The Phantom Club (Chapter 1)

“Look out!”

The crowd scattered as a volley of EMS fire ricochet down from the level above. The man who'd fired the gun stepped to the edge and grinned. The silver logo on his red jacket shone in the light shed by the neon signs around him and the beams of sunlight that made their way through the tangle of silver buildings high above. He raised his gun to fire again. What to shoot, what to shoot...

A beam from an FL-2 singed his hair and he turned his attention to his opponent. A man in a yellow jacket looked back at him from behind dark sunglasses, wearing the same grin he'd had a second ago.

“Hello, lead head,” said the leader of the Delve gang with a grin. “How's life with the Bolts treating you?”

“Oh, fine, fine. They pay much better than you ever did, Emmit. Cooler jacket, too.”

“Really.” The grin disappeared, then came back with a vengeance. “And I suppose you shooting at innocent pedestrians is another benefit?”

“No, I did that with you guys too.” He shrugged. “But when have you ever cared about that?”

“An excellent point. I might consider doing the same. But first...” Emmit raised the FL-2 again and aimed it at his head. “I've got some business to take care of.”

The cafe-goers stared as the lifeless body thumped onto the street.

“Now...” He stared down at the lower level. “Where was I?”

The remnants of the crowd scattered as beam after beam found it's way into their midst. Emmit grinned as he pulled out a targeting scope from his jacket pocket and fitted it on his weapon. “Now lets see... who wants to die?”

A business man hiding under a table caught his eye, then a homeless man half hidden in an alleyway. Finally he settled on a little girl trying to find her mommy. “Don't worry, little girl, you won't be lost for long,” he whispered to himself.

A flash of black dashed through the corner of his eye. Three seconds later, a shroud whipped itself over his face and his gun was wrested from his hand. He looked up to see the edge of the black cape flying backwards. A grinning white mask stared at him with dark eyes. The figure landed on a railing, balanced perfectly. It tilted its head to one side and held up his weapon for him to see. It examined the gun for a moment, then placed it's hand on the setting dial. Three clicks to the left; did that make the beam weaker or stronger? Emmit couldn't remember.

The grinning figure raised the gun, aiming it at him in the same manner he'd used only a second ago. It cocked it's head and held up three gloved fingers. Two fingers. One. He turned and ran. A pulsing beam met the sidewalk two inches away from his foot. He ran faster, turning a corner and disappearing through the smoky doorway of a bar.

A cheer rose from the crowd below. “Phantom! Phantom!” The figure turned and stared down at the crowd. It raised one hand, gave a small wave, then bowed. It then examined the weapon in it's other hand.

The barrel of the gun broke with a sharp crack as the phantom struck it against the metal rail. It examined the remnants, then threw them over the railing. They landed in a trash can near the edge of the square.

The crowd continued cheering. “Thief! Thief!” Not an accusation; instead, the word was a name.

The one called Thief nodded it's head to them, the black fedora dipping over it's eyes, then leapt into the air, landing on a wall and leaping to another until the black-cloaked figure finally disappeared into a patch of shadow.

All was silent for a moment, then the businessman came out from under the table. The homeless man resumed his street corner. The little girl ran to her mother's open arms.

Everyone returned to their normal business, except for the two police officers who removed the body. But then, that was their normal business.

High above the square, Thief watched, impassive behind the grinning mask.

What's this? Another story? Indeed it is! And there's gonna be more of this one too. Critique please!

Defiant (chapter one)

“Why me?”

“Why not?” Marci smiled as she pulled out another makeup pencil. “We need a phantom, and you're the best one for the job.”

“Is that purple? No. No purple. And no, I'm not. Couldn't you do it?”

“Last I checked, I couldn't do back flips out of nowhere and swim half the waterforest without coming up for air. You're doing it.” She dug through the bag, looking for a non-purple pencil. “How about this one?”

“Marci...” Terry trailed off, then started again. “That's bright pink.”

“So?”

“Well, for one, I don't wear pink. And for two, we want this to be sorta actually intimidating, right?”

