your biography, the more likely I'll pick you for the story! Keep in mind that I only ask you at least include your real first name. Your biography doesn't have to be accurate to your life, it can be completely made up, but I'd prefer the first name is yours. Last name can be whoever's. Deadline to submit the names/bios to my ask.fm (which, conveniently, can be found to the right of my blog) is December 13.


RECAP: Send in your name (preferrably your real first name, last name is a toss-up) and a biography of your choice to my ask.fm before December 13 and I might pick you to be in my anniversary story!

I'm planning it to be AWESOME, so send, send, SEND those names!


EDIT: Oh, and because the story's gonna be MASSIVE, I've decided to go on hiatus for the rest of December because of it. Sorry to take out your weekly fix of writing everyone, but it's a necessary evil for the greater good!

Night Terrors

At first, we thought someone broke into our house. On the first night it happened, my wife and I were jolted awake by a deafening boom and screams from Jonathan's bedroom. Panicking, we burst into his room and saw toppled furniture and dented walls. On the floor were clothes and shattered glass from a picture frame that fell off a nightstand. And in the corner of the room sat Jonathan. His face deathly pale and his eyes wide open, mortified. His knuckles dripped blood which stained his bedroom floor. And his fingers pointed to something inside of his closet.

Paranoid Pat and the War Pigeon

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Steady breaths. Steady breaths.

Pat controlled his breathing as he walked briskly down the sidewalk. Sweat dripped from his head and his heart raced from nervousness. His vision darted around at the suburban houses on either side of him, fearfully scouting for murderers, or snipers, or axe-wielding maniacs. Every time he heard a car approaching behind him, he would look over his shoulder, in case that driver planned on running him over. 

His eyes met with a neighbors, who, while watering his front lawn, smiled and took his right hand out of his pocket. Pat froze momentarily, anticipating his neighbor to pull out a gun, or a throwing knife, or a really, really sharp boomerang. But his neighbor just gave him a wave. Drenched in sweat, Pat walked faster and faster home.

Pat reached a four-way intersection, where he stopped. He glanced to his left, then his right, then his left again, making sure that there wasn't a single car in sight for miles. He was about to cross when he noticed two pigeons standing across from him on the other side of the street.

To Celie

The first hero I ever had wasn’t my dad, or my mom.
It was Superman.
And I mean, who wouldn’t call Superman their hero?
He has super strength, super speed, heat vision, he can breathe in space
And aside from a stupid green rock and magic, he practically has no weakness.
Prime hero material, right?
But as I grew up and I learned that there was no such thing as a perfect person
And that Superman was not only fictitious, but incredibly unrealistic,
I started to wonder.
Who in the real world could be a hero?

UPDATE: Junior Year, the Most Potent of Chronocides

AAAAAAAAAAAAGH. I am SO SORRY, but I won't be able to publish a new story this week. I have been SWAMPED in work for the past few weeks (which is entirely my fault for procrastinating), and the small pieces of free time I get are either dedicated to eating or immediately seized by the Bank of Sleep because of how much in debt I am. Seriously, Sophomore year, I averaged sleeping at 10, 11, but now? I'd be lucky to sleep before 1 AM with all my homework done.

So I'll be delaying the new story to next week. Rrrrgh, I really hate to be so inconsistent with posting, but aside from pulling all-nighters every weekday, there isn't much I can do to fix that until I learn to better manage my workload.

(Untitled)

(Psst: Looking for a title? Hit "CTRL+F" or "CMD+F" to quick search!)

Asterisks = Author's Favorites. Brackets: Genre

Titles in Alphabetical Order:

*12 Billion Eyes [Drama]
A Realistic Fighting Cartoon [Prose, Experimental]
Ad Council [Humor]
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and the Pillsbury Dough Boy [Humor]
*Alight Romance [Romance]
All You Wanted Was a Cookie. [Humor]
Alone Again [TO COME LATER]
Another Misguided Lamb [Humor]
AT&T VS. TMOBILE [Humor, Fanfic?]
*Blood Trails [Humor, Drama]
Brandchael [Humor]
Bunny Cafe [Humor, Murder Mystery]
The Bus is Late [Humor]
Chunks (It's About a Lesbian That Eats Her Own Vomit) [Humor]
*Cookie Clicker: The Movie [Humor, Script]
The Corner of Carl's Jr. [Humor]
Crab People [Humor]
Ephemeral [TO COME LATER]
*Fladeboe [Xkybo]
The Hash-Slinging Slasher [Horror]
*Hi [Horror]
Himchan Miracle Story [Humor]
Hotel Apocalypse [Humor]
I Gotta Feeling [Humor]
Joker&Bane: Friends4lyfe [Humor, Fanfic]
Mecha-Hitler 2.0: The Infinity Reich [Humor, Sci-Fi]
Megan's Adventure [Humor]
Mint Chocolate Sushi [Humor]
Mushroom Soup [Horror]
*Naruto [Humor, Fanfic]
Only You Can Prevent Wildfires [Humor]
*Oscar [Humor]
Paper Trails [TO COME LATER]
*Samuri the Last [Humor]
Story Title [Humor]
Superman Loves the Sun [Humor]
Tales from the Mushroom Forest
Unrecognizable [Humor]
*The Wonderful World of Wombats [Humor, Informational]
Author's Note

UPDATE: Proof that I'm Still Writing

Woah, whaaaaat? Three weeks without a new story? And back-to-back update posts? You can't be serious.

