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Distress – As Published in “Tangent 2018”

The days pass slowly, but morning and night would always greet me in due time. I counted eighty-three sunrises since my distress beacon ran out of charge. The air grew colder and the leaves lost their green hue over that time. The change reminded me of my wonder for these kinds of planets and how quickly they can transform. It has been so long though, waiting here in this small encampment.

I exited the canopy to see the waterfall showering down from a mountain, shading me from the rising sun. The peak was far beyond my sight, much like the idea of going back to where I came from. This life became normal sometime along the line, despite it being so different.

I picked up my makeshift spear along with a garment I had turned into a makeshift bag a few weeks ago and walked away from the sun. The forest grew thicker and more tangled before I entered the young, crater-shaped clearing filled with grasses and flowers. It took a bit of climbing before I got to the center. I crawled into the pod I arrived in and checked inside. Nothing. No messages or alerts. It’s easier to accept now, after so long.

Before I could leave though, I saw a bit of movement on the seat. I jumped back in surprise, hitting my head on the exit. As I rushed out, he positioned himself beside me. This creature measured up to my thigh sporting large, pointed ears, a long, slim nose, and small, calculating eyes, which he inspected me with. When he brushed my hip with his nose, I bolted away, climbing up the walls of the crater and dashing through the trees.

*WHOMPF*

I tried to loosen my foot from the root I had tripped on as the furry creature stalking me got nearer. I picked up my flushed face from the dirt and continued to run.

I entered the clearing of my encampment, spotting the packs of food I had stored near the canopy before I rushed across the lake. The creature skirted the water as I reached the other side, shivering. The panic in me stopped welling up until he dipped his paw in and swam after me. I ran to where the pool emptied to a river and jumped across, sure that this creature couldn’t follow me with all the water in his face.

It could. I rushed over to the food and pulled out a morsel of meat, hoping as a last resort that this animal would take it and leave me alone. He crawled up onto the bank, shaking the water out of his fur. I threw him the meat, but he ignored it. This was it… This is how it finally ends…

He sat in front of me, dropping a short rod made of metal, then turned to the meat and had his snack. I cautiously picked up the rod and stared at it, dumbfounded, before I wiped the drool off and inspected it. It fit the appearance of a beacon. I flipped a switch and input a distress code and set it to replace the old beacon that was out of charge. I had forgotten I had more than one…

Four more days passed, as I spent more and more time with my new companion. We went back to the pod where I found some more beacons I could use in the future, and even a change of clothes to replace a set that was starting to fall apart. He would retrieve stick-like objects for me for fun it seemed, and he caught us a large, hooved, herbivorous animal with antlers which I cooked over the firepit I had constructed a while back. We feasted upon the meat and slept under the stars.

He ran away when a ship came down to pick me up that last night, though, and even after waiting a few more hours for my companion to come back, he never returned. I packed up my personal belongings, including the beacon he offered me that one time. I watched as the ship ascended. Looking down, I spotted the crater and a long, fuzzy creature rush into the pod as the world grew smaller. A smile grew on my face as I turned away, readapting to the orderly, clean appearance of my previous life.

*As published in the “Tangent 2018” collective works book. Originally written in 2017.

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Underground Sun — Updated Paragraphs 1-7

Sparkling jewels lining the walls of the tower held unique jelly-like luminescence in the hearts of their cores, projecting glittering notes throughout and around themselves — singing a silent, radiant song of color. The sparkling of this light stared at a young, curious fellow as he climbed the crystalline steps of the tower meeting at the corners of a castle-esque wall.

Clear sunlight greeted the boy’s pale, orange, fiery eyes like old friends as he emerged out of the bouquet of glinting rainbows. His translucent skin showed all the elegantly sorted ridges of veins built throughout his body, like the lattice of a crystal. And his heart beat quickly, blood flowing to the surface of his skin, taking in the fresh rays of light, and turning his skin opaque — into a shimmering silvery sea with shifting pearlescent highlights. His pointed, opal-tipped fingers unbuttoned and released a grassy vest draped over his platinum-plated armor as he broke out into a run, wind catching his smooth, flowing, rose-gold hair. He was a child of the sun.

He climbed out to the ridge of the wall and looked out. A creature with a beak and glass leaves coating its skin glided by, looking like a tiny angel with a plume of red-orange tourmaline sticking up from its head. Light from a diamond-shaped sun spread across the expanse of emerald tipped trees and flowing peridot fields, attended to by the metallic men alongside their copper cattle. And the fields were enclosed in rainbow towers and walls, protecting the inhabitants from the grey spikes on the sides of the cave. Upon an obsidian cliff-side behind the wall, a young lady sat, staring at the sun child.

