Man without a name 3

The whole company broke off from the treeline and started firing at the villagers. Wooden huts, stone made foundations of barns and muddy walls provided some cover for the crying women that held children clutched in their arms. Guarta forces were riding to their aid, but fear in their bones made them hesitate the clash. Shields and swords were nothing in compare with the supreme power that spat fire and instantly killed from afar. Village bell ranged for salvation, alerted the citizens in the field to run for their lives, but those in the village center were doomed.

Death came for a peaceful village in a form of cloaked men, heavy boots and metallic faces with huge eyes above the tormented breaths. Company stretched in a line that moved slowly toward the compound where just few valiant farmers rallied to defend their loved ones. A mighty cry sparked the charge of rakes and hooks at the hooded men that now stood in awe of Gurata resilience.

– Prepare to fire. – command came clean in the soldier’s masks that got close and reloaded their weapons, – Open fire. – One said and upon his words a terrible noise flashed from the rifles.

The charge was stopped in its tracks with all of the villagers dead. Croaks and sobbing brokenly buzzed among the walls and corners where the aggressor passed searching for supplies. Eleventh Copy tumbled the basket and flipped the crate with his rifle, when a couple of his companions stormed the house on the other side. Mercy calling was ended with a flash that appeared on the window and stilled the room.

– It’s not here. Why would it be, they are just an ordinary peasants. – Two said frowning at the landscape of  houses and dead bodies lying on the ground.

– Sometimes, the best way to keep the secret a secret is to put it somewhere where nobody would bother looking. It could be here, we just need to look for it a little bit more. – One replied witnessing the same image as his deputy, – This cloaks have served us well for all of these years. You know the same rumor as I. It said that Guarta has a relic, a cloak of exquisite power. This would serve us… I mean ME. It would serve ME more than this one. I just might use it against myself. Zero would be weak to go against me.

– That is treason. – Two said it nearly biting his tongue, – You know our history. How dare you speak of such things?!

– Yes, I speak of treason, but you thought of the same. I can become Zero, an ultimate ruler of thousand worlds. I wouldn’t stay in one place like Zero, I would be a leader. – One sprang a smile under his mask that looked at the Two’s shaking head, – I would lead armies and conquests. I would not hide. – One explained his plans but it all sat ill with the Two that was mentally thorned apart.

– Earth’s rifle, a Krion blaster, a Silatian mask, a Howean battle armor, a Romdar uniform and all we need now is a Guartian cloak. It better be worth it. – Two said and stepped forward where a still alive villager crawled towards the One with a knife in his hand.

A short burst laid the villager back to the ground where Two stepped over him and continued onward to meet the other Copies. Commands were shouted as Two approached the roaming Copies, leaving the One on the treeline to smirk and plan how to take over the Empire.

 Cloaked

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Going south

Behind the enemy lines

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Man without a name 2

On the base of a burnt house, Six sat loading his magazine with freshly multiplied bullets. He vaguely watched the flames that were toning down behind him while a couple of his copies stood in a group, few feets away. Except for the sound of fire that consumed the house, nothing else was heard around him, then footsteps broke through the rubble. It was the One, a first multiplier that created them on this planet. One’s coat was dry and heavy from the fabric it was made out of. He moved the hood and revealed the breading mask they all wore.

– I shouldn’t even ask why are you bummed out. I can clearly see something is upsetting you. I know myself. – One said standing with right leg leaned on the crumbled wall like a hero on the won battlefield, – I can take a guess of what are you thinking about… You want the permission to multiply? You are not supportive of my rule? I don’t need to remind you of what happens to someone who multiplies without orders, do I?

Six bowed his head, gasped and loaded the magazine back to the rifle. Absent look drifted over the landscape then he raised his eyes at the One who held his hand aside, ready to end conversation with plasma gun.

– Yes, I know what happens. You don’t need to remind me, I will be quiet. – Six said, but words fell empty in the One’s ears.

– You could be lying. – One said still gazing at the horizon.

– As this could be also a lie. Our whole life, mission, orders could be long told lie that was accepted as truth. What One thinks, all think. This is turning into philosophy of our existence. One doesn’t like that. That leads to conflict and conflict leads to confrontation, and confrontation leads to death.

