This is another story for another monthly contest. This is just a very rough draft just so I have a base however, I'm unsure if I will edit it up and make it better or make something else. I'm planning to hopefully do another story called Feed My Eyes which will be significantly darker than this with an element of Eternal Darkness in it hopefully which hopefully will end up better than this however I'm unsure.

Clouds In The Sky.

I am the last of the truly free men and it's something I'm constantly proud to admit. Countries have taken over all areas of land and all areas of sea. Putting it under their control usually on a "first come first served" basis. However, I have managed to avoid being controlled by creating my own flying island. It collects water when it rains, it grows crops and I'm on the move so I'm self sustained and not controlled by laws. As long I don't hang around too long, I usually get no trouble. I guess one way to describe me is an "air hermit".

The only time I come down is for bare essentials like clothes if my clothes are ripped or food and water if it's been a dry season. I managed to set up a miniature hot air balloon to get me up to the ship and to get me back down. Other than that, the only other communication I have is with Jacob. See, when I'm up here not watering plants from the water collection service, repairing something or lounging, I'm writing stories. Of course, I go under a fake alias and get a dear friend (Jacob) to pose as me but besides that, I write the material and he gets it published, it's a 30-70 cut respectively between me and Jacob and we're happy with it. We don't get much but it's enough.

However, this story isn't about how I've sustained free from the government. My floating island is actually a real chunk of an uninhabited island that I managed to create a container of using titanium protected by stainless steel sheets. The island part was then cleaned of any useless plant-life and replaced with useful land to be used for crops. A drainage system was also created so any extra water wouldn't sit in the bottom of the earth but would then be sucked back up to the surface using natural pressure. I also had a small shed where I had a desk, a single bed and an acoustic guitar.

The key part of the design is how it's lifted. In 1694, a ship sailing with an unknown artefact collapsed, likely due to a large wave over-turning the boat. Ever since then, anything that approached a certain area near it had a chance to be struck down by the artefact using waves of energy untraceable by normal methods. First, transmissions failed, then electricity failed, then the windows would break and if anything was left, the material would eventually break under the strain. In about 1750, it begun to get interference and got increasingly weaker until it was rare for something to be destroyed which lead to speculations that it never existed (due to the location of the artefact, it was rare for something up to roughly late 1800 to come anywhere near it).

At first, I was unable to collect the artefact due to the lack of knowledge of how to store it. It was then I realised what stopped the waves getting through: soil. To be more precise, the seabed. After researching the artefact for twenty years, I found a way to turn the waves into a way to push air bellow me in such a manner as to keep me floating at a certain height without creating wind. Due to the lack of control, I kept it at a height high enough for people to typically not notice it and then weakened it with the dirt inside the island. About a further decade later, I got it up and five years on, here I am.

Due to the possible destructive force of the artefact, I have kept it quiet. Despite this, a representative of a sector of a government came a month ago to persuade me to "share the technology with" (give the technology to) him. I refused, knowing they'd use it for war. They kept trying to convince me to see it their way using all sorts of techniques (blackmailing, bargaining, getting Jacob involved and so on) until a week ago when they went silent. I thought they had given up and called it quits.

Today though, after lunch, I was greeted by a large fan noise. It grew greater and greater until I couldn't hear myself talk. Finally, a dark shadow pulled it's self from under the side of the island creating a large gust across the land. I let out a sigh of annoyance as the sharp wind blew one or two crops away (which pales in comparison to the amount of crops that got blown away the first time a chopper showed up).

It moved it's self over the island a little bit as though to land but then begun shooting using the machine guns on the wings. I sprinted across the island to what little protection I had: The wooden shed. I ran in there (despite paper being as good protection from bullets as wood) and hid under the bed as I heard more and more gunfire. A rain of gunfire suddenly swept it's self over the hut. First sliced, then diced it's gun fire to make sure it got me. I clutched my right thigh in pain, cursing the government behind this attack under my breath. I then heard one or two explosions and was lucky enough not to be hit. I waited a minute or two further after the second explosion before deciding the helicopter was probably gone. I crawled out from under the bed on my hands and knees out of the shed to see my island, my right leg throbbing in pain. Suddenly, I heard a burst of gun fire heading my way so I dived back into the shed. It cut down the land and the fan sound increased to a mighty roar and then quickly decreased in volume until it was like a buzz. I then heard a mighty explosion and felt the ground it's self shake. A second or two later, the island begun to tip.

