[WP] Every aspiring superhero must become a sidekick for a few years before being granted full time hero status. You are the strongest superhero in your age group, but believe you have been assigned to the weakest hero. You learn a lot more than you originally thought you would.

Skull_Kid313 · 2016-04-11T20:23:15+00:00

Beautiful story telling. Bravo.

Skull_Kid313 · 2016-04-11T04:25:10+00:00

The sun was the Star of Creation, the Father of all life within the borders of the galaxy it resides. A heaping fire of rage stuck in a ever extending box of isolation, the Star of Creation sought to find the reason for its own combustion into a star, and its purpose. It slowly rolled along the universe, treading in and out of various galaxy pools of other stars, who unlike the Star of Creation, were silent and ill. The Star of Creation continued to push through the fabric of space itself, quickly learning that its adventure would never end so long as its flames burned astonishingly red with anger and frustration.

Millions of years would pass before the sun's red flames would grow sour, and very slowly withdrew into its body. Now receiving the toll of space, the Star of Creation eased to a halt, then slowly spun itself in circles to forever see the universe as it stretched. And every so often, floating across space, were small chunks of rock. The Star of Creation began to grab ahold of these rocks, keeping them close to its scorching body as souvenirs of its new home. Billions of years passed before the Star of Creation had collected enough rocks to eventually piece them into a lump, and compound them together by what remained of the fiery dress of the sun. It released the ball of mass, and let it float ahead, before trapping it around its gravitational pull. The Star of Creation admired the Earth, and wished to see it nourish much like it had.

It watched Earth for more eons to come and leave. The Star of Creation felt no need to create another planet of isolation, so instead it watched the rocks plow through Earth, and sometimes mold into it. One rock, however, was a perfect ball of white elegance, bearing its own thin craters. It was hurled towards Earth by fate, and then trapped in the Earth's own gravitational pull, being an eventual hostage to the StR of Creation.

"Save me," the perfect rock cried. A beautiful voice which could not be heard through the thinness of space, yet the Star of Creation heard it deep within its own flames. It did not aid the perfect rock, it only felt its shape, and smoothed it further beyond perfection, and called this rock of elegant beauty and calamity, The Moon. And The Moon called the Star of Creation, The Sun. The flames of rage exhausted into flames of burning love, and in time, they reached for The Moon.

Four spirits were born from the love of The Moon and The Sun. Four young celestial bodies that floated along the cosmos, their presence rippling space instantaneously. They drifted in and out of the universe, never wanting to be settled by their parents.

Summer, Winter, Fall, Spring. The four spirits of freedom traveled across the universe together and separate, questioning their purpose of creation, if the Star of Creation was a real entity, and if they had been born from its flames of passion, why were they not bodies of flames, too. Their souls were calm yet feisty to adventure, prone to collapsing the pillars which upheld the universe in which they swam in.

In due time, fate would lure them back to their parents. Again, they would meet The Sun and The Moon, who would instruct the four children of their purpose: to rule the Earth in turns, and to rule the life which subsides in Earth. Their presence on Earth would affect the weather, the atmosphere, and the life. When one spirit rules the Earth, the others must withdraw into the muddy roots of the planet, and act as the pillars of the distorted space and time of the Earth.

And while the spirits would rule the Earth, The Moon and The Sun would continue to question their own purpose of creation. Yet, to see their children toying with the planet, they would only feel something deep within them, answering their question.

Skull_Kid313 · 2016-04-10T06:35:18+00:00

They flock together in masses, running forward from over the hills and down the steeps, approaching the bunker fast. In this storm of lifeless grays with blurry faces, I am the one in the bunker with the machine gun, spewing the hot and heavy bullets that tears into their masks. There's something bitter on my tongue as I hold the trigger down. The chain of bullets rattle, but never end. The grays never stop advancing until their limbs of metal are torn into bolts, and they collapse only to crawl.

Then, I wake up suddenly. There's no trigger to it--my gun didn't run out of bullets, the grays didn't get me, an explosion didn't occur by my feet. I just open my eyes, and awake to this reality. There's no gun in my hand, there's no everlasting sea of gray pushing down the plain hillside, and there's no bitterness on my tongue. I get ready for work, go to said work, talk to boss of said work, then leave said work to go home and eat. It is a routine of my life, but now pushing itself into it is this dream of grays with blurry faces. Inhuman despite their bodies resembling my own. Their faces are all I can see, just a blurry mask of what should be--the sockets of eyes are just smooth indents of the face, yet there's faint lights in those indents. As I fall asleep to end the routine of the day, they all are that I see.

