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brookelynnsanders · 4 years

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Anti Cool Girl - The last fall

A/N: here we go - @arin-schreave and Brooke’s first date. Thank you anna for this ridiculous rp and thank you @evalinkatrineberg elise for being an amazing beta. Also the title is a reference to dodie’s song cool girl - enjoy!

Cold water trickles down Brooke Lynn’s lean frame, washing off the accumulated sweat sticking to her heated skin. The aching in her thighs spreads towards the hollow of her knee - the water unable to soothe the sting. Luckily it cools down her boiling thoughts. She takes in a moment of silence just for herself. No wary eyes, no protocols to follow, and no time to kill. So she just keeps on breathing and counts each droplet gracing her skin. Delaying the inevitable moment of having to leave her little chamber behind. Not ready to face her upcoming date.

“Lady Brooke, did you fell asleep in the shower again?”

The blonde automatically groans at the sound of her maid’s nagging voice. Can’t I have a quiet second for once?

“No, I just don’t moan when I pleasure myself in the shower”, the woman shouts while stepping out of the shower. Her calm interior is now completely destroyed - her defense mechanism filling its space. At least her comeback urged Brita to fall silent. Giving the blonde some last few moments of peace.

So Brooke quietly wraps herself in a fluffy towel and tries to shoot herself an encouraging smile in the mirror, which ends up being a hopeless grimace. Her stomach slowly ties itself into a knot at the prospect of the upcoming hours. So she focuses on drying off her body instead, watching each droplet either moisten the towel in her hand or glaze over the floor. Afterward, she squirts some pomegranate scented body lotion into her palms and carefully slicks up her limbs before wrapping herself into a baby blue silk robe. With a deep breath, still very wet hair, and a polite smile on her lips, she steps outside into the arms of her personal headache.

Sandra, one of the mute maids, grabs the blonde’s arm tightly and leads her towards the vanity - seemingly in a hurry to get the woman ready. Once Brooke Lynn's bum touches the chair, all of her maids are already over her. Prepping her skin, teasing her hair, and painting her face for the big event.

The speed of her maids awakes an unsettling feeling in the blonde who's heart starts to beat a bit faster. Her palms glitz with sweat as Brita keeps on muttering about Brooke's unmanageable hair. Blue eyes stare back at a strange figure, surrounded by buzzing bees, as she attempts to keep her calm. A deep breath in and a deep breath out.

Yet once Brooke is shown the outfit prepared for her, she just knows. This will be her downfall.

Brooke Lynn walks up to the front steps 10 minutes early for her date. The note she had received two days ago is held in her left fist. Opening and closing around the royal paper, fidgeting to calm her mind. Already imagining each worst-case scenario she can think of. Yet still unable to stay in her room any longer - the hustle wrecking her nerves. So she lets her gaze wander around and lets out a deep breath - relieved that no one is present. Her fingers scratch her light brown breeches, attempting to get used to the tight fit of them.

"Lady Brooke."

A slight shiver runs down the woman’s back at the voice onset of her date. Not mentally prepared to meet the Prince so suddenly but within a blink of an eye, she spins around and puts her crumbled invitation into her vest’s jacket. Her face sporting a very neutral look. "Your royal highness." Luckily she remembers her manners.

"Shall we?" Prince Arin asks with a slightly forced smile while he motions in the direction of the stables. Dressed in equally flattering clothes as Brooke Lynn.

Brooke Lynn's blue orbs widen at the reference, having hoped she could delay their departure to the stables a bit. But sadly that isn't the case, so she just clicks her tongue and side-eyes the prince while mumbling "We shall." Her confidence not quite yet at the forefront.

"So... How have you been?"

Awful, thanks for asking.

Brooke settles with, "I am not dead yet, so can't complain, " and a subtle wink.

"Well, I'm glad we set the bar really low here at the palace," he counters with an ever so slight eyebrow raise. Not as amused by her comment as she is.

"No offense, but my bar for this entire experience is very low." A little giggle colors her voice. "I didn't even personally sign up so I have zero expectations."

After a brief pause of awkward silence, she realizes that her prior statement might have sounded a bit rude. Even though it's just a factual truth. "But that only means I am pleasantly surprised all the time," the blonde hurriedly adds, not wanting to ruin the date before it has even properly begun.

“At least you can find some positive things in this whole situation.” The two keep on walking in silence, each a prisoner of their own thoughts. Yet once the stables are in their sights, the Prince speaks up again. “Do you like horses?”

“I am actually terrified,” Brooke answers honestly for once. The woman attempts to keep her cool though, not wanting to look like a scared 3-year-old, but her shaking hand betrays her.

The prince slows down his walking and looks at her. “Oh, I’m sorry... I didn’t know.”

Brooke Lynn stops for a second and closes her eyes, before plastering a forced smile on her face. The foundation of her walls now fully replaced. “It's fine. I'll manage - somehow. But if that horse kills me, I'll haunt you until eternity,” she teases him with a cheeky wink.

“You're not really selling it,” he glances over his shoulder, “We can go back.”

“Aren't you the one who is supposed to show me that deep down I've always wanted to be a horse girl?” Brooke side-eyes him with a smirk, trying her best to keep the conversation light. “But seriously, you chose this activity for a reason... So I might as well give it a shot.”

He just shakes his head. “It wasn't actually my idea, sorry.”

“So you got a little matchmaker advisor who tells you how to find a wife or what?” Another teasing smile graces her lips while she throws her carefully crafted side braid behind her back. Yet once her glance lands on the horses she can now clearly see, the knot in her stomach tightens.

“No... I have a mother who involved herself and a friend who helped her.”

