Ladies and gentlemen... the WrongPlanet writing showcase

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This is the first scene of the first draft of a novel I am working on. The novel is currently in the rewriting stage, and I don't plan to use this scene any more, but I want to show people here what I can currently write:

EMILY'S ARRIVAL

Sam Pembroke

She walked through the rainy afternoon along 5th Avenue. The cab had dropped her off six blocks from her intended destination. In her hands were her two suitcases. As the rain continued to fall, her traveling suit had become soaked, to Emily Langdon, it didn't bother her much, but the fact that she had to walk six blocks in a city that she hadn't been to before in her life; did. She couldn't tell if people were eyeing her, or even laughing at her wet clothes. Never in her twelve years of life had she even seen a city as large as this one. Back home in Brattleboro she had never seen buildings as tall as these, or even houses as large as the ones that lined the avenue. Ahead was her destination, the massive red door remained shut. The door was at the top of granite steps, and the red brick looked dark and gloomy in the rain. The curtains all were closed. "Surely this cannot be the house, it's large." She had thought to herself.

Suddenly she felt water running down her face; her hat was soaked through and through. Her red hair was matted, her hair ribbon nearly untied. She looked like a frightened animal, cornered; ready to fight. She swallowed hard, and climbed the steps up to the door. Nervously, she set one of her suitcases down and put her finger on the bell. She waited. "What if they're not home? I'll just go." She thought to herself as she began to turn around. Suddenly, the door opened. "You must be Emily." A voice called out to her. She turned around and saw a woman who looked to be in her mid thirties with auburn hair. She looked austere, and rather foreboding. "Well? Are you Emily or not?" She swallowed hard. "Yes" is all she said. A smile appeared on the older woman's face. " It is good to see you again after all these years. Say, why are you wet? Have you been standing out here all this time? Let's get you out of those wet clothes." Emily walked inside. She had arrived.

I have another one I'll post shortly.

THANKSGIVING, 1907

Sam Pembroke

The time to be with loved ones had come and in the Bukater household, the family was an important commodity. Both sets of relatives were there, including an important family friend. Samuel's parents; Joseph and Catherine had arrived the night prior and were staying at a hotel a few blocks away. Joseph was a famous adventurer and mercenary of sorts, leading a small contingent of men into Peking during the Boxer Rebellion seven years prior. He was somewhat of a lax father, but when needed; he could shape his children up in a heartbeat. Catherine was a bit of an adventurer herself; for she loved to go rock hunting whenever she got the chance. Catherine also possessed a mind like a gazetteer, pinpointing exactly where everything was. The Bukater children loved their grandparents very much and were always happy to hear that they were coming.

Samuel's brother Joseph Junior and his wife Susan had brought their daughter, Bethany with them. Rose liked Bethany somewhat, but usually Bethany remained distant, as to silently say "I'm too good for you." Susan was a humble woman, not from any of the major families, but she was treated with respect. The Bukater's were what one would call a "first tier family" They were one of the original twelve that had come over to settle the republic. Joe Junior, on the other hand was a hot-shot pilot who was in the air force. He spent all of June-November flying into the eyes of hurricanes, and he loved it. He wasn't like his brother, Samuel in any way shape or form; aside from both looking like their father, Samuel liked having facial hair, whilst his brother was always clean shaven. Samuel never understood this, for he always had worn a Van Dyke beard; it had always made him look good.

Aside from uncle Joe and Aunt Sue, there was one other person who showed up; Aunt Ellen. Ellen was a tomboy at heart. When she was a teenager; she, Sam, her father, and Sam's friend; Peter Creedon would smoke in the basement and play billiards. The children loved their aunt Ellen. Rose especially loved her. Elizabeth on the other hand, was really aloof whenever she was around. Emily thought that she was interesting; especially in the fact that she lived three towns over from her and never knew. The Bukater side of the family was interesting, each in their own way, and they each showed respect for each other for who they were, not what they were. Samuel made sure he raised Rose and Elizabeth this way, letting them have fun, but also teaching them life's lessons along the way, such as you can't always get what you want, and that if you want something, YOU need to work for it, it won't come to you.

