from the OTHER archives: Shoes, Part 1, Chapter 5

So it’s my birthday in two days, and I’ve decided that I want to read more, so I’ve picked out a nice e-reader for myself. I’m going to drive down to the nearest B&N tomorrow with my dad and make some final checks in-store before we get it and wrap it up for Sunday.

Ah, Sunday. Time to isolate myself and watch all those 3D anime episodes I’ve been hoarding recently. and maybe play all those pirated games lol

Now we’ll take a look at a book that’ll never again disgrace any of my devices. Although it is regrettable that it’s still floating out there somewhere…

By some indistinct act, I was pulled up from the fog surrounding my unconsciousness into where I was now.

The world felt like it was on fire, just like it had been when I had been turned ‘perfect’. This time, I hadn’t been released from the straps that held me down on whatever it was I was currently laying on by the time I woke up.

Ah, I too enjoy recycled scenes. What’s next? Going into a pseudo-gas chamber before being forced into an arena?

And this time, my mind brushed up against Tim’s as he woke up, and I got a glimpse of where we were through his eyes.

We were in the main room in the Lab, the room where all of the cages holding the experiments were kept. The cages were empty, however, and they had all been pushed aside to one end of the room, making space for the three tables that were arranged in a triangle.

Tim was on the first one, no longer creepy. I hadn’t noticed it when I had seen him after being freed from the diamond or whatever that was. I was on the second one, and over my eyes, there were bandages that appeared to be bloodstained.

>looking through his eyes

>he is also laying down on a table

>why are surgical tables in the middle of the room instead of in a sterile environment??

>somehow able to see from outside views that one wouldn’t be capable of seeing from a restrained position on a table

woosh you have crippling depression

I looked like I did before I had become ‘perfect’.

And on the third table, there was…

I wracked my brain hard, trying to remember how long ago Tomorrow- excuse me, I meant Lily- had become creepy. The first time I had seen her like that was when I had been forced into the stadium and almost been murdered by Lily.

Funny how pretending to die messes up your sense of time, huh?

Although, seeing how you seem capable of bending the rules of the universe to your will, Algeria, it won’t be long before you start contradicting yourself.

Anyway, it didn’t matter as much now. She was back to normal.

“Lecia, how long ago did the bleeding stop?” some voice to my left worridly said.

“Umm… about ten minutes ago?”

“So we can take off the bandages now.”

“Yep.”

I haven’t even taken the finals for my high school health class yet, and I can already tell you that is not how post-surgical care works.

Some hands started touching my face, but this time I didn’t struggle against the straps or try to turn away. From whoever was above me, taking the bandages off of my eyes, I heard thinking that was bemoaning about how passive I had been lately.

This is why I rewrote the ending to A Shatter Down The Hall.

(Does that count as potential spoilers?)

It also mentioned hot knives and bleeding. Thanks for the image.

>mentions cauterization

>doesn’t understand how wound healing and bleeding works

It’s okay, G. You tried. But this is why even your participation ribbons were stolen away from you.

When the bandages were fully off, I opened my eyes, and then shut them again, this time very tightly. Something was wrong with my vision.

Very wrong.

Blindness? Inheriting 20/40 vision from your author? (Which actually isn’t that bad, unless you’re only using your left eye, in which case it’s an ocular-migraine-inducing hell.) Black spots? Blurriness caused by the anesthesia which clearly isn’t having any other effects on you?

I heard a scream from one of the people above me (at this point I recognized them as Lecia, Grecia, and Mahogany) and another one used some metal doohickey to force my eyelid open so I would be forced to look at them.

“She’s got…” Lecia started.

“… gold irises,” Grecia finished.

rifle to computer

Mahogany piped up through the silence, “Mriri, Algeria- whatever your name is, do that mind images thing again.”

How did she know about telepathy?

I began showing her-

Everything was white. I wasn’t strapped to a table anymore, and white was all I could see anywhere. I was the only person as far as I could see, except for Emma, who was pulling her braided hair and slowly pacing back and forth.

I… what? You’ve got me completely lost, G. Are you about to impart some forced knowledge onto the audience who are only here to torture themselves with cringe?

“They hated me, so I quit,” Emma muttered, even though I could make out every single word she was saying. “I quit them. It caused too much trouble. Now I have to get the phone number.”

What are you talking about, Emma? I thought over to her. She looked up from the floor that she had been staring at and stared at me.

“Social media,” Emma simply replied. Then she started doing the muttering thing again.

Is… is this in reference to the four suspended Twitter accounts made in 2011-2012 where I made one post about hating a certain boyband and then got immediately banned? Somehow I don’t think this was written anytime near the failed sister roleplays on a secret account that later got repurposed and then scrapped.

“Twenty-one minutes left before I can stop writing for the night. Everybody hates Emily Michealson, so I suppose I should contribute to her blog. I type so fast and yet so slow..”