“So you are a mommy boy?” Brooke asks in a teasing tone and scrunches her nose in amusement.

“Well considering I have two I don’t know else I’d be,” Arin replies with a slow blink.

The blonde can’t help but snort at his response and tries her very hardest to suppress her giggles. “You've got a fair point.”

“Well, at least I can make you laugh.”

“Maybe a giggle or two will come out of those pretty lips when the horse throws me into the mud.” An awkward smile graces the woman’s lips as she peeks into the stables. “Why do they gotta be so Goddamn tall,” Brooke mumbles to herself. Still very intimidated by those animals.

“They ate their fruits and vegetables.” Apparently, she wasn’t too quiet.

“And so did I,” Brooke replies as she looks up at towards the prince, “still I am not that tall.” Her waving hand motions an attempt to highlight her point.

“Well, you're not a horse....”

Who would have guessed?

Brooke Lynn rolls her eyes and decides that now is the moment to face her fears and just walks inside the stable. “Let's get this over with.”

“We don't have to do this. It won't hurt my feelings if we don't.”

He really sounds like a little kid not wanting to go shopping with his mum.

On the tip of her toes, Brooke Lynn turns around and fixates him with termination carved into her irises. “No matter if you came up with this idea or someone else - enough effort went into this and I am very sure my maids would be upset if they see this outfit wasn't but to use.” And she isn’t prepared to get into another fight with her maids. Once the two are truly inside, the blonde looks around, very lost. “So wanna show me what I've missed in my life without horse riding?”

Prince Arin just looks at her and blinks in surprise, and if Brooke isn’t wrong she actually hears him chuckle. “You're asking the wrong person. Horses aren't really my thing.” He mentions casually while he walks towards a stall, already greeting one of the horses.

Brooke Lynn stops in her tracks, slightly regretting having pushed him. “Great precondition,” she mumbles to no one in particular.

“There's still time to back out.”

She has him pushed him so far that there is no way to back down now.

“And not watch you crash and burn with me?” Her left eyebrow raised in suspicion as she turns towards the stall gate, taking in the horse nearest to her.

Arin leads the way inside so Brooke Lynn just cautiously follows him trying her best not to use any sudden movements so she won’t scare the horses. At least that’s what she tells herself. Cautiously she rolls her shoulders and straightens her back - not wanting to look too intimidated.

The gate is being pulled open by the prince who then gently tugs on the reins of a tall light brown horse that walks out. “You ready?” Raised eyebrows clearly worried about the woman’s reaction.

The overly nervous woman inhales a deep breath and gifts the man her best smile, refusing to give up on this rocky date already. “Ready as I'll ever be.”

Brooke Lynn’s words are the kickoff to officially start the date. Arin walks around the stable, pulling saddles from left and right and carefully prepares the two royal horses for their ride. As the awkward silence starts to grow, Brooke starts to sort through her brain, pulling out possible small talk topics.

“So if you are not a horse kind of guy - any other animals and hobbies you prefer?”

“I like fish, I guess. And some other things yeah,” Arin mentions as he walks over to his horse.

“Fish?” That’s specific.”Wanna indulge in me that?”

“I have a fish.” The prince concentrates on closing the belts of the saddle. “And they’re a good source of protein.”

“What's their na-”; Brooke Lynn stops in her tracks as the second part of his statement reaches her consciousness. Within a second her polite smile falls from her face. Replaced by a heavy heart as disappointment oozes out of her being

“Her name is Gillian.” No remorse only confusion plastered on his face.

“That's a nice name,” Brooke Lynn replies with an awkward smile, trying her best to not judge him. But she does.”But like how can you have a pet fish that you cared enough to name... And still, eat fish.” Her brows are furrowed as hurt and confusion mixes in the sea within her eyes as Arin finishes up the last details of preparing the horses.

“Fish can be friends and food?” He glances over at her as his statement comes out more than a question.

Yet Brooke Lynn’s mouth only falls open in shock. “How can you say that?”

“I um... like fish?”

Brooke Lynn takes a deep breath so she can collect her thoughts and arguments so she won’t lash out at him.

“But how can you say you like fish as living beings and then still eat them? Like the fish industry is exploiting our oceans and seas while endangering so many species.” With each spoken word she feels a bit sicker as her shoulders and the corner of her mouth hang low.

“I... I'm sorry?”

How am I supposed to see this man as a potential partner?

“No need to apologize - at least not to me but maybe you wanna look into the issues surrounding the consumption of animals and animal products.” With a deep sigh, Brooke lets the topic go. “Speaking of animals,” her eyes glance towards the regal horse by her side, “how is this supposed to go down?”

“Um... now we just mount.”

“Just mount?” A slight waver in her reveals her helplessness. She hasn’t felt that small in a while.

After being told they need to bring the horses outside first, Brook cautiously takes her horse's reins and waits for Arin to lead the way outside, cautiously looking over his shoulder at her as they go. Which prompts an apologetic smile by Brooke. Once the two get to the pasture he circles around with the horse to face her. “Are you ready?”

“I guess we'll see.”

Arin makes it look so easy the way he mounts his horse so regally and then just looks down at her from his horse. “You can do it.”

With a deep breath, Brooke collects all her strength and puts her right foot into her horse's stirrup and swings herself onto the horse. A victorious smile already presents itself on her glossy lips but soon falters as she realizes that she ended up on the horse facing the butt. Fucking great.

"Do you need help?"

"Unless this is the preferred way to ride a horse I guess yeah." Brooke attempts to be very nonchalant, yet a quiet giggle escapes her lips. Too amused by the ridiculousness of the situation.