Her skin was made of cold, dark iron and was covered in a muted-brown vest and skirt. Deep-dark sapphire strands fell down to cover her ears and half her face, ending in half-curls at her neck. Her fingers were tipped with dark-purple geode-clustered crystals that shifted ever so slightly in the light, and onyx spheres above her nose popped out, still stuck to her face, and held fierce forest green rings that pierced the gaze of the sun child as she stood. She was a daughter of shadows.

His cheeks flushed with a rosy-golden glint as he stared back. Her hair was a beautiful blue abyss in the bright world he lived in, and her green eyes pulled his in like they were stroking the ribbons of fire coming out of his eyes. Her cold skin made him feel grounded and whole, like he was not as tied to the diamond sun as everyone said he was. And her fingers entranced him in the way they were not whole or perfect, unlike his artificial, pointed, and flat nails. But to her, he was nothing — just another obstacle in her way — just another annoyance chasing after her. She pursed her lips, pulling her cold, antagonizing stare away from him as she stood, and turned it back towards the diamond sun.

She glowered at it hanging from the glitter-speckled ceiling, filling the great expanse of cavernous fields with its light. The green rings in her eyes shrank as she thought about its bright light. She glanced back at the sun child, and noticing his stupor, his dazed state, she took advantage of the boy’s distractedness. After a deep breath, and with her expression cold, she ran away from the gemstone lined walls that surrounded the fields and up the grey edges of the caverns, pulling out a sharpened, flat-headed tool. She was sure of her purpose.

Finally noticing her intention, the boy shook himself out of his stupor and lept from the edge of the walls, himself donning a pointed, spear-like weapon from the ground and onto his back. He glided from edge to edge, his nails digging into the stone for grip as she held onto the wall with her tool, and both lept higher and higher up the cavernous wall, glints of light reflecting off of both of them; like a flame chasing shadow, he was on her tail. His fiery glints sped up to catch the shadow, but by the time he had reached the top of the world, she was already by the sun.

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Underground Sun — Fourth and Fifth Paragraph (Draft)

Her skin was made of cold, dark iron and was covered in a muted-brown vest and skirt. Deep-dark sapphire strands fell down to cover her ears and half her face, ending in half-curls at her neck. Her fingers were tipped with dark-purple geode-clustered crystals that shifted ever so slightly in the light, and black spheres above her nose held fierce forest green rings that pierced the gaze of the boy as she stood.

His cheeks flushed with a rosy-golden glint as he stared back. Her hair was a beautiful blue abyss in the bright world he lived in to him, and her green eyes pulled his in like they were stroking the ribbons of fire coming out of his eyes. Her cold skin made him feel grounded and whole, like he was not as tied to the diamond sun as everyone said he was. And her fingers entranced him in the way they were not whole or perfect, unlike his rounded and flat nails. But to her, he was nothing — just another obstacle in her way. She pursed her lips, pulling her cold, antagonizing stare away from him as she stood, looking at the diamond sun.

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Underground Sun – Second and Third Paragraph (Draft)

Clear sunlight greeted the boy’s pale, orange, fiery eyes like new friends as he emerged out of the bouquet of glinting rainbows. His translucent skin showed all the elegantly sorted ridges of veins built throughout his body. His heart beat quickly, blood flowing to the surface of his skin, taking in the fresh rays of light like a parched animal lapping up water, and turning his skin opaque — into a shimmering silvery sea with shifting pearlescent highlights. His opal-tipped fingers unbuttoned and released a grassy vest as he broke out into a run, wind catching his smooth, long, flowing golden hair.

He climbed out to the ridge of the wall and looked out. A creature with a beak and glass leaves coating its skin glided by, looking like a tiny angel with a plume of blue hair sticking up from its head. Light from a diamond-shaped sun spread across the expanse of emerald tipped trees and flowing peridot fields, attended to by the metallic men alongside their copper cattle. Upon an obsidian cliff-side, a young lady sat, staring at him.

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My First Motivation to Become a Writer of Fiction

A consistent goal of mine has been to become a creator of some variety, but it had been difficult to settle on any one kind as a child. When I was younger, I wanted to make wonderful foods and become a world class chef, but that never stuck. As I grew older, I wanted to become a visual artist, but I gave up because I did not know where to start. Eventually, I settled on becoming a writer, because of the prevalence written (or typed) words have in our modern, multimedia age. However, I did not want to become just any kind of writer, I wanted to be a creative writer and perfect the craft of storytelling.