The noise of the fans evaporated into the air within less than ten seconds although it was unclear if it was because the island had fallen that fast or the helicopter had gone away. Unsure what to do and because I knew the possible destructive power of the artefact, I climbed to my feet and limped over to the edge of the island. I looked down the edge, the wind rushing against me. It was almost strong enough to blow me off my feet. I took a deep breath, picturing in my mind if I changed my mind, and then took a large step.

What started as a relaxing realisation then slowly turned into pain as I sped up. The pain started as a few pins and needles increased to the pain you'd get landing onto your stomach first face down flat onto water and then increased. I turned in the air in the pain to view my island. Sinking in fire when suddenly a large explosion from side tore apart the entire structure. As I turned back towards the ground, I wondered why it had occurred: Did a helicopter drop a bomb? Did the artefact blow up? Was it something else?

As I felt the air cut into me, I realised that all I'll be to all the people below, the people who had no idea what just happened above them, are clouds in the sky.

Edit: Edited the story a bit thanks to B-O.

This is a story for a new monthly contest. Just currently looking for advice to improve it. I also have some ideas but at least if I put it down here, I'll know it's done and have something to show.

Eye-work.

I sat in the chair with my eyes closed thinking. I bet most people on the other side of my eyelids think I'm seeing the doctor about some anti-psychotics or some anger management. My right shin resting on my left thigh, my fingers crossing over and resting on my crotch with my fore-arms reaching up my stomach and my head tilted down. I could hear the walking of steps down the mostly empty hospital corridor as nurses and patients banter alike about how their treatment's going, how they're going to see their grandchildren or some holiday plans. God, I'm surrounded by people double my fucking age looking like an angst idiot with my eyes clothes as though deep in meditation so I don't throw up.

Roughly four days ago, I was at home with a few friends. About every so often we'd hang out. We'd sometimes have some weed and kick back. However, this time, Jamie brought something extra. He told me earlier over the phone he was bringing "Wow" over. Confused after, I put the word in a search engine and got World Of Warcraft up. "What the fuck is that retard doing bringing that nerd shit here?" was the first thing I could think of. Jamie was always the outsider of the group who would turn up every so often and had another group of friends we disapproved of. Although we got into the philosophy of "don't ask and I wouldn't tell you any lies" about him. Not to mention, we really didn't want to know what he got up to with those crowds.

First my friends Jay and Rick turned up and we had a beer or two talking about how the spurs frashed the fuck out of villa two zero. Just as I had gotten up to get some more beers while the commercials for Sky Sports was on, the front door bell went off. I went to the door, unlocked it and opened it to find Jamie there. He stood there with short blonde hair, rimless glasses, acne and that pathetic sour look he always had. He was wearing his Chelsea football shirt and jeans. "Awrite mate?" he said while stepping into the house. "Ah nothing much Jamie, yourself?". "Eh, bit of a pain gettin' ova here, fuckin' shitty traffic".

He walked into the lounge while I went to the kitchen and yelled "want a beer?". "Naw mate, although if you could get me a glass of water it'd be brill mate". So I grabbed a few beers, decapped them and poured a glass of water using one of the smaller glasses. He wasn't worth the small price of getting him a bigger glass. At the time I hoped the water filter had packed in so his water tasted especially worse. Then I figured, as I walked back to the living room carrying the beer and water, if the filter packed in would I taste the difference? I don't drink water on it's own and only use it for cleaning, tea, coffee and squash as far as I could remember off the top of my head.

I get back to the living room to see Jamie waving about a see-through small plastic bag. However, instead of weed as usual, it had some white squares. I gave him his water which he replied "thanks mate" and handed Jay and Rick their drinks. I took a swig of beer as I sat down on the sofa next to Jay. "So what's Jamie showing around?" I asked as I took a swig of beer "what's this he's got here for show and tell ?".

Jamie then smiled at me "this mate, is LSD. I managed to grab a few real cheap and figured I'd bring along some". Now, I've heard all sorts about LSD. From the positive of it being enjoyable and mind-expanding to the negative about how it leads to people going down a seedy road and people can do very stupid things while hallucinating. Using what knowledge I had, I was happy to do it on the condition someone watched to make sure we didn't do anything stupid. So we planned it out. Rick was very cautious about taking LSD, frighten stiff, so he was happy getting drunk and watching me, Jay and Jamie take LSD making sure we don't do something stupid (obviously taking less care of Jamie, it was an unspoken idea).

