Well, it's taken a little time, but I think I'm ready to actually begin some kind of semblance of fan fiction; although, it would seem I've completely missed the whole peer-assessment thing...
Please Note: The following narrative items may contain violence and mature language, so discretion is advised!
Also Note: This story is heavily based on the events of the 1998 PlayStation classic 'Final Fantasy VIII' (8, for those who don't know their Roman numerals), so if you haven't played this game before much of what follows will be lost on you.
The war with the vile sorceress from the future, Ultimecia, is ended due to the concerted efforts of the intrepid adventurers that braved both time and space to destroy the threat that dwelt at the fringes of all conceivable futurity.
Two years of peace have endured since, and the world seems a more content place; world industry, though still primitive after so short a time since Esthar (a technologically advanced city and country to the east) reestablished links with the world beyond their borders, has begun to reform. The crisis caused by the mysterious lunatic event, the Lunar Cry, has abated somewhat; but monsters of all kinds still blight the country, and Esthar's military struggle to maintain order under their ever-increasing threat.
Balamb Garden, now under the administrative might of Headmistress Quistis upon her assuming of Headmaster Cid's former position, have set before them a new task: To aid in the rebuilding of their world, and the further reconnection with the 'Silent Country of Esthar'.
Though new recruits have since flooded the Garden since Ultimecia's defeat, many are disillusioned with Quistis' role as the Garden's latest Headmaster, believing the now AWOL Squall to be better suited to the position. Quistis, having once fought alongside Squall during the fight against Ultimecia, is worried for her former companion; though in truth, she knows what drove him away.
Just one short year after Garden's top 'SeeDs', a Garden's special forces unit, journeyed through time to do battle at the brink of nothingness, Rinoa, who was Squall's one true love, became gravely ill. None knew what enigmatic affliction could have caused the darting crimson lights that now flickered beneath her skin, or the deep coma-like state she had suddenly fallen into; all anyone knew was that Rinoa's life was now in jeopardy.
But it would only be during the few months after Rinoa's infection that any would realise the true danger behind her mysterious illness; top Esthar scientists, personally commissioned by the new President Ellone herself, were the first to suffer from their initial ignorance.
Any female technician who came into contact with Rinoa's slumbering form were infected by the codenamed 'Mutagen 9', who also fell into deep, dreamlike comas similar to that of Rinoa's. Each were characterised by the same, tiny flickering lights that coated Rinoa's skin, like miniature light-bulbs struggling to gain luminescence with each dimming oscillation.
Ms Ellone, herself, came under great scrutiny from her strongest supporters; because she had personally stationed Rinoa at the deep-sea laboratory 'Centre of Calm', they thought she had known of the seriousness of Rinoa's condition. She had not... At least, not completely.
She and the world's network of Gardens had suspected the current epidemic to be the work of the terrorist faction called 'Black Swan', a covert group acting as a force of vengeance on behalf of the defeated sorceress Ultimecia. Both she and Quistis had been working together closely over the past two years, preparing for a secret encounter with the Order of the Black Swan, an all-female faction who act as ecclesiastic leaders to the typical Black Swan grunts; they feared an imminent strike would be inevitable.
Quistis suspects that Black Swan targeted Rinoa specifically to either infect Squall with Mutagen 9 or punish him for his contributions to Ultimecia's destruction by killing the one he loves; Ellone thought oppositely, fearing that Black Swan were planning a more clandestine attack on the world.
In an audience with the beleaguered armed forces fatigued by their constant patrols, Ellone declared that Esthar now faced a new enemy, an enemy that seemed like sorceresses reborn, but were in actuality nothing more than ordinary human-beings.
"Though we know the Sorceress Ultimecia to be dead, her underlings have revealed themselves and now pose a new threat to our world's security," she confidently proclaimed.
"Now, we ask that our allies of Gardens everywhere, and those who swear allegiance only to the nation of Galbadia, join with us to combat the threat we now see before us."
"Rinoa, an ally of Esthar's and a personal friend of mine, has been infected by this enemy and is now a danger to all those who come into contact with her; but do not despair, we of Esthar are strong and capable, bright and able - we will see this challenge through. Rinoa will return to us."