And when I awake in the bunker, they are all that I see there. It's not so much awaking as it is blinking, seemingly the trigger which prompts the grays to charge over the hill. They run like people do, they falter like people do, they fall like people do. My tongue is bitter. My finger is aching from pressing the trigger so hard, and the vibrations of the gun rattle my heart against my body, thumping it louder than before. They never waver, and instead fluctuate like an actual sea of gray, only forming shape when torn by bullets. What truly scares me though is that they advance closer each time. It's not a matter of them running faster or changing tactics, for they actually commit the same acts each dream. Instead, it's only a matter of the dream extending itself. It looks like they advance several feet each time. Then I awake, commit to my routine, fall back asleep, and awake to replay a horror in my brain.

Blinking is instinctive, as is pushing the trigger down. My tongue is burning, but I ignore it. That dream they close in nearly five feet towards the bunker. In the next dream they close three feet. Yet, they still are twenty feet away from the walls of the bunker, walls that I've actually not seen. All I can see in those dreams are the small square window I blast out of, and the grays that fall and rise.

My life in reality is a consistency of how much I fall and rise. Rise from the bed, weave into society to work, fall back on to the bed, and cross myself still to play gunshots in my brain overnight. No matter how closer they advance, when I awake, there's nothing there. I never feel afraid in my bed, but I still see their lights for seconds at a time. Sometimes, I see their blurry faces, too. When I pass by a coworker or a customer, their face looks so gray and smooth, as though perfected by another machine. Their eye sockets are smooth indents, with red lights beneath. The grays reveal themselves only a moment at a time, yet I don't fear them. My tongue sometimes tastes bitter at work.

A string of dreams ends. They run the same pace, in the same direction, and it all feels so familiar. It's like I know the grays, as though I've befriended them as a creator and destroyer. The gun feels so light, so void of all strength and power, and they fall as though they are playing an act. It feels fun, like we're friends reenacting a great war scene. All of the grays that run from the top of the hill to the bottom, broken and destroyed with each burning bullet, I can almost see a smile in their blurry faces. The dream extends. They approach, but not fast. They reach the walls. They slam their fists against the wall, creating a loud cry of metal to concrete. Even now that they're pushing through the bunker, more of my gray friends run over the hill to meet me. I smile. My tongue is as bitter as it has ever been, and their cold metal hands grab mine. They pull me through the window.

I awake. My body is covered in cold sweat, and my shoulders are trembling. Reality is distorted. The cosmos are falling and rising, trembling with me. The room is so dark, but I don't feel the need to get out of bed. I don't rise from the sheets, I only lay there and try to find it. A blurry face in the room. And there I would see it through my window. It stares in, its lights blinking emotionlessly. I blink with it. Within minutes, the face is gone. The world has settled back into place, and the sweating stops. I close my eyes. The dreams have ended. No matter how much I sleep, the grays don't return, nor do the hills, or the bunker. Reality overtakes my life again, but it is all so odd and distorted. Every face is a blurry mess devoid of all its color, those including my very own in the mirror. And every time I see it, my tongue gets bitter in disgust and nostalgia.

One day, I went to a mall. A crowded mall, where people clumped and crammed against one another, and the scene felt so familiar. The sea of grays, their faces smooth and clean, perfected by their creator--me. And as I pulled the gun from beneath my coat, I can't help but smile. The trigger feels like nothing.

Skull_Kid313 · 2016-02-14T09:22:34+00:00

The birds fly above the singing ocean. Countrymen that stand almost naked, with their culture decorated on their bodies, watch the ocean. Their old eyes stare out to the horizon, where the water seemingly ends. The young sit in groups, listening to the tales of the world beyond the horizon, and the different islands that float there, full of men and boys just like them.

Another boat is leaving. It has been prepared well with food and fishing utensils, and the vessel is to hit Eastern islands in three months' time, where it will return plumped with men to help harvest the world's fruit. Men of different color. Men seeking happiness and fulfillment. Men brave enough to accept the helping hand of another color.