And like her knight in bright armor, the prince dismounts his horse and walks over to Brooke. "What can I do for you?"

"Whatever the fuck -" Manners. "Whatever the freak is needed to be done." Her nose scrunches an attempt to hide her embarrassment.

Arin slightly hesitates before offering his hand to the blonde as he carefully puts one hand on her waist. "Ready?"

Brooke's vocal cords are suddenly unable to form any words so she just nods and attempts to turn herself around. Yet somehow she miscalculates the curvature of the horse’s back and so she loses her balance. As the blonde realized her mistake it was already too late. Brooke tightly closes her eyes as she tumbles off the horse - fully prepared to hit the ground. But somehow strong arms are able to half catch her in time. After a brief second - which feels like an eternity - Brooke opens her eyes again and stares up at her savior.

Within a moment his arms are gone and Brooke is back on her feet. "Are you okay?" A hint of concern colors his voice as gives Brooke a quick one over.

"Yeah, just wanted to test the reflexes of our soon to be King," the blonde adds with a wink, bringing out her usual cocky self. She smiles a bit to herself, glad Arin had been so quick on his feet, before looking back to the horse and taking a deep breath - not ready to give up. "No, seriously thank you," she adds with a look behind her shoulder as she prepares to finally get this right. With a determined nod she mounts her right foot onto the stirrup again and is about to push herself of. However, she freezes for a moment - realizing the mistake she has made switches her Foot. With her corrected position she manages to mount her horse in a swift motion and ends up correct in her saddle. "Not too bad."

Arin gives her a smile for her victory before adding: "I’m glad you’re okay."

The blonde returns his smile as she watches him go back to his own horse, satisfied with the outcome so far. Until she realizes this is only the first step to actual horseback riding. "Got a coin to start the engine?

He chuckles at her remark. He actually chuckles at her remark." No, you just nudge her with your foot a little and say - let’s go."

"Okay," the blonde replies very focused on the tasks at the head but still manages to offer a small nod and smile as she nudges her horse. A "let's go" escapes her lips as the regal animal suddenly picks up its pace.

"Are you okay?" The prince's voice barely reaching the girl's pina as his horse trails behind.

"So far," Brooke Lynn shouts back as she keeps her gaze ahead - trying her best not to fall off this wobbly ride. Her thoughts suddenly swirling around how the horse could possibly understand her directions.

"You're still alive, see." An encouraging smile suddenly by her side.

"That's a plus." Her first genuine laughter escapes her throat.

"We can be done if you want."

Brooke doesn't have to look over to see the concern plastered onto his face. Slightly wondering if he even wants to be around her, not really buying his sudden concern.

"You really sound like you don't wanna be here, but I am finally on a horse - there is no stopping now." With a click of her tongue and a feisty nudge to her horse's rips, she spurts it on to go faster and faster. Craving serotonin to fill her blood.

"Horses aren’t really my thing." The prince's call nearly lost in the woods.

Ocean eyes roll at the reveal of his dark secret. "Oh who would have guessed."

As the trees enclosing her vision move past her and the stark wind cools all her limbs she wonders if that's what true freedom feels like.

"Not you," Airn voices once he manages to catch up to. "You’re a lot better at this than I am."

Ohh okay? Maybe we can forget this fish situation.

“Seems like I have natural talent then,” the girl confidentially exclaims with a big grin.

“Maybe you do.” His voice suddenly getting closer and closer until Brooke can see the other surpass them.

“Are you trying to win a racehorse boy?” She shouts at him, urging her horse to go faster - trying to catch up.

“Boy?”

“You gotta earn the horseman title,” she challenges him with a wink as she is at an eye level with him again.

“Last between the two trees gotta bake the other a cake.”

Within a whirlwind, she passes him and encourages her horse to go even faster, determined to win the race. Her laughter halls through the cool air as the wind plays with her baby hairs. Brooke refuses to look back and she just focuses on the horizon. Her heart and head feel a bit lighter with each added mile between her and the palace. If she just closed her eyes she could pretend she is in her own adventure - not prince who doesn’t want to get to know her trailing along.

The blonde doesn't look back and just takes in the serotonin buzzing through her bloodstream as she comes to the finished line closer and closer. Her head is free of constant overthinking once she reaches the finish line. Yet all of a sudden her horse’s fuse blows and within a second she already greets the grass as her horse attempts to circle the fox in its way. Brooke Lynn’s left foot is still caught in the stirrup once her horse calms down, so she tumbles to the floor and just rests on her back. Kinda in shock, yet glad for her verst as bubbly laughter escapes her chest, patiently waiting for Arin to arrive.

Once his horse stops alongside hers, he carefully gets down and rushes over to her. Clearly worried. Not that he should worry. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, cause I won,” Brooke cheers with her fist raised high, “so this is a wonderful position to cloud watch. You should join me.”

“Alright, Van Grunsven, let's go.” Arin immediately leans down to untangle her from the saddle, wasting no time.

The blonde says a small ‘thank you’ as she scrunches her nose and smiles at him. She completely lays on her back now as she is freed from the saddle and nocks onto the grass next to her. A silent invitation for Arin to join her. The need to share the beautiful sight in the sky with him immense.

However, Brooke Lynn can only feel an expecting look on her skin. Not sure what he wants from her.

“You're free,” he adds after a moment of awkward silence and raises his eyebrows at her.

“Yeah. Thank you,” She repeats confused, petting the grass next to her again while scrutinizing him. “Please don't tell me you also hate cloud watching.”

“I don’t... I just don’t really want to lay in the ground.” He nonchalantly replies with and outstretched arm. Brooke only rolls her eyes and mouths the word wimp but takes his hand anyway.

