Anubis' "How would you do it?" Thread.

The reason I ask is because, you're a damn fine writer. And I think that you really could make it in the business just from reading some of the stuff I've seen from you. I bring these books up because they are some of the best comics has ever produced. Bar none. And reading them, they really could help you with your craft. Particularly Watchmen. The thing about Watchmen is, the story isn't all that important. It's the details. Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons crafted a story that is all encompassing. That used every panel, every piece of dialog, to tell the story. It's really the perfect representation for what comics is as a form of literature. The combination of pictures and words. Sequential art.

Blankets isn't a superhero book, but a semi autobiographical account of a young man's first love and early childhood. It's just a beautiful story and I think, it's just something everybody should read.

Another book that might help you in the field of writing comics is Understanding Comics by Scott McCloud. It's a very interesting book that explains a lot of stuff you may have never known about how comics work. Maybe you'll get something out of it.
 
I've also read bits of "Understanding Comics".

I really appreciate your words Anubis. Now I have to figure out how to make Marvel take notice.
 
Well, my guess is find yourself an artist, and try getting something published. Something Indie. Either that or take the Dan Slott method and get your foot in the door as an intern. Both will take time, patience, sexual favors for fat publishers, and a little help from God almighty.
 
the third thing is going to be a problem, as I've said before I'm homophobic, AND I'm a little chunky myself.

Hopefully I can get enough of the fourth thing to compensate.
 
Ass.

I just need to start figuring out endings for my stuff that might not make good ongoings: Unchained Wings in the Night, The Strangers, The Herald, Windfall Hills... I don't think I told you guys about "The Herald"
 
Ass.

I just need to start figuring out endings for my stuff that might not make good ongoings: Unchained Wings in the Night, The Strangers, The Herald, Windfall Hills... I don't think I told you guys about "The Herald"

Just get an internship at marvel.
 
Point me to the time and place and I'll be there with bells on... and whatever else they want me to wear.
 
The Herald

We can never truly start anything, because all begginnings are really just the ending of some other part of our life, or chapter in a story. In the same tone, nothing ever truly ends, for every ending is the beginning of something new. And so life is cylical, beginning and ending in a grand circle that spins and spins, and occasionally leaves us with mile markers, to show where an Journey ended and a new Adventur began.

It was a crystal clear night in the mountains just north of Portland, Oregon. An Astronomy club from Portland State University was camping out for the weekend to do some stargazing away from the light pollution of the city. from here stars were endless. Many had taken a fifteen-seater van up, some had driven themselves. they were in a clearing working with their telescopes, filling in star charts, and just generally having a good time.

"That's not right," Terry Winters observed, looking at his star chart, and back through his telescope. he gazed up at the sky and blinked at moving light in the sky. it was moving too slowly to be a meteor, comet.

"What have you treed there Terry?" asked the Professor, Dr. Elenore Hubing.

"That light is getting... bigger," he said of a large light that was moving.

Elenore crouched down to get a good look through the scope. "I think you must have picked up a satelite, or peice of space junk re-entering," she said as she adjusted the sight. "Keep an eye on it though, see what happens," She instructed him as she walked off to tend to the other members.

Terry did so, and more and more he realized this wasn't something that could be happening. "It's a ship!" he yelped. "I've got details... there are engines... It's a ship!" he quickly rattled off the coordinates to the others who fixed their telescopes on it.

"Holy crap," Beccy Long yelped. "he's right."

"Hold up!" Nathan Wright inturrupted. "I'm in AFROTC and that is no kind of ship I've ever seen before."

"Um..." Terry had now taken to switching between a notebook he was jotting numbers down in and his telescope. "That thing is headed this direction... roughtly..." he checked his map. "one mile south of here."

Soon it was obvious to all looking through their telescopes that it was a ship of some sort of unknown designs. Terry pulled out his GPS, which he'd brought on the trip in case they had gotten lost (Terry was not a wilderness person, and as such was terrified of such instances). He tracked their movements as they rushed through the brush and trees to the spot that he'd calculated. they found another clearing. the ship was very low now, and it wasn't alone. Two jets criss crossed over head.

The ship they had been tracking was shaped like an egg, as tall as a mobile home and about half as long, laying long ways. It had four thrusters, spaced evenly around it, that were slowing and controlling it's descent. on the fat rear of the egg were three long rods sweapt backwards. They had a faint green glow to them that made most of the college students fear radiation in some parts of their minds. Landing struts folded out from the under side of the egg. The egg itself was collored a light gray with a black stripe running the length. there was an obvious cockpit, though in the darkness all they could see within were tiny red and green lights. The egg touched down suprisingly gently.