My first experience in this discipline started when I was hardly a teenager. One of my friends, Taylor, was bent on making a homemade animated series about all of the imaginary alter ego’s of our friend group. We had discussed at length what they would be like — her character, along with another friend’s, would be the leaders, as they were the oldest and most experienced; my other friend would the navigator, so keen on exploration that he often gets himself into trouble; next, the friend who was the most skilled in games would be the best fighter amongst us, knowing exactly how to finish a fight with style; finally I would be the informant, as I was the kindest and most supportive of the group. We talked a lot about what exactly the leadership dynamic would be like and how reclusive the skilled fighter among us would be. We meticulously crafted what troubles our navigator would end us up in but how he would be endearing all the while. And we wondered what kinds of things my alter ego, the informant, would know about the world and how deductive she would have to be in order to understand the variety of fantastical cultures we would discover and interact with. I had a lot of information to learn, and I soaked it all up because I truly enjoyed being around this group of friends. And when I had taken it all in, Taylor had asked me how my character would be introduced as the last member of the team to join, which would complete the ensemble.

That night, I began thinking of what kind of person each of my friend’s characters started out as. There were the bickering leaders, the rash adventurer, and the overly silent ninja-like warrior. And my character was shy, hesitant, and always keen on getting as much information as possible before acting, sometimes taking too long to act. So I racked my mind as to why she acted in this way. Eventually, I came up with the answer, and from this answer I found her origin, and from this origin I found inspiration, and from this inspiration I began to write.

It was like nothing I had experienced before. The words poured out of my mind and onto the paper as if I was retelling someone a story I had heard a million times. All the ideas I had flowed out, one after another, and tied together easily, despite the phrasing being cheesy and childish and the pacing being a bit off and amateurish. It was the first time I had ever written, created my own work of fiction into physical, tangible words that could be read and reread and understood. I worked all night and all morning on it and finished. When we met with each other again, I was excited to see what they all thought.

I gave Taylor my story, anxious for her and all of our friends to read it. They laughed at all of my jokes and made tons of remarks like “that’s so accurate, it’s scary.” Then, they provided their verdict. They all applauded me for my writing. It was an invigorating experience and it motivated me to make more stories independently even if I was still working off of the existing dynamics I already knew, like those that existed within my circle of friends.

Several years later, I continue to write. I am still working on my special craft of storytelling, not just through words on paper, but through skillfully spoken words as I read them aloud. I am keen to make something like that old universe I made with my old friends made together a reality and perfect it, even though they had long since abandoned the project. And I am especially keen to make more, creating new worlds, new characters, and new tales because I love my new craft — the craft of storytelling.

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Ideas and Reframing

I imagine things all the time: new characters, plotlines, pieces of stories, you name it. I always have something new I want to accomplish, and once I attain the means, I do it, even if it doesn’t seem to come out right in the end. Then I think and imagine, learn and reframe things in my mind. I play games, digital or not, and I read and watch stories unfold. I observe comedy and grin to myself, truly laughing when something really catches me. After all, the one thing that made me laugh the most so far was just a bird with a voice overlayed, saying “blagh” and other similar onomatopoeic words. What’s to say I can’t piece together what truly inspires me to create my own, wonderful things?

What is to say you can not do similar?

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Underground Sun – First Paragraph (Draft)

Sparkling jewels lining the walls of the stairwell held their own unique jelly-like luminescence in the heart of their many cores, projecting glittering notes throughout and around themselves singing a silent, radiant song of color. The sparkling of this light stared at a young, curious fellow as he climbed the crystalline steps of a tower meeting at the corners of a castle. Each step rang the clack of elegance held within each conglomerate of jewels under his simple shoes, and every smooth bump in the wall changed the notes of the humming music whispering under the tips of his fingers.

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Ashen Snow – First Paragraph

The streetlights, blank, dull grey, and broken looked like dusted metal across the town. The sand was ash, burned from the land before it. The houses, most with windows and doors broken, had a fresh coat of ashen powder covering them all, and the trees, completely barren of color and life, loomed over cracked streets. Everything was unmoving — yet unsettled. Frozen skeletons of life and order and broken monuments of a world long passed stood in this grey desert land. Nothing grew anymore. Nothing lived anymore. Nothing. Not after the war.

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