– Wise words. You should contemplate on that. Maybe you’ll convince yourself into becoming more obedient subject. – One spoke evenly and clumsy scratched his nose inside of a mask.

– Still, I can’t shake the thought we are all participating a fraud. Zero’s multiplying as we speak, creating armies, workers for his Empire. Have you ever wondered what is his name? He must have one. I understand why we go with numbers, but he must have a name. All of this seems pointless. We could be known as builders, not destroyers. Have you ever thought of that? – Six posed a sad face where his voice described the grimace under the mask.

– Thousands of worlds conquered, million light years of travel, dozen mutinies drenched in blood, religious revolutions obliterated, war crimes committed against thyself and you still wonder of his name? What good is that? We ARE destroyers. Humankind is violent by nature, competitive, better at destruction than building. You know how it all started, or do we? Some say it was a military experiment and Zero was one of the guinea pigs that took out of control and destroyed Earth, some say he was gifted, but nobody knows for sure how it all started. Even Zero doesn’t recall it. If he did, I would know it, YOU would know it. After the first incident where a couple of Copies rebelled against him, he had them tortured. Can you imagine torturing yourself, skinning yourself and staring at your own eyes while doing that? Zero is seriously traumatized man. He is frauding himself everyday into believing this is the right course of action. If he ever had a name, it was Hate. – One explained and looked down onto his copy that slowly nodded his head agreeing with the words he knew to be true, – You haven’t abandoned your plans of taking me down, have you? – he added spotting Six’s hand dancing close to the trigger guard.

Six was just about to say the most hurtful words he could come up with, when plasma blasted through his skull and blood splashed the ground where a modulating bar of smoke started to glide left in the breeze. One neatly packed his sidearm and gasped looking at his corpse lying in the rubble. Group of Copies turned to see what have happened, then the One came down from the burning house and stopped on the path that led away.

– He talked too much. – One unpleasantly grinned and walked away leaving the group to verbally investigate the murder case, but dared not to solve it, as it would lead to conflict, and conflict leads to confrontation, and confrontation leads to death.

 Fraud

Warzone

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Going south

Patrol car 2976

Man without a name

Once again the dark clouds engulfed our skies announcing the storm. Silver lining wasn’t something Guarty people could expect from the thunders and strong winds that blew from the north. I did saw the simmering white vapor over the dark crust that blew up reaching the top of the atmosphere, rolling forward, putting the Guarta under the shade.

Rain came down in small drops that soaked my clothes and slowed me down, so I sat on the stone by the road and decided to wait it out. It felt like I was getting fever, arms hurt from the staff I held so vigorously and my skin caught warmth. I jerked the hood on and wrapped myself tightly to preserve the heat and stay warm. Dirty ponds were getting bigger and bigger by the minute where rain drops stirred up the surface of the water.

A young hooded traveler appeared in the horizon, his long coat flapping in the wind, bending over his leg as he stepped through the mud that gotten sloppier. I looked at him, he was odd – especially his coat that seemed not from this world. Finally he stopped next to me, slowly raised his sight from the mud and showed me his week old beard. I moved my head to spot his eyes, but that was denied by the pointed hood over his head.

– Where am I? – he asked in a foreign accent I haven’t heard my whole life.

– On the road for Guarta stranger. – I shouted and he looked around himself like searching for evidence that confirmed my words, – You aren’t from around here I wagger. Nobody would dare to travel in this weather. – grin escaped my inquisitive tilted head while his remained hidden inside the thick hood that was grazed with rain.

– Good then. I haven’t missed the planet. – he groaned and his coat started bloating like it was filling with air.

I squinted my eyes to see what is happening, when another person, a mirror of his image exited his back and stopped in front of me. Stranger’s coat repeated the action and soon five more men came out from the long coat he was wearing. I was dumbfounded by multiplying stranger and his lookalikes that started running through the mud. I whipped my head about, counting the men that grew in numbers. Stranger was shivering like a willow on the harsh wind, but his feet haven’t moved at all. He stood firmly on the ground and stared at the stretching road before him.