Ruth's family on the other hand was different. Her father, Jonathan was a naval architect, who worked for Samuel, the admiral. Even though he worked for him, he only tolerated him enough to be colleagues, nothing more; ever since what had happened eighteen years prior. Jonathan DeWitt's wife, Edith was from England and she tried hard to raise her family right. When she and Jon married in 1870, Ruth was just three months old, her mother having died in childbirth. Jon taught Ruth how to live within her own means, whilst Edith taught her how to be a proper young lady. All this however almost ceased on that day in 1883, when Ruth struck Edith across the face, vowing that she would never conform to her step mother's horrid rules, but that's another story for another time.

Ruth's half sister, Elisabeth had arrived that morning, with her husband and daughter in tow. If there was ever someone whom Ruth disliked more, it was James. Even though he had been a veteran of the Boxer Rebellion, he never got over the fact that he wasn't the only one. He was never abusive with Elisabeth, or their daughter; Jacqueline in any way. Rose always had liked Jacqueline, but often she viewed her as a spoiled brat, with her being five years younger than Rose. Emily had agreed that Jacqueline was indeed spoiled, but she could also be "saved" from her behavior. This wasn't to say however that she was a bad child, but what it most certainly did say was that she needed to watch herself, and desperately.

Also taking a place at the table, were the DeWitt twins, Jessica and Jon III. Both of them were engaged to marry, however both of their fiancés were away with their own families, too caught up in themselves I guess. Ruth enjoyed both of them; however Jessica was the one that she really had no feelings towards. Jon was regarded by Ruth as a "bright and level headed man" To Ruth; he was one she could confide in, always telling him secrets. Jessica could never do that, for she was a bit of an airhead. Regardless, the three Bukater girls loved their aunts and uncles on both sides. For Emily, she was meeting these people for the first time in her life. To make matters better however, Victoria and John Langdon had come to visit. Their stay made Emily feel more comfortable, and it gave John a chance to observe both Elizabeth and Jacqueline. Over the summer, John had observed Elizabeth, and was almost finished with the paperwork.

The last person to show up was Peter B. Creedon Junior. Peter was Sam's best friend, even though events of the past had almost ruined that relationship. Today he was not wearing his general's uniform, but a suit, and that made him feel at ease. Ruth came over to him and embraced him, thanking him for coming, and for all the years. Peter did the same thing, wishing all was well. Soon after, the guests began to sit down. Samuel offered a toast, congratulating the fact that he got to see Emily after all these years, and that the family was well. There was laughter, conversation, and food. None of this could prepare them for what was about to happen, not Rose, not even Emily was going to be prepared for what fate had in store for them…

And that my friends, is a glimpse of what the Bukater's are all about…

@ Ackman

Allow me to give you some constructive criticism.

Thank you. I realized that some of it didn't read right.

I can't draw, so I write. A lot. What's listed below is just the basic info for all the stuff I've been working on with any kind of seriousness. If anyone's interested in more on a particular story, I'll probably post something up on request.

I have two major novella/novel projects going right now:

Title: Post Black
Genre: Cyberpunk

Synopsis: Damien Rutherford is all too familiar with the criminal underworld of the Sprawl, a super-city spanning thousands of square kilometers and home to over a hundred million people. As a member of a small, close-knit team of thieves, he and four others make a lucrative living breaking into corporate and government computer systems and stealing information to sell to the highest bidder. But when a chance encounter leads to a job gone horribly wrong, and attracts the attention of the ever-present totalitarian megacorporations to their operation, he knows it's time to be afraid. Caught up in a far-reaching conspiracy more sinister than they ever imagined, the team quickly finds they have nowhere to run and no one they can trust but each other. As the stakes rise and the collateral damage begins to hit closer to home, the team just wants out. The question is: how- and at what price?

Title: New Zero
Genre: Science Fiction

Synopsis: When a small team of salvage workers makes a startling discovery, events are set in motion that could change the course of history forever. Wanted by the governing Alliance, they find themselves pulled unwillingly into a world of conspiracy, deceit and violence as they struggle to come to terms with their new position and begin to uncover the mysteries surrounding a revolutionary who disappeared more than a hundred and fifty years before.

Note: I'm also seriously working to turn New Zero into a live-action TV series eventually, and already have a potential pilot script in the works in addition to all the writing.