Oh, but unfortunately, I am, dear readers. I am really, really sorry about how long this stories post is taking. I didn't anticipate it to be so much work. Even though it's similar to my names story, it's actually a thousand times harder because I actually have to conceptualize each story, as opposed to "(Your Name Here)," where I could base stories off memories.

Plus, I'm now a Junior in high school, which has certainly added to my workload and I've been getting involved with the San Diego Film Festival, so my free time is very rapidly diminishing. I only have two or three hours a day to work on stories, so I'm only finishing two, maybe three stories a day at max, which is HORRIBLE.

I really do feel bad for taking this long to write a story, so as a sort of consolation, here's a sneak preview of one of the stories in "(Untitled)." One of my favorites.





Oscar

"And the Oscar for 'Best Written Non-Sexualized Supporting Actress Personality' goes to..." Justin Timberlake panted into the microphone. Andy nervously bounced in his seat. He was one of two nominees and he was sweating from anxiety. Was he about to win his first Oscar?

Justin Timberlake tore open the envelope. "Oh god..." he said under his breath. "Andy Wasillakowski!" Timberlake said unenthusiastically.

"HELL YEAH!" Andy screamed as he stood up. Nobody around him clapped. He faced Kenny (the other nominee), made a circle with his index and thumb, brought the shape down to his groin, and humped it repeatedly. "SUCK MY DICK, KENNY. EAT SHIT," he screamed. Kenny, who was only seven years old, started sobbing.

Because the Oscars were live, the entirety of America saw and heard what Andy said. But Andy didn't care. He wanted to relish in his fame.

He sprinted down the steps toward the stage, slapping the back of James Franco's head on his way, sending James Franco's toupée flying into the people who sat in front of him. James Franco, who was only seven years old mentally, also started sobbing.

Andy stepped foot on the stage and snatched the microphone out of Justin Timberlake's hands. "WOOOOOOOOO!" He screamed into the mic. He tapped it a few times with the palm of his hand, saying "Is... is this on?" as he did so. The crowd in front of him nodded in displeasure.

He cleared his throat. "About time I've started getting recognized for my work. I knew from the start that I would win this because my movie's awesome, and Kenny sucks balls and should kill himself." In a distant corner of the venue, Kenny's wails could be heard.

"So, since I knew I was gonna win, I decided to write out exactly what I needed to say in thirty or so seconds on this here piece of paper." He pulled out a piece of lined paper from his inner jacket pocket, then cleared his throat again.

"Thanks a bunch to that nerdy old Liam McClencherton, AKA Stinky Pits, for letting me cheat off his tests in film school and for being a good sport about all the nutshots and the Sharpie tattoos drawn on his face while he slept, and the superglue on his pubes. Thanks a bunch, Liam!" The crowd was appalled, except for Seth MacFarlane, who burst a blood vessel from laughing.

"Mom, dad, thanks for giving me money for film school, even though I dropped out Sophomore year and used the rest of my tuition money to support my heroin addiction. No thanks to Maria Masterston, who refused to go with me to prom. I hope nobody finds out you have every STD known to mankind-I mean, oops!" he said sarcastically. At this point, the entire crowd wanted Andy dead. Gary Oldman actually whipped out his pistol and aimed it at Andy, but Christopher Nolan stopped him at the last minute.

"Jordan, you still owe me five bucks, you two-faced bastard. Nicole, I think this Oscar right here is plenty enough reason to dump your scumbag boyfriend and come have sex with me." At this point, Nolan regretted saving him and gave the gun back to Gary Oldman. However, it was in vain, as Gary Oldman had already fainted from Andy's rudeness. Thankfully, Andy only had ten seconds of speech left to give.

Andy's mouth went to maximum overdrive. "9/11 was an inside job, Hitler did nothing wrong, I think the civil rights movement was a mistake, women should be viewed as objects, I occasionally steal from charity collection boxes, eugenics is a wonderful idea. Good night, everyone!"

Everyone was furious. Several gunshots were fired at Andy, but Andy dodged all of their bullets and tap danced off-stage. He used his Oscar as a pretend cane and his tap dance shoes made an obnoxious "click clack" noise as he went behind the curtains and disappeared. The uproar of the crowd drowned out the lovely orchestral music they play at the end of every speech.

Andy quickly ran out of the venue and dove into the taxicab waiting for him outside. He took off the realistic, Mission-Impossible-style rubber mask on his face and revealed his true identity as Matt, the guy that Andy pissed off in 5th grade.

Matt cackled as he looked at the mask in his hands. "Revenge is a dish best served cold, Andy. Hope stealing my crayons was worth PUBLIC HUMILIATION!"

Matt drove away, throwing the mask out of the cab's window.

UPDATE: Delays

Okay, so I got caught up in a flood of work during the last few days of summer break, so I didn't have as much time as I wanted to work on 40 STORIES. So, I'll be delaying the release of the titles story to next Wednesday, September 11.

Sorry on the wait! I just want to make each story as good as possible!

On the Threshold of Life and Death

And I'm dead. In the center of my school's quad, I lay on the ground, bleeding while everyone around me panicked from the sudden noise of a gun going off.

It didn't hurt, save for the split second when the bullet pierced the roof of my mouth. Strangely, even though I'm still fully conscious, I can't feel the pain of the shot. I can feel the cold gunmetal in my hands, I can feel the side of my body touching the rough concrete ground, I can even hear the sobs of the other students. But I can't feel the pain of the shot.