In a smooth motion, he pulls her up. “I’m guessing we’re done with horses for the day?”

With a nod, the girl confirms his suspicions. So she grabs her horse’s reins, ready to walk her way back to the palace, but pets her horse on the head slightly. Still a bit scared of the majestic creature, yet still having found a place in her heart for it. “Thanks for not killing me,” she mumbles lovingly.

Arin shoots her an amused look at the interaction. “Not so bad, huh?”

“Yep,” the girl pops the p and nods, “especially since you owe me a cake now.” Actually really excited at the prospect of a cake just for her. Unable to let it go that she actually won.

“I think you’ll be disappointed,” he says not very convincing, leading the horse towards the stables. The evening sun highlighting a light sweat patch on his horse’s back and neck.

“We'll see - maybe you'll discover your sudden love for baking.” The blonde shoots him an amused look as she walks beside him, unable to really look him in the day due to the blinding sun rays hitting her iris.

“Or burning the palace down,” Arin mutters as a response.

“That will definitely make it into the history books.”

The prince blinks surprised, seemingly having hoped Brooke wouldn’t hear him. “I’d hope not.”

“It's in your hands,” she replies with a coy smirk before letting her gaze shift towards the closer inching palace. Her smile slightly drops at its sight, not ready to be a prisoner of her golden cage again.

“What’s wrong?”

Shit.

Hurridly the blonde morphs her phase into a neutral expression, relaxing her furrowed brows and clenches jaw. “Ohhh it's just that I enjoyed the company - I am not really looking forward to being alone again.“ The woman exhales deeply and bites her bottom lip trying to find the balance between being honest and still keeping her walls intact. Not trusting the stranger opposite her yet.

“I'm sure there are lots of people in the Women's Room.”

A polite smile stretches across her lips, not really wanting to share her lack of social contact in this place. Not even remembering the last time she had visited the Women’s Room. Luckily the Prince immediately leads his horse into the stable once they neared the palace. He politely waits until she's inside behind him before he starts to take the saddle off.

Brooke Lynn, on the other hand, simply watches him in silence caught up with her own thoughts but keeps a polite smile on her face. Torn between labeling this date a total disaster and progress in the right direction. Because she didn’t really hate it. But maybe he did?

A ‘Can I’ catches her a bit off guard. It takes her a second before she realizes that he wants her to hand him her horse’s reigns.

“Will you take Skippy back to his stall?” He asks, nodding towards his horse while he approaches hers.

“Skippy?” A bright smile shining on her lips. “Your brilliant idea or did someone else name him?” The girl walks towards Arin’shorse and slowly approaches him before carefully taking his reigns in her hands. She walks him into his stable, careful not to step into horse shit.

“Uh... my mom came up with it.”

“It's actually a really adorable name,” she says, mostly directed at the horse that manages to elicit a small smile from her as well. He also receives a light pet from her before carefully closing the gate and walking back towards Arin.

”Will you take Lou, too?”

Brooke Lynn nods as a response and walks Lou to her stall and gives her a fake evil look before silently cracking up. “Thanks for not killing me Lou,” she mumbles with a smirk.

“So, what's the verdict?”

About what? Ohh the horses, Brooke mentally facepalms.

“I am still alive, so this couldn't have gone better!” The girl exclaims with a smirk and her left hand against her hip. Not deadly terrified of horses anymore, but still in need of a 21-year long break of horseback riding.

“Well, staying alive in a date is always a good standard to have.”

“And if the standard couldn't have been upheld - I couldn't be disappointed cause I'd be dead,” the girl laughs a bit morbid. Either because Brooke stopped caring about looking perfect or because she has gained a concussion over the past few days. Not quite sure yet.

Nervous laughter by her side makes Brooke only crack up more.

“Just kidding. You are too easy to spook.”

“Am I?” He motions for her to follow him as he walks back towards their meet up spot.

“Seems like it at least,” the girl calmly replies, solely focussed on the steps leading towards a side entrance of the great hall.

“Interesting observation,” are his last words before he falls silent, accompanying her.

Brooke Lynn slowly drags her feet across the path, an attempt to delay the end of this evening. Yet once the two reach the top of the stairs the prince and the girl say their goodbye’s with polite smiles resting on their faces. Both left alone with their thoughts from now on.

Not sure if they’ll see each other again.

#Brooke lynn Sanders #challenge 3 #selection oc #arin schreave #first date

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years

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Fragmentation 0.7 - KSJ

Plot: How does one measure freedom? Are our choices truly our own, or are they part of a preset design outside of our control? We all have a question burning inside of us, though few speak it out. It is the question that drives us forward, seeking purpose in our lives. What is The Matrix?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Pairing: N/A

Warnings: Strong language, allusions to suicide, extreme angst, graphic violence

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,096

AN: On to Seokjin’s origin story of how he left The Matrix. I actually took inspiration from the animated short, Beyond, from The Animatrix. I always found it super fascinating that certain parts of The Matrix, much like a computer, experiences “glitches” from time to time. Especially in the earlier incarnations of it. All information in the universe can be found on the official Matrix Wiki so please use that as a reference guide if you ever get confused!

Tag List: @aroseforyoongi, @prisczero, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @unoriginal-username15432

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Seokjin tossed the apple in his hand lazily, lagging behind his friends as they chattered on about some “cool thing” they found. He didn’t understand why they were so adamant in dragging him out there, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Martin called and told him he didn’t need to come in for his shift today if he was fine with trading with him for that Sunday. As a teenage senior, he didn’t have much to really worry about as far as money. His parents were loaded. The only reason he had a job in the first place was his father wanted to teach him the “fundamental building blocks of living in society” and how to acclimate to said societal norms.