“Stop!” I yelled, which caused Emma to stop the muttering thing and look up at me. “What’s going on? Who’s Emily Michealson?”

“That’s another story,” Emma replied. “I suppose I should tell you the truth.”

“And what is the truth?” I countered.

By the way, Emily Michealson was a failed blog that I started up as a protest to being constantly monitored by my parents on my first blog. I won’t link to either here, mainly because they’ve both long since been deleted.

“I’m going to spill all the secrets now,” Emma started. “You are a character in a book. A sequel, actually. The first book started when you were at that cherry orchard, that was. Or was it an apple orchard? I must look that up later. Tell me, what do you see right now?”

A character self-aware that they’re in a book- an interesting concept. What a shame that it had to go to waste on this steaming pile of crap.

Although… I am having trouble coming up with ideas for Living Wasteland. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Everything was different. It was like golden tendrils wrapped around everything.

“That’s because I wanted it that way,” Emma continued. “At first, you were going to live with me and have irises that changed color to reflect your emotions, but then I decided I liked this better. Now I have to watch that movie again. Correction: those three movies again.”

I have a faint suspicion that this was a lazy poke at the Matrix movies. But then again, I’ve repressed almost all of my memories from that time, so I don’t know for sure.

“Tell me more,” I whispered.

Please don’t.

“Well, the date is actually September 21, and I’m writing all of the parts to this book out of order. First Part 2 and 3, and this is the last chapter to Part 1.

Once upon a time, there was this girl in my Youth Group named Tequila, back when I was a religious extremist. I remember telling her about this book and her admonishing me for writing the book out of order.

But that’s all I remembered of her. She moved away after that summer, and I never saw her again.

Oh, and one last thing. When I let you go from my thinking space, you’re going to be outside my house, two weeks before Girl Scout camp, which was sometime in July. You’re going back two months. It’s going to feel weird but I know you can handle it. Ok?”

Ah, the forced Girl Scout Camp yearly diary. How are we going to do it this year, fellow readers? Another photo diary, or do you want something more… intensive? No video diaries, since I still have camera shyness (and also slight privacy paranoia; more on that probably never).

Just the same stuff as before, probably. Shame on me.

from the OTHER archives: Socks, Part 4, Chapter 36

This is it, my friends, foes, and other readers: the final chapter of Socks. Fresh out of a video game binge with my brothers, I’m fully pumped up for what is sure to be one of the most idiotic chapters I have read in my life.

It was midnight of the next day, or so I’m told, that I truly woke up from the fairy puberty or whatever it was. Abbey tried to explain everything to me while I was still waking up, so I didn’t remember most of it.

Well, isn’t that convenient, G? Now you don’t have to explain all of that to us. You could have had a situation where the readers know something the characters don’t and created some suspense that way, but of course you had to take the easy road out.

Abbey, Tim and I were in a cold, heavily locked room in the basement of the Lab. The only furniture inside of the room was a thin mattress.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

“I’m sorry that I have to heap this all on you two,” Abbey slowly said, “but the other day, when I was walking around the building, I took a wrong turn into a room. Before I was pushed out and the door locked behind me, I saw that Tomorrow was trying to make a freak that was telepathic, or can hear people’s thoughts.

How exactly do you know this if you only saw a little bit before you were no doubt kicked out? Did you overhear them saying exactly that? And anyways, I think they know that “telepathic” means.

She knew that you two could do that, and she desperately wanted a freak that could do that as well. She desperately wants you two back, and she’ll do anything to accomplish that.”

Again, how do you know this? Explain, Abbey.

“But what does that mean for us?” I asked. “It’s not like Tim and I can just stop thinking. Nobody in both worlds can do that.”
There was silence in the room for a couple of minutes.

“I have a solution, but I fear it’s not the best.” Abbey pulled out a thin piece of metal with a bunch of short needles sticking out of it and handed it to me.

Because drugs fix everything.

“I’ve made a little device thingy that, when you press it onto the back of somebody’s neck, will just stop all conscious thought within a couple of minutes. It works beautifully. And, then, when it is taken off, they regain their senses within another couple of minutes.”

I don’t think that’s how the nervous system works. And how does the device distinguish between conscious and unconscious thought? Wouldn’t just putting them into stasis work better?

“When are you going to do this?”
“In a couple of minutes. The sooner the better. Oh, and by the way, your new name is Mriri.”
Ok then.

“How long are we going to be like this?” All I wanted to do was ask questions.
“As long as it takes for me to-” There was a boom outside, and then I heard a crash outside.
“One last moment,” Abbey quickly said. “Just have one last moment with Timothy, just in case it’s the last.” Abbey looked about ready to cry.

I’m not one to advocate for drugs, but my point about sedation still stands. And seriously? You really want that suggestive of a sentence to be the last thing your niece hears, Abbey? Why are you even suggesting such things? Whatever happened to your self-respect? I thought that, since you helped Algeria escape last time, you would have some sort of magical plan this time. And where’s Emma? Couldn’t she just swoop in and fix all of this?