I heard it's because of a survival mechanism, where if we get hurt suddenly, chemicals rush into our brain and we won't feel pain for awhile so we can get away from whatever's attacking us. I guess that makes sense.

Interesting thing, suicide. Movies always show it as instantaneous. One second, you're alive. The next, bam. Eternal darkness. Or an afterlife, reincarnation, whatever. But the truth is, nobody really knows how long it takes for your consciousness to die. So I'm just as surprised as you that I can still see what's happening around me. I can still hear what people are saying. I can still feel the blood dripping from my mouth. I can taste it too. I hate it.

The bullet tore through my brain. My heart stopped beating a long, long time ago. But my consciousness still lingers. On the threshold of life and death, my consciousness still lingers.

UPDATE: Crowdsourcing

Some of you might have noticed that the "Ask Box" has disappeared from the page listings above. I removed it because my Tumblr's been glitching out and hiding anonymous questions from me when I'm on the computer. I can only see the questions on my phone, which is really inconvenient since I don't want to check my phone just to answer questions.

So, as an alternative, I've decided to make an Ask.fm account. Same basic procedure goes, ask me any question anonymously and I'll happily answer it. You could also send it to my Tumblr ask box, but if you're anonymous, realize that it'll probably take more than a day for me to answer it.

Speaking of anonymous user input, I'm having another crowdsourced story! Remember the "(Your Name Here)" story I wrote a few months ago? Well, this next story will be similar to that one, but instead of you guys submitting names, you'll submit story titles. Send in any title for a story and I'll write a short story based on it! My only limitation is that you don't submit anything sexual, but other than that, feel free to be as creative as you want with the titles! Submission deadline for the story titles will be August 30, at 11:59 PM! The titles story comes out on September 4!



TL;DR: Send in your story titles to my Ask.fm and I'll write a story on it. I won't write anything sexual and the deadline to send in titles will be August 30, at 11:59 PM. All of the stories I wrote based on the titles you guys submit will be released as one huge blog post on September 4!

Go submit titles!

Trapped in Sharknado

"Wait, wait, wait, slow down, Richard," Doyle interrupted Richard mid-sentence. Richard panted, exhausted from the two-block sprint he just ran from his house to Doyle's. "You made a what?"

"It's a DVD player that puts you in whatever DVD you play in it," Richard gasped in between breaths. Basil entered the living room with a coffee mug in his hand. He took a small sip, recoiled from the heat of the drink, and blew into the coffee to cool it down.

"How'd you do that?" Doyle asked as he leaned forward to grab a slice of pizza on his living room table.

"Do what?" Basil asked while blowing into his mug. Richard sighed, but the other two mistook his sigh as heavy breathing from exhaustion.

"He made a DVD player that puts you in the universe of whatever DVD you play on it," Doyle explained, chewing with his mouth open.

"Seriously? Like inside the universe? Can you interact with everything?" Basil asked

"Yes!" Richard exclaimed as he threw his arms up and fell back on the couch's backrest. "You can interact with everyone and everything! You can even change the storyline!" Doyle did a fist pump.

"YES. Let's go try it out! I'll go grab a few DVDs," Doyle said as he ran to his bedroom.

Clarence Porter: Urban Survivor

Clarence was awakened by the sound of crickets chirping beside his ear. Startled, his eyelids burst open and immediately clamped shut from the intensity of the sunrise. A long blade of grass, nudged by the wind, reached over the top of Clarence's head and fiddle-tickled his nose. He sniffled one. Then twice.

And a cricked jumped up from the ground and onto his lips as Clarence let off the single most powerful sneeze known to man. The cricket was not only killed, it was vaporized, since it's a well-known fact that crickets aren't designed to travel in speeds excess of Mach 10.

Clarence stood up and licked the cricket guts from his face. He needed all the protein he could get if he wanted to make it out of the plains and into the big city before sundown. He picked up his backpack and camera and started walking towards the figure of a city in the distance. He pointed the camera to his own face and hit record.

"I'm Clarence Porter. And I'm gonna teach you how to survive in the world's most dangerous artificial habitats. Our next stop: Chicago, Illinois."

Spooky School: A Choose Your Own Adventure

You and your best friend, Sam, are at your house on a calm summer Wednesday in suburban San Diego. You casually browse the Internet for interesting things to do locally, but have yet to find anything. Sam lies face up on your bed, casually tossing a ball up and down.

You hear the gentle ding of a phone chime. It's Sam's. Sam picks it up and checks the text that just arrived.

"Hey!" Sam exclaims, "There's a haunted school tour going on later tonight! Doesn't that sound awesome?"

"Eh... I don't know, haunted things are always filled with cheap scares and people with masks."

"Nah, but this one's different! It's a genuine haunted location, with murders and screams and a gigantic maze-like school from the 17th century!"

You seriously doubt that there's a school from the 17th century in San Diego. But Sam does look incredibly excited and there is nothing else to do today. So... you make your choice.

Morning Never Comes: An SCP Inspired Tale

Item #: SCP-1363

Classification: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: An instance of SCP-1363 is to be contained in the center of a chamber with dimensions 30 m x 30 m x 30m. An incinerator is to be placed in one corner of the room. Prior to entry to the room, all traditional writing surfaces (papers, whiteboards, etc.) must be removed. Once a month, a single piece of paper is to be "fed" to SCP-1363 by placing it within 20 meters of SCP-1363 and left for an hour, followed by immediate incineration. All personnel interacting with SCP-1363 are to be given a Class-C amnesiac immediately after interaction, followed by a week of thorough psychological analysis.