Other things I've been toying with lately:

Title: Type III
Genre: Cyberpunk

Synopsis: As a contracted freelance agent, Ethan Carter is one of the best out there, known for his cold efficiency and expertise. So when an anonymous client asks him to shadow a young woman for her protection, the only thing he's interested in is the easy pay-out at the end. But easy isn't what it turns out to be. The young woman has more than her fair share of dark secrets, ones even she doesn't know she has. Secrets that some people would kill to possess, and others would kill to keep hidden.

A possible alternate reality to Type III:

Title: Call Code
Genre: Science Fiction

Synopsis: Trained to handle the most dangerous and difficult assignments the government has to offer, Ethan Carter is a member of an elite paramilitary division known as the Envoy Corps. Sent in alone undercover to infiltrate and bring down an infamous militia group, he finds himself in over his head as his original preconceptions of them are called into serious question, as well as those of the government he's working for.

Something else:

Title: (Untitled)
Genre: Science Fiction

Synopsis: Waking up with no memory of his former self after witnessing an assassination, a young man finds himself shanghaied into service by the very company that ordered the hit. As its newest member, he and another elite operative, a young woman, are teamed up to be the ultimate pair of assassins. Together, there is no objective they can't complete, but when he begins to question the ethics and motives of their actions, both hunters abruptly find themselves the hunted. Forced into a deadly game of cat-and-mouse, the two assassins must out-smart and out-maneuver the very people who trained them if they want to survive long enough to find the answers they're looking for about themselves and the organization they're working for.

Older stuff:

Title: Shadowlance
Genre: Urban Fantasy

Synopsis: Killed in the line of duty, volunteer firefighter Caleb Woodman finds himself brought back to life one year later. Reborn as a Shadowlancer, one of a rare group of people gifted with supernatural powers and are charged with maintaining the balance of light and dark in the world, he must come to terms with his new-found state of existence even as it becomes apparent that the entire city is gearing up for a supernatural event the likes of which hasn't been seen anywhere in almost a thousand years.

Title: Northlands (working title)
Genre: Fantasy

Synopsis: There is an ancient verse that tells of the coming of dark times to the northern countries; one borne by blood and ruled by tyranny. Sent into exile for aiding and later defending a woman now convicted of murder, Cal Meischcal must find a way to regain his and his family's honor in order to reclaim his rightful place as heir to the throne. Accompanied by the woman and an old warrior, he sets out to do so, setting in motion the very events the verse tells about.

Short stories:

Title: Toy Soldiers
Genre: War Fiction

Synopsis: A snipers role in the horrors of war, with a spin on it.

Where I'm From

I am from playrooms,
from G.I. Joes and Cowboys and Indians.
I am from the squash growing awkwardly
(white, yellow
pretending to love it.)
I am from tossed logs,
the bag pipe
whose long silent pipes
still ring in my ear.

I'm from burned bacon and donations,
From Sallyirene and someone I don't care for.
I'm from the rolly pollies
and the snails,
from cheer up and settle down.
I'm from "THOU SHALT NOT STEAL OR LIE"
with the littlest fibs
and the strangest reasons.

I'm from McDonald's and Carl's Jr,
cheese cake and french fries,
from the scar on my brother's shoulder
from the light bulb fragments
to the money my mother spent to keep us happy.
On the old shelf were binders
holding pictures in place,
many, many moments in time I don't remember
to make me wonder, "What was I thinking?"
Those are my moments-
frozen in time,
never to be relived.

- Me

I've never posted my writing here before. I'm a little nervous.
I've had a little time off, as I work on an as needed basis in the summer.
Yesterday, I took the subway to Union Square in Manhattan. I spent some time at a remarkable book store known as the Strand, where they have a HUGE selection of books, and also spent some time relaxing in a secluded spot under a tree in Union Square Park. Something about this environment inspired me to tap into my somewhat neglected "artsy side." Seated under that tree, I listened to the somewhat muted sounds of the city, and decided to try and write a poem for the first time in quite a while. I used to do so much more writing, and it would be good for me if I could get back into it. I'm out of practice, and this is somewhat experimental. I know it's not brilliant, but I thought I'd share anyway.

