Well, this is it! I've started today and I'm on target of today at 1,781 when the minimum was 1,667. So far, it's actually a lot harder than I anticipated, just the sheer amount of time I had to spend doing it. Also found I couldn't seem to do it in a sprint so I had to take breaks.

You can probably watch my progress here to see if I'm keeping up with the expected goals. In terms of actual content, I'm on part three of chapter one so there is much more to go, thank god, but it appears a bit slow. Oh well, hopefully thirty days I'll have myself a novel to edit.

On an unrelated note, in a humorous twist, I've found out that the most likely and ideal university I may be able to get into is actually at the same place the majority of the plot is based: York. Which should lead to a bit of humour if I drop the fact I'm doing this in my letter thing for universities.

This is a quick story I whipped up for the October Monthly Writing Contest. This isn't final draft so there are major faults in it (e.g an incident of deux ex machina). If you are interested in reading about the novel, it's on the previous post. I'll likely submit a new post after this has been submitted.

"Hey! Heeeey Rioth!"
"Whaaaat?"
Rioth turned to the voice from staring his half empty tin mug. There sat an overweight bearded man looking back at him with his wild-hair weeding it's way out from his faded green cap in a damp and worn living room, complete with stained sheets on a mattress on the floor and a tiny portable gas stove. "Heeey, man! You've drunk most of my stock maaan!"
"Hah, fuck you, you drunk most of it. I just got drunk off the fumes coming from you!" was what Rioth planned to tell him. What actually came out was probably so slurred, it just sounded like a noise changing in pitch at seemingly random points. Rioth checked the time, the rough clock made from what looks like a wheel hub pointed to the 3 and about three quarters of the way to 9. "Whoah! I've got work in the morning! I should have been in bed a long time ago! I'll see thee later". His friend, Rach, grunted as he took another swig from his cup.

The streets seemed to swing to-and-thro as Rioth stumbled between the large metallic houses, most of them rusted and falling apart, while kicking up a lot of dust with his leather boots. At one point, he even fell over and got dirt on his overalls. Rioth tried to brush off as much of the dust off his clothes, but with little vain. He let out a sigh, knowing he'd have to spend some time before work cleaning the dirt off his overalls or risk being reported ("Clean clothes are a product of a clean mind"). He knew that he had to get home as quickly as possible while not attracted attention, being caught drunk after-hours was enough to get you to visit the Church's "Help Centre" (Rioth smiled, yet cringed at the same time, at the irony of this statement). He took a left at Stalkmans Street to Winterset Road. As he passed the old subway gates, he heard something in the shadows, he was sure of it. It sounded like... "Eighteen". Whispered yet loud enough for Rioth to turn his attention to the rusting bars. The only thing that wasn't bronze was a chain and lock holding the gates together. Assuming it was nothing, Rioth went on his way home. Upon arriving, he had a drink of water, set his alarm clock for 5am, undressed himself to his boxers, tripping over as he tried to remove his trousers, and put his oxygen mask on. He then climbed between the stained sheets and went to sleep.

However, he got an extremely small amount of sleep. The same question ran through his mind over and over again: "Did I hear something back then?". He couldn't shake his mind off asking himself what eighteen meant. Every time he closed his mind, the same voice said the exact same word: "Eighteen..."; over and over again; "Eighteen...Eighteen...Eighteen". When Rioth stirred from his sleep as he heard a monotone buzzing sound next to him, he felt like he hadn't slept at all. He could feel a small tear escaping his left eye as he rose and touched his head with his left hand. He checked to see if the mask was properly connected and if the tank was empty. Satisfied that it wasn't empty and properly connected, he just blamed the tiredness to the home-brew alcohol. A lot of black-market booze, or as his booze dealer put it: Slummer, tend to be mixed with all sorts and sometimes had methanol instead of ethanol which could lead to all sorts including, of course, tiredness.

For the next few nights, Rioth just couldn't sleep much. He even purchased some tranquilisers from Rach, which let him sleep but his couldn't stop seeing, hearing, smelling and tasting the number eighteen. The only thing left he could think of doing was confronting the voice and checking out the abandoned sub-way. He'd go to work the following day, checking through the recycled material for "heathen things" like condoms and cigarette packets, and putting them in fire-bin for disposal. After work, he'd wait until everyone else had gone to bed and it's dark and then go into the subway. Then what? Rioth didn't have the slightest idea.

When the time came, Rioth approached the gates. He put his hand around one of the bars and tried to see into the shadows. He then heard an all too familiar voice: "Eighteen". The pronunciation sounded foreign, eat-teen instead of the local accent ate-teen, and a boy, yet it had a feminine twang to it. It was hard to fully describe it. Rioth wanted to carry on, badly, but for some reason he was over-whelmed with fear and dread. He was about to turn to leave, when the feelings left him. "No, that's not it" Rioth thought, "Washed away". He climbed over the gate, minding himself between the two dull spikes protruding behind and in front of him as part of the gate's design, and jumped down the other side.

As he went down the cold, concrete steps, the light flicked on in the hallway; which blinded him for a few seconds. Just as he removed his arm from in front of his eyes, he heard the voice again "Eighteen". It was a wide but short corridor strangely free of any graffiti decorated with baby-puke green tiles and concrete grey floors and ceiling. The lights also seemed in perfect condition, as though they were newly fitted for him. It was straight with a small rounded sharp bend at the end. Once he got around the bend, he was faced with a metallic booth which oversaw a single gate through with the words "Ticket" written on it. Strangely enough, the booth and gate were not only free of rust but also operational. The ticket sign was lit up by a blue substance that seemed to be a liquid by the bubbles in the light. The booth contained a single chair, about ten buttons on the desk, a large copper tube with a flap-like lid and a button on the side on the left sinking into the floor and a small bronze (but by no means rusted) keypad with three-by-four small buttons with pipes left and right of it on the desk. Rioth tried to open the gate with no luck. He tried the booth door and it opened with ease, no creaking. After looking at the buttons, he found one labelled with tape and a piece of paper "Ticket gate" in a type-writer font (which he had only previously seen in letters sent by The Society Of The Messengers Of God, which often sent important news out to workers). Upon pressing it, he heard a loud gush of air. He jumped and looked towards the source just to see the steam finish making it's way out of the gate's hinges.