Description: SCP-1363 is a free verse poem titled "Morning Never Comes," written by ███████ ████████ and is composed of one stanza with twenty-six (26) lines. SCP-1363's exact date of composition is unknown. The earliest discovered instance of SCP-1363 is on a parchment estimated to have been created during the early 16th century, though older, undiscovered instances of SCP-1363 are likely.

Instances of SCP-1363 have the ability to spread to other materials exclusively purposed for writing within 20 meters of it, usually creating another instance within 30 minutes to an hour of being in its proximity. SCP-1363's spreading ability seems to be bounded only by its 20 meter range and not by any physical barriers between it and the new surface. It has been observed creating new instances despite being separated from the new material by solid iron walls, glass, and even a vacuum. New instances created by display identical spreading properties, essentially spreading like a virus. Instances have commonly been observed on notebooks, book margins, chalkboards, whiteboards, papyrus, and stone tablets.

SCP-1363 instances also exhibit a "hunger-like" quality when unable to spread to other writing materials for more than two months. SCP-1363's hunger seem to increase the materials that SCP-1363 can embed itself on. While hungry, instances have been observed on leaves, concrete walls, and even [DATA EXPUNGED], but materials are always within 20 meters of the original instance. The papers and other materials that hold instances of SCP-1363 are not anomalous and can be destroyed normally.

When an unedited version of SCP-1363 is read in its entirety, readers begin to feel a lingering sense of fear and paranoia, but only when consciously thinking about SCP-1363 or any fragments of the original poem, including its title. With every subsequent recollection of SCP-1363, victims experience more intense feelings of fear. Common effects of SCP-1363 include:

• Sudden drops in ambient temperatures.
• Goosebumps.
• General uneasiness and discomfort.
• A feeling of being constantly watched.
• Perceived rapid movement in peripheral vision.
• Anxiety attacks.
• Insomnia.
• Sudden bursts of irritability.
• Visual, auditory, and tactile hallucinations.
• Suicidal tendencies.

To date, roughly 45% of victims exposed to SCP-1363 committed suicide within a year of initial exposure, while 80% of total victims suffer from severe psychological trauma. Times between initial exposure and suicide vary from subject to subject. Shortest recorded time until suicide: 6 days. Longest recorded time: 37 years.

SCP-1363 was discovered on ████████ ██, 20██, after a local news station in █████ █████, ██ reported a mass suicide of students attending a local school, attracting Foundation attention. Mobile Task Force Zeta-6 (aka "School Boys") was sent to investigate. Ten instances of SCP-1363 was acquired for analysis, all other instances discovered were destroyed. Class-B amnesiacs were applied to the entire town and the school was demolished. See Incident 1363-01.

A Dae With Daehyun

Christina held the laminated concert badge in her hand, which read "B.A.P all-access VIP pass" along with a few pictures of the members of B.A.P on the front. Yongguk, Himchan, Youngjae, Jongup, Zelo, they were all there, in strange yet seductive poses, or at least seductive to Christina. She still couldn't believe that she won the pass in a boxing contest, pulling off a come-from-behind victory in the 32nd round against a seven-foot tall, steroid abusing, sexually frustrated lady that went by the name of "Shalilian."

How did she win the badge? Because of her sheer strength? No, she was actually quite weak. Determination? Almost.

Love. She won because of her love for B.A.P, unmatched by any other. As she held on to the badge attached to the black B.A.P lanyard wrapped around her neck, she glanced at all the members posing on her badge, but really only looked at one person.

Daehyun. She loved Daehyun.

The Purge

12 hours. That's all we have to endure. Once a year, every year, we have to make it through one night. Twelve hours. That's all.

Because once a year, every year, all crime is legal in America. All crime, including murder. Especially murder. There will be no government intervention, no police, no ambulances, and no firefighters available during the entire night.

Why does this night exist? The government claims that it "purifies" Americans, lets them "vent" their negative emotions.

But that's true only for those who can afford weapons, those who can afford protection, and those who are important enough to be exempt from the killing. Everyone else that doesn't fit into those categories dies.

I can't afford weapons. I can't afford protection. I'm not important to society. And neither is my seven year old daughter.

The Medical Compound

I'm sick. Totally and utterly sick. I've been bedridden for twenty days now, and there's no sign of recovery any time soon.

I can tell mom's becoming quite worried. She's taken my temperature every two hours. Every meal I've had for the past few weeks had been chicken noodle soup. Every four hours, she replaces the wet rag on my forehead.

It's been relaxing, to be honest, spending day after day watching TV, or surfing the Internet on my laptop, or reading. It really isn't that bad, even though I'm probably never going to recover. You know why?

Because I'm not sick. I'm just a genius. And starting from today, I'm on permanent vacation.

To the Ends of the Earth

October 25, 2024
Time to Impact: One Year

We lay side by side, on a vast emerald field, looking up at the night sky. A gentle wind glided over our thick winter clothes and scarves, running its hand over the fabric to flatten it. Blades of grass swayed with the ebb and flow of the breeze like waves across a viridian beach, occasionally breaking against towering islands of bark and wood. Hand in hand, we floated through a deep green ocean, surrounded by an archipelago of trees that sprinkled their leaves down on us like amber colored confetti, as if celebrating us.

But this was no time for celebration. This was a time for mourning.

Corvus C. Row

Hell yeah. Another day. I was still alive.