Secluded by The Shade of a Tree on a Cool Summer’s Day



I listen as distant music floats my way from a stage out of sight.
The volume swells, diminishes, and swells again.
Simultaneously, the music of birds conversing drifts down from the sky above.
Children shriek joyfully, and call to one another in the distance.
Some people gab away into their cell phones, as others gab away to companions.
Car engines hum, as sirens and car horns intermittently blare, unapologetic in their intrusion.
All this urban harmony and dissonance blends together, forming the sort of symphony that can only be heard in cities.
Hidden beneath an immense tree in the park,
I let the tranquility of this man-made approximation of nature surround me like an immense security blanket.
Listening to this strange and intoxicating symphony from a safe distance, I am at peace.

I Am

I am the ocean
I am the waves that crash upon the shore
I am the ultimate challenge to man
remaining a mystery for all time

I am the protector of all animals embedded in my body
anyone that crosses my path will be devoured sooner or later
all shall die and be claimed by me
there is no escaping the troubled sea

I am everywhere
every time and every place
never to part again for anyone that dares to try
sweeping the land for eternity
never to be conquered by any but the almighty creator

Here's a short story that I wrote during a fiction class that I took during the past year. I'm usually not much of a writer, but I figured it might be worth sharing. Sorry if it's a bit difficult to read, the formatting couldn't be retained properly.

! !!BIG RED WARNING!! ! This story has strong racist content. It uses the N-word a couple times. Please know that they are NOT my opinions, but those of the hateful character I created. I hope our black WP members will understand that I am not prejudiced toward them. If you're easily offended by such writing, please don't read it. So, without further adieu, I give you:




The Final Descent

The sun was setting as Dan Creedmore left work. He didn't have very far to drive, which was a good thing because he had been waiting all day to sit down and waste away the evening. As he made his last turn, his house at the end of the street came into view. Through the opened garage door, he saw his Camaro convertible. Behind the driver's door, the side of the car had been violently smashed in. Bare metal highlighted the creases and scrapes in the once beautiful red paint. Dan's tiresome day at work was mockingly capped by this cruel image, and he wondered to himself why he kept leaving the garage door open if it bothered him so much.

He parked just short of his driveway, in front of a house where an old woman was busily pulling weeds out of a flowerbed. As he stepped out of the car, the woman got on her feet and shuffled toward the picket fence. She was just shy of eighty years old, yet her green eyes still glimmered with youthful life. She brushed most of the dirt off of her hands and then rubbed the rest on her pants. Dan handed the car keys over the fence and forced a smile.

“Thanks again for your car, Victoria.”

“Oh, it's nothing at all, dear!”

“I feel like I owe you a favor, now. Do you have anything you need done?”

“Don't be silly, dear, I'm sure everything evens out in time.”

“I really hope so. I'll see you tomorrow, Victoria. Right now I have to get off my feet.”

With an awkward gait, Dan cut an angle across the dead end of the street to his house and unlocked the door. He breathed a sigh as his shelter was laid before him. There was his soft recliner, placed right in the sweet spot of his hi-fi system. The chair was his ship and the stereo was a siren waiting to lure him away from the sea of stress. Standing on the end table next to the chair was an old reliable friend who had always made the journey efficient, a bottle of Sailor Jerry rum. Next to it was a rocks glass, patiently waiting since it had been cleaned that morning. As Dan eyed the bottle from the door, the shallow rays of sunlight passing through a window behind the recliner caused it to shine a comforting golden brown; it appeared as a lighthouse signaling a safe end to a difficult voyage.

He put on David Gilmour's 1978 solo album and planted himself in the recliner. He reached for the bottle on the table next to him and poured a good three fingers of the ninety-two proof rum, appearing to be oblivious to why they call it a 'rocks glass'. Taking a sip, he closed his eyes as the slightly sweet, fiery liquor warmed his insides. He imagined himself encased in a dark box with nothing but the music and the drink; nothing that demanded his time, and no unpleasant thoughts to drag him down. Unfortunately, his mind knew better and would not rest. After barely more than ten minutes, the glass was empty. It went surprisingly fast, he thought. No matter, there was plenty left for the evening. He poured another, hoping that eventually he would find himself in that safe box, sealed away from reality.