“Fine, fine, be that way. No pink.” Marci sighed and looked up at the spattering of treetops high above their heads. Sunlight filtered between the branches and reflected off the interconnected pools of water that surrounded them. She brushed her black hair out of her face and looked back down at him. “So what should we use then?”

“I don't know! This wasn't my idea.”

“Yes it was.”

“The red sheet on a string was my idea. And it worked, too. It's kept them off, hasn't it?” Terry watched suspiciously as she started digging through the bag again.

“And now they've sent in a bounty hunter to kill the red sheet. You know what happens if he kills the red sheet?”

“I don't get shot?”

“No, then they figure out that there never was a phantom, and move ahead with the whole thing, and then we all get shot.” She pulled a lemon yellow pencil out of the bag and began examining it.

“And if he shoots me, that happens anyway.”

“Come on, you can dodge anything!”

“When was the last time you saw me do a bullet?”

She paused, pencil in hand. “Well, ok, you can dodge most of anything. Still a better chance then the red sheet.” Back in the bag went the yellow pencil.

“Fine, fine. So I have to be the phantom. I have come to terms with this. Getting shot now vs getting shot later, what's the difference?”

“That's the spirit!” she said enthusiastically. “Let's see... You'll be wearing red to match the red sheet, so...” She pulled a pencil out again and waved it in the air triumphantly. “Red! Hurrah!”

“Fine. Red. I can deal with red. It'll match the blood when I get shot.”

“Ooh, now there's an idea!” She smiled, making him intensely nervous.

“What, shooting me?”

“No, silly, blood! We do the whole thing in the color of blood!”

“That's slightly morbid...” he said hesitantly.

“You're a phantom, for crying out loud. Phantoms are not particularly happy people. Morbid is what they do.”

“I thought random terror was what they did.”

“Morbid and random terror go hand in hand,” she offered. “Maybe we could make you some sort of corpse with blood all over.”

“Can we please not do blood? Or corpses?”

“Fine. We'll just do the whole cursed-phantom thing that we've been going with since we started the red sheet.”

“Thank you.”

“You're very welcome. Now hold still and I might not poke your eye out.” She put the pencil to his face and started drawing.

“Are you sure...”

“No talking!” she interrupted. “Hold still. And yes, I'm sure you have to be the phantom. I'm also sure of what I'm doing, sure of the fact that it has to be done now, and sure that you'll be fine. If all goes well, he won't even get to see all my hard work. Pity.”

He sat helplessly silent as she drew spirals on his face.

“Hmm... You think I should go with more of a tribal curse thing or an elegant curse thing? Don't answer that. On second thought, hold up one finger for tribal curse and two for elegant curse. How would I even do an elegant curse, I wonder... Wait, I know! Ok, nevermind. We're going with elegant curse. I think I'll only do one side of your face. That'll make you seem only slightly cursed, and if you're part human, he might be less likely to blow your brains out. Not that I'm saying that that'll happen, of course, but if it does, we want to be prepared, right? Right!” She sat back and looked at her work for a moment while he tried not to move. “That should do it.”

He sighed. “I'm assuming I can talk now?”

“Wait, no, it needs something. Stay there for a second.” She leapt to her feet and sprinted up the trail, over and under the huge clumps of roots and around the sharp turns without slowing down. He sighed and looked at his reflection in a pool of water. His white hair framed his pale face, making the red-brown spirals and dots stand out even more. His green eyes sparkled with electric reflections as he made a few faces, just to see what it would look like. Not particularly scary, but then, she'd said she wasn't done.

“Terry!” She sprinted back down the trail, panic in her brown eyes. “They're here!”

“Who?” he asked cautiously.

“Them! The outsiders! They're headed this way!”

“You mean the bounty hunter?”

“No, no, not him, the scouts! The surveyors!”

“We've gotta set up the red sheet,” he stated. “We'll just have to hope we can do it in time.”

“There is no time! Besides, we never set up a wire along here! You'll have to go!”

“What? Me? I can't!”

“You have to! Whatever happened to coming to terms with this?”

“But I'm not ready!”

“You're ready enough, just stay far away enough that they can't see details. They're almost here!”

“I'm wearing green!”

That stopped her for half a second. Then she pulled the sheet from her backpack and practically threw it at him. “Wear this!”