– What are you? – I asked this man with an exceptional coat which was magical and his twin standing beside me nodded his head.

– Some call me the Conquer. – the first one said, then the second passing us said, – Some refer to me as Death. – then the third man behind me spoke in dim voice, – But I have no name, only orders. – he finished and a clinking noise came within the coat.

Something resembling a futuristic staff with dimples and sharp edges elevated in the hands of a nameless folk and stopped locked in their shoulders. My jaw was slightly open in wonder of who these people were as my eyes captivated their moves and appearance.

Without a word steps started plowing through the mud as a group climbed the road and walked away toward the Guarta. This event startled me with a chill running in my bones, dripping in my feet that got turned into rock. With heavy steps I ran in haste to get away from this place and find me a tavern where I can find rest and people to tell them this story. Alas, when I got to the nearest cabin, it was already raided by some war party that came onto them. It was a slaughter. Half of the tavern was in ruins, destroyed by some force like some enormous beast rampaged through. I just wonder, was this done by the man with an exceptional coat, or were we in war with some Kingdom on the south?

 Exceptional

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Going south

Old part of the city already had a bad rap, but new wave of criminals diluted it a little. This mavericks brought in the drugs, the thrills and special kind of sin to the ancient bloodlines mafia had running in the streets. Youngsters envied the “statues” because they were unfazed and rock solid. This was the appearance of strength, an honorable posture that radiated with dominion. Rivalry was at its highest form, because mafia headmen looked at us as peasants, but we dreamed of reaching their position.

Street Soldiers multiplied to many strong battalions, where hitting mafia could be done, but avoided because of the respect. We had that. Some code was in order and we had no right of breaking it. Chain of command stretched from the regular goons, to the back up “runners” all the way to the informants and crooked cops for hire. We didn’t owned the city, but we had some notable people in our pockets. Life was semi-great, money was just enough to have it tossed around once a week and I didn’t wanted more. Why would I, I had everything I wanted for a normal life.

Firewall, Kalony D and Gyro picked me up at my house and we went for a walk. I also brought my hybrid dog to stretch his legs. Police drone hovered about, barely visible among the rustic rooftops where stolen antennas shook in the wind. We laughed at it and paid no attention – we had good law firm paid up for legal advices. We didn’t cared.

– Statues are not moving. I thought they’ll jump on our deal and stop us, but they are silent. – Kalony D said scratching his nose so the drone couldn’t catch on his lips moving.

– They go silent when knifes start glancing. – Gyro spoke through his teeth, watching the cloudy sky above us like he was bored to death, – We might start a turf war. West side is on the rise. They make commotion, loot the stores close to the “statues”, poke them with the guns we sold them, but “statues” can bring down their stick and end it.

I walked and thought of what is we need to do about it, stared at my grumpy beast that was half tamed. He groaned at the people that were in a hurry, barked at the alley cats and street salesmen, but it kept his pace steady.

– Last week’s sale of Ildocian exoskeletons and body armor can rise attention on us. – Firewall broke the silence hiding his face in a fuzzy hoody, – Statues won’t like that, not one bit. I think we should lay low and wait it out. Storm is coming and we are not in the iris. Things will go south soon enough.

– Don’t be a pussy. – Gyro said twisting his head and face, – We can rally an army on the moments notice. We hold the stock on weaponry. They will attack us only if they are stupid. – he waved his head and picked up the speed with me, – Hey, you are being silent. What do you think? – he asked me forgetting about the drone that followed us.

– I think we came into this too brave. Statues know their way of how to tame the competition. We are dogs to them like this one here, groaning, barking, brainless beasts. This will be the war of classes, not an ordinary skirmish. – I finished my thought when drone took speed and left us with squealing of the wheels in the corner.

I turned my head and saw the tinted glass rolling down and blasters popping out on the sides. My friends and dog were unaware of what’s about to hit us, so the fire rained the sidewalk shuting their laughter in blood. A hail of bluish flames got stuck in the air, levitating above our heads like halo. Car’s engine swiftly gained torque in the street that fell dead silent. I heard the fading engine roar running two blocks aways from us until I picked up my head and saw Firewall sawed in half, Gyro laying against the wall – his face buried in the brick wall. Kalony D cried next to me, screaming something incoherently while hugging himself. I pulled my leash and it retracted easily as it was cut out. My dog was whimpering loudly while hiding behind the car.