TL;DR I’m angry at G for wasting such a good concept for a book. Damn, I think after Me Before You (previously known as The Lilyborn) I’ll make another Socks, one much better than any of this worthless drivel.

Over the last 8 months, ever since I fell from somewhere into Emma’s street on that rainy day and just about broke my leg, Emma has been spiraling into eccentricity. She’s been getting crazier every day. Not that it’s a bad thing, but it means that since that event Emma and I were no longer the same.

Honey, you and Emma were never the same. From conception to grave, you two will always be different.

I am much different today than the innocent girl who walked into a cherry orchard about 9 months ago.
That girl’s name was Algeria Maximilla Radine-Fisher.
My name is Mriri Amelia Lluckifdepahoki.

Thank you for that info dump, you contrived waste of ink.

Tim looked at me, understanding that even though we are not related by blood in any way at all, I have taken his last name as my own. Something in me says that he is the person I will be spending my life with. I cannot wait for the far-away day of my 21st birthday to us to start our lives together.

All sorts of thoughts are racing through my head now, like will I ever wake up again and will I ever be in love and where did everybody else go. Tim and I are leaning towards each other as we read each other’s thoughts, possibly the last thoughts of our lives and-
His lips are so soft.

G, you had the chance to write a closing sentence so profound that it would make up for the sheer idiocy of this entire waste of time and effort, and you chose to go with “His lips are so soft”? I suppose that would make sense in a romance novel, but I thought this was science fiction with a smattering of autistic dreams induced by three straight nights of insomnia?

Son, I am disappoint. So, in true Vane Vander fashion, I am going to take this pile of manure and make it the best novel anybody has ever seen. Throw out all the pre-TPI canon that hasn’t been canon for a damn long time and go back to the drawing board with the original concept- abused girl coming to terms that her entire world is a figment of imagination inside someone else’s head, and when she comes down to their world, whoever controls her controls their entire universe.

Your socks just got upgraded.

from the OTHER archives: Socks, Part 4, Chapters 32-35

This is going to be a doozy of a post- moving seems to be progressing far faster than I expected, and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to have reliable access to a computer for more than five minutes. And, of course, school takes first priority for the little time I can find…

“We’re here!” Emma yelled to the rest of the bus when they pulled into the semi-parking lot for the Laboratory of Soona Bris. “Everybody get off and don’t cause chaos! And WAKE UP, YASMIN!”

Semi-parking lot? Could you possibly explain that, G? I’m not really imagining it.

Yasmin groaned and started sleepily walking to the front of the bus. “What happened to Luna?”
“She went somewhere,” Emma cheerfully replied. “I don’t know and I don’t care.”

She’s, what, FIVE? I know you’ve got some problems, Emma, but why wouldn’t you care for the safety of a small child? Who broke you?

“Well, then, get off of the bus! We have better things to do than just stand around here. We have a girl to save and I have some questioning to do.”
When everybody had gotten off of the bus, Emma yelled, “Ok! When I stop talking, what we’ll do is climb over the barbed wire fence, find a way inside, and then start a rampage! If you see a girl with short black hair and glasses, feel free to mob her! Don’t break anything while we’re inside, though. And tell me if you find IT!”

I have no idea why you have such a problem saying “Algeria frozen into a diamond” that you feel the need to use such a vague euphemism, G… but okay.

All of the kids started going on a rampage towards the barbed wire fence. A lot of them were helping other kids get over the fence, and Emma wasn’t doing bad at all.
When they got inside, everybody who was working there started screaming and running for their lives as the kids swarmed all over the place. Everybody started splitting up into groups and going down random hallways.

I don’t know why, after being kidnapped, these kids feel so loyal towards Yasmin and her band of freaks that they would be willing to do her dirty work.

“Oh, where are you, IT?” Emma was screaming down her own hallway that she had gone down by herself. “I must find you and free you from IT!”
Before going even halfway down the hallway, Emma yelled, “HERE SHE IS! I FOUND HER!” At that, the random kids came down that hallway too and started mobbing Tomorrow. “MEET YOUR VENGEANCE, LILY!”
“Nobody’s called me Lily in over five years! AAAAAHHHH!”

Before Tim woke up, all he was experiencing was darkness and silence.
After he woke up, he saw a gigantic mob of children attacking Tomorrow, who happened to be right beside him.

“That’s enough!” Emma yelled again as the mob began to subside. “Get into the side room! I have found IT!” The mob began to slowly move into the side room with Emma, leaving Tomorrow alone. She now had a bunch of scratches all over her face.
In the room was IT. “What is IT?” you readers are probably asking. And the answer is Algeria in a diamond. There. You now know what IT is.

If this is supposed to be a climax, then this is the most anticlimatic thing I have ever written.