The truth? Seokjin was lazy at times and didn’t much care for responsibility on that level. With a successful chain of restaurants, stocks and bonds piling up in the bank, Seokjin didn’t have a care in the world. He could flit around and do as he pleased. The caveat? He had to maintain his grade point average and have a part-time job. If he couldn’t balance both his schoolwork and his actual job, then he didn’t deserve to inherit everything his father managed to build in his lifetime.

Easy money. Too easy. One day off on a said day when he didn’t feel like working, replacing said workday with a Sunday? The choice was obvious.

“Yo, Jin,” called Abbey, causing his mind to focus back on the current conversation he hadn’t been listening to in the first place, “it’s this way.”

He watched as Abbey, James and Elena motioned for him to follow through a narrow alleyway. The sun was bright and he couldn’t help but wonder why they were even doing this in the middle of the day. When it came to those three, they were always trying to get into some kind of mischief. Seokjin didn’t really think too much of it. Even if he got in trouble, he knew his mother would find a way to get him out of it.

What slivers of light existed quickly vanished within the dark shadows of the alley. They couldn’t enter in pairs - all trailing behind the other like little worker ants. Seokjin crunched into his apple, the sound bouncing off the walls of the small enclosure. They continued to chatter amongst each other, but Seokjin followed behind silently. He hadn’t been asked anything worth responding to and nothing of interest forced him to comment on it.

They were used to his lackluster attitude though.

As they breached the other side of the alley, he squinted from the sudden flood of light nearly blinding him. Abbey’s high-pitched giggle caught his interest. He shielded his face with his forearm, catching the image of James and Elena jumping into the air just in time. He didn’t quite understand what was so amusing…

...until he looked up and saw that Abbey was floating in the air.

“Whoa,” Seokjin murmured just as James did a somersault in the air - his motions slowed as if he were suspended in zero gravity, “what the hell?”

Elena laughed, her hair fanning out in the air as she hung upside down. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Seokjin nodded slowly, almost dropping the apple in his hand. “Yeah…”

“C’mon, Jin!” Abbey waved emphatically to him, spinning to the ground like a dancer from a dream. “You try it out!”

His eyes lingered around, spying all the various things in that section of the abandoned playground; a piece of a seemingly abandoned district. Rocks floated around, bouncing up and down in soft motions as if they were situated on an invisible river. Little bugs that attempted to fly off were slowed by whatever encompassed the space they were currently standing in. Seokjin could count the number of wings and how many times they flapped.

“What is this?” he asked, unsure of what this was and why he was even asking in the first place.

“We don’t know,” James answered with a shrug as he perched on the metal jungle gym, “but we figured it might have something to do with why this district got abandoned.”

He picked up one of the floating rocks, studied it, and then tossed it off to the side. The sound of it hitting the pavement caused him to turn and glance over his shoulder. The rock skittered off behind a barrel, hidden in its shadows where he wouldn’t bother looking. Canting his head slightly, he picked up another one of the floating rocks and threw it into the space where it occupied. For half a second, it zipped in at normal speed before slowing to a halt just inches away from James’ face.

“Hey!” he yelled, but Seokjin continued to look at the other rocks scattered along on the ground, “You could have hit me!”

Seokjin scoffed. “I doubt it.”

He tossed the apple into the air, watching it float along in the space - suspended in the air just outside of his reach.

Suddenly, there was a harsh sound resembling a record scratch that caught his attention. When he turned to face it, he saw that an old soda can seemed to be glitching in and out of focus. Seokjin’s eyes narrowed slowly, his feet moving toward it.

“Jin?” Abbey’s voice sounded concerned. “What is it?”

“You guys didn’t hear that?” He turned away from the can to look at his friends. “You guys didn’t hear that?”

All three of them shook their heads simultaneously. Had he been the only one to see it? To hear it?

But that’s crazy, he thought, his eyes moving back to the can, it was so loud and the fracture across the can is so obvious.

Or was it?

“Jin, you’re scaring us, dude,” chimed Elena, but he couldn’t be bothered with that. Not if they couldn’t see it.

But why could he see?

Like a bolt of lightning, the wails of sirens pierced through their tranquil setting. Flashes of red and blue illuminated their world. Seokjin looked around, his eyes widening as he quickly turned on his heels and scrambled a few steps back. His gaze shifted to the sky and he balked, seeing that it was suddenly dusk. When had it gotten that dark? They couldn’t have been there for more than an hour. Maybe less.

“We gotta go!” yelled Abbey, grabbing onto Seokjin’s wrist and pulling him away from the miniature wonderland.

Their sneakers pounded the pavement, kicking up dirt and scattered newspapers around them. James scrambled up a dumpster and grabbed for the handrailing of a fire escape. The girls followed suit and Seokjin knelt down to give Abbey a boost. Just as he was about to reach for her outstretched hand, flashlight beams all shined on him at once. Seokjin did his best to shield his eyes, backing away from where his friends were. Climbing up was too risky. He had to leave them and go off on his own.

“Look, I’ll catch up with you guys later!” he called up to them, pivoting on his heels and tearing off down the alleyway.

As his world got darker, Seokjin thought the alley was getting smaller and smaller. His breath came in quick intervals and he blinked rapidly against the sweat threatening to seep into his eyes. Just as he was about to reach the edge of the alley, an arm suddenly flung itself out of a window and grabbed him by his shoulders. He tried to scream, but all he could taste was leather as a hand covered his mouth - the rest of his body being dragged into the building through the opening.