We made circus lions in the wild with our reckless actions of selling weapons to the young gangsters. We started a war with an old world and the new. Their plan seemed reasonable, shut down their suppliers, remove their scouts from the streets, set their business ablaze and start a full frontal attack. This was just a first step of taming the competition, a first step when everything started going south.

 Tame

Crime Scene

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Two dumb kids

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Deadly games

Writing with music 2

Music is one thing I can’t go without. I just love listening to a good beat while I get all hyped up and ready to write. Letter after letter platoon falls to form a sentence, all aligning to build the block of text that is energetic and well thoughted. I tend to zone out, hear nothing but the melody that pushes me into the flash of images. My hero soars the sky with Sun in his eyes reflecting from the skyscrapers, does a loop with a thunder clap at his back and lands in the mass of enemy soldiers – cyborgs with fire red eyes. Electronic growl calls for the attack and guns start busting flames. His hands now grow bulky with long barrels, he has them all in sight. Epic battle takes place where robotic hands get twisted, broken, ripped apart by the supreme power of the hero. Martial moves break the metal skulls, weapons hack through the incoming enemy – a glorious victory.

Sounds like a game. Good music can do that to a writer. It does to me.

It’s funny how this lyrics go great with today’s Daily Prompt topic. Sometimes I just get inspired by the word, sometimes by the tune. Whatever does it, it wouldn’t be possible without believing in your goals. I prefer dubstep when I write, but whatever works for you, use it.

 Believe

Here’s a Kitten y’all. Have a nice day and listen to music.

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Writing with Music

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Patrol car 2976

Squealing of the garage door echoed through the humongous space where led holograms illuminated the center and stood away from the darken corners where cameras monitored over the entrance. Patrol car 2976 waited for me in veil of darkness. I came to the left side of it and pressed my hand to open it when the whole vehicle flashed in light and side door retracted up. My colleague was already there, punching in the route for today.

– Glad you made it. – older guy said with some focused discontent towards the system that performed slow reaction speed.

– Yeah. It’s my first day on the job. I didn’t wanted to be late. – I said making myself comfortable in the seat that changed its shape to my body type.

– First time in Matock? – he asked still looking at the hologram that disobeyed the commands.

– First time servicing in Matoc Public Police. I was few times here for vacation, never had pleasure working here. – I added a smile to words, but my partner wasn’t feeling particularly happy, must’ve been the overtime these guys had and low wages that provided less whores in bed.

– You are ought for a treat, boy’o. Did your tour in war I see. – he pinched my perfectly tide uniform and gear straps, – Zarian wars I presume, you guys always fight them for some reason. You’ll find that skills useful very fast. We are dealing with special kind of scum here, boy’o. Just watch your back, you might find a dagger sticking out from there. – now he smiled and turned on the engine.

He glided out from the garage and we have started our patrol with the cruising speed. We were moving over the rooftops, trees and signal antenas until we came close to the forbiden part of the city. Pearly coast dotted out with luxorious hotels, hand crafted port with high stone walls, yacht harbor and army of sunshaders on the beach was just a superficial image of what the city really was.

Patrol car 2976 entered the grey painting of old buildings, sport courts and trashed lanes that spelled “beware”. Children playing gang wars, teenagers ploting to rob a store and just a few thugs walking their dogs were enough for me to see the city’s face that smiled at the Sun and bleed with the other.

– So, what is our mission here? – I asked looking at the hologram that followed the thug yanking the dog’s chain and aiming with his ginger at us.

– Nothing. We just make report when something bad happens. That’s all. Gangs hold the streets boy’o. We are not allowed to go there. Well, I land down occasionally just to collect the bribe, sometimes I buy drugs from one of our informant or find me a teen whore, but we don’t do other police business there boy’o. – guy gasped absently watching the glowing route in the windshield.

– What?! – my face fell to wonderstruck expression while his wrinkles refreshed with feeling of entertainment.