The light from the sun woke me up. I slowly got up and stretched lightly to jolt myself awake for what was about to be another day in my life. I turned my neck, cracking the joints as I exhaled in relief. I looked beside me and there was my wife, Brachy, still asleep. She was so hot, and everyone else I knew was so jealous that I married her and they didn't.

I sighed. 

Wait, no. No I didn't. I cawed. As loud as I could. I cawed as I jumped off the tree branch that I slept on all night and flapped my way to the ground, cawing and cawing the entire drop down until at the last possible second, right before I would have turned into a black bloody pulp, I spread my black wings and glided safely to the ground. I pecked the shit out of a worm that I saw crawling on the ground and immediately devoured it. 

"Caw, caw," I screamed at the ground, which meant "The early bird does get the worm" in your language. I said it to taunt the worms beneath the earth, to make them fear for their stupid little lives.

Fear for their stupid little lives because I, Corvus C. Row had awakened. I was a goddamn crow. And I was ready to conquer the world.

The Test

This was it. The AP World History test. Eight months of study (really three days of cramming) led up to this moment. Outside our school library on a chilly Thursday morning, I held a piece of paper in my hand listing major civilizations, technological improvements, and events by time period which I studied frantically, as if trying to condense all of human history into a tiny, easy-to-swallow pill of knowledge. An impossible task.

Behind Closed Doors

Ten years, I've lived in this house with my parents. I've been allowed to roam the entire house, explore every speck, tile, and corner of every room. I know the exact layout of every room, closet, and bathroom, down to the furniture.

Except for one. A wooden door, exactly the same as the other ones. Painted snow white, with a glossy finish. Cold and smooth to the touch, like a silk curtain. A brass, round doorknob with a small keyhole. Father says to never open it under any circumstances.

But you know... there's nothing as tempting as a locked door.

UPDATE: Story Delay and Tumblr

Oh god, I'm just being swamped studying for the APWH test that's coming in two weeks. I feel incredibly nervous since I'm extremely unprepared.

But why should you guys care? Well, since I've been devoting a lot of my time to stuffing names, events, and dates of historical events into my tiny, tiny cranium, I haven't had as much time as I wanted to work on the new story, which is a damn shame, since I have a really, really great story planned.

So to make sure that the story achieves its maximum greatness whilst still being able to prepare myself for the upcoming AP test without my brain exploding from overwork, I've decided unfortunately to delay the story release. I know, I know, I can hear your booing through the monitor. But don't worry, I'm shooting for releasing it this week, probably on Sunday (like the good ol' days in the past), but if I can't, then definitely next Wednesday at the latest, I promise.

...Or, I could upload a short story that I wrote a long, long time ago, if you guys would like to read that? Your choice, tell me in the comments!

Also, remember my Ask Box? And remember how I said that the Tumblr associated with it would be used exclusively for responses to questions? Well, I lied. It'll still be closely associated with this blog, but instead of just straight up responses, I'll also be posting mini stories too short to post here called "Bite Sized Pieces," which won't be released regularly, but rather, whenever I feel like it. Also, I'll be posting mini updates there too, dealing with personal comments on blog posts/Analytics, thoughts on stories, why the new story was late, or why it sucked, etc. Basically, less updates about the actual blog, and more updates on me personally but still somewhat related to writing, if that makes sense.


So en bref, new story's going to be delayed because I have to study, follow my Tumblr if you want to know more about my personal life (but still related to writing), that's it!

Look forward to the new story and shoutouts to the new Venezuelan and Australian readers! Bonjour aux personnes nouvelles de France qui a lu mon blog aussi!

Night of the Pomeranian

The military truck that we rode in bumped and shook as it drove across the rough terrain. Across from me, ten soldiers, bathed in the truck's red light, stared blankly at the ground, assault rifles held in unsteady hands. Beside me, nine more soldiers in the same state, as if comatose. To my left, the squadron commander smoked a cigar, as if today was just another day.

But it was not another day. This was the single most important battle for the human race, against the most dangerous enemy we've ever encountered. A dense atmosphere of nervousness hovered and slowly choked us all, reminding us that this could easily be our last day alive.

"Gentlemen," our commander started, removing the cigar from his mouth, and we all snapped out of our dazes and looked toward him, "You are humanity's last and greatest hope against this growing epidemic. You are twenty of the bravest men and women I've ever had the privilege of fighting beside with in my twenty years of service. If we survive, each and every one of your names will go down in history."

He stood up. "Remember your training. One bite is all it takes. No matter what they look like, no matter how much you recognize them, remember that their real personalities are gone. They're just hollow bodies, waiting to be killed. Do not hesitate. Do not react to them. Just shoot. And above all..."

The commander extinguished his cigar on the palm of his left hand, leaving a black, circular burn mark. He showed no pain.

"Do not... I repeat... Do not..."

He pulled the cigar away from his palm, revealing several other burn marks dotting and overlapping the skin on his palm of various hues of black.

"Pet the pomeranians."

(Your Name Here)

(Looking for your name? Hit "CTRL+F" or "CMD+F" to quick search!)

Content (in order):

Alana
Alex
Angela
Brandon
Camille
Daniel
Diane
Elliot
Emily
Mr. Fulks
Hannah
Ivan
Kayla
Kevin
Mathew (or derivatives)
Michael (Me)
Seth
Steven
William
Author's Note

An Excerpt From A Chemist's Diary

I don't know what to make of these strange occurrences, and I fear that if I explain them to anyone else, I'll be branded a lunatic by society. So I write my observations this diary, both to keep my sanity and in hopes that if the unspeakable were to happen to me, someone in the future may be able to explain these events. Or, if not explain, then avoid entirely.