“What s**t luck I have. Such a horrible existence. What if my mind created all of this, and my whole life has been nothing but a thought. Wouldn't it be a relief to come to my senses and simply resume what I am supposed to be doing?”

As if on cue, a knock at the door drew Dan's consciousness back into the real world. The door opened just enough for a man to stick his head in. It was his old friend, Jerry Stanwick, who he had not seen since college. Having been preoccupied with the car accident for the last day and a half, Dan realized he had forgotten that Jerry was going to be in town and had plans to stop by. He pretended to have been waiting.

“Hey Jerry, you're late! I've already had one and I'm about to need another!” Dan raised his nearly empty glass.

Jerry, who hadn't even had a chance to sit, hesitated for a moment and then asked, “Say Dan, what happened to the Camaro?”

Dan rose from his chair and walked toward the stereo. He picked up the record and flipped it over. He peered at Jerry across its surface. “Yesterday, I was turning onto this street on my way home. One of those monkeys came barreling out and plowed into her. You know, the ones that moved in across from Victoria.” Dan blew the dust off the record and started the new side. “Jerry, you want a drink? You should love this rum, you're named after it.”

“Alright, just one. I can't stay long tonight; I'm having dinner at my parents' house.”

Jerry took a seat, grateful to have a moment of relaxation after driving all day. Looking through the front window, he could see a dilapidated 1980s Chevy Caprice parked on the curb opposite the old lady's house. What he could see of the front end was a crumpled mess that slightly wrapped around to the side, and the trunk was held shut with strips of duct tape. A small-framed African man in a hooded sweatshirt was busily applying more. Jerry poured some rum and chuckled to himself. “They're going to need a lot more duct tape to patch that up.”

Dan glanced out the window at the duct tape handyman. “Yeah, I'll be surprised if that car ever runs again.”

“Did you have insurance on your car?”

“I did, but that was Anna's car; I bought it for her as a wedding present. I couldn't ever replace it.” Dan picked up his glass and slowly swirled the golden liquor. “I swear, Jerry, those people are out to take everything from me.”

Jerry reached into his pocket and felt his car keys. “What do you mean?”

“Do you know how long Anna and I were married?”

“A couple of years, right?”

“Eight days. That's it. And then one of them took her from me. He also gave me this messed up knee. Then yesterday, the ones with the duct-mobile decided to take her car.”

“I'm really sorry, Dan, I always thought you guys were together for a while, and she left, or something. You never mentioned her much in your letters.”

“No, our marriage never even had time to get started. In the car was the last time we were together.” Dan paused for a moment, finished off his glass, and poured another. “This may sound odd, but when I was in it, I felt like Anna was, too. And when they smashed it, I felt her die again.

“That doesn't sound far-fetched at all, but I wouldn't know, personally. About the guy that hit it, though; you can see that it was a coincidence, right? Anyone could have hit your car, not just a black guy.”

“I don't think so. They take what they want and don't give anything back to society. Why do you think the prisons are so full of them? That's all they do. They ruin innocent people's lives just to satisfy their own impulses.”

Jerry fiddled with his car keys. By this point, his tone had become slightly defensive. “Be careful, Dan, that mindset can get you into a lot of trouble. I have a black friend at work, and he's the nicest guy there. He's the type who would sacrifice anything to help you if you needed it.”

Dan just shook his head, frustrated. “He's certainly the exception, then.”

Jerry checked his watch. He stood up and slowly made for the door. “I should get going, my folks will probably have dinner ready soon. Thanks for the drink.” Just as he reached the door, Jerry looked back. “I'm really sorry about Anna, Dan, but life makes sense, eventually. You just have to deal with it for now. I'll see you later.”

Dan was alone once again. “There's no life left to make sense of. I'm just coasting downhill now. I've been coasting for a long time.”

The safe box that he had anticipated failed to materialize around him on this particular night; his mind was now boiling with memories of the beautiful life that had been violently ended. The room was quiet, with only the repeating pop of the finished record ticking away the time. Dan poured yet another glass of rum, hoping that it would at least slow the brutal assault on his mind. There was never such a spectacular failure in all of history. The images rushed in, never slowing down as they flowed through the drunken defense line like a river through chicken wire.