They saw the lights in the cockpit shut off. The reflectie dome gave a hiss and was then knocked away. That was when the students got their first look at it. It had gray-ish blue skin with an elongated head with no hair. it was the size of a slightly tall man. It had two large dark eyes toward the front of it's long head, over top two large nostrils that were flaring. it's jaw protruded and seemed to curve upward some. It was wearing a breathing apparatus with a hose running from a mask covering it's face, down to a large machine hooked on the left side of it's waist. It wore a suit with four fingered gloves, heavy boots, and some sort of writing down the sleeves, and ornaments on the Right leg.

It looked around, taking in the surroundings. It seemed to nod, then looked at those present. It regarded the seven human beings individually, then it looked to the one in front, Terry. It hopped down from it's ship, landing in a crouch. The machine on it's waist emmitted several long deep noises. It snapped it's jaw twice, and spoke a string of unknown words as it removed the mask.

Someone behind Terry shoved him further forward. "H-h-hello," he stammered.

The alien jutted it's head forward. "Hu-ldo," it repeated.

Terry looked around and thought for a moment. How the hell did you handle something like this. In the movies all the aliens spoke english... or didn't bother to speak at all. he patted his chest. "Terry," he introduced himself.

The alien jutted his head forward again and blinked it's eyes at Terry. Then the alien snapped it's jaws twice, and clenched it's eyes. It patted it's own chest and said "Skraldin."

Terry pointed his finger at the alien. "Skraldin?" he asked. then he pointed at himself "Terry?"

the alien mimicked. he pointed at Terry, "Ted-Ree," and then pointed at himself saying "Skraldin."

Terry reached behind himself grabbing the first person he could, Michelle Nguyen. "Michelle," he said, pointing to the girl. He pointed back at Skraldin, stating what he believed to be the aliens name, then pointed at himself giving his own name.

"Me-Chel," Skraldin said, pointing at the girl. "Ted-Ree," he pointed at the only human who would speak with him. He gestured to himself. "Skraldin."

"His name is Skraldin," Terry told everyone.

"Duh," snarled Nathan. "But why did you drag Michelle in?"

"I wanted to make sure he was saying his name, and not his species," Terry whispered.

Terry turned back to Skraldin, not sure what to say. Luckily, he didn't have to.

"Skraldin," the alien began. "Dooska," it pantomimed giving something. "Ted-Ree po Me-Chel." it pointed to both of them.

"It wants to give us something," Terry gasped in astonishment. "Welcome," Terry smiled, extending his hand.

Skraldin jutted his head forward again, in what Terry was beginning to guess was an expression of confusion.

Terry slowly took Skraldin's hand, and placed it in his own, and shook hands.

Skraldin snapped his jaws twice and gently returned the shake.

this was as nice as things got. This was the moment the governement decided to step in. Jeeps rolled in, unloading soldiers who put everyone at gunpoint.

Terry's arms flew into the air as a natural reaction. Skraldin, sensing it was the appropriate thing to do, followed suit as all the others who had greeted him when he first arrived had done the same as Terry.

A tall black man in fatigues strode forward. "Who made first contact here?" he barked.

"He did!" yelped Beccy Long, pointing at Terry.

"I'm Lt. Col. Ivory Markham," the tall black officer said, walking toward Terry and Skraldin. "What have you learned from him?"

"His name is Skraldin," Terry answered, at which point Skraldin tapped his chest with his hands. "And I think he wants to give us something."

Markham looked at the alien closely, which caused Skraldin to blink rapidly as he leaned away from the officer. Markham patted his chest. "Markham" he said coldly.

"Mard-Kome" replied Skraldin.

~*~

'Well that was fast,' Skraldin thought. He had expected to have to actively search out the planet's military forces. Now here he was standing in front of one. He couldn't be sure, but judging from the way the humans who just arrived were holding the sinister looking black devices, they were weapons of some sort. Skraldin had no intention of giving the humans reason to discharge them. Skraldin looked around at the activity. the humans were moving fast, setting things up, errecting small for legged structures. Skraldin wasn't sure about their purpose, but turned back to his new aquaintance. He tapped his right leg, where the decorations were.

"Seetu," he said. "Seetu Skraldin." Then Skraldin pointed at the man's chest, where his own decorations were.

~*~

"What's that mean?," Lt. Col. Markham asked Terry for no other reason than the young man was there. "Seado?"

Terry studied Skraldin's motions carefully as he watched the alien repeate it. "Rank," he finally gasped. "'Seetu' must be his rank."

"Lieutenant-Colonel Markham," replied the officer.

"Duten-Dant Kurd-Ahl Mard-Kome," Seetu Skraldin replied as it's posture straightened, it's left hand snapped to it's side and it's right extended out to his right at the shoulder, then bent up at elbow perpendicular to the rest of his arm. it's fingers were straight.

Markham saw it for wat it was and returned with a salute of his own.
 
Golgotha

"News reports at this time seem to suggest that the danger is past in Golumbuski County High School. The sight of the latest, and possibly most bloody, mass shooting has been secured, our sources tell us. Our own Cindy Laughrey is on the scene."