Of course, by now Squall and companions' exploits were recognized world-wide, and each were now legends in their own right; but it was the pairing of Squall and Rinoa, fated lovers and allies against the Sorceress, that most found inspiration with. Rinoa's embodiment at the hands of Ultimecia, and Squall's resolve in sticking by her as she became something wholly new, gave the world hope that descendants of the 'Great Hyne' mightn't threaten the world's stability.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
SEVEN
SE7EN
Part II
Chaos! A deranged psychopath is on the loose and appears to be copying the movie seven. However the killer is not murdering everyday members of society,
Less than a week ago Don King was found dead in the basement of his boxing gym in
‘SLOTH’
‘seven deadly sinners will die’
Three days later Donald trump was thrown out the window of the penthouse suite in his
A matter of hours following that incident Ben Affleck’s mutilated body was stumbled across by trampers. He was found on the veranda of his batch in the rocky terrain of the vast Californian mountain range. He was hanging upside down, his eyes had been removed and his genitalia has been cut off and surgically attached to his forehead. Super glued to is left hand was a cell-phone, in his right a large, empty syringe with traces of morphine in it. Branded into the small region of flesh where his penis had once been was the word, ‘PRIDE’.
In the early hours of this morning, Oprah Winfreys body has been discovered in the cellar of her
His hands were shaking and his legs could barely take him down the spiralling stair case that led into the cellar. Peering around the corner he froze at the familiar sight that steered back at him, a sight that has woken him up screaming every night for the last twelve years. Sitting in front of him with her limbs chained to a chair was the lifeless body of Oprah Winfrey. He began to examine the crime scene.
There were empty cans of baked beans all around her and she was a shade of purple. Every hole except her right nostril has been blocked up with what appeared to be putty. Her mouth had been stitched shut around a clear plastic tube that had a funnel attached to the end of it. She had been forced to eat.
“Gluttony”, he said out loud.
“What makes you say that lieutenant”, Joe, a fellow detective responded.
“Because I’ve seen it before dip-ship”, he snapped, while continuing to scan the room for clues.
It was then he noticed that every wine bottle had been replaced with cans of baked beans apart from one champagne magnum at the top of the rack. He reached up and grabbed it reading the label under his breath, “Gluttony. Welcome back
“What is it
“Nothing” he said, clutching the magnum to his chest.
“I’m getting to old for this shit, I’m going home to drink this. Don’t bother calling me, I’ll call you”, he mumbled as he made a hasty exit.
His mind was cloudy as he drove across town. He could barely take his eyes off the champagne bottle that was riding shotgun. The clue made no sense to him. He knew that it was not the killers’ intensions to elude him for much longer, if this killer was anything like the original in time he would eventually show himself. What was going to follow he wondered pulling up outside his tiny little suburban house.
Walking up the stairs to his front door he could feel eyes looking at him. Ahead in the darkness he could see a round object swaying in the breeze. The censor light came on as he reached the top step revealing a frightening sight that sent him tumbling back down the stairs. Slowly picking himself up off the ground he reluctantly moved towards the object. He couldn’t believe what was hanging from his balcony above. Looking directly at him was the decapitated head of Paris Hilton, across her forehead the word ‘lust’ had been engraved.
“Did you enjoy the trip detective
Turning around sharply he laid his eyes on his former partner, detective David Mills. The clue made perfect sense to him now; the re-emergence of Mills did not.
Barely able to speak he asks, “What are you doing here Mills”.
“You haven’t figured it out yet
“I’m sorry Mills, I did everything I co”
“Shut the fuck up”, Mills screamed, interrupting him.
“You’re the reason she’s dead, you were always envious of me and my beautiful wife. You let her die”.
“You’ve gone crazy Mills, she was like a daughter to me. Don’t do anything you’ll regret”, he said despairingly.
Suddenly Mills reached for his gun and shot him between the eyes.
“I had to do it, envy is a sin. Sleep easy William”.
Mills then presses the gun against his temple and pulls the trigger.
The end.
Batman: The Animated Series
Full Circle
Black silence enveloped the ambience of flutters and chattering of buttons inside the bat cave. Batman watched a news report on a monitor; the incarceration of Two-Face at Arkham asylum, apprehended by Batman.“ Well, that’s the fireworks that were stolen from the charity bash accounted for, but there’s still the equipment stolen from the new library’s construction site…” An unmoved Batman uttered.