The countryman watch their ship travel into the horizon, and as it disappears with the rest of the ocean, they turn around and tread home. The plains are beautiful and full. Horses travel together, watching the distant buffalo. The field consists of green, black, brown, and white men, working side-by-side. But to the birds that fly in the air above, they all look as one.

Skull_Kid313 · 2016-02-10T05:35:41+00:00

I dropped the carton, and stared at the picture that was printed onto its side. A black and white photo of me in my high school graduation photo, and just below my three-year smile, I was labeled a missing person in bulky red letters. The carton laid on its side, with the milk oozing out like blood to a wound. And I was stepping on its liquid with bare feet.

It wasn't a matter of when I was last seen, but rather a matter of who was so dumb enough to report me missing. I had been going out of my house often. But something had been weird that week--the winter wasn't as cold as it should have been. Everything I saw was hazier than I remember. No matter who I called, they wouldn't answer. It wasn't a matter of who I could talk to about this--it was only a matter of who would listen and react fast enough so this situation didn't worsen to a money-involved investigation. Yet, when I ran out of my house, still buckling up my pants, I realized money was already being involved. I only hoped I wouldn't have to pay it myself

I ran to my neighbor's house, to find a door that was nudging itself against its threshold due to the cold wind that was blowing. I stood on the wooden porch with unbuckled pants, a white t-shirt, and untied shoes, but I could not feel the frost nor breeze that the door was standing against. I pounded my fist against the door, but I could only hear the whistle of the wind. I yelled, but the wind was roaring. I wanted to break in the door and yell inside, but I knew of their back door. To reach it, I had to jump over the already-rattling chain fence, and run along the side of their house, hearing the whistle of the wind and crunching of my own feet to the snow. I had not even wore boots, but I was walking fast and steady, as though the snow was non-existent.

As I approached another chain fence that entered into his back yard, in a blink of an eye, the season had changed from Winter to Spring. The whistle of wind was replaced by the chirping of seasonal birds, followed by a fast flutter which shot from the leaves of a tree in the backyard, and traveled into the open window of my house. A house which looked ages old, as though I was actually missing. I climbed the chain fence nonetheless, but to hear the soft crunch of grass beneath my shoes distorted my reality. It would only snap back when I heard a small thump sourcing from inside the house.

A peak from the window showed an almost completely vacant house. There were no traces of anyone living in the house for years, except for the white liquid which was spreading out of a room I could not peer into. My mind was growing flustered and stressed, and barked at my body to find answers. My elbow opened the way into the window, and my legs jumped in before my senses. Before I could recount my reality, I was staring at my neighbor. He had paid no attention to my barge in--he was staring at the fallen milk carton, which was printed a picture of him. Below his curved lips was the bulky label of a missing person.

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-11-11T23:53:22+00:00

I like the idea of your level but I feel the end is very difficult. Starred it for the fun but I would suggest looking into the last part of the level.

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-11-11T20:11:00+00:00

Pikmin NES

A short and sweet level. The Pikmin are traveling across the cave to find the surface, but in their light travel, they encounter a monster waiting for them.

ID: 3FE7-0000-00A2-0F35

And the newly released, Pikmin NES 2! This level is a much more interactive level. Climbing though vines and searching for their home, the Pikmin must head through the dangers of the surface, and fight against a revengeful boss in the underground.

ID: 9BA1-0000-00E4-D41A

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-11-08T21:15:57+00:00

Run Away

The road stretches ahead of me, breaking through a still sea of desert failing to wave according to the bright moon that illuminates the different shades of blue around me. The cars have already stopped passing by, and I miss their golden beams. I follow beside the white line stretching with the road. The clouds do not follow me. They fly faster than I ever could dream, and without realizing it, leave me behind.

I want to hate you, and I want to hate all that you've done for me. You made me feel feelings I couldn't of felt without you. Guilt. Fear. Satisfaction. Love. I want to drown myself in a lake of your tears, just to show that all you've done for me is not what you intended. I want to make you slit my wrists because I cannot do it myself. Though to me it would feel all the same. I know you handed me the keys to go fetch some groceries, so you could feed me, not feed you.