Dan was back in the car, parked on top of a hill with the top down. He and Anna were laying back in the seats, watching the Perseids meteor shower, when she decided she needed to go to the bathroom. As she exited the car and walked out to the bushes, Dan continued looking for shooting stars, but was surprised by a stifled yelp. He jolted up in the seat just in time to see a tall, black figure covering Anna's mouth while wrestling her to the ground, having waited until her pants were down so she couldn't run.

He scrambled to get out of the car, but barely took more than a couple of steps before the man pointed a large, stainless steel revolver at him and fired without even hesitating. The sound of the shot was strangely distant. A brilliant white flash took over the gruesome picture before him, and as his left foot hit the ground, he collapsed. He clawed his way across the dirt in a manner resembling that of a poorly coordinated snake. The man looked at him with excited eyes, his white grin contrasted against his face, and fired his revolver again. The shot was low, but it drove a forceful cloud of dirt right into Dan's face. The man dragged Anna into a cluster of bushes, seemingly deaf to her cries of terror. Dan heard his whole life coming apart not fifty feet away, but there was not a thing he could do but keep pulling himself across the dirt, blinded by muddy tears.

A third shot, this time muffled, made his ears ring and his soul collapse. The man walked out of the bushes and into the darkness. As he did, he looked Dan right in the eyes, teeth gleaming in the moonlight, as if he had done him a favor. Dan felt his senses fading as he took off his belt and used it to stop the blood running from his wound. He blacked out shortly afterward, only awakening just as the sun was coming up. When he found Anna, she had been shot in the chest; right through her heart. Her face was frozen in pain. For all he knew, he could have also died briefly in those bushes. He had no further memory, other than waking up in a hospital after surgeons had thoroughly worked over his knee.

Dan's consciousness again turned back to reality when the barrage of painful images temporarily subsided. He looked at his glass, once again empty. Like a machine programmed to repeat a sequence of movements, he poured another glass and took a drink. “You n****rs killed her twice,” he thought as his eyes wandered to the front window, finding the dead Caprice. Just then, the door of the black man's house opened. Dan stood up from his chair, barely maintaining his balance, and shambled to the window. By now, his eyes couldn't properly focus in one spot, but he could easily see someone at the door hand something to a shorter, hooded figure. The hooded person walked away from the house, turning on to the sidewalk that crossed in front of Dan's window. He watched as the person began to round the dead-end street. In the sickly, sodium glow of the street lamp, he could now see that the object was wrapped in paper and about the size of a brick.

“God damned coke heads! She died again because they're a bunch of coke heads!”

The image of that big, white grin returned to his mind. He quickly galloped back to the end table where he kept his Colt 1911. Not thinking clearly, he pulled back on the slide to chamber a round, even though he always kept one up. He heard the cartridge hit the floor. “Seven's still plenty for him,” he assured himself, and ran out the front door. Rife with vengeance and feeling the loneliness exploding like a bomb inside him, Dan pointed the pistol with a shaking hand and bellowed at the figure.

“HEY, n****r! You killed her, you f*****g parasite!”

The person turned to look over their shoulder, allowing the light of the street lamp to reveal a wrinkly pair of frightened little green eyes. It was too late. Dan had already begun squeezing the trigger, and it broke just as the realization broke over him. The old lady dropped the package and fell onto the sidewalk, which had become frosty with sugar. Dan took a few steps and fell to his knees in front of her. Tears immediately welled up in his eyes. Clutching his blued steel piece with both hands, he whispered to her, “If it all evens out, what's going to happen to me now?”

Title: Revelation:Being An Account In Words Of The First Mwhal Epedition To Earth, 6377 C.A.(Civilized Age)
Genre: Science Fiction
Type: First Person Memoir/ Short Story
Summary: Kyoun Tuo, a young Mwhal xenobiologist, dreamed of first contact ever since he was but a child. His late parents(both xenobiologists) passed down their hopes and dreams unto him. So when Earth's location is revealed upon the acquisition of an old space probe, Kyoun, being one of the most renowned xenobiologists of his time, is selected along with 300 other professionals of various fields to embark on a journey to Earth, in hopes of making first contact.