“He got... lucky” Two-Face’s voice rasped from the monitor.
“ I knew it was Harvey’s style to work with something unpredictable, and it was only a matter of time…” Batman had to deal with the conflict between himself and his feelings toward his old friend. He had grieved, but knew he couldn’t dwell on it.
“Good timing, I suppose, Master Bruce?” Alfred’s idle talk and quick wit always masked his supportive and understanding nature. The news anchor interrupted.
“-Just in; sightings of heavy machinery en route to Wayne enterprise’s library on Dewside lane speeding out of control. Police are being noti-“ Now standing from his armchair, Batman turned off the monitor and strode to his batmobile.
“Perhaps it is luck.” Said Alfred with his dry, British humor in his watered down sarcasm as the batmobile drove away.
Dimmed traffic lights arched over the intersection outside the soon to be library and never again bank. The tumble of cement mixers sealed the bank’s mahogany doors with their bleak grayness, breaking a dark path into the side. Poised in the center of the street, a shaded figure’s pale gloves stood out from the deep blue uniform to catch the light from oncoming traffic and guide it along. Turning aside, a wicked grin with a tinge of yellow would catch a glimpse of light and let out the Joker’s calm, shrill voice.
“Haaard work! I could go for a nice T-bone; good for the environment, I hear!”
A gentle call with his left hand would be followed with an eager flick of his right; bringing one car forward to be slammed by another side-on. His toybox laughter whirred in harmony with the twin engines as they scraped their way to a ringing stop from a telephone booth following the crash.
Joker tsk’d sharply “All so eager for their turn” before pinging a quarter into the air toward the wreckage.
A whimpering few shuffled out of the cars and wailed away. Another laugh timed with a crackling blast from the wall of the bank, his henchmen marching out of the vault with the loot chiming in hand. Joker’s hands conducted them along from the middle of the road into a rumbling Van. Surveying the damage with glee, the Joker paused to pull a metal whistle from his uniform and abruptly sound a screeching halt from a car ahead. His collected steps toward the driver’s door and easy tug on the handle would be joined with a slip of a meek pocket knife at his side from his sleeve.
The driver’s commotion irked the Joker, who gave a flash of his police badge and a vibrant “Ah, ah, ah… safety first…”
Joker promptly brought his intimidating knife up to the man’s scrunched face before a punch from his spare hand upside the head would drag the man’s cheek against the blade for a neat slice. With his attention to the man’s neglecting to wear a seat belt, he briskly pulled and cut up the safety belts from the two front seats and wound them around the drowsed man.
“Now for your going away present” Joker chuckled ominously as he looked back at a smoldering piece of debris from the break-in and brought the heavy handful back with a sigh. “I always get these for Christmas…” Joker let the thick lump drop onto the accelerator, rearing the car toward a power box.
A muffled shot fired. Whirling metal sprung out, dragging wires on the wind of the night. The sleek end of batman’s grappling hook hinged into the window frame of the car door; batman’s cloak spreading over the roof as he swiftly landed. Reaching down, he swung the car door open to swing inside, withdrawing a batarang to slash away at the bindings. Another shot from his grappler, lifted away the hapless victim, his cloak shielding from the explosion a safe distance away.
“Batman!” yelled an annoyed Joker who raced his way to the get-away van in time. Batman’s presence alone would cleanse the lingering stench of crime from the air. The quick bat would waste no time in pursuing the Joker; uncovering his batmobile from a bush, firing up its engines and racing away.
“Wah we gon’ do now, baws?” trembled one of his few subordinates. “Shut up and give me the wheel!” spited Joker, recently having shed his disguise along with his patience. “It’s time for plan ‘A’ to spring into action…”
In the driver’s seat, there was a blinding flash from behind. The batmobile was gaining, but the Joker continued making hasty maneuvers and tight corners, before letting Batman chase him onto the freeway. His smile curled into a grin with Batman just behind him.