– Our police work is the same as those gangs out there. We are payed by politicians to keep away from their illigal business, gangs pay us to keep quiet when they are taking over the other gang’s terf, foreigners are paying us to turn our head for their weapon trade. Overal we get enough money to survive. Try managing with just what you have at the end of the month, and when you had enough of starving… Find me and I will hook you up boy’o. First you’ll work as a bodyguard to some goon, then you can be recruited to train their footmen. You did the special training, right? – he asked in whole honesty, but I couldn’t get my jaws together.

 Superficial

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Well, this was a bit nasty and vile, wouldn’t you agree? Here, wash your eyes with this.

Behind the enemy lines

Grand Spirit

Final charge

 

Plotting the novel

Every book must have diversity in plot, writing style and viewpoint, or we would read one of the same book over and over again. I would like to talk about plotting, because that is the most interesting part of the book.

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Usually the planning process of a plot development is based on a pattern that goes in a tristep with beginning/escalation/culmination and that is what we get when the book is being simplified. Now, the escalation is the center of the plot where we can show our best by adding problems for the hero to solve. The more big of a problem our hero overcomes, the bigger the hero is, but that is not completely true. It is far better that hero gets a wave after a wave of semi-difficult tasks before he is introduced with the grand problem and plot driving final event that is portrayed in the culmination of the novel. To add subplots is to add these semi-difficult problems where writer can show the growth of the hero in what is supposed to become at the end of the novel. It seems I am speaking the obvious, but it couldn’t hurt to mention it one more time.

In order to show what I meant by this, let’s take a simple plot for an example: Woman is being left by her boyfriend, she is being tormented by: her past relationships, work, chores, inner thought, and the culmination: she meets another guy and gets happily married. Seems simple enough, right? Now, lets enrich this plot by adding subplots.

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Woman was cheated upon by her fiance, she goes through a rough time breaking the relationship, problems at work make her quit her job and try something else, she sells the house and travels to Europe where she starts her own firm and falls in love with cafe owner which she marries and the end. I only gave a little bit to the story, but not much. Now lets add a lot of subplots.

Woman was cheated upon by her fiance that is also her boss and makes her life a living hell, she is emotionally broken because she sees her replacement constantly coming and going at the boss’s office and pompously shoving her the impossible and degrading tasks. She tries to quit her job, but her ex fiance is not letting that happen for her. She then flees the city and comes to live in a cabin outside of the metropolis she worked in. She meets the lumberjack living in close vicinity and forms a friendship with the joyful guy, but there is something wrong about him. He is gay, so she will find no love there. Friendship with the lumberjack brought her newfound courage to do what she wants, so she decides to sell her house in the city and go to Europe. She always wanted to see Spain, so she slams the table as she gets on her feet and leaves the cabin. Due to some political confusion, she ends up in the middle of civil war that is raging across Spain. Because she is horrified by the images of children getting hurt and total lack of care for the young ones, she decides to join the medical staff and patrol the streets, helping the wounded spaniards. She is not interested in politics, only in helping others, so this kindness is noticed by two soldiers on the opposite sides. Now there is war among these two for her love and she finds herself in a problem once again. War takes one of the contestants, the other is severely injured with no chances of making a family with her. She still decides to be with him and they get married.

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Now this is something different from the initial plot pattern, right? It’s all about how elastic the plot is and what sort of a twist you add to the story. Both contestants could be killed, lumberjack couldn’t be gay in the first place, Spain can be Russia, or England, or even a different country in a different continent like Africa, Asia, South America, it’s up to you.

If we speak genres, this plot could easily be turned into romantic comedy, heavy action drama, science fiction, psychological horror, or anything you like. So my advice is, keep fantasizing about untold stories, a swift plot twists. Bring dynamics to your plot, give it some wild dreams and let it flow. Make it elastic, different, NEW. Your readers will appreciate that.

VURkIs5

Elastic

As you got used to this, I give you a glimpse of our 42. Cyber Corps mascot, the Kitten.

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I got some more wisdom on me bloooog. 😀

Advices I was issued with

What writing means to me?