"Thank you Jack," Cindy replied as she stood amongs the emergency vehicles. "We've been trying to talk with several of the students and faculty out here, as well as the police and emergency responders who have gathered. "None of the students have seen any more of the supposedly multiple shooters than a blur from around the corner. There are as of yet sixt... wait... wait... we have movement inside the building.

The camera swung round to face the large Pennsylvania high school. sixe people, one adults and five students rushed from the doors. they were followed by six police officers, who had two teens in handcuffs with jackets over their heads. The civilians were quickly snatched up by emergency services. The arrested teens were swept into a police wagon and taken away. One office yelled to the EMS workers "CLEAR!" with that the EMT's ran into the school, desperate to scour the building for survivors. There would be six calls of "I have a survivor here!" three of them died on the scene, one died on the way to the hospital, two in the operating room. Only the one that died on the way to the hospital would be revived. She would live... but for what?

~*~

"You alright?" Brian Zylinski, one of the survivors escorted from the building asked Paul Morrison, another of the survivors.

"A couple broken ribs," Paul replied. "they said I'd be fine. They're releasing me already."

Brian nodded. he looked around. He'd left his parents back in the tent wher ehe'd been treated. "Where's you're folks?"

"Probably work," Paul replied in an embarassed tone. "They're pretty busy."

"Do you have someone to drive you home?" Brian asked, concerned.

"I'll probably just get a taxi, or walk," Paul dismissed.

"No... my parents, they'll be happy to get you home," Brian said firmly. "And you can even hang at our place until they get home." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I can't imagine being alone after..." he didn't finish.

~*~

The reporter rushed into the medical tent after a doctor left. they found a young girl in a belly shirt and micro skirt. "Miss, what happened in there? can you tell us who the shooters were?"

"Get the hell away from my student," growled a voice from the front of the tent. she looked to find a well built man with a large cut on the side of his face. They approached him but his grim expression only darkened. "If I see you on this campus again, I'll feed you both that damn camera! LEAVE!"

As the reporter and camera man scurried out, Mr. Davidson lead in a weeping woman who took the young woman into her arms. Cole Davidson, vice-principal of the school, stood to the side.

Lisa Washington, who hadn't been affectionate with her mother in years, clung tight to the older woman, weeping into her shoulder. after a few moments, as she saw Mr. Davidson making his way from the tent, Lisa pulled from her mother and said, "Mr. Davidson... thank you. that was... that was pretty cool of you."

Davidson looked back at the girl. "Never a problem Ms. Washington. You two take care now. I have to go check on the rest of the staff."

~*~

Nina was in a tent with her knees drawn up to her chest. That guy... the shooter who was killing people in her classroom. He'd put a goat skull upon the teacher's desk. It kept filling Nina's thoughts. It kept pulling her back to seeing it spattered with the blood and bits of her classmates and teacher. that skull would forever mark that school for her.

~*~

"Hey P-uh- I mean officer," Jack pool called as he walked over to a cop. 'you kept your end,' Jack thought ruefully to god.

"What's up son?" asked the officer.

"Is there away that you can get rid of... illegal things, without getting in trouble for having had them in the first place?" Jack asked. "You know... hypothetically speaking."

"depends on how illegal they are," the officer replied warily.

"Recreational imagination enhancers," Jack replied cryptically. "Softcore, organic," he elaborated.

the officer smiled. "I'll tell you what. Hand them over to me, and I'll say I found them inside," the cop offered.

"Deal," Jack agreed, taking a small baggie from a pocket by his knee.

"Looks like there's nothing wrong with it," the officer surmised, as he tucked it into an evidence bag. "Don't want to get caught with it?"

"Just... keeping a promise," Jack sighed as he walked back to his tent.

~*~

"We're losing here!" yelled one EMT to his partner.

"NO WE AREN'T," the woman yelled as she prepared the paddles.

"Charge... clear!" she ordered, then shocked Annette Goldman when her heart stopped.

"Nothing," her partner told her.

"Charge... clear!" she ordered again. she shocked Annette again.

"Nothing," her partner replied.

for two minutes they continued this. "She's gone," the male EMT sighed.

"NO!" the female barked as she charged the paddles again. "One of these damn people is going to make it," she growled. "CLEAR!" her partner had to jump back as she once more shocked Annette Goldman.

"N-PULSE! She's got a pulse... thready but... it's getting steady," he banged on the door that separated the cab from the back. "HURRY UP! She's got a chance!"

~*~

"I don't think I'll ever be able to look at it the same again," Paul told Brian. "You saw that skull they put on the table when they had us coralled in there?"

"Yeah... creepy," Brian agreed. they were in the car on the way back, talking quietly.

"Golgatha," Mrs. Zylinski said quietly.

"What?" asked Brian and Paul together.

"Golgatha," she repeated. "It's means... the place of the skull."
 