What I am about to write in these pages are true events, written to the best of my memory. At times, it may seem more like an outlandish horror story, but I swear, on my mother's grave, that these incidents are not fictitious. I realize that the bulk of the text may be overwhelming to some, so if you happen to come across this diary in the future, I offer one piece of advice to you.

If you ever find yourself alone, and you feel like you're being watched by something. Or, if you enter a room by yourself and are suddenly subject to inexplicable chills and feelings of panic, then it's there. Behind you. Hidden in plain sight. Staring you right in the back of the head. And if you ever find yourself in those situations, the only advice that I can offer is...

Do not look behind you.

UPDATE: Ask Box! Submit Some Names!

Woah, two updates on the same day? Amazing, huh? Hopefully, this makes up for the late update this week.

...Nah, it probably doesn't.

Well, if you hadn't noticed already, I've finally added an Ask Box to my blog. Here, you can send me general questions you want me to answer (humorous or not, it doesn't matter to me), story ideas, genre fusion challenges, whatever. And the best part? You can do it while completely anonymous, so don't hold back on anything! I just ask that if you send a question, keep it to at most a PG-13 level. I don't want to have to put in an Adult Content filter on my blog and answering adult-oriented questions would be pretty awkward.

So why am I dedicating an entire post to an Ask Box that I added almost a week ago? Because I'll be using the Ask Box for the story I'll be publishing two weeks from now.

It started when someone sent a question my way a few days back, asking me to write about the strange and memorable people in my life. I thought it was an interesting prompt, but I had no idea how I could chain these people together to form a comprehensive story. Then, I realized that I don't have to, when a Tumblr post suggested that I write individual stories based on names that I receive in my Ask Box. I thought it was a great idea.

So, here it is. Send me a name, any name, in my Ask Box. It could be your name, it could be someone else's, it could be one that's completely made up, and as long as I've had at least one memorable person in my life with that name, I'll write a story on my experiences with that person. Then, when two weeks pass, I'll publish all of the stories in one blog post, organized by name. Just keep in mind, I'll need a bit of time to actually write each story, so the deadline I'm putting on this project is Friday, April 19.



Just a recap:

 - Send me a name via my Ask Box (anonymously if you want).
 - If I know someone with that name, I'll write a story about them.
 - I'll publish all of the stories under one blog post on April 24.
 - Deadline to send names is Friday, April 19.

Looking forward to writing a mini autobiography!

Cycles

Part 1: Asleep

The scolding tone of the alarm, like an irate parent,

Commanding me to rise out of sleep, 

Signaling the start of another day. 

Awake, asleep, awake, asleep, 

Fluttering over two mental states as my eyelids flutter open and shut, 

Until finally, I'm awake, 

Reluctantly pulled from my solemn slumber.

Awake, but unwilling to pull myself away

From the sweet embrace of my bedsheets.

Awake, but uneager to rise and silence

The electronic screams by my side.

Awake,

But still asleep.

Zombies: The Western Musical

The three stood before the porch of the two-story saloon, the last building they hadn't yet searched in the small desert town. The three stood silent, attentively listening for any sound of the undead from within the faded brown, plank-thick wooden walls of the small, seemingly abandoned structure. The decaying wooden pillars that held up the awning in front of the cracked, wooden double doors and the shattered windows and broken glass strewn about everywhere on the sandy desert floor were all battle scars of both the house's age and the zombie apocalypse all those years ago.

Two minutes crawled by, as the trio stood in the hot Californian sun, the desert wind blowing specks of dust and sand in their faces, all with their weapons at the ready. No undead moans heard, but still, the three took caution. The dead could very well just be dead quiet.

Dmitri motioned to Pascal to follow him inside. The third one remained outside as a lookout.

The two slowly approaching the rightmost door, taking care to silence his footsteps. With the butt of his pistol, Dmitri nudged the door open, inch by careful inch, trying to avoid as much noise as possible.

A deafening creak, the burglar alarm created by rusted metal hinges of the generations-old door. And the moaning from within the saloon followed.

"They're awake." Pascal grinned.

Ragged Doll P

Step. Step. Step went my feet as I walked down Camino Ruiz, a route I was more than familiar with. I had taken this same route so often that I could navigate it with my eyes closed if I really wanted to. Things never ended well in the times that I did try to walk the road blind though. At best, I would stumble on a protruding block of concrete beneath my feet that I had forgotten about. At worst, I would cause a 42 car pileup requiring 15 medical vehicles and presidential attention.

Regardless, I probably knew this route better than I know most of my family members. The pale white trees to the right of the sidewalk with pale bark that flaked and peeled like old paint, the woofs and ruffs from an unseen dog greeting me from behind a fence bordering the street, the severed leg stupidly hidden behind a bush near the intersection of Camino Ruiz and Westmore Road. I knew every secret and every story that this road had to offer simply because I walked the same path every day to and from school. No detours. No shortcuts. Just Camino Ruiz.

I lived my life the same way that I chose my paths. I would find the safest, most comfortable approach, and repeat it endlessly, never daring to change even a single step. Of course, that meant that my life was often boring and cyclic. At times, I didn’t mind the monotony, but sometimes, the faintest desire for a thrilling, fast-paced adventure would spark deep within my pinkish-red internal organs, a spark that never completely engulfed me because of my reluctance to change. But thankfully, one day, change took control. And slapped me right in the face.