Rioth turned his back and was leaving the booth when he heard another gush of steam, this time behind him instead of in front of him. He quickly turned around to see a ticket shoot out of the machine. He crept over, half-expecting a trap to activate, and took the ticket quickly. He darted out of the booth to the back wall and put his back to it. He felt his heart racing and his chest rising and falling at a high rate. Satisfied that there weren't any traps, he looked at the ticket. "Platform 1, Nielsfield to Griffinsdale, Return, 16:43, 3.10.2021". Rioth looked at the ticket in confusion. The current year was 160 RA and he didn't know of any month past the eighth one, Joseph.

Once his heart beat was back to normal, Rioth walked through the open gate. Only to stop suddenly as he heard the same voice, a bit louder, tell whisper to him again "Eighteen". His spine felt like someone had just injected ice-cold water into it. He had to pause to wait for the sensation to pass. Once it had, he looked up at the large iron board above a set of stairs. At the top, in a red arrow to the left, it read "Platform 1", in a blue arrow pointing downwards, in read "Platform 2". At the bottom, in a yellow arrow it read "Platform 3". It still surprised Rioth how bright the colours were, like as though they were freshly painted yesterday. A temptation to put his finger on the yellow arrow to check if it was still wet came over Rioth for a second and quickly went away unanswered. Judging by the ticket, he assumed the best place to start would probably be platform one.

Rioth walked to the far left and started to descend down the steps, one at a time, with the concrete steps echoing under his feet across the entire platform. As he reached the bottom, he noticed the red tiles around the circular roof and on the walls which acted as a semi-circle over the floor. The floor was still dark grey concrete. The only thing around were benches near the wall made from copper. There was also a vending machine that was lit up and sold cigarettes and steam floating out two pipes near the top on the left and right. He walked over near the rails, looking up and down for anything, any sign of life. Rioth then heard the word "Eighteen", but instead of as an echo, it came from right behind him. He turned around sharply to see a small boy there.

He wore a dirt-brown robe and no shoes. His skin appeared to have a small blue tint to it and his face had slight feminine features to it which Rioth couldn't pinpoint what made him think it. The thing that stood out the most to him about the boy (who appeared no older than eleven), was how his ears seemed pointed at it's tips instead of rounded which stuck out among his slightly long hair-cut. The boy's face grew into an innocent smile and he extended his hand to Rioth ; a hand, that the man took.

Suddenly, there was a bright white flash. He was standing at the same station except he was now shorter in height. The place was also a lot busier with men, women and children waiting, chatting and sitting on the bench. He wore a sand-coloured tunic, green trousers and sandals. He had heard about how England was in a major recession and needed help with it. Elves had only started to live above ground twenty years ago. A religious group calling them Messengers Of God blamed the recession on Elves who were taking jobs, using up benefit money and was contributing to a shortage of coal and wood to fuel the steam-fuelled machinery. They were gathering in power and the elections were next month.

He suddenly heard a shout "AN ELF! A HERETIC!". Before he could do anything, a hand grasped on of one of his arms, another hand clutched another. "AN ELF THAT IS STEALING ALL OUR JOBS! IT'S GOING TO END UP KILLING US ALL! LET'S SHOW IT THE SAME THANKS!" the voice shouted out with an underlining tone of sadistic joy. Before Rioth could protest, he was lifted up as the mob shouted and jeered. They punched him, choked him, yelled at him, pulled his hair, pulled off his clothes, scratched him and carried him to the edge of the platform. He then heard the gushing of a steam engine, chugging it's way down the rails. Rioth was suddenly then thrown onto the tracks. He climbed onto his bare feet, cold and naked, looking at the crowd and crying. He wanted his mother and father to protect him and just for a hug. He begun to walk to the platform when he was kicked in the head by one of the jeerers. He fell back onto his bare-back. He got back onto his feet. The train began to sound its horn. Rioth turned to face the train. It then flashed white and then all went black.

Nighteen...Nighteen...Nighteen...

Edit: Final draft, done.

Well, some people will remember me mentioning this contest a few weeks back. Most wouldn't have a clue so I'll talk about it. It's a free-to-enter contest for writers. The prize is nothing really materialistic like money. All you get is a web-certificate saying you did the contest and managed to meet their requirements and acknowledgement on their winner's page. The objective is to write a novel in a month with at least 50,000 words. It can be as long or short as you want (as long it's over the 50,000 word requirement) and it can be about anything at all. The company wouldn't check through your writing so you could, theoretically, load up 50,000 letter "G"s or upload an already done story and get the certificate. However, that would defeat the general purpose.

You can basically plan or anything at all before the contest but you must not start writing until the 1st of November. You then have until the 30th to submit your story to the word counter. If you've gone over 50,000 words, then you win.

Now that's out the way, now to talk about Project: Plantania. Project: Plantania is the working title (not the final title) for the novel I am going to do. I'm doing two months planning (this month for the plot, next month for character designing). November I'll be writing, of course, then December I'll be proof reading all I can. The release date will be around Christmas to the literature portal (if it's up), deviantART and Fourth Perspective.