The Virginian Candidate

Such a strange and unsettling event had never happened to me in my life before my oldest friend said seven little words to me "Damn, Vick... You should run fer president."

I should back up and explain. My oldest and best friend is Mishon Washington. Many of you read about him daily as the country's richest black man. He and I grew up together in Viriginia. We were both drafted into the army. We both did our tour together. We both came home different men for it. He never wanted to see another person killed. I never wanted to let another person be killed. He went into buisness. I went into the police force. We grew up, settled down. he moved to New York, where he runs a world wide stock trading company, and I got promoted through the ranks of the police department. I keep telling him that if he didn't drop everything to come study with me when detective, sergent, and captain exams came up, I never would have made it.

He never had much in the way of family, I think Vietnam had something to do with that. Him and his wife, Malika, bouth a couple houses and offered us money every time things got a bit tight. However my wife, Annelle, was just as stubborn and proud as I was. Neither of us would ever think of letting that happen. We raised our two kids, Gwen our daughter and Victor Jr. Gwen moved out to oregon when she got the chance, and Victor... sadder story there. Mishon stood by me the whole time though.

Mishon and I still drink together from time to time. Our favorite subjects are politics. We both have always had a lot to say. I have never met a person more offended by the idea of racial quotas. Mishon hates the idea of big governement telling him who to hire. Said he had to pass over three good candidates because of those laws.

In any case, he and I were having a drink one night, talking about politics as usual. with the election coming up he started in on how, as usual, there was no good candidate, just a lesser of two evils situation that he still couldn't suss-out. I replied to him that the only people with the money to launch a campain weren't the type who should be running.

"Hey!" he yelled, giving me a good natured punch in the shoulder. "I've got enough money for a campain!"

" 'R you runnin?" I asked, making my point.

"No," he answered plainly. "I don't want to take a pay cut."

We both laughed into our beers. "Well, there you go then," I chuckled.

"Damn, Vick... You should run fer president," he said, as if it were a revelation.

"No one's going to vote for a retired police chief from Nowhere, Virginia," I dismissed.

"Bet you they would," he challenged.

"Bet me what?" I asked, intrigued.

"If I c'n get two-thousand people to sign a petition sayin' they'd vote fer ya, you gotta run," he challenged.

Now here's where I'm kinda stupid. You see, when Mishon uses that tone o' voice, I can't say no to his bets. "Fine," I replied. "But when you can't get two thousand people to say they'd vote fer me, you gotta... you gotta come back and live here in Nowhere for a year."

While Mishon was always proud of his humble beginnings, he was also very glad he'd manged to get out of Nowhere and stay out. he eyed me shrewdly, and seized my hand, shaking it and sealing our bet. I was such a dumbass.

one month, and 3,000 signatures later, I was standing in front of a local camera crew announcing that I was running for president of the United States of America. Mishon assured me that as my campain manager he would cover all expenses. I wasn't sure how legal that was, but he had never fudged a book to my knowledge, and I trusted him. Things only got more complicated from there.

Two weeks later I was at some convention, trying to defend myself. I had promised Mishon I would give a good run of it, and I'd be damned if I was going to get knocked out in the first round.

"Mr. Moore," came a voice from the audience. "How do you respond to the accusation that your daughter is a violent radical, and lesbian-extremist?"

Well, I couldn't let him call my Gwenie names. "Now, you sir," I looked him square in the eye. "Just called my little girl four names. Let me break that all down for you.
"first: she is not violent. I've kept an eye on her record. She has had some disorderly conduct, several disturbing the peace, and one resisting arrest, but she has never been charged with anything remotely violent.
"Two; she would be quite proud to be called a 'radical', and I have no problem with it. as far as I'm concerned, that puts her in league with the foundin' fathers and Our Lord, Jesus Christ himself.
"Third; yeah, she's a lesbian. while that conflicts with my religious beliefs, she's my baby girl and I'll go to hell and back for her, and NOTHING will ever change that.
"Four; extremist is such a fuzzy word, I don't know if it could really apply. She has strong beliefs and she speaks her mind no matter what. I admire that in her, quite frankly. I'm damn proud of the way she turned out."

"What about your son?" asked another bean in the peanut gallery.

"Victor Jr?" I asked. "He's been convicted on several drug charges and is currently in the Virginia State Correctional System. Why do you ask?"

"You let your own son be convicted of drug charges?" asked this nut case.

"Let nothin'," I snapped. "I told him to plead guilty and turn states evidence. he refused, went to jail, got paroled, messed up and got sent back to jail. I love my son, but he's built his own bed. Now he's gotta sleep in it."

"How do you feel about taxes?" fired-off one reporter.