UPDATE: Short Film Script and Stuff

Hello again.

So I'm really, really sorry, but there isn't going to be a new story this week, for a few reasons. One, I had a billion tests I had to study for this week, which stole a good chunk of my free time. Two, because I've been practicing for a parkour jam that's happening this Saturday, which also ate up a lot of my free time. And three, because the story I had been working on which I was supposed to publish this week ended up being horrible and I had to scrap it all. I won't go into the detail of the actual story right now because I might revisit the concept in the future, but wow, was that story a mess.

Don't worry, I haven't run out of ideas just yet, I just did a really, really bad job with outlining the plot this week. I already have better, smoother plans on what to write for next Wednesday.

Anyway, on to the more important thing. I've been working really hard on the script for my short film, currently titled "I Remember." Getting really, really close to the end of it, and I have to say, it's heartbreaking. Based on Analytics, I can tell you guys absolutely loved "A Hundred Lifetimes," so if you loved that one, you're going to love "I Remember" EVEN MORE. I love it already and I'm not even done with it.

Again, my apologies for not being able to deliver on a story this week, but next week's story's going to be great, I promise. Also, shoutouts to my readers from Finland, Germany, and the UK! Hope you like my writing!

Descent

Experiment Proposal
Subject ID: 50197
Research Conductor: Dr. ████
March 15, 2019

Purpose: To observe the effects of solitary confinement on the human psyche.

Procedure: Subject is to be held alone for ten (10) years in a windowless, temperate, well-lit, ventilated room 550m x 550m in size, with an 8m high ceiling. Scientific observation is to be made through two (2) dome CCTV cameras hidden on opposite corners of the ceiling, as well as through four (4) wireless microphones built into various furniture (Technical Specifications for the cameras and the microphones are in appendix A-50197-1-1 and A-50197-1-2). Subject is provided:

• *One (1) Desktop computer WITHOUT Internet access or a clock, bolted to a desk, to be used exclusively as a diary for the subject (Technical Specifications are in appendix A-50197-2). Comes with a wired mouse, a monitor, and a wired keyboard.
• One (1) White wooden work desk, bolted to the ground.
• One (1) White folding chair.
• One (1) White mattress.
• *One (1) White pillow.
• Food and drinkable water, to be dispensed via an automated slot in the wall three (3) times daily (See appendix A-50197-3-1 for more thorough detail on the mechanism). Food was specifically selected to simulate the subject's regular diet.
• One (1) Working toilet.
• Toilet paper, two-ply, to be replenished via a button-operated mechanism in the wall of similar design to the food dispenser.
• One (1) Working sink.
• *One (1) Working shower.
• Various hygienic products, including a toothbrush, toothpaste, a nail clipper, soap, and shampoo. Consumables replenished via observer-operated slots in the wall (See appendix A-50197-3-2 for full description).
• Clothes, to be dispensed via a weight-operated machine built into the wall of similar design to the toilet paper disposer (See appendix A-50197-3-3).
• One (1) Trash chute, button-activated.
• One (1) Television, with access only to On-Demand movies. Internal clock is disabled.
• One (1) Small white wooden table, bolted to the ground.
• *One (1) White couch.
• One (1) Item of the subject's request (must meet overseer approval).

(Note: Asterisks denote furniture with hidden microphones)

Subject Description: Subject is an American male, aged ██. Subject is 1.75m tall and 64kg in weight. Subject is in excellent physical condition, with a body fat percentage of 7%. 50197 has short brown hair and brown eyes. Subject is of average intelligence.

Subject, upon hearing the 10 million dollar compensation for the experiment, was the first (and only one) to volunteer in selection group O3-627-M. Prior to experimentation, subject requested an Xbox 360 and several games. Request granted, but online multiplayer access and internal clock both have been disabled.

Experimentation approved by Dr. ███████. Testing scheduled to begin on March 21, 2019.

The First Day of the Rest of Ivan's Life

Click. Click click went the old computer mouse under Ivan's skinny, pale fingers. A thick layer of oil and grease formed a shell around the mouse, a testament to the endless hours that Ivan had spent snacking on chips and pizza while in front of the blue glow of his old Macintosh computer, the only source of light in the dark, damp basement of his mother's house that Ivan called home.

He was 29. His birthday was in a week. You know the old saying, where if you turn 30 without having a single girlfriend, you become a wizard? If that were true, then Ivan was well on his way to becoming the wizard king. Apart from his mother, he hadn't seen another girl since he dropped out of high school when he was 16. Hell, he hadn't even seen his own mother in awhile, now that he only left the house between midnight and sunrise, when the sun wouldn't burn his deathly pale skin or hurt his weak, beady eyes. He had become a vampire. A pathetic one. Which no person would ever write a book about, or at least a book that would make millions of girls fall in love with him. If he were in some sort of writing material, it'd probably be in a blog post, or a National Geographic article about fake vampire sightings that nobody ever reads.

Ivan had spent the vast majority of his unproductive, meaningless youth in front of his computer screen, eating a diet made entirely of of pizza, chips, and the occasional stray rat that happened to pass between him and the monitor. It was a miracle that after 13 years of this, he hadn't turned into an amorphous blob of lard and grease. Maybe it was because of his ridiculous metabolism (haha). Or maybe it was because he starved himself, completely ignoring his hunger to maximize computer time, until he's just at the brink of death by starvation, where he gorges himself on snacks and pizza and repeats the cycle again. Yeah. That was probably it.