In terms of plot development so far, something has been done. It's a very boney skeleton missing quite a few bones but I plan to find the bones and then flesh out the skeleton before October. By October, the plot should be nailed down so I'll likely reveal a bit more information on the plot. However, until at least late September (hopefully), my lips are sealed. Means less of a clean up if I change my mind about the plot. All I can tell you currently is if the current story-line goes ahead, then it'll be like a cross between Forbidden Siren, It and Eternal Darkness: Sanity's Requiem. I know, I know, I've probably done too much similar to Eternal Darkness, but it's a strong enough idea to sound like it's writeable for a novel. There may be references to previous stories but the chances are thin to none. The only other thing I'll mention now is the genre of it will very likely be horror. Granted, it wouldn't be enough to scare people, but there's enough horror elements. Probably.

So, shadys and mentalmen, this is my Christmas present to you this year. A novel, for free.

Edit: Here's the plot for you:

Drip...Drop...Drip...Drop...

When you haven't slept in days, suddenly every noise at night is amplified ten fold...

Charlotte, during a week stay at her uncle's castle, suddenly is unable to sleep. What starts out as minor insomnia slips into what Charlotte assumes is simply hallucinations and delusions brought about by the lack of sleep. One day though, in the middle of the night, she succumbs to the voices' desire; the desire for her just to go down into the basement where she was strictly and firmly told not to go by her uncle. What starts off as just looking turns into a twisted nightmare she can not wake up from.

Drip...Drop...Drip...Drop...Drip...

Maniae.

Working title number 2.

FOR MANY YEARS AND UNPROVEN REASONS, I HAVE DREAMED OF THE BLOOD OF IRISHMEN. WHAT DID THEY BLEED? I HEARD GUINNESS, I HEARD POTATO JUICES AND I'VE HEARD LIQUID GOLD. TODAY, I FOUND OUT.

I MET AN IRISHMAN TODAY, HIS NAME WAS JAKE, A LOOSE WORD CAME OUTTA HIS MOUTH, SO I STABBED HIM IN THE FUCKING LEG.

HE CRIED AND SCREAMED AS I HELD HIM DOWN, STABBY STABBY STAB, WITH MY PENKNIFE, I THEN GOT THE FUCK OUT OF THERE OF COURSE REMEMBERING TO PAY THE TAB.

SO I LOOKED AT MY KNIFE AND FUCK WAS IT DARK. IT WAS THE BLOOD OF A DEMON. THEN AGAIN, IT WAS NIGHT SO IT WAS HARD TO SEE THE BLOOD OF THAT IRISHMAN.

I GAVE IT A LICK, THE POINT OF MY TONGUE CLEANING THE COLD STEEL OF MY KNIFE. MY THIS WASN'T FUCKING BEER! I YELLED WITH A RAGE. THIS FUCKING COULD PASS OFF AS VINEGAR AND NOTHING MORE.

SO I WENT THE FUCK HOME, TOOK A NAP AND FUCKING LISTENED TO SOME THE PIXIES. IT WAS SWELL.

Gary The Garden Gnome.

Once upon a time, there was a garden gnome and his name was Gary. Gary was 50cms tall and always wore a smile; with his silly little green hat, on top of his round old head. Gary had no beard to hide his blushing cheeks or his large grin. His green coat, black bottoms and black boots kept him warm, even when the wind and rain was hard and it was cold out there. He would stand his arms by their sides, near the pond with the fish, all alone. Poor Gary.

One day, someone kidnapped Gary from his garden! Oh no! Gary was frighten as a figure picked him up and wrapped him in a black bin-bag. "You're not my owner!" Gary would tell the intruder but was sadly ignored. He kept shouting for help from his owner, Mr Stevens, with no luck at all.

Much later, Gary woke up; confused and dazed. "Where...Where am I?!" he mumbled to himself. Suddenly, a hand reached inside the bag. The stranger propped him up onto a brick wall, in front of a beach. Was this...A holiday?! Oh, how Gary dreamed for a holiday in the sun, oh if only Mr Stevens would listen to him...

The stranger walked in front of Gary and then turned. He was wearing brown loose shorts and a loose blue t-shirt. His feet were encased with brown straps attached to something Gary wasn't familiar with. His kidnapper's eyes were blocked by a pair of sunglasses. "Smile!" he told Gary and oh how Gary would grin if he wasn't already smiling as much as he could. Suddenly, he lifted a device to his right eye, pulled a button and there was, out of no where, a blinding white light for less than a second.

When he was back to a hotel room (something Gary always saw in the holiday booklets he found in Mr Stevens's house while he was out), the stranger was writing how Gary was having so much fun on holiday onto a postcard and even placed the picture of Gary at the beach into the envelope with the postcard so Mr Stevens would get both the picture and postcard together for sure!

Gary visited a lot of places, some really hot and some really cold (which the kind stranger bought Gary a nice blue puffy jacket so he may feel warm). After each stay, his carer would send a postcard and picture of Gary at each location to Mr Stevens so he may see the joy Gary was having. Oh my was Gary having the time of his life and he wished this would never end.

Sadly though, Gary had to go home. The stranger had to go home after his holiday, although he was kind enough to return Gary to his place in the garden at night. Even with his goodies in his small little bag. He even gave Gary his own little pair of sunglasses!

Mr Stevens noticed in the morning how Gary suddenly was there again; his grin from ear to ear, a pair of sunglasses on and his luggage by his side. He came out in a huff, puffing "where have YOU been?!" to Gary. Oh, Gary had seen Mr Stevens in a terrible rage, but not towards him! Never towards him! He didn't mean to be kidnapped and was only making the best of the situation! He did keep in contact with Mr Stevens to make sure he knew Gary was okay. Mr Stevens grabbed the sunglasses and threw them over the fence just behind Gary. He then grabbed Gary's bag and tore it open with his giant hands. "WHAT IS THIS?!" he shouted, his face going the colour of tomatoes in the summer which scared Gary even more. He didn't want to be hurt! "Please don't hurt me!" Gary begged Mr Stevens. He then collected all of Gary's gifts and his bag and then put them in the plastic black bin next to the side-gate where his saviour came through.