Master Plan – Some notes for bloggers

Behind the enemy lines

It was felt hard to spend time in the trench and wait for the attack, especially when there are only two of us left. Food rations were running low, water was a memory by now and no info from the headquarters drove us to madness and extreme hallucinations. We acted like two goofballs, played with the gear nobody was left to use, sunbathe on the nearby hill and slept for hours to deceive our hunger, but we grew restless and hungry like beasts. Tondo said a cannibal joke yesterday and I laughed for hours. Now I don’t know was he serious about it. We wanted to shoot down a few enemy drones and wait for their artillery to dig through our position, then their infantry would arrive and we can slaughter one of their guy and put him on a spit. Mmmm, roasted meat. Science says humans are similar to pigs, so I bet we taste the same too. Human bacon disgusts you now, but when you are hungry, you can eat anything. Besides, there are still cannibal tribes out there. It is completely normal for them to slice one of their own and eat him.

This was a plan after we decided that we both like to have two hands and two legs attached to us. Tondo grabbed us a couple of drone controllers and brought them to the open side of the hill where we stretched the garden chairs and sunshades.

– Here. – he tossed me a bag with radio operated controls and I gave him a wonderstruck gaze.

– Dude! How many did you enabled for active shooter mode? – I asked going through the shapes of controls that operated various machines.

– We need to simulate an attack. I took as many as I could. I turned on all of them, so their transponder will appear in the enemy’s radar. It is a genius plan man. – he said with a half smile, he had no strength for a full one.

– It’s the dumbest plan you had in years, but it’s the only plan we have right now… Let’s catch us some diner. I will go left, you make things happen on the right side. – I was pointing at the fictional line that should split the battlefield and give us some sense of what was out there.

Tondo lit his last two joints to make it more fun and I outlayed four controllers before me. Two I used with my toes, the other two I used with my hands. Tondo did the same, but he added two more on his lap. Now, we were ready to start a fight. I pressed the button and the machine slinged the orb into the air. That little thing transformed into a little combat drone and fired up its jet engines. Fast moves on the sticks and buttons set a couple more drones in motion toward the frontline.

– Shoot at their drones. – Tondo said inhaling cannabis smoke, – We don’t want to appear suspicious. We are at war, so it must look like we are fighting. – he added and set course on the roller drone for the center of the battlefield.

For an hour we made overpasses in the distance, set bombs loose and made a cloud of dirt rise like a smoke screen on the ground for the roller drones to make it look like a full attack. Tactically wise, we did the good job turning this genius simulation plan into action, because enemy drones came after us. A horde of flying drones appeared in the sky and broke formations to chase ours. By mistake Tondo and I crashed two of the drones mid air and took two more controllers to launch a backup squadron. It all went wild when enemy artillery started raining shells on the dust curtain. We were amazed by the percent of effectiveness of our plan. It really was a genius thing to do. Now we end this and wait for their troops to roll in.

A hard turn left, then right, then the drone leveled in one routh where missile knocked it down from the sky and Sun started glowing stronger and stronger in our faces. It felt wrong, odd and miraculous of how Sun can shine so bright, then something slapped my cheek.

– What the hell are you two morons doing with the high tech military equipment in a military warehouse!!! Do you know what havoc you provoked out there?!!! Half of the city is burning, you idiots!!! – angry face of a General screamed at us while we rubbed our aiking cheeks and watched him leave the room, leaving two armed guards behind, – The fuck I left them here for two nights?!!! – his screames grew dimmer as he stomped away in the corridor.

I bet judge won’t find our genius plan as genious as we thought it was. He wouldn’t most definitely understand our cannabis evoked hunger amusing, nor the cannibalism we wanted to execute, not after ruining the half of the city.

 Genius

LpjKCLa

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Yeah, it’s not what you thought it’s gonna be… It stings, right? I got more.

Magnetic rhyme

This headline is waaaay longer than the life of the heroine in this story, but I know you’ll just skip it anyway, so let’s see how the Mary’s life ended in a very tragic circumstances. Shall we?

Tune of Chaos

What writing means to me?