Emma reached for the nearest microphone that was plugged into the loudspeaker and said as calmly as possible into it, “Um,” and Emma looked at the hastily scribbled note on her right palm, “will Abbey, Timothy, Yasmin, Luna, Lady in a Shower Cap (whoever that is) and the rest of the random children from the bus please come to room 29-3B? Thank you and enjoy your flight on the Looney Express.” She put the microphone down and sat on IT.

Why are microphones just lying around? Why is this place so unorganized and careless? Why, G? Why did you have to subject us to this?

Within a couple of minutes, everybody that Emma had called for was fighting to open the door.

A couple of minutes and a very heavy moment of anger between Timothy and Emma later, everybody was trying to find ways to break Algeria out from IT.
Well, they were, until Emma heard a voice in her head that was saying Oh my gosh Oh my gosh actual people!!! and then Emma started freaking out and banging her head on the wall. Everyone else was looking at Emma like she was insane.

I mean, Emma is kind of veritably insane. I think we’ve established that already, G.

“So,” Emma started after she had gotten over her daily moment of insanity, “what we need to do is break Mriri from the diamond.”
“MRIRI?” Abbey yelled. “Who do you think you are-”
“I think I am Emma,” Emma replied. Abbey slapped herself in the face.

Actually, I think Abbey would be confused as to why Emma was using a different name to refer to Algeria, not exasperated.

“We have two options. We can either find a furnace and push IT into it, or we can get a huge nail or something and let it fall on IT.”
“Umm…”
“This looks dangerous, Emma.”

“Why did you abandon me on the bus?!” That was Luna, whining about the past week.
“Because you were being a major pain in the butt.”

So they did know where Luna was? I thought Emma said that she didn’t know and didn’t care. I guess that would explain her nonchalance…

3 hours later, everybody that Emma had called to the side room had brought in a gigantic nail attached to a 200 pound weight. It was very slow getting it in, and it was also very slow hoisting it up so that it hung from a single rope tied to a rafter in the ceiling.

I thought Emma was a wimp?

“So who’s ready to do this thing?” Emma said as she climbed up the rope holding the nail up.
“I’m not,” Yasmin yelled up to Emma. “You forgot to throw the safety goggles down to us.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Emma yelled down to everyone else as she tipped a cardboard box upside down and made it rain safety goggles on them. “Put them on now! Or my farting cousin Mallory will come for you when you are sleeping tonight!”

Where did these come from? Where dis any of this come from? Does Soona Bris just leave all these materials lying around? Why, G? Why?

“I don’t believe you,” Tim yelled up to Emma.
“I never said you had to, now did I? Stand back from IT! LET ER’ RIP!”
And that was when Emma took a jackknife from her pocket (who knows where she got that) and stabbed the rope 72 times.

Isn’t a sawing motion more effective? Stabbing it 72 times seems a bit excessive.

There was a moment of tranquility, a moment where there appeared to be nothing but a gigantic nail falling through the air, and then in the next moment there was an almost-deafening CRASH and shards of diamond flying through the air like pretty swords that somebody was chucking.

And then Algeria was dead. The end.

Nope, there’s still one chapter left.

from the OTHER archives: Socks, Part 4, Chapters 28-30

Hello there, readers from the future! I really haven’t had the motivation to write more of these recently. See, it’s November 2nd, and my family is moving quite a long way aways from where i currently live. I wrote a post earlier about this, but seeing as my comment manager has been screwy recently, I don’t want to link it and have the pingback clutter up my email, so I’ll just let it be.

And now for the news.

“So let’s see what Emma brought on the bus. She brought a wrench, a frying pan, a wooden sword, and a bandanna.” Luna was trying to run a meeting near an abandoned junkyard in Soona Bris.

All of these things can be found in her house. Being that Emma, from what we’ve seen of her, is a wimp, I’m really not surprised.

“Let’s see what Yasmin brought. She brought the bus, a golden dagger, a gigantic plastic hammer, and a busload of kids who were on the bus when she hijacked it.” Emma was trying to take over the meeting.

Is this parallelism? Because it feels stilted… but stilts are supposed to be parallel. Good play. You win this time.

“Let’s see what Luna brought. Looks like she only brought herself and her bossiness.” Yasmin was trying to avert the meeting so that she could start up the bus and get started on their rescue mission.

Maybe Yasmin’s onto something. Maybe she realizes how off Luna’s behavior seems for a five-year-old. Or was she seven? I could never remember when reading this. That’s how badly you’ve characterized her, G.

“Hey! Who says I’m bossy?”
“I ‘says’ you’re bossy. Now get your butt to a back seat so we can get started saving your fairy friend.” Yasmin rudely gestured to the back of the bus while yelling at Luna. “Or Emma will hit you with her frying pan of doom.”
“That is not a frying pan of doom! It’s just a normal frying pan! And who says she’s going to hit me with it?”

“Excuse me,” Emma spoke up, “but I’m pretty sure that the inscription on the bottom of this frying pan says ‘frying pan of doom’ in big silver cursive letters. NOW GET TO THE BACK OF THE BUS! OR I WILL HIT YOU!”