"Well, quite frankly, I belief in a flat-income tax. Ain't exactly fair to take more from a man because he's able to earn more than another. However, I believe there are more taxes that can be applied that would apply exclusively to those that Americans want to see taxed the most. Taxes on property, taxes on vehicles, taxes on buisnesses. Auditing taxes. That's somethin' I believe in heavily. My friend, Mishon Washington, has tol' me time and again about how easy it is for companies to fritter away money, hidin' it from Uncle Sam. I believe we need to have a department of the IRS dedicated soley to yearly Audits of companies that gross over $5.6 million quarterly. This would, of course, be a service the companies would be happy to pay for." I let off a smile that has cracked many a perp. people were buzzing with discussion.

"What about rumors that you are against a woman's right to choose?" asked a woman in the back.

damn this was a touchy subject. had to be careful. "Well, Miss," I answered. "T' be honest, you aren't talkin' about a woman's right to regulate her own body, which isn't even a question. You're talkin' about abortion, and frankly, that is one hell of a minefield. I'll be level with you, this is somethin' my daughter an' me have locked horns over many times. I don't believe there is a cause to abort a healthy pregnancy. Now of course, at this point someone is going to throw the what if of "rape" up and I just gotta shut my mouth. I can't imagine what a woman would go through in that situation. However, all I can do is wonder why she would chose to destroy what is growing inside of her, to deny a life the chance to develope. Adoption is all I can offer as an alternative."

I sighed. "I can promise you this, I will not make overturnin' Roe V. Wade a major part of my agenda. I cannot promise how I will rule on any peice of legislation that would come across my desk at this point. there's no tellin' what four years could bring."

that seemed to quell a lot of them.

"What is your stance on Iraq?" asked one reporter.

"that is a situation my ol' drill sergent would have called FUBAR'ed," I chuckled. "We need to get ourselves, and our soldiers OUT of that country. However, we also need to stabilize that country so that our men and women who gave their lives there did not die in vain. I couldn't hope to give you a time table, as I don't know the exact situation over there. You want a plan? This is what I have thumb-lined out. We keep a stabilizing force over there, mostly to try and keep and enforce the peace, but also to train Iraqi soldiers to do this for themselves. train them on every level, officers right down to that kid who just showed up on the bus yesterday. then we slowly start to phase our own troops out, until the Iraqis have total control. we may send soldiers over there to aid in the sussin' out of terrorist cells, but I want there to be no American soldiers policing that country by the end of this plan. I can't give you a budget or a deadline because frankly it's unrealistic to ask for that with this situation."

after two more hours of these questions, I walked off seein' Mishon smilin' at me like I was his pet monkey. I was tempted to smack him, but he just handed me a cell phone. Boy did Gwenie have some words for me.
 
Not bad Zoke, Sandy.

Note on that whole Stark thing though, with Extremis, he should have been able to take that punch from Osborne. Take that punch and more actually, but that's neither here nor there.

Sand I particularly dug the use of Great White. I'm interested in seeing where you're going with this, keep it up.

What up D!

Wassup my friend keep crossing paths never to be on here the same time.

oh yeah Z got the potential, Z buy read Watchmen.
 
Wait, Stark got punched by Osborne and was hurt or something?

His Extremis strength basically would break Norman's hand, and then he'd breath fire on him or something.

Either way, Z, you're one of the best I've seen here, keep it up. And definitely read Watchmen, I think you'd enjoy it. Maybe not like the worlds best comic ever, but I gots tha feeling youse'd enjoy it.
 
Thanks everyone. The punch by osborne was in part three of my "World Without Spider-Man" story wherein Osborne kills Peter on a Thunderbolts mission, and the world is left to wonder what will happen now.

Any comments on my less super-hero oriented stuff?
 
Golgotha

"News reports at this time seem to suggest that the danger is past in Golumbuski County High School. The sight of the latest, and possibly most bloody, mass shooting has been secured, our sources tell us. Our own Cindy Laughrey is on the scene."

"Thank you Jack," Cindy replied as she stood amongs the emergency vehicles. "We've been trying to talk with several of the students and faculty out here, as well as the police and emergency responders who have gathered. "None of the students have seen any more of the supposedly multiple shooters than a blur from around the corner. There are as of yet sixt... wait... wait... we have movement inside the building.

The camera swung round to face the large Pennsylvania high school. sixe people, one adults and five students rushed from the doors. they were followed by six police officers, who had two teens in handcuffs with jackets over their heads. The civilians were quickly snatched up by emergency services. The arrested teens were swept into a police wagon and taken away. One office yelled to the EMS workers "CLEAR!" with that the EMT's ran into the school, desperate to scour the building for survivors. There would be six calls of "I have a survivor here!" three of them died on the scene, one died on the way to the hospital, two in the operating room. Only the one that died on the way to the hospital would be revived. She would live... but for what?

~*~

"You alright?" Brian Zylinski, one of the survivors escorted from the building asked Paul Morrison, another of the survivors.

"A couple broken ribs," Paul replied. "they said I'd be fine. They're releasing me already."

Brian nodded. he looked around. He'd left his parents back in the tent wher ehe'd been treated. "Where's you're folks?"