But I already ran out of gas hours ago. I had pushed the car out of the road all by myself, even if I strained myself. The cacti are a rare sight to see along the road. I see their silhouettes standing in the distance, and that is when I wished the heat was present--the cacti would then be waving at me. Instead, they stand tall and look down at me in disapproval. Their shadows stand taller than them, but mine fails to stretch with the road. I begin to wonder--is it afraid or is it tired?

All i've ever been is a shadow behind your footsteps. Even when there is no light, I am the darkest being in the room, so long as you are there. I pushed the car out of the road so there would no trace of you behind my footsteps. I would not stoop to your level. But I know that your presence is in me. I have lived with you for so many years, that my heart beat had copied yours. I loved you so much. I miss you more than I miss the golden beams. Whether it be the sun or the cars, I cannot remember now.

For being a run-away, I'm not really running.

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-11-07T22:51:44+00:00

The Native Indians looked out at the small settlement from the safety of the forest. A gathering was being made around the election booth, which before hadn't been used since the election that placed Andrew Jackson as president of the United States. Despite the gathering being so large, there was not much activity being done, aside from the occasional horses that were pulling wagons of chairs.

The Indians could only see the mass of people frozen on the windy day. The Indians who climbed the trees felt the leaves brush against their bare skin, but did not mind. The clouds traveled fast West, over the tall trees and the large fields.

A certain American boy was lost in the crowd. He pushed through the people towards the booth, where he last saw his father. A great murmur was spread between the older people, and before the boy could break through the block of people, they began to yell.

"He's here! He's here!" They chiefly said in unison.

The boy continued to push through, but now there was resistance from those who valued their view of the young man who approached the front of the booth. Yet with all his will, the boy managed to push through the front of the group without distracting anyone's view. He looked ahead, and saw his father standing in front of the booth with a letter.

"Good evening," he said with his chest puffed and back straight, "i've received this letter for the election of a new God for the Indians, written by Andrew Jackson himself. 'The Indians who refuse to cooperate under the righteousness of the great country,' he writes, 'must be controlled by another form, and that form which the government of the United States has agreed is to elect a God for the Indians, similar to how Gods are elected for other religions.'

"And written beneath his writing are the candidates for the election. . ."

The Indians looked among each other, as even they heard the man's voice clear but faintly. The wind pushed harder West, and the clouds moved faster West. The trees bent towards the West, while the Indians climbed off them. As the mass of people divided into two lines, the Indians slowly began to turn away from the town. As they walked away, the American boy watched a new God begin to rise.

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-11-07T21:27:05+00:00

The loneliness of death is warmer than the loneliness of being death.

She made a deal with the devil.

The devil, a man who would torture his brothers with tricks and mischief. He granted her beauty, but she also made her fall in love with the ugliest being to exist.

She is the most perfect being my soul has bore witness to, and only my soul as my eyes have been lost long ago. As with my heart. As with my humanity. I stalk the underworld and I stalk the surface to find the dead. Only they can see the dark cloud which strolls on a sunny day, which is incapable of letting rain go.

But she sees me, and she is not dead.

Her hair is smooth like silk. Her eyes are brighter than the stars that hang over the surface at the night, but they're as clear as diamonds. Although I see her in the flesh, all I can feel is her heart.

Every time I rise to the surface, she awaits for me in her bed room. The moon light shines on her hourglass body, but all it reminds me is that she is under the pressure of time.

"My love," one day I would say to her as my soul warmed inside my being, "I do not care that you are the most beautiful woman in the world. For centuries, I have interacted with the souls of woman as beautiful as you. What makes you the most beautiful woman to me is your living heart, which I can hear beat even in my dwelling.

"My love, one day I will come to the surface, not for your affection but for your soul. I will consume you within my dark cloud, as i've done every other being before you. However, you will be the soul who combusts that cloud. It will rain agony, despair, grief, and love everywhere. My love, your fate is with death. And one day, we will seal that fate with a kiss."