That must have cost a lot to engrave. Where did Emma get the money from?

Luna sulkily moved herself to the back of the bus, all the while muttering something about explosions.
“Now what?” Emma yelled as the kids on the bus started making random chaos.
“I say we get started before something blows up!”

“He’s done!” a random freak with only shorts on started shouting down the hall. “He’s finally done! It took a whole week but he’s done and-”

If the surgery took that long, how did they possibly keep the area sterile for the entire time? Why would you allow the surgeons that much time without sleep? And if you changed them out, G, how did you ensure that they didn’t bring in outside contaminants that would have endangered Tim’s health?

“WHAT?” Tomorrow shrieked as she burst out of the bathroom, the door slamming behind her. “Are you serious? You better not be joking or else I’ll have you decommissioned in five seconds!”
“I’m not joking! Want to see him?”
“What do you think?”

I think that I want today to end. But then again, I would miss out on a few hours that could be used to pack up more of my Legos and stuff that I barely use anymore.

They turned around and navigated through what felt like a million hallways before coming to the room where Tim had been kept for the past week. All of the windows to the room had been blocked and the door was locked, (no rhyme intended) so the two had to wait outside the room for a couple of minutes while another random freak unlocked the 27 deadbolts on the door.

That’s not a lot of sterilization. I’m disappointed in you.

When Tomorrow stepped into the room, it took her a second for her eyes to adjust to the dim light that was there for no discernable reason.
“Is there a reason it’s super humid in here and you have a blanket over him?”

Because we are practicing malpractice and simultaneously doing a horrible and a great job at it.

“Well, when we were putting the brain lesions in, the freak who was doing it-” at that point The Lady in a Shower Cap pointed to a hairy mess whimpering in the corner- “slipped. It (for most freaks are ‘it’) must have screwed up something important, because just when we were finishing up, his core temperature began to drop dangerously fast. We decided to turn up the thermostat and put a blanket over him.”

That… that’s not how medicine works… that’s not how any of this works! How is Tim not dead?!

“Is that also the reason why he’s napping? I thought that when I came in here, he would be awake so I could show him something.”
“Well, I guess I could wake him up-”
“No, let me do it. You guys all get out of here.”

Well, I suppose it would be harder to convict Tomorrow for murder if there were no witnesses.

When all the freaks had left, Tomorrow stood beside the operating table and hesitated a moment before undoing the straps and throwing the blanket aside. Being careful not to dislocate his shoulder joints, she grabbed his wrists and started dragging him down the hall.

I really shouldn’t have expected anything different. This book stopped being medically accurate a long time ago.

“For the fifth time, stop singing that horrifying song, Emma!”
Yasmin, Emma, Luna, and a bunch of random kids were in the bus on the way to the Laboratory of Soona Bris where they were planning to do a rescue mission and get just about everybody they cared about out of there.

Alright, Emma, which horrid pop song did you get stuck in your head this time?

“Why? I like that song! It’s not my fault it’s stuck in my head!”
Luna came up to the front of the bus, sometimes losing her balance when the bus hit a larger-than-normal bump. When she was at the front, she whispered into Emma’s ear, which caused Emma to take the microphone from the front of the bus and start yelling out an announcement.

An announcement that the book is over? I would welcome that with open arms. (Speaking of that, the second draft of TWLF is done! I’m going to go over The Samhain Files again before moving onto editing its sequel, though.)

“THIS IS YOUR ASSISTANT BUS DRIVER SPEAKING! TO YOUR RIGHT-”
“I’m pretty sure your yelling is not helping me drive!” Yasmin interrupted.
“AS I WAS GOING TO SAY BEFORE I WAS RUDELY INTERRUPTED,” Emma yelled again, giving Yasmin a rude glance, “TO YOUR RIGHT IS A MYTHICAL TORNADO.”

That’s not a very good shitpost. Try again. 0/10 danks.

That caused the bus to go into chaos.
“MYTHICAL TORNADOES ARE- oh, wait, it’s gone.”
“Pooh-pooh for you. Now be quiet so I can drive!”

I have a driving test soon. Maybe then I can drive far away from this book.

from the OTHER archives: Socks, Part 4, Chapters 26-27

Currently, I’m in the middle of a huge music purge. What with the DDoS of Dyn of the previous month and the resulting outages, I’m a bit paranoid that everything I’ve stored in the cloud will suddenly just… disappear. Of course, I know that this fear is unfounded, being that not every single service I use uses Dyn and I’m working on a sizable list of IP addresses in case the DNS does go down. But even then, the paranoia goes away.

Sometimes it is justified. For example, it might keep me alive while working on this segment.

“I would like to call the first and probably only meeting of The Random People to order.”
Yasmin and Luna were staring at Emma in her room. All was silent for a couple of minutes until Luna spoke up in an impatient voice.

