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.

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Oh, and this is equally cool.

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This is my Valentines Story. Any suggestions to improve it will be appreciated.

I stared at the headlines. It was something unheard of, good news. Well, good news for people who love bad news. Only thing occurring really on the front page was a story about how someone ran back inside for his friend but ended up burning inside with him. God, local news is so shit sometimes. To be honest, this coffee tastes like it's 2 parts coffee powder, 1 part coco powder mixed with minimum water and milk; then again the coco powder gives it some-what a weird delightful taste. Guess this is how peanut butter jelly was invented.

I hadn't shaved in a few days but then again, Amy apparently loves rugged men. I was lucky that I got out of work, I was unlucky I had seen a psychiatrist today concerning a few unwanted feelings. I decided to ditch the tie and car at my apartment, walk to the near-by cafe and ring my girlfriend up. We needed to talk. I knew she'd have a break soon and I knew she'd be able to talk her supervisor into allowing a few extra minutes.

She turned up with a smile. Today she wore her dirty blonde hair up in a pony tail. Most of the time it was down though; then again I don't usually see her in her work attire. She wore a brown jacket, a white blouse underneath with her name tag (which I always thought was weird because not only she works in a call centre but it displays her first and second name "Amy Simister", guess it's so the supervisor knows who she is), had black trousers and black high heel shoes. She hated them but it was part of the formal wear at work they had to subscribe to. I'd never personally understood it but perhaps when they show people around, they're so shallow that they can tell how professional someone is based on their attire? Although some days she's got away with slip-ons.

I greeted Amy as she sat down across me on a wooden and metallic chair. She returned the greeting. I finished off my coffee. The waitress then came over but Amy didn't want anything, I on the other hand wanted more coffee. We begun by discussing what had been happening lately. I tried to steer it away from me telling her I had been to the psychiatrist today. Instead, I tried to ask her more details about her day. About the friend who she thinks stole her pen, about the muffin she ate on the way to work, why she was in a rush, why she woke up late, so on. The coffee came and we talked a little more about things. At first, I felt I would never tell her. Then my mind settled on it, I'd tell her no matter what. Even if I had to run after her in front of a car to catch her, just as long she knew. It was for the best she knew.

Then conversation steered to me. How I'd been, how was my morning, so on. Finally, she asked about my lack of tie, not being in work, wanting to speak to her and so on. So I told her straight everything:
"Lately, I've been...Having problems. I've been feeling a little depressed for a while and recently I've been having panic attacks. I first asked a doctor who forwarded me to a psychiatrist." I could see her getting closer to the edge of her seat as I talked, she was tensing up as though I was going to say I'm a psychopath. Believe me when I say I felt completely insane when the psychiatrist was telling this to me. "I saw him today and he said that I have panic disorder and depression. I'm sorry. We talked and I...We managed to trace the stress back to the day when I signed up to my current job". I could tell Amy was working it out and she would not take it well.

"So you're saying it started when you met me?". She got it. I had met her in a bar after I got accepted for the job. What she failed to realise was it wasn't because of her and me meeting her on the same day was some-what a coincidence. "No, no, no, it's not like that. It's my job that's got me stressed out, not you. You've really filled a hole in my life" I tried to reassure her but at this point I could tell she wasn't listening and didn't care of excuses. "So you're saying I stress you out to the point of depression?! Huh?!" she said, getting up. I was about to say something when she shouted at me "you and me are fucking through, you fucking nut case. Let me know when you have your head fucking straight, you'll do a lot better without me apparently". She then stormed out, everyone in the café's eyes directed at her and then at me. I clenched my teeth as I placed the change on the counter for the coffee and slowly made my way out of the café, my knuckles white with one or two slightly grown nails digging into my palm. I breathed deeply and slowly, making sure not to panic. I apologised to the person behind the counter and a few other patrons to the café.

As soon as I leant the door open, I darted out into the snow. My shoes crunching as I ran out onto the pavement. I could see her on the other side of the road. I tried to run over the road so I can talk to her but as soon as my two feet left the curb, they slid themselves off the floor. I then landed on my back with a nasty headache. I knew I couldn't catch her now, all I could do was pick up the pieces. I dragged myself to the pavement and onto my arse, checked the back of my head and saw some blood. "Bah, it'll heal" I assured myself. I climbed to my feet and then walked down the pavement, thinking of the good times. How much she really did change my view of life and made the last year and a half the best time in my life (as far as I could recall anyway). I came to a bridge where I looked out upon the waters. It was cold but surprisingly, the water wasn't frozen besides the edges a little. I tried to contact her later but she kept putting down the phone, she refused to see me and even got herself a new boyfriend within the week. I came back to the same bridge about a week later at night with only one question to ask:

"Was it for the best she left?"

Edit: Improve it a tiny bit. 19/2/09.

Also, here's a good song:

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THAT'S THE WAY YOU NEED IT.
ANY WAY YOU WANT IT.

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OH AND HERE'S A COVER.

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Also happy birthday to me :D.

Edit: Needs more believin'.

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MOAR BANDS. COULDN'T FIT IT INTO THE 8 VIDEO LIMIT.

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RECOMMEND MORE INDUSTRIAL SHIT AND I WILL POST.