Title:Mind Meld
Genre: Science Fiction
Type: Third Person/ Novella but may be extended into a novel
Young Isabella Morales is a citizen of a totalitarian, all-encompassing Empire that controls much of the Human race. Earth being their hub, this Empire supports the act of taking planets by force if the planets in question are of value. When the Empire tries to annex planets belonging to the Reptillian Iourdzen, war erupts.

Isabella is a custodian on a penal frigate called Purgatory, where newly captured POW's are kept until transport to Earth or the major colonies arrives. She is a slave to fear, for any stray, rebellious thought detected by the psychic secret police could mean death, and any comment indicating her disapproval of the party can land her in a reeducation camp. It is that which led to the disappearance of her closest friend. While feeding the prisoners, many of whom have been driven insane by torture, she meets a Iourdzen P.O.W. who speaks and understands English, one who understands her position, her everlasting fear.

He establishes a mind meld with her, an ability that all male Iourdzen possess that basically establishes connections between the minds of two people. It cannot be undone. Traditionally, Iourdzen establish a mind meld after marrying someone they love, and the ability can only be used on one person. He tells her through relayed thoughts that if she helps him keep sane through mental conversation and possibly help him and the other prisoners escape, she can live her life in peace back on the Iourdzen homeworld as a refugee.

Title: Organicide
Genre: Cyberpunk Sci-Fi, Post-Apocalyptic
Type: Diary/ memoir/ novella
The year is 2567. Through cybernetics implants, 90% of the world's people have self-evolved into beings quite similar to robots. Very little of their organic components remain, and they no longer require to breathe, eat, or drink. They don't even age. In their quest for total efficiency, cyborgs eventually took power and gradually reduced what few organic humans that were left into second class citizens and worse. At the present date, Humans don't work. Food and water is provided for free, and Humans reside in shanty towns. Eventually, the government begins to do exactly what the Nazis did. They soon begin taking the Humans out of the cities and resettling them in work camps, providing to the public the illusion that they are well taken care of. I won't shed more light on the plot other than that, but I do need to introduce the main character. Wes Riley, a 17 year old Asperger's Sufferer (he was my first character with Asperger's, as I've been writing story drafts for this for about 2 years) , writes about his life and experiences in the shanty town, and the concentration camp.

Title: The Wormwood Effect
Genre: Science Fiction
Type: 1st-Person memoir/ novel
In 2056, a meteor of exceptional size hits China, destroying much of the Earth. What Humans survive strive to keep their past alive and try to rebuild. All around them, organisms begin to mutate and evolve. Dogs and wolves become sapient and intelligent; crocidiles undergo a similar transformation. What once was forest becomes dense jungle, and small lizards grow into creatures resembling dinosaurs. Over the course of only 1000 years, millions of years of evolution have taken place. Only Humans and some other organisms remain the same. The cause of the phenomenon: the meteor. It was a construct, a disguised alien vessel. And when a Russian archaeologist discovers the truth, an expedition is mounted in America.

I came up with the idea in March 2008, and it was upon creating this world that I began writing. My friend Howard, who has Asperger's as well, helped me create the world. We're both biology buffs, so expect to see extensive ecosystems and constant descriptions of all the fauna and flora. This is the only story that I feel could be long enough to be a novel.

Untitled
Genre: Science Fiction
Type: Short Story, POV to be determined(it's still just an idea)
This one is just an idea and I'm still developing it.
In the 2660's, FTL travel is still in it's infancy. But for the past century, Earth has been in contact with a species living on a planet in a nearby solar system which is at a similar stage of development. Through superluminal communication, both Species remain in constant contact. But both species are hesitant to send starships through artificial wormholes. Beyond that, I have no plot as of yet.

wrote a short autobiography, 'loser'. here are a couple of excerpts

the first is : after a long day of helping out at an animal shelter, i'm hurrying home to take care of my companion animals, especially louie the wonder dog.

IT was hard to get away from the shelter and i was an hour late in leaving for frankfort. it was after dark, snowing lightly and the traffic was very light. i was driving faster than normal, perhaps a bit too confident in my abilities at car control.
years earlier i had joined the sports car club of america and competed in solo racing events. it was great fun and perfect for someone who had no clue when interacting with normal humans.
on that cold dec. night i was on a rural two-lane road, replete with hills and turns. with no headlights coming my way i was driving in the middle of the road, clipping apexes and racking up the miles.
a small group of houses was ahead, so i lifted my foot from the accelerator to slow a bit while pas.............