Luna, are you impatient to leave? Come here and watch us as their plans devolve into chaos and a failed book series. You’re among good friends now.

“Umm… Emma? Your friend really needs some help. I saw her in this room and she was in this diamond and her boyfriend was getting turned creepy and-”
“Wait- wait a minute,” Emma interrupted. “Slow down. One of my friends is in a diamond? And somebody’s getting turned creepy? I need details.”

Well, if you hadn’t interrupted her, dumbbutt, you might have gotten them. On the other hand, if Luna is as impatient as she seems, she might not have gone over all of the necessary details, in which case… good on you.

“Just find me when you’re sleeping.”
Out of nowhere, Yasmin interjected, “I have no freaking idea what’s going on here.”
“Good then; it’s none of your business,” Luna and Emma replied at the same time.

In all fairness, if Yasmin is here, you probably invited her. But that brings up a good point- how did they all get here? What were they doing before they went to Emma’s house? How did she summon them? G, why didn’t you give us any of these scenes? They might have been good opportunities for characterization. You’re going to write two more books with these people, remember? We might as well be able to tolerate them.

“Then why am I here? I’m just being a waste of good air. I think I’ll leave now.”
“Bye. I’ll miss you.”
“And I think I’ll hijack a bus while I’m at it.”

Why a bus? Why not a car? What are you even planning to do with the bus, anyways? You’re not about to steal something from another book, are you, G?

Riki and Abbey were trying to have a conversation in a back room that was in the laboratory. They both had mugs full of coffee.

No description of the back room? I recall that you placed this scene in a white-themed lounge with sofas trimmed with gold, G. Why didn’t you put that into the book?

“Good evening, Riki.”
“Good evening, Abbey.”
“I wanted to ask you a question.”
“What’s it about?”

You could have skipped this with the sentence “They greeted each other, running through the expected trivialties and greetings until Tomorrow cleared her throat to ask a question.” See how much more smoothly that flows?

Abbey took a deep breath, and then said, “It’s about how to control your children.”
“You have children?”
“Just one… Lily.”

Trying to completely control your child’s behavior? That’s not very libertarian of you.

“And what does this Lily look like? Maybe I’ve seen her before.”
“Lily’s on the shorter side. Her hair’s in a bob cut. She wears glasses and she insists on wearing dark clothes every day.”

Tomorrow, is that you?

“Is she that winged girl that was terrorizing an innocent adolescent boy yesterday and today? I thought her name was Tomorrow. And a couple of days ago, for no discernable reason, she fell down in the hallway and started shrieking, ‘Get out of my head, get out of my head!’”

Oh, joy, here comes the characterization cramming.

Abbey slapped her own face and then took a sip of her coffee. “I wish Lily hadn’t renamed herself. It makes no sense to name yourself a common word. Speaking of naming yourself, I should have named my niece too. I let her name herself and she chose a random country in the real world.”
“You have a niece?”

If I were held and raised in a pseudoscientific facility with no steady parental figures, I too would be aiming for the most unusual name to call myself. You really can’t blame her, Abbey. You didn’t do squat to raise her.

“Yes. It’s sort of a tragic story….

Here comes the obligatory protagonist sob story.

I used to have an only sister that was a couple of years older than me. She was pregnant and an alcoholic. One day she was in a car with me and a bunch of her friends. Everybody was drinking heavily except for me. One moment, everything was ok, except for the drinking and spilling everywhere, and the next minute we had collided head-on with another car. I was the only survivor. Everybody else had died instantly.”

Why were you the one who survived? How does the presence of alcohol, even a little bit, affect the survival rate? Because that’s what you’re implying here. Did you brace for impact and nobody else did? If the crash was so catastrophic that everybody else died instantly, why did you escape without a scratch?

“Then how do you have a niece? Your sister died before she could give birth.”
“That’s where the story gets tragic…

Oh, joy. Here we go.

The paramedics came minutes after the crash. They saw that my sister was pregnant, and they did the operation then and there…” Tears started running down Abbey’s face and she took a ragged breath before going on.

That goes against every single medical code of conduct and procedure that I’ve ever seen. The inside of a car is far from sterile. I highly doubt that they’d cut a corpse open there. And why weren’t they giving any medical attention to you, the supposed only survivor?

“They took the baby out and put it in one of their artificial development chambers… I don’t even know what to call them.” At this point the mere tears running down Abbey’s face had escalated into full-on crying. “They didn’t want anybody to know that the parents had died in a car crash, so when they were putting together the data sheet about the baby, they said that the parents had died from drinking too much alcohol at a party.

I’m about 200% sure that messing with death documents is illegal.

And that’s when they started tinkering with the baby, making it a hybrid. Just like the dirty bigots they are.

Somehow I don’t think that’s the definition of bigotry????

And the worst part of all that is I let them do all that.”
“Mmm… so what did you want to know about controlling children?”