“What? How?”

“As a cloak!” She grabbed it from him, threw it over his head and pulled it around his neck, tying it in a tight knot. “Now get over there!”

“But...”
“Hey, I thought I heard voices!” came a shout from a ways down the trail.

“Go!” said Marci in a whisper one last desperate time before she leapt into the pool. He knew she'd surface some thirty feet away, safe in a clump of roots.

“Fine.” He some of the slack of the red sheet over his head like a hood and started climbing the nearest tree. From a branch high above, he could see the trail until it twirled around a pool of water and disappeared behind one of the ridges in the landscape. Three men made their way along the winding path. He gulped. All three carried rifles.

Terry made his way carefully from tree to tree until he was close enough to hear what they said.

“Oh, look, a root! Scary root, scaaaary!” Guy number one pulled back in mock horror.

“Ha hah, very funny.” Guy number two was not amused.

“Oh no, a tree! It must be a phantom tree! Fear the phantom tree!” Guy number three followed number one's example.

“No seriously, you guys are hilarious.” Still not amused.

“How will we ever survive the attack of the phantom tree? We're doomed!”

“Ok, ok, you've had your fun. Can you please let it drop now?”

“No. But seriously, you need to relax. There is no phantom.” Number one grinned. “A flying red ghost? Please.”

“Hey, there have been seventeen reports of this thing. Seventeen. Not to mention the equipment malfunctions...”

“It breaks just as much on a normal basis. You know that just as well as we do,” Three added.

“I'm telling you, there's something seriously wrong with this place. Never mind the secrecy, the weird shipments, the executive directors dropping by every three days; there's something here. In the forest.”

“What, the phantom tree?”

“You know that's not what I mean.”

“Look, we'll make a deal,” said One. “If we see the phantom, then fine, he's real. Flying red ghost all the way. But if we don't see him today, than he's not real. People are making stuff up. And then you promise to stop freaking out, ok?”

“Fine.”

“Here goes nothing...” Terry did a front flip out of the tree and landed about forty feet in front of them, red cloak billowing around him. He hoped they'd see him.

They did. One and Three simply stared, while Two backed away saying, “Oh no, we're gonna die, we're gonna die...”

Terry slowly raised his left arm and pointed straight at them, wordless.

“Calm down, man, we don't know if this is the phantom or not. He's not flying. He's just standing there.” Three was trying to save face.

If it was flying they wanted, it was flying they would get. Terry burst into a leaping run, taking in nearly ten feet to a stride.

“He's flying! He's flying!” Two turned and did a pretty good imitation of flying himself, flying back down the trail. One and Three, forgetting their mockery for a moment, followed him at a slightly lower altitude. All three were screaming.

Terry followed them for about a quarter mile before he stopped. He watched them flee over a ridge, waited a moment, then turned back. He wasn't dead yet. That was generally a good sign.

“Told you it would work.” Marci poked her wet head out from behind a tree as he passed by. “That was so much better than the red sheet.”

“I still don't like it,” he muttered.

“Neither did they.” She smiled a smile that made him nervous. “The red cloak thing is clearly something we need to keep, and we'll keep working on your curse. I don't think the green will go over so well, though. That needs to be red too, I think.”

He sighed. “I can deal with red.”

I wrote this the other day, so I thought I'd post it. Critique please!
And yes, there will probably be more. Wheee.

Happy Easter!

He is risen!

Spammers vs Me with a flaming death spatula: Who will win?

Well, recently I've become an administrator of a not-too-active forum. My job: delete spam posts. How long my job takes: way too long. Like, half an hour whenever I go to the board. Given that there's like, three regular posts vs the forty or so spam posts, it's a bit frustrating. It's more frustrating for the people who don't have the magical flaming death spatula of admin power with which to delete these posts, but still, it's annoying. So please, if you know someone who spams, hit them with a spatula for me. Hit them hard, and several times. Feel free to upgrade your spatula to a tenderizing mallet, or perhaps a whole microwave if they're the kind that just puts links to dubious medicines in their posts. You'll be making the world a better place.

Free Verse

This is not a poem.

Free Verse,

which is prose,

is what this is.

This has no rhyme.

