Saturday, January 3, 2015

Free write / Steel-Arm

The frenzy fish of light-gime's phase, twas lift above another's curl.  Yetweems, gummerths, the grass, unshroken, but minds were never smart for the amber ways.

Why do men whither away at the screen of fantastic proportions?  Shooting their guns and casting spells?  It is because the company is sweeter that the lack thereof.

If you haven't noticed already, I'm just going off on randomness.  Not even sure why I'm pointing it out.  It's like that xkcd post where when you're alone you just randomly say "I know you're listening" in the hopes of freaking out some secret organization.  Anyway, here goes some more random stuff.  Free write.  Whatever randomness comes to me:

Those grapes, he was riots.  But nobody asked if his clues matched his blues.  Yet nother carries him home on his back.  His burley.  A hunched giant through and through the threw woods.  Give me a nine iron.

This is a lot easier to do with a pen, because it's slower.  Gives me more time to think.  I'm somewhat faster at typing.  Though apparently I hit the space-bar with the wrong thumb.  A teacher called me out on that in elementary school I believe.  I'm still pretty ticked about that.  Seriously?  The space- is big enough for all my fingers.  What difference does it make if I use a different thumb?  So stupid.  I could throw a bring through a window.  I could smash a bottle against a wall. Not really, though, it just sounds funny.

Here take a leaf of abby abby who dang throme bumb agome drome.  Shummy the dang hing the spikes they whirl and bumps.

This seemed like a good idea at the time, now I'm not so sure.  I think I'm realizing I'm just giving myself excuses for not writing something coherent and not wanting to use my brain.  I'm not sure if I phrased that the right way, but I'm still not going back to fix it.  Even though I'm wrong, I have my rights.

Alright fine.  Here is a story of a bacon that wanted his cheese to grow a beard.

No that's no good either.  I could continue that last story, but I have other stuff bouncing around in my head too.  How 'bout this one? Like most of how stories in my head begin, this one starts in the middle.


What was this?  Why was his skin going cold again.  The pain was so sharp.  Then dull.  And then gone.  It had been weeks since the bite, and now the infection had spread up to his collar-bone.  How long would it be until his whole body was turned to steel?  He could still control the infected limb.  In fact it was a lot stronger than it had been before.  Much, much stronger.  But he just couldn't feel with it like he used to, and that's what frightened him.  If the infection stopped, maybe he wouldn't mind.  Heck, anyone else would be happy to have an unbreakable steel arm.  Think of what one could do!  He probably would have even felt the same way.  But it's different once it happens to yourself.  Perception changes.  All changes have the bad, along with the good, but spread of this infection widened the lens of his anxiety enough to overshadow any optimism regarding this situation.

He sat down on a rock, grasping his metallic arm.  What dark magic was this?  How come nobody knew how to help him?  "I should have amputated it when it was still below my elbows."  He thought to himself.  "I would still have a shoulder at least, and I wouldn't have to worry about this situation anymore."  The pain returned with a jolt through his tendons.  He clenched his teeth, breathing more heavily.  He looked down at his cold, heavy metal hand, almost expecting to see his reflection.  He rested his forehead into his metal palm.  It was too much for him.  It was getting out of control.  It would be best to end it all before something bad happened.  He slowly started to clamp his metal fingers into his skull.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The boy didn't even look around to see who it was.  "Well, what else can I do?"

"Frankly," said the cloaked man walking out from the clearing, "anything other that what you were about to do, is what you can do."

"But what if I hurt someone?"

"Are you saying that taking your life - like this - wouldn't hurt them?"

The boy's eyes began to swell. "Well, at least they'd be safe.  At least I wouldn't..."

"Wouldn't what?"

The boy wiped his eyes and pushed his teeth against his fist. "At least I wouldn't be able to kill them."

At this point the boy lost it.  He sobbed and made those pathetic groans nobody likes to hear.  The man walked over, sat down, and put his arm around the boy.

"Do you really believe that?  Do you really think you're a danger to your loved ones?"

The boy calmed down just enough to whimper, "I'm scared."

The old man spoke softly, "Just because something isn't in your control, doesn't mean you can't control yourself."

"What happens if it spreads to my mind?"

"How long do you think it will take to reach there?"

The boy sniffed, "I don't know.  A few days.  Maybe a week."

"Well, you have that much time to find a solution."  The old man smiled and rustled the boy's hair.  "Don't give up, my boy!"

The boy woke up before he could thank the old man.  He opened his shirt to see that the infection had spread past an inch or two past his collar-bone.  From the base of his neck and halfway down his torso to the end of his fingertips had become pure steel.

"Nobody can help me here," he said to himself, "I have to get out."


Sorry that got a little dark there.  I'm sure if I thought longer I would have been able to come up with something with a more lighthearted humorous tone, like I usually like to.  But I guess it's good to have stuff like that too.  Idunno.

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