“I want to know how to give children restrictions. Lily has far too few of them. Earlier this year, sometime in January, she decided that she was going to turn my niece creepy. I stopped her before she could do much, and I think that whatever Lily did to her wore off within a couple of weeks. Apparently Lily was so mad that I stopped her that she decided that she was going to fight my niece in a-”

Somehow I don’t think that there’s anything you can do about Lily, Abbey. You’ve lost control of her. Get out alive while you can. You never know when teenage angst is going to rear its ugly head and she’ll decide to target you next.

“Does your niece have a name?”
“Umm… she named herself Algeria, but we usually try to call her by her middle name, Maximilla. Someday I’m going to get around to legally changing her name.”

You can’t do that unless you’re her legal guardian, and even then, being that Algeria isn’t a legal resident of Soona Bris, you still couldn’t change it.

“Abbey, I have to go now. My daughter, Ellie, has been waiting all day for me to take her to a water park. We’ll have to talk later.”
“Bye, Riki. It’s been nice talking to somebody.”

That’s got to be up there in the Hall of Fame for Laziest Chapter Endings. How should I submit it? Where do I even sumbit it to? Should I start my own showcase of bad writing?

from the OTHER archives: Socks, Part 4, Chapters 24-25

As I write this, I am currently in the process of moving all my scrobbles to my shiny new Libre.fm page. The songs the radio function give me certainly are… interesting.

Unfortunately, G doesn’t seem to have that level of interest imbued in her writing, so we’re stuck here again for another episode of From The OTHER archives.

“Why, hello, Yasmin.”
“Hello, random stranger.”

So it’s our rude bloggy friend Yasmin here again. Maybe she’s starting drama for views? I mean, it’s not like the internet has enough petty arguments on it. Let’s start a few more.

“Is there a reason you were laying down in the middle of my front yard without your sweatshirt on?”
“I was tired from flying and I simply didn’t want to put the sweatshirt on.”
“Did you know that the most commonly used letter in the English language as of June 13, 2013 was the letter E?”

I’ve done some pretty weird redirections in the conversation before, but never that blatant and shameless. Show yourself, stranger!

“You sure have a talent for going off-subject.”
“Random things pop up in my head.”
“Emma, can I come inside? We need to talk.”

Ah, so it’s my self-insert Emma. Oh joy. Yasmin should have a field day with this one.

“Sure, whatever. But be quiet until we get into my room. My mom might get weird if she hears a voice coming in that she doesn’t recognize.”
Yasmin and Emma walked into Emma’s room, closing the door behind them. They plopped onto Emma’s bed.
“What are you going to talk about, Yasmin? Please tell me this has nothing to do with computers or turkeys that like chicken wings.”

Story time- around the time I was writing this, my cousin and I had a band referencing basketballs and fried chicken. We had a song about those two objects, which is why the band was named the way that it was. I don’t want to link to the cringe as I’d like to leave that part of my life behind me… and my cousin quite wants it to die as well.

“What?”
“Nothing.”
“So… I wanted to talk about this strange premonition I had.”
“Oh gosh, not this cream pie again!”

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Yasmin just gave her a glare. “A couple of days ago, I had this strange feeling that-”
“Someone was stalking you!”
“No! Pay attention!”
“I am. That’s how I’m able to interject such good comments!”

Everything is relative and I want to die. What is the meaning of life? Banana.

“SHUSH!”
“Oh! My little brother thinks that ‘shush’ is a bad word! Now you have to go on a timeout!”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“So what were you going to say?”

Maybe if you had been listening, you uncaged screech monkey, you would know.

“I WAS going to say that a couple of days ago I had this strange feeling that Max-”
“The one who shall not be named or the one that I had to save a couple of months ago?”
“Ummm…”

Even back then, being sued wasn’t on my list of things to do.

“I’m going to guess the second one.”
“Okay, then, you do that. And I saw her in this big crystal that looked like a diamond. And for a second, I could hear her thoughts- or at least I thought they were her thoughts- and she sounded like she was slowly fading away and giving up on life.”

Like I am right now from reading this? Like my blog stats have been since allowing this cancer to fester on my blog? Please go on. I’m actually genuinely interested now.

“Rescue mission!”
Yasmin gave her another glare. “Maybe.”

Only if it results in a sequel and can make G profit. Otherwise, leave it to the shoddy fanfictions.

“Well,” Emma was quickly saying as she pushed Yasmin toward the front door, “it’s been nice talking to you, and I hope to see you tonight when I dream, and I wonder how you got into the real world, and I have to go now and so do you, and bye!”
Emma closed the front door.

If only I could do that with all my problems. I’d start with this book, then go on to its sequels and maybe third-wave feminists if I could even fit them through the slender door.

What’s going on? I can’t feel where anybody is. I’m all alone again.
I wish I could get out of whatever this is. I’ve been in here for, what, a week? My sense of time is screwed up.
Where is everybody?