Gary felt sad for the next few weeks, what had he done to deserve Mr Stevens's rage? He was a prisoner to the kidnapper. If anything, Mr Stevens should be making sure Gary was okay but all he was concerned with was his new possessions and where Gary had been. This sadness turned to rage. How DARE Mr Stevens destroy his few belongings?! Gary had not once upset Mr Stevens in over ten years and this is how he repays him?! He gets annoyed AT him and then destroys the only items Gary could consider his own.

Two months after Gary's holiday, he decided to exact revenge the only way he felt would truly punish Mr Stevens for his crime against Gary. Late at night, after the last light in the house had gone out, Gary snuck in the shed. He took the string from the top shelf. He then ran to the back door of the house took the house key from under the flower pot, something Gary had witnessed Mr Stevens do many times. He then unlocked the door and went inside.

Gary reached for a tea-towel which was slung over one of the kitchen chairs, taking great care as to not knock the chair over. Gary just needed something to cut the string...Ah ha! Gary's eyes spied upon a knife rack upon the kitchen counter. He manoeuvred a chair next to it, making as little noise as possible, and climbed on top of the chair. He then reached over and gripped his stubby fat fingers around one of the handles. Gary nearly fell off or knocked the rack over as it easily slid out of its block of wood. He touched the blade with his index finger and smiled inside. Yep, it'd be sharp enough.

He crept upstairs, the towel slung around his neck like a scarf, ball of string in one hand and knife in the other. He knew which room Mr Stevens slept in due to the loud snoring reaching around the open door to his room. Gary placed the ball of string against the door and pushed it a little. A feeling of relief went over his body like cold rain after a hot summer's day as he heard no creaking.

Gary crept around the corner and stood in awe. There was his owner, sleeping. Suddenly, Gary felt almost pity for the man, as he snored away. He wanted to leave, put everything back and see if he could convince Mr Stevens to like him again through affection and love. This was quickly shaken off with the undeniable logic of "this HAS to be done".

Gary started by wrapping the string around Mr Stevens's bed so his arms would be caught under the covers and unable to move. He kept wrapping around, Mr Stevens still in a deep sleep, until he was sure that was enough; then wrapped two more times to be sure. He tied it up extra tightly so Mr Stevens wouldn't interrupt what had to be done. He had to be taught a lesson, one that he would never forget.

Gary then got the string, knife and tea-towel ready. When he was sure, he curled his fingers into a fist and punched as hard as he could into Mr Stevens's chest. As soon as his mouth opened, Gary shoved the tea-towel and begun wrapping string around his head as to make sure the tea-towel stayed in. He must of under-estimated his strength because Mr Stevens begun crying his eyes out as Gary cut the string with the knife, tied it up and threw the ball aside. Now, the real fun would begin.

Gary started by putting the knife to Mr Stevens's throat and whispering into his ear, a hoarse aged low voice as though he was experienced in this field, "This is for all the pain that you have inflicted upon me over the course of ten long years". Gary begun by shoving the knife into Mr Stevens's arm, causing it to bleed and Mr Stevens to yelp in pain. He began yelling harder with a red face. Gary smiled at this and told him "if you think help is coming, then think again. Now, there was a story my ma would tell me in front of the fire, oh...How did it go..." Gary sat there, pondering on Mr Stevens's chest for a moment and then said "ah, I think I know. My grandma, what a big ears you have!" Gary brought the blade to Mr Stevens's left ear and said "All the better to hear you with!" He then gripped the ear in his left fat little hand and begun to slice the ear off, ripping it off once half of it was cut off. He then placed his knife aside completely, put his left palm against Mr Stevens's temple and ripped off his right ear with his right hand.

Gary threw the ear aside off the bed. Mr Stevens was still screaming in pain, oh my does he learn slowly. "Now lets see, what was the second part...Oh, I know this! What big eyes you have Grandma! All the better to see you with dear!" Gary gripped the knife with his right hand again and held Mr Stevens's head still with the left. He begun bringing the blade down onto his right eye slowly. Mr Stevens kept blinking, as though expecting this to be a dream and to wake up; or as though he could bat the blade away with his eye lashes. The blade came closer, and closer, and close. Mr Stevens's eye-lids came down like a pair of gates, as though the skin would protect his eyes. The knife blade went easily through the lid like paper but took some force to persuade it into the eyeball. Gary's owner was now crying blood out of his right eye as Gary begun scooping as much out of his right eye-socket without digging too deep. "You know what, I'm going to leave your left eye in, just so you could watch me". Gary felt good, a sense of feeling powerful, of watching his human victim suffer; watching him bawl his eyes out as his left eye looked around in panic. Sometimes, his eyes would meet Gary's in an accusing look or a look as though he was deeply sorry and wanted to be let free. Oh no, there was no better pleasure than exacting his revenge on Mr Stevens.

"Now, the third line, I know this well: Oh grandma, what big lips you have! All the better to kiss you with!" Gary knew this would be tricky without letting the tea-towel loose but he knew what had to be done. He started to cut around Mr Stevens's lips; they were hard to cut free, as the blood slowly begun get in the way of Gary's cutting. After what seemed like thirty seconds of frustration, he managed it. "Ah, there you go!" as Gary threw the lips off the bed. He looked at Mr Stevens's eyes...Oh no...They were glazed...Gary had killed him...

For a few seconds, Gary had felt sorry. He didn't mean this to happen...He really didn't...He then felt a sense of happiness as it dawned on him that someone would find it. No one could arrest him, they wouldn't even suspect him, may as well leave them something to look at with awe. Gary started by cutting the strings free, removed the tea-towel and the bed sheets so he could marvel at his handy work. He set to work by tilting Mr Stevens's head back and started to cut through his neck. The blood began gushing all over Gary's hands as the skin was separated by the kitchen knife. Soon, there was little enough skin left that with a tug with his head in Gary's hands and his shoulder under Gary's boots, his head became free. Gary fell backwards, head in hands, onto Mr Steven's chest and then rolled off accidentally onto the floor; Clumsy Gary. After Gary got to his feet, he threw the head aside. He had done what he had wanted to do to the head; but the rest of the body? Oh there was much more to do.