A sharp swerve later, he hissed “Damn, missed him again! Those speed bumps I spread out along this freeway with those mixers earlier oughta teach the wretched Bat… “
The Joker sprang another smile from a quick thought, suddenly hitting the breaks, which Batman predictably drove around, into one of the unmarked, stubby ramps, launching the Batmobile into the air as the Joker drove on. A hearty cackle filled the air, before the Joker saw the Batmobile gaining once more, this time rushing into another speed bump. The perplexed Joker’s mouth gaped once he saw the Batmobile take flight –and let its parachute out, allowing itself to land in front of the Joker. For fear of losing momentum, he swerved to the side and into his own trap; the heavy van spun out and flipped into the railing of the freeway. A dazed Joker awoke to the familiar sound of his cell at Arkham asylum embracing him with its cold, resounding slam.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Ear and Foathing in Vas Legas
March 2012
This historical treasure was found by Johnny Duke, Raoul Duke’s grandson. As we all surely know the legalization of marijuana throughout the Western world and most Asian and European countries came to bless the human race two years ago. But what you may not all know is that during this epic movement another historical storm was brewing in London.I had known Johnny for many years and it was him that retold me the story of his grandfathers' uncovered treasure. I have tried to capture as accurately as possible the events of this day, and as close to how Johnny described it to me, so with that here is what happened.
Johnny Duke was sitting in his favorite lake-side cafe, sipping his favorite beer, smoking his favorite Amsterdam-gold, and writing his favorite type of story during his favorite time of day when the sun had almost set. “Ok” he thought. “So ill have just the one now, go to Dory’s, have some more and then figure out what we’re doing from there.” The calculation seemed good. He reached into his wallet, pulled out a ‘larger-than-your-average’ piece of rectangular colorful cardboard and ate it.
“Brrrr!! soo much brr brrr trooouble in the wooorld.. brrr brrrrrrr!!!” rattled and sang his personalized ringtone. It was a police officer from London.“Eh? What was that?” English accents were a ‘head-fuck’ according to Raoul. “Yes, I’m his grandson. Really? (Shit!) Umm, yea ok, for sure I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thanks." He pushed his back into the flax chair and reached for the ashtray, then the beer. A few contemplative moments passed in silence and up he rose. Spontaneity was a thing Raoul lived by, “It always works out, you’ve just got to let go and it will work out. It’s like crossing a road.” His mates were used to hearing about it, especially when they embark on a new adventure, or just had a massive night that ‘spontaneously’ ended up lasting a few nights. So he grabbed his red, green and yellow wallet, thanked his friend behind the counter and stopped dead. “Shit! Fuck..” he thought, remembering what he just took. And as he carried on walking not too fast not too slow he started grinning. “Fuck yea, plane-trip!”
He arrived in London, although he thought he could have been anywhere. Luckily for him he travelled light as he didn't want to have to think about anything other than whatever it was that he was already thinking about. So it only took him a few hours to leave the airport because the doors were understandably hard to find.
Here I must intervene as the story understandably gets a bit messy from this point onwards but I will say that Johnny had an ‘interesting’ first few hours in London. He ended up wandering and exploring the streets of the city throughout the night, watched the sunrise (not that it would have been visible, or at least not the way we lucky Kiwis know it) from the rooftop of an old abandoned house and then felt sober enough to finally find his grandfather’s place. A few coffees later he was standing in front of a black lawn with ‘do not enter’ tape all around and traces of ‘important people’ having been there. Luckily for him it was no later than 5am so he was left undisturbed to save what was left of his granddad's life.
When he first read this unpublished, secret writing of Raoul’s, Johnny was well surprised. It was nothing like the writing he had ever read from Raoul’s collection before. It was somber and very personal. For Johnny it was an instant peer into his grandfather’s spirit, and this overwhelmed him. He had thought he knew Raoul better than anybody; after all he was his idol, his inspiration. And as he was reliving in front of me his account of the first time he read it, I couldn’t stop my tears. Johnny was broken; this piece of writing had changed him forever.
Why is it that when I look inside my mind I see these colours? Hazy baby pink, hazy baby blue, hazy violet, yellow, white. Boundless is their existence, refreshing is their light. Each particle of haze, each cotton ball of blurred colour vibrates warmly to the sound. Vibrating like water in my veins forming shapes of harsh or soft edges. There are stars behind these colours; I think it's the sky, but not as you know it. I don’t think there are birds, no I see no birds. Birds might seem free but they are no better off than you or me. The colours of existence, of endless existence, of a place where anyone can go but cannot remain forever. The mind is truly the only place left to roam free in this world. Yet this place I visit, this familiar, refreshingly liberating, boundless place has its price. After all I am bound to the constraints of time and its’ physical existence and so I eat and eat these hallucinatory gifts from this earth only so I can leave it again to experience the feeling of endlessly outstretched wings. Yet when I land again the world punishes me mercilessly for being such a traitor. I am either a brave man or a runaway wimp.