So we each placed a piece on our tongues and waited for the effects. Me, Jay and Jamie were laying on the floor staring up at the ceiling while Rick was on the sofa on his third beer already. It felt like forever until something occurred. Jay begun humming. It started off as soft like something you could easily contribute to something outside the room, but it begun rising like someone was turning the knob on an old radio or TV unit. Soon, it was creepy like a ghost had entered the room to toy with drunk or stoned individuals and others to dismiss as paranoia.

Jamie was the next one to move, he stood up suddenly and walked out the room giggling while Jay was talking to himself sat up from his laying position. I was about to consult Jamie about the LSD being faulty when it suddenly hit me; violently, yet so small. It begun as everything deteriorated into absurdity. The rest, I know it generally but for some reason could not put the vague ideas into words. All that could be said is we ended up all okay, no-one was harmed physically as far as were aware. It was afterwards, a day after during breakfast, I felt something strange yet familiar. The furniture begun to change and mutate into something that felt familiar at the time but I could not remember where from (although my gut feeling said it could only possibly be from the LSD trip). What was my plate began to rise up in size while my slice of toast got thinner and thinner. The television I was watching began to distort it's self into a weird impossible triangular shape while the voices became increasingly muffled. What I was seeing and hearing gave me a headache and made me feel nauseous to the point of throwing up what looked like black tar onto the purple worn carpet.

This had lasted for the past few days. I called in ill for work due to the hallucinations and ended up arranging a doctor's appointment about a day ago. As though a stroke of bad luck, soon after I put the phone down after the call, I passed out. However, Jay came around to see if I was okay and noticed me in my boxers and shirt face down in a puddle of vomit. So I ended up in hospital. I explained what happened after they stabilised me , forwarded me onto an expert; and now here I am. Due to my stability, they told me to wait outside his office until I was called. They gave me meds but the hallucinations still gave me a slight headache and made me feel a little ill still to see the world before me twist and rot into a world unreal.

I finally got in and saw the doctor, I bet he thought I looked like a right dick. I had to borrow Jay's old shorts he never wears and a pair of trainers he also never uses. White shirt with vomit on it, bright green shorts and a disgusting yellow pair of trainers, what a fashion statement I'm making. He explained I'd have to deal with this for the rest of my life or at least until there's a cure; and it was a very rare disorder caused by psychedelics and possible genetic crap. The doctor said it was called HPPD or HTPD or something like that. The only thing out currently was pills and therapy which I had to deal with both, the pills on a six-hour-basis to lower the intensity of the hallucinations and therapy hour a week so I don't feel as sick.

Fucking Jamie and his fucking drugs. When I get back, I'm going to remove his teeth with my fist for destroying my life, the cunt.

Edit: This is the final version.

Luis is doing a summer meet in London which I am considering going. The main suggestion is for people to have a picnic so (thanks for the suggestion Will) I've thought up that I'd bring something along for everyone to enjoy at the picnic (assuming the weather is fine, so it's helpful it can be interchangeable from being picnic food to just giving it out inside an arcade).

Due to me sucking at ideas, I'm going to leave it up to you Newgrounds to decide.

Guidelines: Not too expensive, not too hard to carry, can't melt (I'm going to be going from the south to the south east on the train that morning, although I could try for chocolate it's a push), consumable and preferably food that is premade (I don't want to explain to my dad why I'm making cupcakes). Everything else is up to you. I'll likely update this if I think of anything else to go on about and about the polls.

Just want to say that by no means does this mean I'm going without a shadow of a doubt. It's likely, but I'm not guaranteeing yet.

Edit: It can be meat and animal-product based.

Recently, GumOnShoe posted the winners of the April monthly contest. Due to a current ban status, I'll throw my thoughts here for now.

For a start, here's my votes in no order:

The Lame Sauce 8.5/10
Joswaldo 3/10
full-metal-albatross 1.6/10.
MattTheParanoidKat 7/10.
themanthelegend 2.5/10
aides 1/10.
CaptAcid 9.1/10.
Monocrom 8/10. (I think that's the score I gave, my Notepad program hates me and decided to lose the score I gave him).
Scarab 8.9/10.
WritersBlock 8.6
4urentertainment 6.6/10.
TheReno 0.5/10.
D3MON-SL4YER 1.5/10
gamerpeepinpa 4.5/10.
blakedatch 3/10.
pyromaniac616 2/10.
Zerok 9
Sentio 8.3
RapeMuffin 8.6

If you want to go into detail about what I liked and what I disliked, throw me a PM and I'll be more than happy. I couldn't be bothered to make an in-depth analysis at the time so I'm offering it now.