He began stabbing into the ribcage, between the ribs, and breaking each rib. Some ribs needed some personal persuasion using Gary's bare hands but most broke easily enough after some wedge-work with the knife. Finally, when Gary could, he reached in and started removing each organ. When they wouldn't come straight away, Gary gave it a few stabs as to cut it free of a few veins, arteries or anything else that held it in its place. Once Mr Stevens's chest was empty, Gary cut downwards and started to disembowel him. Once Gary was done hollowing out Mr Stevens, there was only one thing else to be done. After that, he just had to clean himself up and then sit back at the pond.

Mr Stevens's corpse was found the following night after that morning police was called when the neighbour's boxer, notorious for it's barking all night in the garden, was found collapsed due to rat poison. At first, it was a simple "neighbour killed my dog" case for the police, when they noticed the dog was feasting upon a heart large enough to belong to a pig, a cow or a human being. Mr Stevens was the first to be questioned due to his open dislike of the dog, but after the door wasn't answered and no knowledge of him leaving the house that day, the police broke in. Due to a lack of finger prints and no one to pin the murder on, the case was close.

Gary stood there; now clean thanks to that nice warm bath he poured for himself, with the same grin around his old wrinkled round face that he had been having since last night. Perhaps even since before last night, except the grin was a little wider and, perhaps, a little more sinister.

This was a story I wrote initially to try to return to my writing roots of gore stories but also adding something new. Instead of making it constant gore, dark and so on, I thought I'd try contrasting it. Starting out with a story like out of a children's book and ending up with something I'd write a year or two back. I'll probably edit it up, maybe, and then post it in as a full version on another website. As always, comments are always appreciated.

In case you're wondering, this isn't part of any monthly contest but just me on my own bat.

A new unfinished story which is meant to fit in with this song:

http://www.newgrounds.com/audio/listen /251333

Any helpful advice would be appreciated.

Cave

Ouch...

I slowly opened my eyes to my surroundings. My head was on the floor sideways, my right and left arms sprawled out above my head as though I was surrendering to an invisible force . "Where am I..." I thought, as I stared at the walls of my place of resting. It was like a secret unknown cavern, a rock face with pillars of stone coming out of the ceiling, the ground and the surface, but...Bluer. If it wasn't for the lack of any sensation of being cold, I would have assumed I was in some ice cavern in the artic.

Drip...

I turned my head, trying to pinpoint the location of the noise with no luck. The darker blue rock floor led away from myself until it met a pool of water about ten feet away. The water seemed to be the main point of this room with a trail of cobalt around the indoor lake.

As I raised myself to my feet and looked around in confusion, trying to find out where I was, I realised there was something else strange: I wasn't in the clothes I last remembered myself in. I was...With Steve in the pub and had been wearing a collared long-sleeved white shirt and black trousers, with a black belt, and brown formal shoes. I had finished another shift at work and was having a pint of beer with Steve; and then...

Drip...

I studied my clothing to see a dark brown leather sleeved shirt that ended at my forearms, dark brown leather trousers and black...Cloth wrapped around my feet up to half way up my shins. While the cloth felt vulnerable, something about them felt like they'd offer better protection than they look. I also realised my hair was a little bit longer than it was what felt like ten minutes ago and I had stubbles of hair beginning to reach out of my lower-face which used to not exist at all.

Drip...

I searched my surrounding, while feeling awfully vulnerable, for just any weapon or tool to guard myself with just in case. Bits of rocks...Ah! I spotted it a few steps away: A long slender brown/blue stick roughly four feet long. Considering it was a stick, it was strangely smooth with absolutely no sign of bark, as though someone had carved the bark off. I bent over and picked it up, gripping it at one end. Something about it felt powerful but I still wanted (my dag-) a gun.

Drip...

I observed the trail I was on. It appeared I was at a dead-end and would need to follow a winding trail to the only exit that I could reach. There appeared to be a lot of light trying to reach into the cavern through the only exit, but was having very little luck as only a small amount of the sun's rays were creeping in. Enough for you to see, but only just enough.

I crept along the rocky floor, my feet surprisingly not in agony every time I stood on or kicked any loose rock, towards the exit while I tried to work out what happened. "Okay, so I went to work today, and then on the way back, I stopped outside a pub, took my tie off and met...Oh god...Who did I meet...Okay, so I went to work, and...Oh god, who was it that wanted me to meet him at the pub? Okay, so I drove home after and...Did I leave my briefcase in the car? Oh of course I did, but was that all? Then I went all the way home? I went in doors and fed...Something...A dog, cat or a graindof? No!", I kicked a loose stone harder out of frustration of my conflicting thoughts. "Wait! So I got up, brushed my teeth, washed my face, walked to work, went home...What?". I clutched my head and shouted "FOR THE LOVE OF MY FATHER, WHAT HAPPENED?! WHERE AM I?!" My skull hurt. It was like it was three sizes too small for me; as though I had a second brain in my head, interrupting me...Corrupting me...Oh god...What had happened?

Drip...

Suddenly, a creature appeared; taking a few noisy steps in front of me. I quickly darted behind a boulder. I don't think it saw me...I hope it didn't see me...I peaked out. No...It didn't...It was like a walking crimson cockroach on it's long back legs up-right with two thick lobster-like arms which both ended with pincers. Its face, hiding between the back armour and the belly armour, was nothing more than two black beady eyes and a small mouth that remained closed. How could it breathe...It's beyond me...