Fear clutched at his chest, squeezing it slowly. Darkness flooded his vision, rendering him unable to see as the rushed sound of footsteps thundered passed. When the noise faded away, Seokjin’s heart finally began to ease up. The owner of the hand and arm that dragged him into the building finally stood up, giving him room to finally breathe comfortably.

“That was close,” said the person, her voice distinctly feminine.

Seokjin took a moment to get a good look at her, her dirty blonde hair framing her face while the rest of it was pulled back through the hole in the back of her ball cap. A cheeky grin etched her features. Her shorts were provocatively short, muscled legs covered in thigh high stockings that disappeared into a pair of combat boots. Her upper body showed off her toned midriff, the rest covered in a denim jacket and black tank top. She didn’t look much older than him, from what he could tell.

He frowned. “Who the hell are you?”

“Does it matter?” She scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Even if I told you, you wouldn’t know anyway, would you?”

Well, she certainly wasn’t wrong. But that didn’t make it any less irritating. It was clear that she knew something that he didn’t and considering the situation he just barely escaped from (barring her help), that was something that didn’t sit well with him. Not by a long shot.

“Why’d you help me?”

If he didn’t know better, he swore he saw her grin get just a little bit bigger.

“You saw it, didn’t you?”

A cold sweat prickled along the back of his neck. Instead of answering, he chose to swallow the lump in his throat. Apparently, that was all the response she needed. Chuckling more to herself than to the information he’d unintentionally given away, she shook her head slightly.

“Well, it’s a good thing I swung by when I did.”

Seokjin’s frown deepened, if possible, and he took a step toward her. “Just what in the hell is going on?”

She unfolded her arms, stuffing her hands into her pockets. She fished around in both until one came out. She held her fist out to him, urging him to come forward. When he did, she lofted a brow, waiting for him to do something else. Not sure what she was wanting, Seokjin held out his palm.

Opening her fist, she dropped a small, silver case into his hand. Curious, he popped open the box and inside were two pills. One blue, the other red. Was she trying to drug him?

Just as he opened his mouth to question her, he saw the girl holding a cell phone up to her ear.

“Stand by for pickup.”

Seokjin had about as much as he could stand. “Hey! What’s the big idea? You tryna kidnap me or some shit?”

The girl frowned, craning her neck slowly to glare at him. “You’re the idiot that doesn’t even realize he’s already trapped.”

He blinked, not sure why hearing that struck a nerve. What did that even mean?

“If you want to know the answer behind that little gravity show you and your friends were messin’ with, take the red pill. You wanna forget about it and go back to your normal boring life, then take the blue pill. Choice is yours, Buttercup.”

Seokjin’s eyes lingered back to the pills. He couldn’t forget what he’d experienced. His friends thought it was just some weird phenomenon and, honestly, if he hadn’t seen the can glitch out, he might have chalked it up to that as well. But too many things didn’t add up. How had the police shown up so quickly and when had time shifted that fast in a space where it only felt like he’d been there for no more than an hour?

Grasping the red pill between his thumb and forefinger, he popped it into his mouth and swallowed. The girl’s grin returned and he watched her hang up the phone and slip it back into her pocket. In the dark and dusty building they were in, the walls inked over in black as flickers of green numbers seemed to explode along the walls. Seokjin’s ears started ringing to the point where they hurt and he clutched at them with both hands, dropping the case and the remaining blue pill. He felt a hand on his shoulder as it squeezed it gently.

“You gotta breathe,” she said, her voice a distant whisper against the roaring sound of his blood rushing through his ears, “just take a deep breath. It’ll be over quick.”

And as he took a breath, everything blurred over in a haze of green, black and gray. Until there was nothing left. It was quiet; peaceful. But somehow he knew that this was only the beginning.

“Welcome to the Real World.”

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oscar-isaacs-number-one-bitch · 5 years

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“The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part” Movie Review

Back on Oscar nomination day in 2014, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announced the 5 nominees for the Best Animated Feature of the year, and while that list included some crowd favorites like Big Hero 6 and more mature blockbusters like How to Train Your Dragon 2, the largest story that day wasn’t about any of the nominations, but one film that was left out of them. Most pundits and basically any critic who had seen the brilliantly creative, immensely funny, and more-emotionally-affecting-than-it-had-any-right-to-be Lego Movie had it pegged as not only a surefire nominee, but surefire winner of that award, and our jaws were left hanging on the floor at the lack of its mention during the announcement.

Despite that though, The Lego Movie went on to be an animated hit in the homes of people all across the world, two mildly-to-wildly successful spinoffs were launched to critical praise, and the studio immediately began plans for a sequel, with directors Phil Lord & Chris Miller not returning to the project as they were already booked to direct the Solo movie for Lucasfilm (which they were fired from, and then they moved on to Into the Spider-Verse and we all saw how that shook out). Thus, we have The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part, which finds Emmet and the rest of the Lego people 5 years removed from the ending of that first film. Bricksburg has been ravaged and destroyed by the toys of DuPlon, and our heroes now live in Apocalypseburg. But when some of the residents are captured by a mysterious new character from the Sistar system, Emmet must embark on a daring new mission to rescue his friends and prove that he truly is The Special.

I’ve made it no small secret that I love The Lego Movie and thoroughly enjoyed Lego Batman. Lego Ninjago was…fine for me, but I mostly chalked that up to it being very much tied into the popular children’s Ninjago series, which I hadn’t watched. With the direct sequel to the film that birthed them all being not only released but also set 5 years after the original, I was curious to see if the team at Warner Bros. would be able to pull off the same magnificent feat they did in 2014, especially without the direction of Lord & Miller. And, for the most part, they almost do. Much like How to Train Your Dragon 3, I thought Lego Movie 2 was pretty good – just not as good as those initial outings. While there are certainly moments of levity and plenty of jokes from a script by Lord & Miller, something did feel missing in its direction and pacing.