For a start, congratulations to the winners, even if I don't entirely agree with it (as usual). As much as I liked Monocrom's entry (I really did enjoy it), it felt like it didn't focus on the theme enough. Even with Monocrom's suggestion of how it's about the rebirth, it felt almost taped on. It was a great story, I was just disappointed how it didn't stay to the guidelines close enough.

Writersblock's entry was, lack of a better word, confusing. I felt thrusted into an abstract land with little to no information. I just felt too lost among the plot. The language was beautiful and the character well done but I just felt generally confused with the idea of a "Timekeeper". Zerok's entry, personally, felt too descriptive based (I know, it's silly to say but it felt like that) and the metaphor for the rebirth, at that stage in voting, just felt tacky. Even if I did really enjoy the idea of the fire wiping clean the land.

Maybe I preferred the entries I did because the rebirth was less metaphorical? As much as it's nice to read a story that has some depth, when you have to read through ten stories all that preach the same idea of someone's personality or life being reborn in a row, it gets tiresome. For example, Monocrom's story offered an abstract idea of a woman's life being reborn. It was actually more rare to come across a physical rebirth (Scarab) than a metaphorical rebirth which felt slightly strange.

I don't know why but I some how hoped for the other judges to maybe shift through my entry and give me a score. Just so I'd personally know how good or bad it is. Sort of so I can keep check of how good my stories are. Maybe I'll ask them later about, maybe not.

Another thing I felt was strange was how polar the stories were. They were either diabolical (some even to the point of being unreadable) or they were enjoyable (which made it a bit harder to shift between the top 5 or 10 and decide who was best). It was strange how many people (e.g. KitsuneNoir (which I'm surprised Gumonshoe didn't pick up on before posting it for him)) couldn't get above the required word count. Really, if I could offer any advice or any lessons to be learned from this, it's to check your word count when you're done because even if you write as good as Bret Easton Ellis, you wouldn't even have your story looked at.

Anyway, again, congratulations to the winners, hard shit to the losers and I hope everyone enters again.

I can already imagine Fyndir reading this and screaming at me.

I'm a writer, there's shit all through my blog and the monthly writer's contests. I'm interested in helping out with the Powers Of Three thing Tom has going but I have no flash, I can't program for shit and the best music I can do involves making noises with my mouth.

Oh, and I can do voice acting somewhat too. So if you're looking for a writer and/or voice actor, PM me.

ON ANOVA NOTE HERE IS A PRETTAY PIXSHUR I DREW. SO RELIST RITE?! I DREW IT AFTA MA HERO WOO TUGHT MEH TOO DRAW!

PLAYIN' DAVE GROHL'S HOBO SIMULATION.

A new story for a new monthly competition which I'm, this time, just merely contributing. Any helpful advice would be great. This will likely be deleted after I submit it so my news post about the project I'm doing is the main one. This story will also be featured in the project.

I Will Fix This.

I opened the car door, retrieved a book from the glove compartment and climbed out. I managed to fit the book, as thick as it was, into my jacket pocket and then closed the car door. I walked with a slight pace to the other side of the car. I doubted anyone would see us. It was the middle of April in a harsh fog on the docks of a lake, a tourist attraction gone bad. I could see the disused hut that likely used to house a till where you could buy rides out on the lake. Some rails were rusting away yet the wooden walkway seemed fine. Out on the end, like a long forgotten memory, was a rowing boat.

I opened the door. There, there she was. The love of my life. My darling sweet child. I am so, so sorry. My daughter sat there, her head tilted to a side like she was merely resting with her seat belt on and her hands on her lap. I unbuckled her seatbelt and reached my arms under her back and knees. I slowly slid her out. I managed to push the door closed by backing into it as I cradled her in my arms. Her long brown hair fell down past my hands as though reaching upon the ground, hoping for a final rest. However, I would not allow it. I walked from the car to the cold stone steps that lead either right or left about 5 large steps. I chose right. Heh, I remember when she would always take the opposite route as me for things like this. I'd take the right stairs, she'd take the left stairs. I'd take the left lift, she'd take the right life. It was some-what a tradition that got us in trouble a few times (apparently, people don't like it when you take two separate lifts to the same floor), however, I didn't mind.