Drip...

I clutched my wooden "sword" (if you could call it that) by it handle but I could tell, just looking at it, that my stick would be unable to harm it. If I had my (stra-) penknife on me, I probably could sharpen the stick, sneak up on it and jam it into its face and even then it was risky. It relied on it not smelling you, for the stick to cause enough damage to surprise it at least and for you to be able to run away fast enough from it before it had time to react. How many men have those pincers ended the life of...

It took another step, turning around; I made two small steps to another boulder, trying to get around it. Straight after, it took another step. As though cautious of something...Had it smelled me? I took another two fast steps to another boulder. It took a third step, as though hearing something from a boulder in front of it. I took another two. For about four more times, we carried on batting back and forwards, It taking one step to another boulder and me taking two to hide towards another boulder; one closer to my destination. Finally, when I was sure I was safe; I crept all the way towards the entrance, the blinding light finally engulfing me.

I couldn't see anything, my eyes in a little pain due to the brightness with my arms not helping with its desperate and vain shielding attempts. I let out a sigh of relief, although I'm not sure why, as I heard a wave break up onto a shore and then roll back.

Word count: 1061

Editted: Final one.

This is unfinished so far and will probably be updated soon with the complete one. I just want to get this fucker out so I have something to show. I'm just currently really tired and need to sleep. I'm trying to decide if to use Feed My Eyes or this story (Clouds In The Sky) for a contest. Any comments on how to improve either or which to use will be appreciated.

There once was a city called Ys in ancient times. It was believed Ys (also known as Is, Ker-Is and Ker-ys), a place that was on the coast of Brittany, was a holy city that collapsed into a city of sin. Ys was one of the last pagan areas which led to Christian theories that Ys was punished by the Christian god and Ys went underwater which has created geographic reasons that the sea level rose. These are two of many reasons for the collapse of Ys. On September the 21st 2009, something was spotted in the water off the coast of Brittany by a fisherman. Upon inspection, it appeared to be a doorway to a corridor which extended down to the depths to, theoretically, Ys; where it leads to exactly, is unknown.

I looked up from the folder, letting out a sigh, to see the rest of people in helicopter which were meant to be part of a squad. I never asked for this. All I was, was a simple archaeologist, always curious about why civilizations were created and why they fell. On normal circumstances, I would of turned down the offer to help some government fraction raid ruins but I was running low on money. It was terrible. Me and Sandra were living off beans on toast. It always broke my heart to look into the eyes of my son, Richard, and remember that if I couldn't get a lot of money fast, we'd be on the street. This was no way to bring up a son...No way...Although for some reason, a reason I could never put my finger upon, it brought déjà vu. Why...

I moved the fringe out of the way of my eyes. There were three others in the helicopter. There was a woman, no older than mid thirties, with a tank top on and a baseball cap pressed down as though to shield her eyes from the sun outside or my gaze. She had a black or dark navy (I could not tell due to the morning sun shooting it's rays into my eyes) head piece that ducked from out of her dark brown hair (that was tied back into a pony tail with what looked like a black elastic band to me) and extended to near her mouth. The rest of the people on the helicopter had a very similar, if not exact copy, head piece including me. I remember me fiddling with it a lot earlier because I couldn't quite get it to stay on my ear until the leader of the group told me in an irritated tone "fix your headset before I fix your hands". Paulson introduced me to her and told me her name was Nichols. Currently she was typing away on a small black labelless laptop which she had been busy on for the past three hours, even while we refuelled at Dover.

Next to me was Jeffries (or sometimes called by Paulson, just Jeff) who was now holding onto his gun while staring into space and chewing gum. He had aviators on which hid his eyes and a helmet that hid his hair. He had a very similar clothes set as Paulson, long sleeved shirt and cargo trousers with boots running up his leg under the trousers. He had three pouches on a belt going around him, a handgun holster down one leg and a backpack on. Unlike Paulson, he seemed to have another pouch on the other leg as the handgun holster.

Suddenly, my concentration was broken by Paulson asking Nichols "so what is the significance of this city anyway?". Nichols kept her head down, still facing the computer and replied in an unrecognisable accent and monotone voice "ask Carter, it's why you bought him right?". Paulson then turned to me, a cigar in his mouth and repeated the question. Paulson looked similar to Jeffries in terms of the clothes he wore (which, like Jeffries and Nichols, was all black) and the gun he held but differed from Jeffries in his face. He didn't have any glasses and instead had a cigar hanging out of his mouth. He had a darker skin colour and a rounder face. He also had a cleaner shave and appeared to be probably bald (while Jeffries probably still had hair on his head).

I told him "Ys was a city a long time ago that, according to myths, went underwater after the princess gave the key to the devil. He unlocked the gates during a storm thus plunging it underwater. It was believed to be a complete myth until a corridor rose to the surface roughly where the city used to be. It's significant because it's a mythical city and the only reason listed for its downfall is religious reasons."

Paulson opened his mouth to say something but the pilot said something in an unknown language which sounded French. Nichols then looked up from her laptop, as the helicopter lowered upon the water and said "okay everyone, we're here. Jefferies, you rig the door to open. Don't use too much explosives or you'll destroy the corridor and sink the city again". We landed right next to the small platform and Jefferies got out while saying in a harsh voice "alright then". After a minute of waiting as he removed things from his backpack and applied it onto the door, Jefferies got back on the helicopter and muttered "done" as he sat down. The helicopter rose and he pulled a switch on a hand-held black control device sparking an explosion loud, sharp and sudden enough for me to jump.

The helicopter then lowered it's self to the water a second time. Jefferies stepped off the helicopter first to the small platform around a dark hole followed by Paulson. "Come on Carter" he told me "we don't have all year". I got up with my rucksack and climbed off the helicopter. The helicopter quickly raised its self back to height and started flying back to the nearest land. Nichols then spoke through the headset "okay, we'll return in roughly six hours, if you need to be picked up before then or later then feel free to say. If you need additional information, then contact me, otherwise; you're on your own".