For a start, there are too many musical numbers in this movie. That may seem like a strange thing to say about a Lego movie, especially as a critique to start with over something more significant, but that’s exactly my point. It doesn’t make much sense until one realizes that the studio fell so in love with what worked in the original that they just decided to do that again – but a lot more. Sure, the original film this one is following had an iconic original theme song, and even Lego Batman dabbled a bit in the introduction, but Lego movies are not musicals. Even Tiffany Haddish (who can’t sing very well, as we find out) gets no less than two numbers essentially all to herself, and basically all of them take place in the second act. This not only overcrowds the movie as a whole, but the second act is simply too repetitive. On a story level, that means there’s less time devoted to moving it along rather than just using the same jokes for a little while longer than necessary. They’re not bad jokes, and some of them are actually quite funny, but that zippiness that was so profound in the original film is missing here, giving way to a slightly more elementary-style humor, which follows, considering the director they found to replace Lord & Miller is Mike Mitchell, director of Trolls.

Not only is the second act overly repetitive and reliant on the same jokes, the newer characters added to the franchise aren’t exactly super memorable. None of them leave the lasting impact that a character like a Lego Batman did on the first movie, and there are basically zero interesting cameos throughout (save for one that actually does turn into a pretty hilarious real-world reference joke during the third act). General Mayhem seems to be the stand-in for the Batman character this time around, but apart from capturing the main heroes and transporting them to the Sistar system, there’s really not much else to her until the final couple of minutes and she doesn’t help craft other characters’ development like Batman did for Lucy. In addition to this, the villain this time around (whose name I’m not even going to attempt to type since I’m writing this at almost 2:00 in the morning) might be a more intimidating presence than Lord Business, but she’s not exactly as or more compelling.

One of the things that made Lord Business compelling was his tie-in to the real world that informed the surprise reveal at the end of the original Lego Movie, but while the added-on real-world element to this entry in the series presents a beautiful intent with its message, the actual Lego sections don’t handle telling that message quite as clearly as the first one did its central themes, which makes understanding the villain character in The Second Part more difficult than it honestly should be. Most of the supporting cast that are introduced in this movie aren’t very memorable, which doesn’t bode well for a franchise plan. Even though the Rex Dangervest storyline does go to some pretty ambitious places, he remains sort of a watered-down version of what he’s probably meant to be, and a lot of that is wrapped up in his very convoluted storyline.

Even the animation seems to have taken a bit of a hit; in the original movie, it was made fairly obvious that everything was made of legos, and that was a super cool and innovative way to create an animated movie, but when this sequel gets busy in the Sistar system or with characters not from the Lego world, it becomes difficult to get very invested in the animation, as it no longer carries that particularly unique look. If we’re going to continue to get Lego movies in this vein for a while, spending more time outside of the Lego world than in it is a bad idea. Legos are fun! Spending time in the Lego world should take up the majority of a movie in this franchise, not a minority.

There is a fair amount to like about this movie though; pretty much all the original characters carry the same weight and charm they have since 5 years ago, and the story and themes this movie presents in conjunction with the last one are actually very sweet. Some of the music is actually quite catchy as well, and The Lonely Island come back again with a stellar closing credits sequence. While the direction could have used quite a bit of work, the script by Lord & Miller does what it can to keep the franchise fresh and new, and if nothing else, most of the jokes are funny on first arrival.

It may sound like I’m knocking on this movie too much, but much like How to Train Your Dragon 3 (the superior film between these two, if you’re wondering), I did enjoy it – I just find it to be a bit disappointing as a sequel. That’s the tough part about being a film critic; if you’re reviewing a sequel, talking about the stuff that worked again isn’t nearly interesting as what doesn’t work as well this time around or what works better because that sticks out more, which can make it sound like that’s all you think of the film. With Lego Movie 2, that means telling you that while what worked last time mostly works again this time, there are a few spots that don’t work as well, and that’s okay, if a little bit of a bummer.

“I’m giving The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part” a 7.6/10

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be-a-snake-stab-your-brother · 6 years

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Deep Listening - Cut Scene

So this was originally supposed to be the opening to Deep Listening chapter 3, but a) Tony Stark just tried to take over the whole damn chapter and b) it turned into more of an angst-fest than I felt appropriate for the tone of the story on the whole. I still like the content, however, so I’m posting this as a “cut scene”/”outtake.”

A quick bit of background: Loki and Thor are in NYC post-Ragnarok. (IW never happened.) Loki is trying out music/sound therapy (which Stark likes to refer to as “recorder group”) as part of the deal that will allow him to stay out of custody on Earth. He has just recently punched Tony Stark in the face. It may have had something to do with Stark provoking Loki and inadvertently touching on his “I’m a Jotun” angst. Of course, Loki doesn’t always have the best coping mechanisms.

Oh yeah, and Lokes is a terribly unreliable narrator. But we all knew that already.

Excerpt under the cut as it gets a little long.

-----------------

“Loki…“ Thor’s brow furrows in warning. “Enough.”

The God of Mischief opens his arms in a dramatic motion, his smile wide and gleaming.

“Come now, Thor! If our archer lets loose, if for some reason he succeeds in - what was it? ’Putting an arrow through my eye’ - why, brother!” he exclaims, his features brightening in feigned epiphany. “We could be twins, couldn’t we?”