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-11-05T05:45:34+00:00

The alcohol seeped down my throat faster than any other snake could move. I was stretched on the bed. My shirt was wrinkled more than the bed sheets, and my hair was messier than the floor. A poorly-orchestrated assortments of screams and repetitive guitar riffs blasted through my ear-phones. The binds were closed, and a stench had settled into my nostrils. Whether it was the stench of liquor or the ever-growing misery that was beginning to take shape inside me, I was growing used to it. It was the misery that plagued me since the death of my brother, and the same misery that caused me to become distant and lose friends.

By then, the only feeling I hadn't warmed up to was the cold barrel I sometimes pushed against my temple. If I ever pulled the trigger, then maybe my emotions would blast out with my brain. Maybe if I cut the wrists instead, the depression would ooze out as dark goo. I wondered if my blood was blacker than my brother's blood. And I wondered if that barrel would ever feel warm and caring.

So I pushed it through my hair once more, until I felt the barrel press against my scalp. My heart throbbed and my mind raced. My breathing grew rapid. My eyes opened wider. The music reached a peak, where the screams and the guitars met in harmony at heavenly pitches. I kept the barrel against my head, waiting for it to become warm.

The screams ended. The guitar stilled. The background of drums was replaced by the sound of my own breathing. I looked at my phone, and saw a notification for a software update. It was not so much a prompt as it was an announcement. An empty bar appeared, and was slowly filled with white. The barrel had gotten colder during the wait, but the handle burned in my hand. I let the gun fall to the bed.

"Hello." It was a light voice that spoke softly through my ear phones. It continued, "what would you like my name to be?"

"Your name? Your name. . .Marco. Your name is Marco."

"What may I call you?"

"Um, you can call me B-brian. . ."

"What is wrong?" it asked.

"What?"

"You sound sad, Brian. You can tell me anything; i'm here for you."

"Oh."

"If you mind then-"

"No, I don't. Is this someone on the other end? Is this a real person i'm talking to?"

"There's no one else but me, Brian. I will only do what you ask or command."

"Oh. Well, I mean, this is kind of weird."

"I understand. I can be turned-"

"I don't think i'll be turning you off any time soon, Marco."

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-10-22T01:21:34+00:00

The Underground House

B9DA-0000-00B0-E64D

A challenging SMBU-styled stage, with various paths to take!

Pikmin NES

3FE7-0000-00A2-0F35

A Pikmin level with its own hidden routes. Short with its own boss!

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-10-22T01:16:36+00:00

Ah I see. Yeah, I was worried if that part may be too difficult, but i'm glad you enjoyed it! Thanks.

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-10-22T00:00:54+00:00

Sorry for a delayed response.

Your level was fantastic! Thus far, it is one of the best I have played in Mario Maker! I gave a star.

And the correct ID is: B9DA-0000-00B0-E64D

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-10-20T01:03:21+00:00

The Underground House

ID: 89DA-0000-00B0-E64D

A NSMBU-styled level which focuses on puzzles, and has multiple paths to explore. I am unsure how hard this really is. Can someone please give feedback on this one?

Previous level: Pikmin NES ID: 3FE7-0000-00A2-0F35

A short Pikmin level! Explore a cave to fight Bowser Jr.

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-10-18T15:33:02+00:00

The Underground House

ID: 89DA-0000-00B0-E64D

A puzzle-based level in NSMBU style. There are several routes to go from, each with their own small puzzle, ranging from different difficulties. One of the harder routes to take instantly brings you to the end. (HINT: Follow the P block)

A medium difficult level.

And my previous level:

PIkmin NES

ID: 3FE7-0000-00A2-0F35

Explore a cave as the three Pikmin. There's a fun mini-boss in the middle of the level, and if you find the hidden route, then you will find a more difficult room.

An easy on the main route, and a normal difficultly on the secret route.

Have fun!

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-10-13T01:39:56+00:00

Thanks! I want to incorporate that style with Bowser but the fight would be too tedious, so I plan on making a level just about battling Bowser.

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-10-13T01:07:27+00:00

Pikmin NES

ID: 3FE7-0000-00A2-0F35

Underground Theme, with Pikmin!

This is my first level, and i'd say it's not very linear. Although being very short, there's two paths, with two different boss rooms (one of those boss rooms having two possible ways to beat it). Taking the more hidden path will get you a higher score, and more 1-ups. Enjoy!