The cold dark steps, under my feet, rung hollow as I walked down. A creepy echo was there but I didn't know why as there wasn't any walls for the sound to bounce off. I then walked off the stone and onto the wood. This was even more hollow and each step sounded worn. A creak to show that these planks had probably been here way before me. As though they were in old age, waiting to be put out of their misery. I finally reached the boat. It's oars sat ready to be used. It seemed to be an old boat but newer than the wood. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. I slowly laid her down, my dear Rebecca, in the boat. The boat threatened to tip but luck was on my side today as it didn't back then.

I walked back to the car slowly. I opened the boot and removed a rucksack. I heard two or more bottles clang with each other as I swung it onto my back. I closed the boot and then pressed the lock key twice on my car as I walked away. One for locking, two for alarm. Hopefully, this will be alright. I will fix this mess I made. I promise.

Ever since I married her, she would suck on those cancer sticks. She didn't smoke when I first met her, I, on the other hand, did. I must of smoked half a pack a day. Slowly, I got her into smoking as well. As a way to chill out after traumatic events and so kissing me wouldn't taste so horrid. She only stopped smoking for a while once, and that was while she was pregnant. I quit about two months before Carol became pregnant due to a health scare. Oh my dear Carol...She felt there was no reason to quit. When Rebecca was just fifteen...She, my dear dear Carol...Was diagnosed with lung cancer. I drove her to die. She deteriorated over the next three years. Finally collapsing in hospital with an oxygen mask attached to her face. Her final words...I can't even remember...Rebecca was so heart broken to find out that I could not attend her award ceremony because Carol passed away that day.

For the following six years, I could never get over her. Why should I? I deserve to suffer for making someone slowly kill herself. At first, I considered taking up smoking but couldn't bring myself to. It was just stupid. Then I considered suicide but...Is that what Rebecca wants? Two dead parents, both killed themselves? I spent the next three years depressed, unable to keep a stable job due to my poor state. However, while working as an archivist, I came across a record that mentioned an ancient cult that was rumoured to have brought about rebirths. However, it was cast down by Christians for being barbaric and bringing about things they deemed unnatural. Among things like curses and spells, one of them was the rebirth spell. Thought to bring a soul back into an unused body. I read more and more into the cult, the other spells and the rebirth spell. It required an ancient prayer book, a white liquid, an ancient bible and a dark goblet.

It was hard to track down the items, but it was done. The hardest part was the white liquid which I had to get made by an ancient alchemist. Once I had the items in my possession, all I needed was a body. I had no means of getting a body. However, one night...I just...Lost it. My daughter came home and left her coat over a chair on her way to her room. I checked them to borrow some money. I found a lighter and a packet of cigarettes. Over and over again, I kept replaying Carol breathing in smoke and then out it. Inhale and then exhale of the fucking cigarette...Then her, in her arm chair in the corner of the room, with an oxygen mask, barely breathing. Over and over again, in my head, until I couldn't take it any more.

While Rebecca was sleeping, I slowly brought my pillow over her face and held it down until she stopped moving. The more I felt her struggle, the more I felt her get weaker, the more I wanted just to lift up the pillow but I knew I could not fix it if I did. She would either leave me and cut me from her life or get me arrested. So I held it down, until I couldn't feel any more resistance. I held it down an extra five minutes longer just in case.

I climbed into the boat and begun rowing towards the little island off in the distance. Now and then, I'd look down and see Rebecca. I wished there was a better way, but I couldn't find it. I know Carol will be annoyed about losing her only daughter, but I can't stand another day with her...

"Carol...You looked so...peaceful. Forgive me for waking you but without you, I just cant go on. I can't live without you Carol. This town.... The old gods haven't left this place; and they still grant power to those who acknowledge them. Power to defy even death.

Ahhhh...Carol..."

I originally wasn't going to say a thing. Besides the story for the monthly contest and the random half-fiction, I'm still pretty much in a writer's block when it comes to posting anything here or Fourth Perspective. However, I've recently decided to embark on a mass project. It'll be like the scrapbook entries I did a while back, but bigger. It'll have some old, mostly new stories and even non-stories. The reason why I call it Project Vomit now, besides that it's a project, but it'll also have a bit what I'd call "writing vomit". When something lacks a plot, a point or a purpose. No, I promise you, it's not spammy nonsense but rather just something that is hard to define as anything like a short story, a poem or anything similar. When I think of it, I think of W-P-S's flash movies or glitchcore. I'll likely get a name change for it later.