I looked down the hole and suddenly felt a sensation of vertigo. God...How deep was it...I was then distracted by watching a rope fall down the hole. Paulson then said "okay, we can go down the hole as far as the rope will reach but after that, we'll have to climb. Jeff, you do have the climbing gear right?". Jefferies banged his backpack with his left hand as though to indicate as yes. Once Paulson attached Jefferies to the abseil rope, he attached me to it and told me "just do what we taught you and you'll live". I recounted the lessons in my head as I backed towards the hole with my eyes shut. Okay, heels over the hole...Lean over it, feet against the wall...Walk down...Let the rope slide through one hand as I go down...Easy enough, right? Paulson then followed above me as we declined into the darkness. As though to help quell my anxiety, Jefferies turned his torch on his jacket on while muttering under his breath "a little night light for the civilian".

Using the light, I managed to observe the corridor we were abseiling down. The stone appeared to be blocks of large stones piled up on each other. As we went deeper and deeper down the vertical corridor, the greenness of the moss gave way to a hard dark grey rock. I paused at one point, sure I could see something in it's surface but was interrupted by Paulson giving me a hard nudge with the bottom of his boot and an annoyed voice telling me "god damn it kid, if Jeff wasn't below you I would of kicked you hard enough for you to fall off the rope. Don't tempt me to do it anyway. Keep fucking moving".

We carried on down and we realised that the rope wasn't long enough. Jefferies then set up additional rope to go down on. Once we reached about half way down that rope, we arrived in the city of Ys. The corridor gave away to a large room which we just let the rope pass through our fingers as we hung in the air. Jefferies arrived first and grabbed his submachine gun which was on a strap. I followed shortly to the floor and then Paulson came. I opened my bag and removed the handgun Paulson gave me while we were back at the base. It was a worn 92F which Paulson had chuckled a bit when giving it to me. Something about a bad luck streak and how I'd hopefully be the last of the run of bad luck.

I also removed from my bag a handheld flash light I bought along myself. I turned on the switch and then began examining the ruins. The stone seemed to be the materials of early 5th century but the design of the wall and the art work carved into the pillars and walls...This was late 5th century, maybe 6th century. What also puzzled me was how the materials lasted so long underwater and why there was variations of culture. Paulson then broke me from my day-dreaming with "Carter, what do you see". I spoke my mind "the materials used and the design don't match up in time nor culture. The designs are late 5th century or early 6th century with carvings of European and Asian decent but the materials used are early 5th century". "So what would that mean?" he asked with an edge of confusion. "Beats me".

We exited to the only corridor which wasn't blocked by a fallen pillar and slowly walked down it, paying caution to our surroundings. We moved through-out the rooms one by one in a linear fashion, our path paved by blockages. As we moved, more and more inconsistencies occurred to the point that by the fifth room I became almost convinced something was very wrong. There were statues of before the 5th centuries and furniture approaching the 15th century. The last kicker was when I found someone's gun which looked roughly World War One or Two era in a glass cabinet in decoration.

We then entered a large room that reminded me of a large hall; almost somewhere you'd hold banquets minus all furniture. As we entered, the door behind us closed hard and fast, creating a soft echo in the hall. I turned to face the wall. These were...Markings in an obscure language; Something that seemed like Latin, but almost older. I touched it lightly and suddenly, a large crash bounced off the walls through-out the room as though Jefferies had planted some more explosives. "Go check it out" Paulson commented behind me as I carried on trying to understand the markings. I could hear the sounds of foot steps and suddenly shouting quickly followed by shooting. I quickly turned 180 degrees, my handgun held in both hands but the sight I saw made me hesitant to fire.

Jefferies was trying to force what looked like a...Red worm out of his torso which had impaled it's self through him. It was about three inches thick and had three thick bone-like things coming from it spanning across his chest in a triangle shape. After a few seconds of trying to get it off, it retreated back into its hole with Jeffries. After the echo of his screams had ended which then was followed by a rumble...Things began clawing their ways out the hole. They were like unwrapped mummies or dried up nude zombies. What little flesh they had turned into a dark muddy brown and seemed to be the only thing holding the dark yellow bones together. The creatures shuffled towards me and Paulson slowly but with a scary sense of determination.

I stood there watching this, as more and more zombies dragged themselves from their hole. Paulson then suddenly open fired, spraying the mob in little bursts of bullets, only pausing from firing in bursts to reload his gun. I looked around, panicky, trying to find any way out of here. If we stayed, we'd be dead and Paulson's bullets didn't seem to have any affect on them. If anything, they seemed to be gaining speed and increasing in anger towards us. For no apparent reason, a door way opened nearby on the left wall. Me and Paulson ran to it but as soon as I got through the door, it slammed down shut, nearly crushing Paulson, with him on the other side. I banged the light brown door in anger yelling "OPEN UP", making small grains of rock or sand fall off. I searched desperately around the small corridor for anything to open the door while Paulson kept shouting at me variations of "open this fucking door". After a minute of desperate searching, Paulson ceased shouting and the gunshots ended. I looked down just in time to see the first few red drops leak through the door.

"What the fuck is going on?!" I screamed in anger while kicking the door several times. Soon after shouting this, I realised that the chances of me getting out were slim. The best thing I could do was keep moving and hope I don't come across any more zombies. I pointed my torch down the corridor and began to move again, my handgun still in my left hand but dangling loose. Maybe I had broken the unlucky streak by staying alive the longest; then again maybe I was the most unlucky? They died sooner and I have to suffer further torment, unsure if the next corner will lurk another being that would probably be better explained as a hallucination or a dream. Which hurt more? Physical pain or mental torment of you knowing you were going to die any second?