“A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies, the man who never reads lives only one. ” George RR Martin

To write is to tell stories. What is the point of writing if not saying something that should make people think? To explain the practicality of George’s words, I must say that those that read learn about crysis and extraordinary situation, therefore they learn how did the situation occurred, how it escalated and how did it resolve. From every book you read, you must take moral of the story, stack it in the back of your mind and summon it when you get in trouble. Books teach us how to be strong and face our fears and solve them ourselves. They educate us about opportunities and choices we didn’t knew we could pick. The more you read, the more you see and understand. Reading is the only effective way of fighting stupidity.

Since the ancient civilizations and fabrication of the first scriptures, people were constantly putting their mark in the history by telling stories about them, their culture and era they lived in. History might not teach us anything if it wasn’t for the written word. We would forget so many things, or design a lie to suppress someone’s history data, but written word forbids that. Caveman drawing on their lair’s walls were also a form of telling stories that we look as art. Isn’t it remarkable of how it all started. The idea of making a line on a wall and pair it with one more next to it… Could be a river, a stick, a desert – just brilliant.

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To me, writing is magic. To put some symbols on paper (the ancient data flash drive) and for someone to visually collect the data and store it in his mind in a form of a picture, a pure imagined memory that originated just from a couple of funny marks on a slice of wood – are you telling me that is not astonishing? You couldn’t possibly think that? What about this then – Imagine the time when first letter was formed. To this day people read the various variations of letters. We have technology, people read less than they did before the technological boom, but they still read. It is proven that reading is the most effective way of learning. Yes, you can learn through a conversation with someone, but that someone must have heard it from somebody else and that other guy must have read it somewhere. Still – no information is audio sustainable, it must be recorded somewhere. If the story about “Red Riding Hood” was intended to be transferred from generation to another only by telling it from your memory, throughout the years, decades and centuries, that story might be told in completely different way and wrongly understood. Reading is still fashionable. It still exists. Now go out there and pick up a book.

Fashionable

As always, march on my brothers in quill and here’s the Kitten.

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Grand Spirit

Master Plan – Some notes for bloggers

Almanac of superior creatures and untold heroes

Grand Spirit

Eagle, the only bird we bowed to and admired for its perfect design. “King of the sky” some called it, a “Grand Spirit” known by many. Military patch couldn’t be imagined without him, even his symbolism among the fighting men on the battlefield was somewhat inherited from the ancient empires that achieved so much during their reign. It was a symbol of freedom, a mark of royalty and supreme rule over men and messenger of one true God.

One of them just put me in a circle. I looked at him orbiting around me and the Sun rays blinded me to a squint eyes. Such a wonderful creature. Nobody can deny that. It must be a divine thing, distant to human comprehension.

A short whistle through the air announced the blast of an artillery projectile where air soon turned dark and heavy on my eyes and lungs. “Medic” – shout breached the wall of dust and I took off.

Fight for air, frantic search for wounded and place to step led me over the rocks, plugged  out dirt and rubble. I stepped out from the ghastly veil and came to the light again to witness a fight in the air. Crows flew gawking around me when eagles descended over them screeching and piercing their black feathers with their claws.

A soldier laid in side of a bomb crater with its rims constantly moving up from the distant gunfire. I moved to his aid, my gear tapping my back pushing me forward. Boots fell at the bottom of the crater and backpack denied to open even when I pulled it as hard as I could. Young man covered in dirt grabbed me with his shivering hand stained with blood. His gentle yank on the sleeve draw my eyes on him where I saw his hopeful stare and shallow breath. I stopped in the moment when eagle on the rim screeched at me and pushed me away from the wounded man, but soldier’s grip held me at place.

– Freedom is an ultimate reward. Now I am free. – he said with his dying breath and his hand slowly glided down my arm into my palm.

Eagle screeched again and left to fight the crows that circled around the crater like a tornado. Tear after tear came running as I couldn’t recognize the face of my brother from all of the war fumes he was covered in. Uniform made us twins, made us equal, the same, the ONE. I called every eagle flagged man my brother, but this one was my blood, my love, my martyrdom. At the eye of the tornado, eagles stood watch over their fallen brother where eulogy of shrill cries ranged in the battlefield.

 Deny

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DRONSTAD Facebook page where I will forget my login password for.

Well, this was a bit grim… Would you like some more? *weird smile

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