This has no meter.

How could this be

Poetry?

It's not.

And if you think it is,

Prove it.

I don't believe you.

This is but

Broken Fragments

Strung along a page,

ink on paper,

hardly even there.

This is not a poem.

Poems ebb

and flow like water

from the mountains to the sea.

This halts,

stopping and starting,

like a butterfly among flowers.

But, of course,

it's not like that,

because that would be poetic.

This isn't.

This is not a poem.

Poetry rhymes

and sounds complete

because it is.

But this

sounds broken

incomplete

like a puzzle with half the pieces missing

but, of course,

it's not like that,

because that would be poetic.

This isn't.

This is not a poem.

Poetry has stanzas,

meter, clear devisions

things to make it

make sense.

All this has

is broken thoughts

inconsistency

like a great cloud blown by the wind.

But, of course,

it's not like that,

because that would be poetic.

This isn't.

This is not a poem.

Don't tell me that it is.

I don't believe you.

Switzerland?

So I've started getting college spam. Lots and lots of college spam. You know, the "more emails in a day than you've gotten in your entire life until now" kind of spam.
I think it's because of my SAT score... That would explain Stanford, MIT, and Westminister, anyway. But I got this one from Switzerland. They told me that we live in an increasingly global world, which makes sense until you think about it. And then they told me that I should go to Switzerland and attend college there. Also, Switzerland is apparently the gateway to Europe. I thought the airport was the gateway, but hey, that's just me.

Cripes

"Hey, it's not that bad. When I first got here, I almost got eaten by cripes," said Reed with a shrug.
"You keep talking about cripes, and yet you still refuse to explain what they are," complained David, keeping a wary eye on Luxor as she fired up a welding torch.
"What sort of questions do you have about them?"
"Well, for starters, what are they?"
"We're pretty sure they're reptiles, but they move too fast for us to tell definatively."
"How fast can they go?"
"Faster than anything Luxor's invented thus far. Which would make it...." He counted on his fingers for a moment. "About the speed of sound."
David sat in stunned silence for a moment. "You're kidding."
"Nope. They're really, really fast."
"And they eat people?"
"They eat anything. Well, anything that wanders into their territory. We marked the danger zone a while back."
"So how'd you get away?"
"We're talking about cripes, not me. Any other questions?"
"Yeah... Why'd you call them cripes?"
"It's the least offensive thing anyone's ever said upon encountering one."
"Ah." David pondered that for a minute. "What do they look like?"
"Blurs. Deadly ones."
"Any way to tell if one's coming?"
"If your arm is suddenly missing, there's one nearby."
David winced. "So I should avoid those then?"
"Probably," Reed admitted with a casual shrug, then gestured towards Luxor. "Weren't you keeping an eye on her?"
Luxor casually tossed another stick of dynamite onto the pile of scrap metal and explosives, then lit the welding torch again. "Blastoff in five, four, three...."
Reed ducked under the table. "You should probably hide."
David didn't argue.

DPC?

So I might have won the DPC. Or I might have lost. I'm not entirely sure. If Dana got disqualified for not posting on the twenty third, I won. If he didn't, I lost. And he didn't post on the twenty third, but he says that was a computer problem. Oh well. I don't particularly care anyway.
In other news, markers are awesome. As is LaserQuest, where I get to go today!

Joker Jeopardy

So the Joker was on Jeopardy tonight. I don't know if he won or not, but he was there. He had the suit and everything. I'm suprised Alex didn't ask him, "So, how are you planning to destroy Batman?"

Yeeeah. I need better ideas.

The bookshelf near my computer has a lot of weird books. Some aren't so weird, some are classics, but some are downright bizarre. Example: "Parcifal Rides the Time Wave." A touching story about some sort of strange fairy-thing in a combat helmet and nightgown who convinces a little boy to live with one of the weirdest titles ever. Another example: "Danny Dunn and the Anti-gravity Paint." I'm not even gonna try to explain that one. Oh, and let's not forget "Hunny Bunch: Her First Big Adventure." It's about two hundred pages long, which makes it's title a little out of place. But anyway, they're weird. I should re-read them sometime.

What blowtorch?