He didn't sleep. He didn't even blink anymore. Every second of every day, his eyes were open, and glued to the monitor, reading 4chan threads or playing games or watching things. On this particular day, Ivan had been doing the former. Little did he know, this particular 4chan thread would change his life. Forever.

UPDATE: Post Day Change and Other Things

Alright. Another one of these awkward updates where I actually have to pretend I'm talking to you, the reader. Bear with me.

Anyway, I'm getting busier and busier with school, especially with these dreaded finals looming just over the horizon. Don't worry, I'll still be writing stories, but I've decided to post them on Wednesdays instead of Sundays. That way I get all of Sunday to write too, which will give me a lot more time to revise, add things, clarify, etc., as opposed to what I usually do, which is write the rough storyline on weekdays, and stay up until midnight on Saturday writing the actual bulk of the story.

Why Wednesday? Because it has a funny name.

Also, a few other things. I'm considering making a module where you guys can send your story requests to me. Not because I'm running out of ideas (which I'm not, trust me), but because I'd like to try and see what it feels like to be "hired" to write about something. And I wanna see if your ridiculous ideas are better than mine. Think of it as an imagination measuring contest. So stretch your imagination appendages and look forward to the module in the future.

One last thing, dealing on why I haven't fulfilled my promise of random genre fusion and sleep deprivation stories. For the genre fusion, a few reasons. One, because I don't have a need to resort to genre fusion since I still have a lot of ideas. Two, because sometimes research on how to write genres I've never heard of could be too time consuming for my current schedule (holy crap, first time I had to write a steampunk post-apocalyptic dark humor story, it SUCKED because I had no idea how to start it off). And three, because the computer that has the genres in a giant spreadsheet is currently broken and I don't feel like rewriting every genre from Wikipedia again. But don't worry, I promise one's coming soon. Yep. Soon. Weasel word.

As for the sleep deprivation stories, again, dealing with lack of time. I promise I'll do at least one come Spring Break when I can afford to destroy a few million brain cells, but right now, no can do.

That's about it. Look forward to the next story in seven days! Shout out to the anonymous people living in South Korea, Germany, and the Philippines that have viewed my blog!

Cloudburn

The countdown started.

Ten. The massive egg-shaped shuttle stood beside the passenger tower like a chrome mountain holding a steel crutch, towering over the charred, dead landscape.

Eight. Dim, dark orange sunlight reflected off the hundreds, thousands of one-way windows that dotted the sides of the shuttle in a grid, like a steel and glass net wrapped around a silver egg. Behind each window sat one, maybe two people, sitting comfortably in mahogany chairs and silk beds.

Six. The tip of the conical shuttle rounded off into a hemisphere. Five boosters spread evenly in a pentagon pattern were attached to the circumference of the egg's flat base base, each as wide as a city block.

Four. Inhabitants a world away stared at the shuttle through the glass in their television screens. A man watched far in the distance atop a hill, through the glass in his gas mask. A pickaxe in his hands.

Two. Absolute silence.

One.

A Hundred Lifetimes

I was never popular in school. I don't know why, maybe because I looked different from everyone else, being the only Asian in a white-majority school. Maybe because I was awkward and hard to talk to, or maybe because I kept moving houses and never had time to connect with people. Whatever the reason for my unpopularity, the result was as expected. I had few close friends.

As a child with all the free time of youth to burn away but without the friends to burn it with, I was bored for much of my childhood. That is, until I discovered video games.

Hour after hour, I would have competitions with friends made of pixels, driven by artificial intelligence. I would live the scripted lives of characters that existed not in my world, but in a world made of polygons and bits of code. In school, I was a loser, but here, I was a hero in a zombie apocalypse. I was an Italian plumber on a mission. I was the center of attention. And I loved every second of it.

But of course, every second I spent connected to the virtual world was another second I spent disconnected from the real one. As days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, my social life wilted away while my gaming life turned into an obsession, culminating to the point where I was actually playing my Game Boy during recess in school.

Which was how I met her.

On the Other Side

I'm not superstitious. I never believed in ghosts, or bad luck, or monsters under my bed. I always considered myself to be brave, and my friends did too. Whenever a new "cursed ritual" or "demonic ceremony" came up, they would always ask me to perform it for them so they could sleep well at night knowing it was just another fake Internet story. So when news of some "creepypasta" about mirrors started spreading, of course I didn't take it seriously. Just another "ritual" designed to make people paranoid.

The procedure was simple enough. Just look into a mirror, take a strand of hair from your head, measure it with a ruler, and compare the length of that hair to the one in the reflection. No big deal. 

UPDATE: Orientation

Eesh. I've always been bad with introductions, so bear with me.

This is a writing blog, meaning I'll mainly be writing fiction stories here. Sometimes I'll ramble about something interesting that happened in my life, sometimes I'll take a few random genres, fuse them together, and see if a comprehensible story can come out of the inhuman combination. And sometimes I'll be sleep deprived and write stories so hard to understand you'll swear that English isn't my main language.

Whatever the content might be, my "prime directive" is always to entertain. Whether it be to make you laugh, cry, or scared to go into your kitchen late at night, this is all for you, person on the other side of the screen.

Great. We got that out of the way with what I'm hoping are minimal casualties. We'll find out later in Analytics.

EDIT: Whoops! Forgot some important information. Well, there goes a good chunk of potential viewership, but anyway, I'm aiming to update weekly, every Sunday, maybe more if interesting things keep happening to me.