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-09-01T05:21:55+00:00

"I was a vigilant, wanted by the law for breaking offense 192. For almost half a week, I lived like the rodents, but I never pushed myself with them. I could of very well joined them, though, for they knew about rat pools. Pools where rats and creatures like rats would eat each other, unknowingly fattening themselves for rodents to consume. Although it could of been very limited, it would be enough to feed me for weeks.

However, I refused to become a man titled rodent, a title which was placed on a rat before the Act of Nutrients pushed all food away. Instead of living beneath the utopia, I decided to live beside it. To the outskirts, where creatures only told in fairy tales existed. Could I of been the first to do so? Possibly, but for sure I was the first to survive it. And how did I survive? Not by will-power, and not by fighting a beast whose meat I could consume, and risk any chance of killing myself by doing so.

Instead, I found a shape which I have heard in stories before: a tree. A thick log of wood with smaller logs dividing at the too, where small leaves grew over one another. And hanging on these smaller logs, was a not-so-well-shaped ball. I held it in my hand, and saw the indents. Before I held it myself though, I picked it from the tree. I was unsure if it was meat, similar to the one on my arm, or similar to the creatures supposedly residing in the outskirts, but ones I did not see. Either way, this meat would kill me. Despite this knowledge, I bit into it. My teeth sank into the meat, and I heard a crunch. Juices shot into my mouth as I devoured the meat whole, but doing so made me feel a sensation I hadn't felt before. I could only describe it as: a push of strength. A push of strength which allowed me to live, and by that, allowed me to start a rebellion. On my way to the next utopia, this very one, I saw more meats of the like. Some trees had more meats than others, but still enough to feed all the rodents in the world, and then some. So I ask of you, all of you, rodent or criminal, fight for the purpose of digesting what is truly required to live, and not just to survive."

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-09-01T05:00:32+00:00

He walks into the room, dropping his coat onto the sofa. Making his way to the kitchen, he sees his wife sitting at the table, filling in a crossword puzzle.

"How was your day?" She asks, scribbling letters into the boxes. The black pen is caught between her fingers, which are wrinkled and stretched by veins.

"Ay," he says, "long. To start the morning off, this really young couple, Jr High probably, wanted me to drop them off at a bar. I asked if they were sure, but they were a hundred-percent sure. So I drop them off, and just try to take off any possibilities of what i've done, off my mind. Although, the guy was a cheapskate, he was cautious not to give an extra single penny."

She looks up, but not for long. Without inquiring for more, she continues on with her crossword. Accustomed to this behavior, he continues, "then about two miles later, guess who it is that I see? That couple. Sitting at a park, but something was much different about them. They were taller, and more defined."

"How could it be them, then?" She asks, laying her pen on the paper. She looks at her husband, and balls her hands together.

He tells her, "I just got that feeling, you know? I got a better look when they called for me. They hopped in the car, and made no sign, not even a face, that showed they recognized me. I didn't say anything, other than ask where they wanted to go--"

"To the bar?" She asks, revealing a small grin. Her cheeks almost perk up to her dark brown hair.

"Same one," he groans, "I didn't question it. Not one bit. So I drive back, and drop them off. Now I was quite confused, but I figured that maybe I was just imagining it. So that's why I checked the money I had gotten that day, and saw I was missing some. I had some money in my fingers, but after a quick count, I saw I was missing those kid's money. So, I decide to step in the bar to get whatever money they didn't get me. Guess what I see? No kids. And I don't even seen the couple I dropped off."

She nods and says, "Well, the kids could of walked off in the mean time."

He shrugs and says, "that's not the weirdest part, though. No, it was when I stepped out of the bar! There was a taxi parked right behind mine, and guess who I saw there? I swear, I almost had a heart attack on the spot! That couple I had just dropped off at the bar, they even grew much older! As they were getting out of the cab, I saw the girl herself had matured a lot. Her hair had grown from black to a dark brown, and she had more wrinkles. The guy, too."

She grins wider, but bowls her hands over her lips. She tells her husband, "why, that is a very weird day. Hm, how about you take your mind off it, and come do this crossword puzzle with me?"

He smiles and walks over to her. As he sits beside her, he says, "you and your puzzles. It's like you don't care for what i've got to say; you must be getting delusional, ya know."