"Probably work," Paul replied in an embarassed tone. "They're pretty busy."

"Do you have someone to drive you home?" Brian asked, concerned.

"I'll probably just get a taxi, or walk," Paul dismissed.

"No... my parents, they'll be happy to get you home," Brian said firmly. "And you can even hang at our place until they get home." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I can't imagine being alone after..." he didn't finish.

~*~

The reporter rushed into the medical tent after a doctor left. they found a young girl in a belly shirt and micro skirt. "Miss, what happened in there? can you tell us who the shooters were?"

"Get the hell away from my student," growled a voice from the front of the tent. she looked to find a well built man with a large cut on the side of his face. They approached him but his grim expression only darkened. "If I see you on this campus again, I'll feed you both that damn camera! LEAVE!"

As the reporter and camera man scurried out, Mr. Davidson lead in a weeping woman who took the young woman into her arms. Cole Davidson, vice-principal of the school, stood to the side.

Lisa Washington, who hadn't been affectionate with her mother in years, clung tight to the older woman, weeping into her shoulder. after a few moments, as she saw Mr. Davidson making his way from the tent, Lisa pulled from her mother and said, "Mr. Davidson... thank you. that was... that was pretty cool of you."

Davidson looked back at the girl. "Never a problem Ms. Washington. You two take care now. I have to go check on the rest of the staff."

~*~

Nina was in a tent with her knees drawn up to her chest. That guy... the shooter who was killing people in her classroom. He'd put a goat skull upon the teacher's desk. It kept filling Nina's thoughts. It kept pulling her back to seeing it spattered with the blood and bits of her classmates and teacher. that skull would forever mark that school for her.

~*~

"Hey P-uh- I mean officer," Jack pool called as he walked over to a cop. 'you kept your end,' Jack thought ruefully to god.

"What's up son?" asked the officer.

"Is there away that you can get rid of... illegal things, without getting in trouble for having had them in the first place?" Jack asked. "You know... hypothetically speaking."

"depends on how illegal they are," the officer replied warily.

"Recreational imagination enhancers," Jack replied cryptically. "Softcore, organic," he elaborated.

the officer smiled. "I'll tell you what. Hand them over to me, and I'll say I found them inside," the cop offered.

"Deal," Jack agreed, taking a small baggie from a pocket by his knee.

"Looks like there's nothing wrong with it," the officer surmised, as he tucked it into an evidence bag. "Don't want to get caught with it?"

"Just... keeping a promise," Jack sighed as he walked back to his tent.

~*~

"We're losing here!" yelled one EMT to his partner.

"NO WE AREN'T," the woman yelled as she prepared the paddles.

"Charge... clear!" she ordered, then shocked Annette Goldman when her heart stopped.

"Nothing," her partner told her.

"Charge... clear!" she ordered again. she shocked Annette again.

"Nothing," her partner replied.

for two minutes they continued this. "She's gone," the male EMT sighed.

"NO!" the female barked as she charged the paddles again. "One of these damn people is going to make it," she growled. "CLEAR!" her partner had to jump back as she once more shocked Annette Goldman.

"N-PULSE! She's got a pulse... thready but... it's getting steady," he banged on the door that separated the cab from the back. "HURRY UP! She's got a chance!"

~*~

"I don't think I'll ever be able to look at it the same again," Paul told Brian. "You saw that skull they put on the table when they had us coralled in there?"

"Yeah... creepy," Brian agreed. they were in the car on the way back, talking quietly.

"Golgatha," Mrs. Zylinski said quietly.

"What?" asked Brian and Paul together.

"Golgatha," she repeated. "It's means... the place of the skull."


Dude what is in your brain, Golgotha? For one I guess your pretty well read if you know about that and it's meaning. Can't say I get the story it self, but your dialogue is very much...what am I trying to say??? your dialogue sounds believeable.
 
OH! I thought it happened in a comic. x.x

Nope, just my little idea. it's mostly from the point of view of Felicia Hardy, but I'm making her a social butterfly and getting news from others (In the case of the Stark/Osborne confrontation it's from Songbird).

Dude what is in your brain, Golgotha? For one I guess your pretty well read if you know about that and it's meaning. Can't say I get the story it self, but your dialogue is very much...what am I trying to say??? your dialogue sounds believeable.
Not really well read, I just pay attention during the reading of the Passion of the Christ in church during the Easter season. They've always said that Golgotha means "The Place of the Skull". for clarification's sake, Golgotha is the name of thehill where Christ was crucified. The story is supposed to be about surviving... through survival. Living through something like that doesn't mean you escaped unharmed... I don't know I've got plans for the characters, but I just don't know.
 
I've always wanted to take a writers' course or a creative writing workshop but I'm a little too deep in my engineering course to veer too far off...my closest stuff to writing would be editting for my Polytechnic's mag which looks good on my credentials but doesn't cut me much slack with local publishers. Moreover, where I am (Singapore...) the comic biz is difficult to get into if you aren't an artist. Guess what? I'm not :( But if I had the money and the opportunity I'd love to intern at DC. Writing Batman is undoubted second on my list in between performing the Hajj and watching Dream Theater live.