This historical treasure was found by Johnny Duke, Raoul Duke’s grandson. As we all surely know the legalization of marijuana throughout the Western world and most Asian and European countries came to bless the human race two years ago. But what you may not all know is that during this epic movement another historical storm was brewing in London.I had known Johnny for many years and it was him that retold me the story of his grandfathers' uncovered treasure. I have tried to capture as accurately as possible the events of this day, and as close to how Johnny described it to me, so with that here is what happened.
Johnny Duke was sitting in his favorite lake-side cafe, sipping his favorite beer, smoking his favorite Amsterdam-gold, and writing his favorite type of story during his favorite time of day when the sun had almost set. “Ok” he thought. “So ill have just the one now, go to Dory’s, have some more and then figure out what we’re doing from there.” The calculation seemed good. He reached into his wallet, pulled out a ‘larger-than-your-average’ piece of rectangular colorful cardboard and ate it.
“Brrrr!! soo much brr brrr trooouble in the wooorld.. brrr brrrrrrr!!!” rattled and sang his personalized ringtone. It was a police officer from London.“Eh? What was that?” English accents were a ‘head-fuck’ according to Raoul. “Yes, I’m his grandson. Really? (Shit!) Umm, yea ok, for sure I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thanks." He pushed his back into the flax chair and reached for the ashtray, then the beer. A few contemplative moments passed in silence and up he rose. Spontaneity was a thing Raoul lived by, “It always works out, you’ve just got to let go and it will work out. It’s like crossing a road.” His mates were used to hearing about it, especially when they embark on a new adventure, or just had a massive night that ‘spontaneously’ ended up lasting a few nights. So he grabbed his red, green and yellow wallet, thanked his friend behind the counter and stopped dead. “Shit! Fuck..” he thought, remembering what he just took. And as he carried on walking not too fast not too slow he started grinning. “Fuck yea, plane-trip!”
He arrived in London, although he thought he could have been anywhere. Luckily for him he travelled light as he didn't want to have to think about anything other than whatever it was that he was already thinking about. So it only took him a few hours to leave the airport because the doors were understandably hard to find.
Here I must intervene as the story understandably gets a bit messy from this point onwards but I will say that Johnny had an ‘interesting’ first few hours in London. He ended up wandering and exploring the streets of the city throughout the night, watched the sunrise (not that it would have been visible, or at least not the way we lucky Kiwis know it) from the rooftop of an old abandoned house and then felt sober enough to finally find his grandfather’s place. A few coffees later he was standing in front of a black lawn with ‘do not enter’ tape all around and traces of ‘important people’ having been there. Luckily for him it was no later than 5am so he was left undisturbed to save what was left of his granddad's life.
When he first read this unpublished, secret writing of Raoul’s, Johnny was well surprised. It was nothing like the writing he had ever read from Raoul’s collection before. It was somber and very personal. For Johnny it was an instant peer into his grandfather’s spirit, and this overwhelmed him. He had thought he knew Raoul better than anybody; after all he was his idol, his inspiration. And as he was reliving in front of me his account of the first time he read it, I couldn’t stop my tears. Johnny was broken; this piece of writing had changed him forever.
Why is it that when I look inside my mind I see these colours? Hazy baby pink, hazy baby blue, hazy violet, yellow, white. Boundless is their existence, refreshing is their light. Each particle of haze, each cotton ball of blurred colour vibrates warmly to the sound. Vibrating like water in my veins forming shapes of harsh or soft edges. There are stars behind these colours; I think it's the sky, but not as you know it. I don’t think there are birds, no I see no birds. Birds might seem free but they are no better off than you or me. The colours of existence, of endless existence, of a place where anyone can go but cannot remain forever. The mind is truly the only place left to roam free in this world. Yet this place I visit, this familiar, refreshingly liberating, boundless place has its price. After all I am bound to the constraints of time and its’ physical existence and so I eat and eat these hallucinatory gifts from this earth only so I can leave it again to experience the feeling of endlessly outstretched wings. Yet when I land again the world punishes me mercilessly for being such a traitor. I am either a brave man or a runaway wimp.