Maybe you could use your telepathy again, Algeria. That seems to work well… unless you’re dead, in which case you can float up and check yourself.

Can you hear that, Algeria? That’s the sad music playing as I end another post. The only sadness I feel is that we haven’t been able to part ways permanently. Why is it always about your happiness, Algeria? Why is it never about mine? Why do I always have to suffer for you?

Because I’m a writer, that’s why.

from the OTHER archives: Socks, Part 4, Chapters 21-23

The eighteenth of October wasn’t a bad day. It certainly wasn’t a good day, but it wasn’t bad. Just another lukewarm day in search of a four-day weekend.

In more exciting news, in an unexpected bout of writing, I seem to have found myself two-thirds of the way through writing TWLF. Maybe- gasp!- I’ll finish it before October. Or at least by November. And then there’s the coma of the week of rest… I’m ready for rest.

But a true writer never rests.

I can feel bad things happening to Tim… this is the first time in hours that I can feel his presence somewhere in this building. I can feel bad things happening to him… knives, scalpels, lots of people…

I can feel lots of things too- like a waste of a chapter. We already know what’s going on, Algeria. You don’t have to explain it all to us again.

And there’s Tomorrow. That’s never a good thing.
Back away from my boy! He’s mine!

I don’t think that they’re going to be doing any naughty business on the operating table, so don’t jump to conclusions. Plus, if you love someone, you don’t force them through psychological torture. Protip to my readers out there.

I must distract her and make her stop whatever they’re doing to him.

“It’s now my break time,” Tomorrow slowly explained to a not-so-coherent freak who was overseeing the operation.

Why is he overseeing the operation instead of a certified professional? What is even going on here anymore? Shouldn’t Tim be in a sterile environment?

“Make sure that you do the vocal cords right. I don’t want you screwing up because that means I have to come back in before my break time is over. Understand?” She left the operating room when the freak had nodded her understanding.
Tomorrow had gone halfway down the hallway when a painful migraine blossomed out of nowhere and sent her sprawling to the floor in pain.

This is it! This is the end! Soon my suffering will be gone, all of it taken on by Tomorrow! As long as she doesn’t decide to get a god complex and demand that I worship her for something I didn’t ask her to do.

Oh, wait…

“Aw… gawl… WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?” she screamed. Her voice cut like a knife through the empty hallway and made people in rooms unknown cringe in pain and fear.

That, my dear, is called a migraine. I suggest some pain medication and a nice quiet place with a bed.

A familiar voice streamed into her head- 1, 2, I am coming for you…
“ALGERIA?”
Hey, this one time, Emma read a book that was as creepy as you. And there was this one song in it that made lots of kids shudder when Emma showed them.

I honestly don’t remember this book at all. Can you name your sources, G? Maybe @ them next time?

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”
The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,
“WHAT DID I JUST SAY?”
They eat your guts like sauerkraut,

All I’m finding on Google is something called “The Hearse Song”. One mention of a movie by a lady who had forgotten the name of said movie and wanted help finding it. No books.

A scream went through the air.
They eat your eyes, they eat your nose,
“SOMEONE SAVE ME-”
They eat the dirt between your toes.

I still haven’t found the book that you’re referencing, G. Come on. I know you could keep better records than this.

Another scream went through the air.
I’m going to leave now. Do not touch my boyfriend or I will come again.

Tomorrow, I would recommend a tinfoil hat. Sure, it’s not very fashionable, but it should keep Algeria from succeeding in any telepathic attacks.

Or you could just move away from her. Distance would work.

It was midnight of the next day when one of the freaks shouted down the hall, “THE VOCAL CORDS ARE DONE!” Tomorrow was there in a couple of seconds.

Can Tomorrow teleport now? I’m not trying to mock her. I’m genuinely confused.

“Hmm. For once you freaks did something right. Tim, your eyes look so sad. We haven’t even done them yet. What’s wrong?”

Doesn’t Soona Bris have a government? Why aren’t they monitoring this place? You’d think that, with all the human rights violations here, they’d be all over this place like ugly on an ape.

But of course it’s a dystopian government that condones these actions. That still doesn’t excuse Tomorrow’s complete lack of empathy.

The sharp, stabbing migraine came back as an unknown voice said in her head, I refuse to talk to you with my mouth, for you have changed my voice. I can feel that something’s different. I know that you didn’t know that I was telepathic. I never told you before.

You’d think that, with all Tomorrow’s power, she could have just looked inside of his files and known that. But nope, our antagonist makes a critical error again.

“I don’t care… all I want you to do… is get out of my head!” Tomorrow painfully said in between painful gasps of air.
“Is there something wrong?” one of the male freaks asked. “Is there anything I can do?”
She sucked in another painful gasp of air. “Just get started on the eyes.”

You know, maybe my choice in music this evening as I wrote this was a mistake. I’m already perturbed beyond belief, and now I’ve got to deal with this writing. Someone please shoot me now. The green fields can’t come fast enough.