Love your shorts (stories. stories...) Zoke, I prefer writing established stuff like fanfics myself.
 
The Herald

We can never truly start anything, because all begginnings are really just the ending of some other part of our life, or chapter in a story. In the same tone, nothing ever truly ends, for every ending is the beginning of something new. And so life is cylical, beginning and ending in a grand circle that spins and spins, and occasionally leaves us with mile markers, to show where an Journey ended and a new Adventur began.

It was a crystal clear night in the mountains just north of Portland, Oregon. An Astronomy club from Portland State University was camping out for the weekend to do some stargazing away from the light pollution of the city. from here stars were endless. Many had taken a fifteen-seater van up, some had driven themselves. they were in a clearing working with their telescopes, filling in star charts, and just generally having a good time.

"That's not right," Terry Winters observed, looking at his star chart, and back through his telescope. he gazed up at the sky and blinked at moving light in the sky. it was moving too slowly to be a meteor, comet.

"What have you treed there Terry?" asked the Professor, Dr. Elenore Hubing.

"That light is getting... bigger," he said of a large light that was moving.

Elenore crouched down to get a good look through the scope. "I think you must have picked up a satelite, or peice of space junk re-entering," she said as she adjusted the sight. "Keep an eye on it though, see what happens," She instructed him as she walked off to tend to the other members.

Terry did so, and more and more he realized this wasn't something that could be happening. "It's a ship!" he yelped. "I've got details... there are engines... It's a ship!" he quickly rattled off the coordinates to the others who fixed their telescopes on it.

"Holy crap," Beccy Long yelped. "he's right."

"Hold up!" Nathan Wright inturrupted. "I'm in AFROTC and that is no kind of ship I've ever seen before."

"Um..." Terry had now taken to switching between a notebook he was jotting numbers down in and his telescope. "That thing is headed this direction... roughtly..." he checked his map. "one mile south of here."

Soon it was obvious to all looking through their telescopes that it was a ship of some sort of unknown designs. Terry pulled out his GPS, which he'd brought on the trip in case they had gotten lost (Terry was not a wilderness person, and as such was terrified of such instances). He tracked their movements as they rushed through the brush and trees to the spot that he'd calculated. they found another clearing. the ship was very low now, and it wasn't alone. Two jets criss crossed over head.

The ship they had been tracking was shaped like an egg, as tall as a mobile home and about half as long, laying long ways. It had four thrusters, spaced evenly around it, that were slowing and controlling it's descent. on the fat rear of the egg were three long rods sweapt backwards. They had a faint green glow to them that made most of the college students fear radiation in some parts of their minds. Landing struts folded out from the under side of the egg. The egg itself was collored a light gray with a black stripe running the length. there was an obvious cockpit, though in the darkness all they could see within were tiny red and green lights. The egg touched down suprisingly gently.

They saw the lights in the cockpit shut off. The reflectie dome gave a hiss and was then knocked away. That was when the students got their first look at it. It had gray-ish blue skin with an elongated head with no hair. it was the size of a slightly tall man. It had two large dark eyes toward the front of it's long head, over top two large nostrils that were flaring. it's jaw protruded and seemed to curve upward some. It was wearing a breathing apparatus with a hose running from a mask covering it's face, down to a large machine hooked on the left side of it's waist. It wore a suit with four fingered gloves, heavy boots, and some sort of writing down the sleeves, and ornaments on the Right leg.

It looked around, taking in the surroundings. It seemed to nod, then looked at those present. It regarded the seven human beings individually, then it looked to the one in front, Terry. It hopped down from it's ship, landing in a crouch. The machine on it's waist emmitted several long deep noises. It snapped it's jaw twice, and spoke a string of unknown words as it removed the mask.

Someone behind Terry shoved him further forward. "H-h-hello," he stammered.

The alien jutted it's head forward. "Hu-ldo," it repeated.

Terry looked around and thought for a moment. How the hell did you handle something like this. In the movies all the aliens spoke english... or didn't bother to speak at all. he patted his chest. "Terry," he introduced himself.

The alien jutted his head forward again and blinked it's eyes at Terry. Then the alien snapped it's jaws twice, and clenched it's eyes. It patted it's own chest and said "Skraldin."

Terry pointed his finger at the alien. "Skraldin?" he asked. then he pointed at himself "Terry?"

the alien mimicked. he pointed at Terry, "Ted-Ree," and then pointed at himself saying "Skraldin."

Terry reached behind himself grabbing the first person he could, Michelle Nguyen. "Michelle," he said, pointing to the girl. He pointed back at Skraldin, stating what he believed to be the aliens name, then pointed at himself giving his own name.