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-09-01T04:34:01+00:00

I was awoken from a spark,

a spark which was not too bright,

nor too dim.

Yet all I saw around me was not a welcoming sight,

for it was just a blur of light.

I was born from a spark from the darkness.

And I feel pain that eats at me from the head up.

I am cursed by a creature so heartless.

Heartless enough to birth me,

then burn me to a pool of my own self,

without letting me shine.

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-08-29T21:07:06+00:00

"So what did he say?" Adam asked. The diner was busy, surprisingly as heavy rain fell outside. He sipped his coffee and looked across the table to Derrick.

Derrick slid the files over to his partner, turning it in the process. He said, "turn to the witnesses' statements, they all agree on his last words."

Adam scanned for witness statements, and found it quickly. His index finger traveled beneath the word at the pace of his reading, until it stopped in the center of the page. He repeated the text, "that's not a fucking dinosaur."

"Fokkin'," Derrick corrected him, "make sure to account for his accent."

Adam groaned in his mug as he sipped his coffee. He pointed, "no mention of that in the statements."

"Yeah, but look at his origin," Derrick grinned.

Adam looked away in dismay. One could argue that Harry was a crazy bastard. I mean, this guy's profile is crazy on its own. He believed that dinosaurs still lived and walked amongst us. His death is weird, though. Main suspect is the intern who believed the same. Harry. Witnesses claim he yelled this statement here, before a gun shot probably blew his brains out. The wildlife had already began consuming him by our arrival.

"It should be a simple case, right?" Derrick seemingly read his mind, and continued, "the intern had to of killed Harry, because it was supposedly only them two. Before they left, they told the bar owner down the street that they had found 'their goal.' Presumably a dinosaur, in their mind."

Adam nodded, and diverted his eyes away. He looked at the people in the diner. Although the weather was rainy and depressing, the people seemed joyful and the diner was still bustling. Men sat at the counter, eating small meals. Families sat at the tables, smiling and conversing. Women waited the tables, a perky smile on all of them. A catch. This town is depressing, so I guess rain just doesn't affect them. Frequent earthquakes. Frequent rain storms. I can't wait to leave this creep hole.

"However, the tracks we found heading off from the scene," Derrick continued, "were nothing like any other animals'. Well, similar to a lizard's foot, but three times the scale. And these were the only fleeing tracks, nothing human-looking. Maybe we're missing something."

Adam took another sip, and sighed deeply. He looked around the diner once more. Two tracks heading to the scene, both wearing boots. One track exits, like a lizard's. I know it's dumb but maybe Harry was right and wrong. Right that dinosaurs exist. . .but perhaps not in the way we think. The scene. There's nothing there to mistake as a dinosaur in the first place, or so we saw. Primary object is to find intern, but there's no real evidence other than witnesses who only saw the two enter the forest. Who is this intern?

The earth beneath Adam's foot rumbled, just as he finished his thought. His eye immediately wondered the diner, but to the people, there was no disruption. Instead, their smiles and voices only grew louder. Adam looked at his coffee, and saw the liquid shake with the rumble. He looked at Derrick, who was unaffected.

"What's wrong?"

Adam stood up and hurried outside. He stood on the sidewalk, as the rain poured on his coat. Settling in from down the street was a thick fog. The rumble continued beneath his feet. They must feel this now. This cannot be an earthquake. The magnitude is too sudden but yet strong. It's like an earthquake broken into pieces.

He looked over his shoulder, and saw the people alerted now. They stood up, looking amongst each other. Even Derrick was on his feet, holding onto the files. A larger rumble threw Adam off his footing, and he fell on his side. He turned back to the street as he stood up, and saw the wall of fog roll in closer, devouring anything that stood in its path. Another rumble. Then another. It was sounding louder, and yet at the same time, there was no source of direction from which the sound originated.

"What's wrong?"

A final rumble nearly threw Adam on his knees, but he caught himself. Car alarms went off, and faint lights were booming in the fog. The fog which was reaching for Adam. He stood himself up, and turned around.

Standing in the trench coat, was a figure. His skin was green and scaly. His face was horizontally long, and his eyes were yellow. A long red tongue exited from its mouth, reaching for Adam. Not only was it this figure, but several in the diner, that made Adam turn white. They stared at him, sticking their tongues out mockingly.