TOO BAD, SO SAD, YOU'RE DEAD

i hear many voices and feel the heat of lights. the smell informs me i am without a doubt in a hospital.
i open my eyes to find a face looming over mine. a voice comes from this face even though i would've sworn the mouth never opened.
"don't try to move, your neck is broken".
i couldn't feel anything. i was weightless. i could see through the walls. there was louie, asleep on his couch, while the cats were on the bed. the realization came to me that i may never see them again.
my eyes close as i drift away.
death is exceptionally strange. fortunately, it didn't last long. i watched as many people hovered around me and shouted things heard in movies. then i couldn't see them anymore.
i wake with a jerk, but i cannot move. i assume i am strapped head to toe. it is very busy all around me.
i realize someone is drilling holes in my skull.
a heavy metal band is fastened to my head and a pulley with weights attached is used to keep my neck elongated. i was very cold and found out later ice had been packed around my neck to abate swelling.
someone was pinching the top of my head. it was a physician stapling my scalp together.
one question plants itself in the center of my thinking, alarmingly so.....will there be paralysis?
a nurse says she has contacted the animal shelter ( i luckily had handouts in my coat pocket) and talked to the shelter director.she is going to go to my home the next morning and take louie and the cats to stay at the shelter for as long as necessary.the director is my only contact with the rest of the world, how lucky is that. the nurse asks is that ok? i blink yes. i try to say keys, but cannot. i find out much later the director went to the salvage yard where the car was and was able to get to the ignition switch. lucky, lucky, lucky.
there was no permanent paralysis. in a marathon eight hour surgery, metal plates/screws were used to align and stabilize vertebrae c5, c6, and c7. a thin cable, called a songer, was fitted through holes drilled in the broken pieces and tensioned to pull everything into alignment.

etc, etc, etc

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN SAVED?

when informed that i was being discharged from the hospital, i had an impossible choice to make. i could go live in a nursing home or rent a room/board from a relative. i naturally make the wrong choice, to the relative's i go.
after a short time period, what i had been afraid of happened.
"satan caused your crash but jesus saved you".
"didn't go to church, huh, well guess you'll go now".
i wanted to scream, but it would hurt too much.
she had her minister come talk to me. serious christians all. his wife came with him and would not come inside because an unbeliever was inside. what arrogance!
i thanked the guy for coming before he could say a word. i told him i was going to become a muslim and could he tell me the difference between god and allah.
he left.
my relative was not amused, so i went home.
it was good to be home. it was not so good that my companion animals were so far away. it was awful that i couldn't drive and was having a problem trying to walk ( i kept turning to the left).
the burns on my face had not been looked at while in the hospital. they were covered by scar tissue so i decided to just let them be. character marks!
i lived close to a supermarket and a blockbuster video store and i could walk to these places, albeit clumsily.
finally i was ready for louie and the cats to move back home. the drive to the animal shelter was hard (first time to drive since the crash) but necessary.
i drove to the crash site and pulled off the road to park. there were still bits of the car still strewn about. a rock wall close to the road was blackened and looked displaced. i walked toward the wall and suddenly, it all came back to me.before this second, i had no memory of what had occurred after i started to slow down. i was driving and then in the next instant i was in a hospital. now i knew.


if someone has critique or comments----please , let's hear them.

This story can be considered a descendant of the one with Sekhmethotep and the elephant, but I wrote it because I think the concept of a woman fighting a dinosaur is awesome.

I SAW HER SITTING THERE

Sam Pembroke

I was walking along Vernon Street in downtown Brattleboro

I saw a young lady, her gaze most thorough

She batted her eyes

I looked to the skies and said

What is your name? Is it Sara or something plain?

No! She said

I scratched my head and searched for the truth

Then she said her name was Ruth

Oh! I said

What's your name? Is IT plain?

No I lied

Then what is it?

She said as she continued to sit

Peter

Oh, are you a pumpkin eater she laughed?

No, I sounded daft.

Would you like to walk?

Yes, I could use the talk

Good she said

The others, they're better off dead

I saw her sitting there

The wind didn't blow her hair

Because indeed she was a maiden most fair