Friday, August 8, 2008
8 Mile: Revisited
I stare at somebody who looks like me on the other side,
I tell him to go runaway and hide.
But he does not hide, he just stands there...with poise.
I know he will give the crowd a lot of noise.
I walk outside to see this white trash standing there,
He was wearing a black suit complete with a black tie.
I gave him an eerie stare, but he said he wasn't here to say goodbye.
He was another newbie, a pretender. Better make this fair.
Everybody knows that this crowd is my circle.
He looks like he needs a touch of red, blue or even purple.
"Looks like you are going to shit yourself." That's a good start for my rap.
Better put on the pressure, I'm sure he's going to tap.
I continue rapping like never before,
Never holding back, asking for more.
Even though it’s against a white piece of trash,
This brown guy is going to thrash.
I finish my rap by saying something about his mother,
It’s easy, nobody can outflow my style of art
I know he’s going to mumble from the start,
“Send this guy back to the shore, he won’t be a bother.”
White trash swishes the microphone away from my hand,
He takes a deep breath and signals to the band.
Nervousness is absent.
A silent buzz from outside is present.
“You look like a guy who’s on dope,
Don’t make me slap you silly,
Hey, I heard you slept with a guy named Billy.
You know it’s the truth so don’t mope.”
How does he know about me and Billy? Well, he’s got me angry,
Doesn’t he know I’m from Mangere.
White trash is still flowing with his rhymes.
And I have to listen to him for the whole time.
“Have you looked at yourself lately, you look like a hobo.
Actually don’t look at yourself; you could break the reflection,
Do you want me to give you some more attention?
Because finding a chick for you, is a no go.”
He makes me feel like a guy that should be sent in a package that reads…do not open.
That prick has started to scare me because the crowd has already spoken.
I feel like breaking his rhythm by shoving a broomstick up his rear,
Too bad that cannot happen because the crowd might interfere.
He’s about to go through his final verse.
His words are affecting me… emotionally, better not rage a tear.
How do I get out of here?
Well there is only one way, listen to his curse.
“You still look dirty, go take another bath.
You know that’s true, join in and laugh.
I got one more thing to say too,
You were born so ugly your mother had to be drunk to breast feed you.”
The huge roar from the crowd gave away the signal... beaten, defeated.
My own people... pointing at me, were laughing so rightly.
I shouldn’t have taken this too lightly.
He has my respect, white trash - never to be repeated.
While everybody disperses, I conceal a pain they cannot see.
It is suffering and shaming, a bruised ego in me.
I should remember to not leave my dream lifeless
Or repeat that embarrassing reaction when I went under – 'priceless.'
I walk around the parking lot alone,
Thinking if this was something people will forget.
It was definitely a night to reflect and regret.
Anyways, better get to the streets...there’s no place like home.
I tell him to go runaway and hide.
But he does not hide, he just stands there...with poise.
I know he will give the crowd a lot of noise.
I walk outside to see this white trash standing there,
He was wearing a black suit complete with a black tie.
I gave him an eerie stare, but he said he wasn't here to say goodbye.
He was another newbie, a pretender. Better make this fair.
Everybody knows that this crowd is my circle.
He looks like he needs a touch of red, blue or even purple.
"Looks like you are going to shit yourself." That's a good start for my rap.
Better put on the pressure, I'm sure he's going to tap.
I continue rapping like never before,
Never holding back, asking for more.
Even though it’s against a white piece of trash,
This brown guy is going to thrash.
I finish my rap by saying something about his mother,
It’s easy, nobody can outflow my style of art
I know he’s going to mumble from the start,
“Send this guy back to the shore, he won’t be a bother.”
White trash swishes the microphone away from my hand,
He takes a deep breath and signals to the band.
Nervousness is absent.
A silent buzz from outside is present.
“You look like a guy who’s on dope,
Don’t make me slap you silly,
Hey, I heard you slept with a guy named Billy.
You know it’s the truth so don’t mope.”
How does he know about me and Billy? Well, he’s got me angry,
Doesn’t he know I’m from Mangere.
White trash is still flowing with his rhymes.
And I have to listen to him for the whole time.
“Have you looked at yourself lately, you look like a hobo.
Actually don’t look at yourself; you could break the reflection,
Do you want me to give you some more attention?