"Me-Chel," Skraldin said, pointing at the girl. "Ted-Ree," he pointed at the only human who would speak with him. He gestured to himself. "Skraldin."

"His name is Skraldin," Terry told everyone.

"Duh," snarled Nathan. "But why did you drag Michelle in?"

"I wanted to make sure he was saying his name, and not his species," Terry whispered.

Terry turned back to Skraldin, not sure what to say. Luckily, he didn't have to.

"Skraldin," the alien began. "Dooska," it pantomimed giving something. "Ted-Ree po Me-Chel." it pointed to both of them.

"It wants to give us something," Terry gasped in astonishment. "Welcome," Terry smiled, extending his hand.

Skraldin jutted his head forward again, in what Terry was beginning to guess was an expression of confusion.

Terry slowly took Skraldin's hand, and placed it in his own, and shook hands.

Skraldin snapped his jaws twice and gently returned the shake.

this was as nice as things got. This was the moment the governement decided to step in. Jeeps rolled in, unloading soldiers who put everyone at gunpoint.

Terry's arms flew into the air as a natural reaction. Skraldin, sensing it was the appropriate thing to do, followed suit as all the others who had greeted him when he first arrived had done the same as Terry.

A tall black man in fatigues strode forward. "Who made first contact here?" he barked.

"He did!" yelped Beccy Long, pointing at Terry.

"I'm Lt. Col. Ivory Markham," the tall black officer said, walking toward Terry and Skraldin. "What have you learned from him?"

"His name is Skraldin," Terry answered, at which point Skraldin tapped his chest with his hands. "And I think he wants to give us something."

Markham looked at the alien closely, which caused Skraldin to blink rapidly as he leaned away from the officer. Markham patted his chest. "Markham" he said coldly.

"Mard-Kome" replied Skraldin.

~*~

'Well that was fast,' Skraldin thought. He had expected to have to actively search out the planet's military forces. Now here he was standing in front of one. He couldn't be sure, but judging from the way the humans who just arrived were holding the sinister looking black devices, they were weapons of some sort. Skraldin had no intention of giving the humans reason to discharge them. Skraldin looked around at the activity. the humans were moving fast, setting things up, errecting small for legged structures. Skraldin wasn't sure about their purpose, but turned back to his new aquaintance. He tapped his right leg, where the decorations were.

"Seetu," he said. "Seetu Skraldin." Then Skraldin pointed at the man's chest, where his own decorations were.

~*~

"What's that mean?," Lt. Col. Markham asked Terry for no other reason than the young man was there. "Seado?"

Terry studied Skraldin's motions carefully as he watched the alien repeate it. "Rank," he finally gasped. "'Seetu' must be his rank."

"Lieutenant-Colonel Markham," replied the officer.

"Duten-Dant Kurd-Ahl Mard-Kome," Seetu Skraldin replied as it's posture straightened, it's left hand snapped to it's side and it's right extended out to his right at the shoulder, then bent up at elbow perpendicular to the rest of his arm. it's fingers were straight.

Markham saw it for wat it was and returned with a salute of his own.

Pretty good. Nice imagery. Would make an excellent comic if you got the right artist for the job.
 
Golgatha and The Virginian Candidate really intriged me. Is there some sorta supernatural element to Golgatha, or just devil worshiping school shooters? And the Candidate is pretty good too. Really interested in seeing just what Mishion hopes to get outta this. For some reason I just don't trust him. Hidden Agenda!

Good stuff keep em coming.

sandwraith said:
I've always wanted to take a writers' course or a creative writing workshop but I'm a little too deep in my engineering course to veer too far off...my closest stuff to writing would be editting for my Polytechnic's mag which looks good on my credentials but doesn't cut me much slack with local publishers. Moreover, where I am (Singapore...) the comic biz is difficult to get into if you aren't an artist. Guess what? I'm not But if I had the money and the opportunity I'd love to intern at DC. Writing Batman is undoubted second on my list in between performing the Hajj and watching Dream Theater live.

Well, good luck. You just have to keep at it. Nothing easy is worth doing and all that.
 
Golgatha and The Virginian Candidate really intriged me. Is there some sorta supernatural element to Golgatha, or just devil worshiping school shooters? And the Candidate is pretty good too. Really interested in seeing just what Mishion hopes to get outta this. For some reason I just don't trust him. Hidden Agenda!

Good stuff keep em coming.

There is not super-natural element to either of those, a bit schism from my normal style. And the shooters weren't devil worshippers. They were ultra-extremist christians. Later on it would be revealed that one of the surviving shooters had whispered to one of the survivors that they were going to spare her.
 
Zoken can I get some non-stop part 4 action pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasssssssssssssssssse?
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Latest posts

Forum statistics

Threads
202,269
Messages
22,077,600
Members
45,877
Latest member
dude9876
Back
Top
monitoring_string = "afb8e5d7348ab9e99f73cba908f10802"