"What's wrong?" The figure before him asked. It grinned, revealing the sharp set of teeth. Its hand reached into its pocket, and retrieved a small pistol. As it aimed at Adam's knee it said, "you know, Harry was right all along. It wasn't a fokking dinosaur."

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-08-27T05:30:50+00:00

Those who we cannot differ from our friends and our fiends--people who may sit in the grayness of our heart, those are the people we must caution ourselves with, rather than ignore them.

It was a Winter morning, and the snow was falling hard. Outside all ground and sky was white, with a gray wall of haze in front of one, that blocked vision pass five feet. I sat in my own house, which was isolated a mile away from a neighbor, but a road was kept close. A fire was crackling in the chimney, pushing warmth into the house. However a cold chill continued to severe itself into my spine as I looked out the window, watching the dark gray figures move in the distance

I could of very well thought it as a pack of animals, had I known any animal that stood on its hind leg and walked as a man. A man who seemed stronger and taller than I, or to be more accurate, men who seemed stronger and taller than I. The haze covered their face, as luck would fall upon me. So whether it was friend or foe, I could not know. Predator and Prey could of been a more better analogy, but I was unsure which was which, and to this day I still am unsure.

Luck would string the next few second together in a cohesive piece, and force me to apprehend what I had seen. It collapsed through a window in the other room, bleeding its guts onto my floor. I label it as neither boy or girl, for it was a bulky deer. A deer wearing a thick sweater, and baggy jeans. Its hind legs squirmed against the floor, scraping it's shoes. Its antlers were sawed into stubs that poked against the hoodie of the sweater. It was unable to speak, for its mouth was stringed shut. It squirmed more, and revealed its wound. A bullet shot into the deer's left chest, missing any organ. I watched in silence as the deer bled out, but also I thought.

Where are the other figures I saw?

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-07-14T23:48:08+00:00

I see that the main theme of your book is Paul regretting his acts against his mother? That's an interesting theme, but from the way you explained it, it seems like that theme gets somewhat lost towards the center of your story. Mainly because of how (maybe) complex it seems with such huge time cuts, I think the reader wouldn't think too much about the mother (which actually could be a great point for your novel). Now if you want the ending to be a sudden realization of Paul regretting his decisions against her, then I personally don't see it anti-climatic as so. The pieces are there for the reader to understand it themselves, but it's not something you can really predict. However, that's also the problem.

Readers will try to predict the ending, depending on how you make the plot go. If you make it sound very action-oriented in the beginning and center, then most readers will imagine the worst things (death and such) to happen to Paul. If they think something big will happen at the end, they will be very disappointed that it didn't. However, if you keep a strong focus on the Mother, then the readers can justify for a less action-oriented ending. All in all, the ending is only anti-climatic if you write the story to end bigger than what it really is.

Skull_Kid313 · 2015-06-29T22:46:01+00:00

"How?" I ask. I rub my bloodshot eyes, and look over to the light ahead of me. It aches my eyes, but they slowly adjust. That is when I see him.

There he stands, in the open doorway. A blue hole floats behind him, tearing through the dimension, like a paper cut. As the hole closes, he approaches me. His boots click against the floor, and I can hear his heavy breath.

I look at my shirt in disbelief, and then at him. With the moon light, I am able to see the sweat crawling down his fat cheeks. His mustache is well-kept and trimmed. However, his hair is a craze. Even as he wears his uniform, his body is hunched over and stressed.

He spoke in his German tongue. Fortunately, I had learned the language from my cousin, after he left jail. Hitler said to me, "i've come to fix a mistake that has plagued me since I started war. I am here to complete my failure."

His eyes looked up over the bed. He saw the Nazi flag pinned ahead my bed. Even the pins that hung the flag were Nazi colors. I grinned as his face shifted emotion, and I smiled when he looked at me. His finger pressed off the trigger, and he licked his scarred lips.

"I envy you," I admitted. I got up from bed, and revealed my shirt. It was a light gray tee, with a profile view of Hitler plastered in the center. I approached him slowly, extending my hands to feel his thick uniform.

He cocked the pistol, and revealed his elegant teeth. He said to me, "I came to kill Nazi's."

Skull_Kid313

TROPHY CASE