Because finding a chick for you, is a no go.”
He makes me feel like a guy that should be sent in a package that reads…do not open.
That prick has started to scare me because the crowd has already spoken.
I feel like breaking his rhythm by shoving a broomstick up his rear,
Too bad that cannot happen because the crowd might interfere.
He’s about to go through his final verse.
His words are affecting me… emotionally, better not rage a tear.
How do I get out of here?
Well there is only one way, listen to his curse.
“You still look dirty, go take another bath.
You know that’s true, join in and laugh.
I got one more thing to say too,
You were born so ugly your mother had to be drunk to breast feed you.”
The huge roar from the crowd gave away the signal... beaten, defeated.
My own people... pointing at me, were laughing so rightly.
I shouldn’t have taken this too lightly.
He has my respect, white trash - never to be repeated.
While everybody disperses, I conceal a pain they cannot see.
It is suffering and shaming, a bruised ego in me.
I should remember to not leave my dream lifeless
Or repeat that embarrassing reaction when I went under – 'priceless.'
I walk around the parking lot alone,
Thinking if this was something people will forget.
It was definitely a night to reflect and regret.
Anyways, better get to the streets...there’s no place like home.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
post some fan fiction
It is time to post some fan fiction of your own.
People cannot review ... if there is noting posted
People cannot review ... if there is noting posted
My 10 Fanfiction favoutrites
Here are my 10 favourite fanfics, which are based on musicals, thrillers with a twist, a bit of comedy and games related to the first two genres. (By Keita Tavita)
1. 8 Mile: I love the anticipated climax at the end of the movie. And this fanfic brings a lot more because it's based on life through rap.
2. Sweeney Todd/What really happened: This movie appeals very well with its musical genre, but the fanfic comes with some surprising twists at the end.
3. Singstar/Episode 1: I love the game on playstation 2 and I just found out that there is a story about it. The lyrics make it look like a poem instead of a song. Some songs are tunes to other songs, you be the judge.
4. Pans Labyrinth: This fanfic sets up for a dark tone. Easy to understand if you have seen the movie.
5. NARC/No one will ever read this: This is not NARC the movie, but NARC the game which was banned in Australia due to its violence. You may not want to read this fanfic because of its suggested title, however it is pretty funny because some parts don't not make sense. It does relate to the actual game though.
6. Panic Room/Haste: Poem describing some events during the movie. Meant to capture the readers attention straight from the start.
7. Memento: This is one of my favourite thrillers and here is a poem based on one of the characters in the film.
8. Band Camp, American Pie: This is the only comedy I like based on the band camp version. Although this is just the first chapter, it should set up some hilarious events in the future.
9. School of Rock: Alternate version of school of rock, kind of funny in a way. Good fanfic to read.
10. The sound of Music: This is probably the movie that I have watched over and over again. This is a fanfic based on the doe, ray, me song, a complete parody to round my top 10 favourites.
1. 8 Mile: I love the anticipated climax at the end of the movie. And this fanfic brings a lot more because it's based on life through rap.
2. Sweeney Todd/What really happened: This movie appeals very well with its musical genre, but the fanfic comes with some surprising twists at the end.
3. Singstar/Episode 1: I love the game on playstation 2 and I just found out that there is a story about it. The lyrics make it look like a poem instead of a song. Some songs are tunes to other songs, you be the judge.
4. Pans Labyrinth: This fanfic sets up for a dark tone. Easy to understand if you have seen the movie.
5. NARC/No one will ever read this: This is not NARC the movie, but NARC the game which was banned in Australia due to its violence. You may not want to read this fanfic because of its suggested title, however it is pretty funny because some parts don't not make sense. It does relate to the actual game though.
6. Panic Room/Haste: Poem describing some events during the movie. Meant to capture the readers attention straight from the start.
7. Memento: This is one of my favourite thrillers and here is a poem based on one of the characters in the film.
8. Band Camp, American Pie: This is the only comedy I like based on the band camp version. Although this is just the first chapter, it should set up some hilarious events in the future.
9. School of Rock: Alternate version of school of rock, kind of funny in a way. Good fanfic to read.
10. The sound of Music: This is probably the movie that I have watched over and over again. This is a fanfic based on the doe, ray, me song, a complete parody to round my top 10 favourites.
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