"What on earth are you doing?"
"Um... Nothing." She tired to hide whatever it was behind her back. "Absolutely nothing. Bored out of my mind here."
"For some strange reason, I don't believe you. Why are you wearing a welding mask?"
"It's a fashon statement. It says 'I could be a serial killer and you'd never even know it.' I think that's an area seriously ignored in the world of high fashon."
"Again, I don't believe you."
"And again, I don't see why."
"Really. Because I could have sworn you were building something."
"Nope. You really think I'd try that after what happened last time?"
"Yes."
A moments pause ensued. "True. But still, those firefighters would be mad if that happened again."
"So why are you doing it again?"
"I'm not!"
"Then why are you holding a blowtorch?"
"What blowtorch?"
"The one in your hand."
"Um... Oh, this blowtorch. No reason."
"For the third time today, I don't believe you."
"Saw that coming," she mumbled.
"So what are you doing with the blowtorch?"
"Um... Most certainly not building a flying racecar."
"You're building a flying racecar?!"
"No.... maybe."
"May I ask why?"
"May I ask why not?"
"Do I really have to answer that?"
"If I have to answer you, you have to answer me."
"Why am I even having this conversation..."
"You know, you really shouldn't hit your head on the wall like that. It can't be good for you."

Again, I just randomly started typing a story, and this is what I got. Enjoy, and then give suggestions. Or else.

Congratulations, you're dead.

Now that I think about it, I was asking for it. Still, it was the strangest fatal shooting I've ever experienced. Pretty much the only one, actually.
Perhaps I should explain. I was going home from work, just I do every day, and I had to go through an alleyway to get to my car. It was a dark, damp one, the exact kind where you're just waiting to get mugged.
"Don't move," came the voice from behind me. "Put your hands on your head." The barrel of a gun pressed into my back.
"Alright, alright, just don't shoot." I was a little alarmed. Can you blame me?"
"Hand over your money."
I obeyed without question, pulling my wallet out and holding it behind me. A gloved hand snatched it from mine. Then another grabbed my shoulder and turned me around to face my attacker.
"Goodbye," the masked woman snarled, pressing the gun to my forehead. I closed my eyes, waiting for the shot. I could almost feel her finger on the trigger, waiting for the exact moment to pull it.
So I was a little suprised when she shot me with a water gun.
"Congratulations. You're dead."
"What?"
"I'm serious. You're dead. Here." She handed me a folder filled with papers. "Body found in an alleyway near 6th and Mullberry, all valuables missing. Give that to the police." She pulled out a purple marker and started drawing a circle on my forehead. "Shot once through the head with a small caliber gun. Witnesses report hearing a shot around...." She checked her watch. "6:13 PM."
"Um...." I tried to think of something to say. "Why?"
"I'm not telling you my motive so you can't tell the police. Remember, you're dead. Dead people don't tell the police who shot them."
"Can I have my wallet back?"
"Oh, sure. Just remember, give that folder to the police as soon as possible." She handed me my wallet. "Or I'll just keep killing people." The water gun came to my forehead again. "Like you."

It's late, I'm tired, and I had a story in my head, so I typed it out, and here you go. Enjoy.

Story Excerpt 1

Jared fell, tripping over a root. A moment later, he lay upon the ground holding his head and pondering why on earth trees hurt so much. He glanced up at the source of his injury, and decided to name it.

“Hello, Bill the Evil Tree.” It didn't answer. “You seem to have given me a severe headache, Bill. Care to explain why?”

Bill the Evil Tree shook in the wind, dumping about 8 inches of snow on him.

“Thank you, Bill. I've always wanted to be a snowman.” He stood up, brushing himself off. Then he noticed something square nailed to Bill the Evil Tree. “Bill, you seem to have a painting stuck to you.”

Bill dumped three more inches on him.

“Why do you hate me?” He felt the wind picking up again. “Don't answer that.” He pondered the painting for a moment more. A table and a few chairs in a simple stone room. Why on earth was it nailed to a tree in the middle of nowhere?

He reached out to touch it on impulse.

His hand went through.

For once in his life, Jared was completely and totally speechless.