Currently, I've just started chapter 3 (I doubt I'll name these chapters) of the new material. I'll try to update often with the progress. Some will likely get some sneak peaks at some chapters along the way, but mostly it'll be under wraps until done. Once done, I don't know. I'd like to turn it into a book and see what becomes of that but I doubt I will. Most likely, I'll use it as a collection, unleash it on a random website which I'll link at a later point advertising it and then stop dragging my old material up once and for all. I wouldn't feature any of the longer things like White Larynx, the BBS Horror Story, The BBS Action Story or even Reality just because I don't think it'd work. However, I will likely bring up most already posted material from my blogs, some "exclusive" stuff from my scrapbooks at Fourth Perspective, maybe some monthly contest entries that I enjoyed. It's mostly in the planning and brainstorming stage of what will become of it but in the meanwhile, I may as keep this posted every so often as I add new material. I feel somewhat guilty about shoving old material which I've already put together into two scrapbooks and the blogs but it may be better than saying "oh, if you want the older shit, just go find on the internet". After this though, I'll try my hardest not to drag them up again but no guarantees.

Edit: Up to chapter 5, about mid way. I'll likely go back and expand on chapter 4 since it appears a little short later.

"Are You Okay?"

The noise rung and sat in the air for a few moments. The voice was familar but the dialogue was not. I moved my desk chair about 150 degrees towards the door. My little brother was there by the gas heater. Quiet. Waiting for a response. What do I say? I've been listening to "Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometime" by The Korgis. A band I have never heard of and a song that I remember hearing when I was young. Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind managed to shake that memory from it's slumber. Like other songs like Roxanne by The Police, and another song which I can not remember the name of (I remember that for some reason, it reminded me of a trucker, dragging himself on deeper into the night so he may be home for Christmas, I wasn't too much different in a sense), it arose one of my earliest memories.

Me being in the back of a worn out Ford car, maybe an Escort Estate, with my big brother and younger brother. It was about 3am or 4am. I had a cover over me and the rest. I really was young back then, I must of been younger than 7. That's all I know. My mum and dad were still together. We stopped by a petrol station (that was shut down about two years ago and is currently being transformed into more houses) and my mum got some sweets. Wine gums, that sort in those sort of big packets. Next I remember was looking up at the roof of the car. It was flashing a dark grey to an ugly yellow every so often as it was lit up with street-lights. I was going to Sheffield to see my family just for Christmas. There was no doubt we'd make it really, we left about a week before Christmas and usually got there within 24 hours. It was a 4/5 hour drive, depending on traffic mostly. My dad wanted to travel at 3am to avoid the traffic, which he mostly did. When it comes to being bored, maybe it used to affect me when I went to Sheffield, but not any more. I wasn't really bored when going to Liverpool and that was a 6+ hour journey, 1 or 2 hours at least of which was spent in one train.

Since then, my mum broke up and got remarried to someone who hates kids. I also went through a lot of problems at school. Mostly the social aspect. I still clung onto the bad and lost the good like a faulty backwards digestive system. I don't remember the good times with people who I used to know. Just the times when people have let me down. It is because of this, I have slowly become more and more paranoid. Paranoid in others and paranoid in myself. I also didn't like looking at the future because it looked grim. Society was getting worse and worse, the government was getting worse and worse and everything seems to be going to hell. I could see a repeat of 1984 happening me staring as the one, Winston Smith, as my worse suspicions are conformed and I am confronted.

"We do not destroy the heretic because he resists us: so long as he resists us we never destroy him. We convert him, we capture his inner mind, we reshape him. We burn all evil and all illusion out of him; we bring him over to our side, not in appearance, but genuinely, heart and soul. We make him one of ourselves before we kill him. [...] we make the brain perfect before we blow it out. " - 1984 by George Orwell.

It's seemed like for a good few years as though the government wasn't the carer we thought of them as, the nanny for the millions of young. Rather, the oppressive power. The dictator behind a mask of kindness and democracy. A twisted machine of deceit, lies and betrayal. As we aimlessly vote the same old parties in, convinced to moving the coin to the other side, from heads to tails and vice versa, to help solve the problems. However, it feels as though they're bringing everyone to their knees to help oppression and a level of trust towards the government. The crime, the news, the wars, it feels like war tactics. Yes, it feels like we're marching towards 1984 but not in the way most people think of (like the media).

"If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face- forever." - 1984 by George Orwell.

So I looked at my brother, considering all the things. The very few good things and all the bad things in my broken digestive system.

"Yes, yes I am".

THIS SEEMS RELEVANT.

Oh, and this is equally cool.