I slowly walked down the corridor, the only noise being the slight crunch of sand under my shoes and the occasional accidental kick of a small rock. The corridor went on and on, turning left and turning right with no end. The walls began to change in material, colour and design from the stone and sandy ruins of a 4th or 5th century palace to something that looked more ancient yet newer at the same time. There were metal bars circling the corridor with a strange damp rubbery material between the gaps. The longer I walked on, the more I was convinced I was hearing something. It started out as a small constant sound like someone rubbing their finger on wood and increased slowly to the point of hearing what I thought was screaming and pain but not from something that was human, but more animalistic. The corridor finally ended as the noises of screaming in pain reached their peak. I had also begun to feel vertigo despite me still going down one narrow corridor that remained flat. The room at the end was a small square room, slightly wider than the corridor I had walked down. The walls and design...I couldn't comprehend it. I felt like I knew what they were built from and the designs felt familiar but...No...

The room was bare except for three wooden solid pillars which reached about chest height; each one with a different item on them. One was an amulet, which was all purple around a small worn disc that had a hole in the centre and was completely plain. It had a copper chain attached to two small loops on the edges. Another table had dagger on it, the handle appeared to be carved out of stone as though a prison shank but instead of a normal stone blade, the blade was made of, what appeared to be, aquamarine or sapphire however it seemed to have a watery look to it. As though the surface flowed like a river slowly around the blade. The third table a small sceptre the size of a large mace. The handle was made of a dark wood which had what looked like three wooden "vines" wrapped around it from the round orb base to the end of the handle. Attached to the end of the handle was a larger orb with countless spikes protruding from it in an almost random fashion. The orb appeared to be made of a gemstone but the name of it I couldn't remember. It was a white-ish colour in contrast to the handle with small black splotches like someone spilt drops of black coffee onto paper.

Suddenly, the voices of people in pain ceased and instead were replaced by three voices. One was a female which seemed to try to seduce me, complimenting me, telling me how intelligent and witty I am and how I wouldn't look complete without such a sexy necklace like the amulet. Another one, an old man told me how I was deserving of royalty; how I deserved to rule the world, have whatever I desired and how I was so much better than everyone. All I would have to do was pick up the sceptre and him and me would rule the world together like butler and master. The third voice sounded like a black muscular guy who insulted everything about me and told me how if I didn't meet his demands of clasping my hands around the dagger's hilt, he would personally destroy me in a fashion to create as much pain for me as possible. He reassured me over and over again that pain also goes beyond the world of skin and muscle. That he could twist my soul in ways that no mortal man could even contemplate.

As I stood there with these voices in my head, each of them at the same time yet each of them I understood what they were telling me over the voice of the other one and the grinding of metal upon stone. I clutched my head as a strong feeling of vertigo took over again and lost my balance. I stumbled with my eyes closed and suddenly heard two voices scream in a way that I could not even comprehend let alone describe. The closest thing I could think of was a tiger or lion roaring in fury yet even then, it sounded more humanistic and more demonic. Everything was suddenly quiet as I was on my hands and knees, an item in my hands.

A chuckling then started to rise in volume for about ten seconds and then stopped, to be replaced by an old voice reassuring me "nice pick, you and I will rule the world, with you as my butler. Give me a few seconds to apply my strings onto you my puppet". Out of nowhere, I felt a rush of energy; energy that I could not handle. At first I began screaming and having what could be described as an epileptic fit. My skin began to harden and lose it's colour from under my clothes. I suddenly then started ripping out my hair and clawing my scalp until I was bald. I then used both of my hands to break open my eye sockets and remove my eyeballs and began eating them out of madness, first losing my vision in my right eye and then my left. My body carried on mutating in others ways, I began losing weight fast until I was much too thin for my clothes.

I began throwing up blood and other fleshy things as I felt my body alter more, bringing more and more pain. I could feel my body alter but I couldn't figure out in what ways due to my lack of vision and feeling pain all over. Suddenly, I saw a white flash followed by a collection of memories rushing into me; the people before me. The old occupants of the city of Ys was built upon ground which was weak enough spiritually for the old gods to communicate with it. They had bestowed three ancient artefacts indicating the three ways of life and the three roles: The amulet of Ashalla, the god of entertainment, seduction, agility and speed, the dagger of Rashthoral, the god of war, manual work, endurance and strength and the sceptre of Qashali, the god of nobility, servitude, intelligence and patience. However, the gods ended up going to war with each other which ended with Ys being sunk by the mother god Trishforra who prevented the war in Ys to escalating to world wide destruction. Every so often, when Trishforra became weak, the three gods combined their power together to create a corridor to the surface so one may take over the world and destroy the other gods. I was the first one to reach the chamber of the artefacts since the city of Ys collapsed due to Trishforra finding ways to destroy previous invaders. I saw the previous invaders; always in a group, always with one of my ancestors and always laid to waste.

My eyesight suddenly returned and I found myself lying on the beach of an island, barely recognisable from what I used to be. I was a frail creature, dark brown and rubbery like a shrunken head with my clothes barely hanging onto me in a ragged state and my hands now claws. "My servant, you must gather power. You are frail now and I sense you realise this but in time your power will increase. Using your current powers of manipulation and changing your body shape, you must lure more souls into my chamber by destroying them in my name and returning with precisely 113 hearts to this island. Once you have the hearts, I will be closer to being able to entering this world. I promise you, you will be king and I will be god, of the world".
"Yessss my mashtar, I vill comensh tis ach vonch" I spoke, hollowly, in my head. I rose up to do my master's bidding, still clutching onto the mace he gave onto me as a gift. Yes, my god, I will do as you command and spread your name at once.

Edit: edited it a bit and tried to improve the ending a bit.
Edit: Gave the character a face.
Edit: This is it in it's completed version.

Word count: 3714.

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.