Hurrah! It's a random bit of a story! The story it's from is called "Paint" and this is somewhere in the middle. I enjoyed writing this bit, so I hope you enjoy reading it.

Riddles

Since it's almost midnight, I decided to post some riddles. I'll post the answers later, if anyone can't guess.

What fills the night and every room till a window is opened to chase out the gloom?

I wind my way through hills and plains
and go as do the falling rains
the mountains high are where I start
Where I am born from winters heart
And all the world knows where I go
through valley wide to ocean low
What Am I?

The light I bring is rivaled not
by stars, by moon, by earth
and by me have the ancients sought
the measure of their worth
I shine by day, I sleep by night
Though clouds may hide my face
Naught shall disturb my ancient flight
Above the sky in blackest space
What Am I?

Look, fire!

"This might be bad."
"What? Why?"
"Well, the camp is on fire..."
"Yeah..."
"And there's a gigantic something that wants to eat us in the forest..."
"Another good point."
"And all the food is burning with the camp..."
"Your hair is on fire."
"Oh, right. And my hair is on fire."
"Might wanna do something about that."
"Wait, my hair is on fire?"
"Yep."
"Augh! It burns! It burns! Put it out!"
"Looks like it's going out on it's own."
"Actually, that was me, beating myself on the head."
"Right. So what were you saying?"
"I was saying that we're probably going to die."
"So why did it matter that your hair was on fire?"
"Because pain hurts. Now what will we do about finding shelter?"
"We could live in trees."
"If things that wanted to eat us weren't already occupying the trees."
"We could dig a big hole in the ground and live in that."
"If we had a shovel, which we don't, because it burned."
"We could find a cave."
"Get eaten by bats. Wonderful idea!"
"Well, excuse me Captain Negative."
"Sorry."

I tried to write a serious blog post, but it didn't work out. So I let my brain talk to itself and this is what I got. Enjoy! Or at the very least, don't take seriously.

Random poem

Because I can barely not fall asleep on my keyboard, here's a random poem!

Tell me why

Tell me why

Do we live beneath the sky

Envying the birds that fly

And we hope

And we wish

That our joy could be like this

But the birds

Do they see

Those down here like you and me

And then wish that they could be

Here in our reality?

Do they long

Do they cry

To leave life up in the sky

And join us in lonely sighs

As we stare up asking why?

Weird dream

I had a really weird dream last night. It was about a world where people raced highlighters, like, giant flying ones. And I was a highlighter racer, and so were a bunch of other people, including (as I will call them) angry guy, repeatitive french guy, evil guy, and sarcastic guy. Angry guy was on my side, French, Evil, and Sarcastic weren't.
So basically I was trying to win the highlighter racing championship, and Angry guy was on my team, along with some other people. He was very angry, but he was nice none the less. But another team was after the prize (which was very important, though I can't remember what it was now) and they weren't going to let us win. So of course, they cheated. It wasn't cartoon cheating, it was remove-the-fuel-so-they-crash cheating. So some of the people on my team died. In fact, a lot of them died, until only me and Angry guy were left. And of course, manager dude, but he doesn't count cause all he did was freak out.
So we were in the finals, and manager dude was freaking out and angry guy was yelling at him, and the three bad guys that I remember came up and started talking to us. They told us that they'd rigged the stadium to blow up so we'd better lose. Angry guy was angry about this, and manager dude freaked out, and then the race started. Unfortunately for them, they messed up on sabotaging our highlighters, and sabotaged their own. So they were flying in odd little circles and hops and it was pretty funny, cause Sarcastic and Evil managed to land, but French was still in the air. Sarcastic said something about "Well this turned out well" and Evil said something nasty and then French said, and I quote, "Ze place, Ze place, et will blow!" So then they were freaking out and somehow angry guy had somehow saved all the people in the stadium, and then they crashed and the bomb blew up but nothing bad happened. So then we were trying to finish the race and we were almost to the finish line (the race was still important cause sarcastic and evil guy didn't crash) and I woke up.
I'm pretty sure angry guy won, though.

Things that you probably shouldn't try.

Anyone who's been around me for more than five minutes probably knows that I have a history of not so good ideas, such as playing with electricity and knitting needles, or setting my hair on fire. So over time, I've begun to compile a list of things that you probably shouldn't try, mainly because they involve pain or other less-than-ideal circumstances. Here's a few of them.

Don't shoot a water rocket off beneath power lines.

Never walk into a head-height electric fence.

Don't apply nail polish to your elbows.

Don't eat straight hoisen sauce.

Never eat a quarter.

Sandpaper is not intended for use on skin.

Don't burn pencils.

Lip gloss and lego people are not a good combination.

Nail polish remover melts Barbies.

Brian's going nuts.

So my brother posted an article on his blog today about how to rip dvds with VLC, whatever that means. And then tonight he was on digg.com and realized that his article was on the front page. So now he's a little edgy, and by edgy I mean getting up, pacing, going back to his computer, doing something, and doing that all over again. And again. And again.
I don't really understand what digg.com is, but apparently the front page is the internet equivlant of a major newspaper. Unfortunately, his site went down because of all the traffic, so now he's edgy about that too. But anyway, apparently this is cool, and you should all go see it when his site is back up. Or when he calms down. Either way works.

Countdown

05:00

Space station 3's lone inhabitant stared bleakly as the red numbers flashed in the dark room. A cruel beep echoed off the metal walls, and a unnecessarily cheery voice announced, “Five minutes until detonation. Please evacuate now.” The girl glanced unbelieving at the speaker mounted in the ceiling, and shook her head.

Silently, the small box mounted on her belt flashed to life. A figure emerged from the beams of light it emanated. Tall and handsome, the young man sat down next to her, leaning against a pillar that cast an eerie shadow on the floor.

“No luck?” she asked quietly, hardly even looking at him.

“None. This place is as tight as they come. No way out, the shuttles are gone. I tried disabling the bomb, too, but... No override.”

She looked at the hard, floor beneath them. “Ah well,” she said quietly. “At least we got everyone else out safely. This could have been a disaster.”

“It still is.” She looked at him, trying to read what he meant in his face. He hid his eyes behind his black bangs, a tear running down his cheek. “I'm losing you. Isn't that a disaster?”

04:00

“I'm losing you too,” she said sadly. “The explosion will kill us both.” The girl started crying quietly, tears flowing freely from her hazel eyes. Her companion moved to hold her, knowing his touch would console him just as much as it would her. His hand dissolved as it touched her skin, just as it always did. She glanced down as he pulled it back and it reformed. She gave a small, sad smile. “Heh. Even in our last moments the rules don't change.”

“Eternally together...” he began, hoping for a response.

“Eternally apart,” she said softly.

Silence reigned.

03:00

The computerized beep once again resounded through the empty hallways, filling the stillness for only a second before the echo faded away.

“Do you think...” Her voice braved the silence, heavy with sadness. “that once we cross over, we can touch?”

He looked up at her, his dark eyes meeting hers. “That would be nice.” A smile formed on his face.

“But do you think it'll happen?”

“I don't know.” His attention returned to the floor. “But... If we can...”

She smiled, understanding. “I know. I wish for it just as much as you do.”

They looked each other in the eyes for a moment, still crying but smiling all the same.

02:00

“You know... all this time we've been together, I've wanted to tell you something.” He blushed in the dim light as he spoke, looking away a little.. “Now is the best chance I'll get, I suppose.”

“Me too.” She scooted as close as she could without dematerializing him. “You first.”

“I...” he struggled to find words. Why? He had waited, longed, torn his heart apart to say these words, and now he couldn't. “I... love you.”

The air in the station hung heavy as he waited for her response.

“Me too. I mean... I love you too."

01:00

The cheery voice interrupted them again. “One minute until detonation. Evacuate immediately. Have a nice day!”

They laughed, the sad mood lifted.

00:30

She looked at him, laughter still dancing in her eyes. “It's such a wonderful feeling, isn't it?”

“Absolutely.

00:20

“You know what?”

“What?”

00:10

“I think we will be able to touch.”

00:05

“Of course we will.”

00:00

Hey all! It's late, and I couldn't think of anything to rant about, so here's a random story that I wrote a long time ago! It's on my old blog too, but I still like it.