Loki claps Thor hard on the shoulder, the hollow slap resounding through Anthony Stark’s high-ceilinged metal palace. He pulls close, as if to confide a great and possibly illicit secret, wrapping his lithe limbs around Thor’s upper body in a sinuous, serpentine motion.

“We could propagate Odin’s disastrous ruse further,” he hums. "The one-eyed king and one-eyed prince, giving succor to our people in their time of need - ”

“Shut up, Lackey!”

Oh gods -

Loki doubles over, wheezing. The god holds out an arm, using a nearby couch to steady himself.

Norns, where in the Nine had she been hiding?

Across the room, Stark howls in delight. “I like her!” He raises his glass to Valkyrie in salute before turning to Thor. “Who is she again?”

“The demise of your treasured liquor cabinet, I imagine,” Loki gasps, cradling his throbbing midsection.

“Whatever, Reindeer Games, I - “

Stark’s eyes widen at the sound of a bottle being uncorked.

“Hey! Iron Maiden! Unhand the scotch!”

Thor rubs his face in frustration as Stark hurries across the room. The engineer's concern for his wares seems to trump Loki's temporary, embarrassing discomfort, and the god doesn't know whether to be relieved or insulted.

Loki glowers at his brother, but Thor’s attention is focused on the motley court of mortal heroes. The situation reeks of a foul, not-so-distant memory of another one-eyed king, and Loki is overwhelmed by the sudden urge to rip open the dark green cuffs of his dress shirt, to pull his too-stiff collar from his neck.

“Friends. If you please.” The room stills, and Loki is all too aware of the resentful stares aimed at him. The god twists his hands together, a sick euphoria building in his chest.

“I will not lock my brother - who is a prince of Asgard and my most trusted advisor - away in some dark, Midgardian dungeon over a minor disagreement.”

Thor’s words are quiet, in sharp contrast to Valkyrie’s shouts or Stark’s boisterous jabbering, but no less powerful. It’s a strange contrast from the man of a few years ago, and Loki still expects his brother to lay down his hammer and bellow demands at all who come near him. (But Thor has changed, hasn’t he? And yet here you are, once again at the mercy of a King of Asgard.)

“Loki has proven his allegiance,” Thor continues. He scoffs at the statement, in equal parts surprise and disbelief. Loki gingerly pokes at the spot in his midsection where Valkyrie’s fist had landed, smoothing out the fabric of his shirt. Thor has graciously left out the part of their story where he made yet another attempt at betrayal on Sakaar.

“Come on, Point Break!” Stark grouses from behind the bar, now resuming his attempts to wrest the half-consumed bottle of scotch away from Valkyrie. “He’s unstable! Recorder group is obviously a flop, terrible reviews from the press, zero out of ten points from the Asgardian judge.”

Thor tilts his head to the side, his features clouding at Stark’s jumble of words.

“The point is - we had a deal. He,” Stark juts his chin in Loki’s general direction, his hands still occupied by the futile effort of relieving Valkyrie of his rather expensive alcohol, “rehabilitates and we don’t lock him away. It’s been over a month, and he’s been through four god damn therapists. And for what? So I can be attacked in my own home by the god of bullshit again?”

“He’s not going to change! Crazy is as crazy does. Yesterday an alien invasion, today the eradication of an entire fucking planet.” Stark laughs, a hiccup that belies no humor, nor levity. “I can’t wait to see what he has up his sleeve for an encore.”

Loki throws up his hands up in disgust. Of course his brother had relayed that detail of their little adventure. How Thor had entrusted Loki of all people with the most vital part of his plan. How he had summoned Surtur with his magic and the Eternal Flame, how Loki had escaped the fire demon’s wrath, supposedly with only his own cunning and wile.

Thunder peels in the distance. “Ragnarok, Stark, was the only way to defeat Hela. And I will not have you making light of the demise of our people or my brother’s valiant deeds.

Stark stares at Thor, bitter retort spelled in bold in his tight grimace. The silent argument seems to last forever, Stark’s brown eyes against Thor’s cold blue. But the engineer breaks contact first, letting his head fall back with a heavy sigh. He stares at the ceiling, placing his hands on his hips. (He has long conceded the bottle to Valkyrie. Loki does not think even the Iron Man’s suits could have succeeded in that task).

“God damnit," Stark mutters.

The engineer keeps this posture, neck exposed, eyes searching the complicated patterns set in criss-crossed silver beams. Loki watches his pulse, oddly fascinated by the erratic flurry of heartbeats, the shallow breaths under the perspiring, damp skin.

“Fine,” he announces to the ceiling, letting out a grainy, loud breath. He stalks away from the bar in a flourish of irritation and kinetic energy.

“I guess I’m running a halfway house for intergalactic convicts. Just what I’ve always wanted.” He points at Thor. “Don’t say I never did anything for you, Point Break. And you!” Stark spins, his movements now animated again, his voice returning to its usual playful, irreverent inflection. “Go ahead! Drink my scotch like it’s shitty beer. What the hell do I care?”

Valkyrie smirks, taking a generous swig of the amber liquid.

Stark rolls his eyes.

“Are we in accord, Man of Iron?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. Halfway house.” Stark waves Thor off with a series of spastic hand gestures, as if he is swatting away a thousand flies. “But keep your brother on a short leash, okay? I’d like for the planet to be here next week. I’ve got dinner plans, you know.”

Loki glances around, curious as to the reaction of the other Avengers. Banner recused himself early in the proceedings, muttering something about moral ambiguity. Barton, perhaps the party with the most reason to want to see Loki shuttled away forever, remains perched atop of one of Stark’s bookcases, his bow strung, arrow trained on the god’s head.

Romanov has materialized from nowhere in her signature black bodysuit, leaning against the bar. She seems neither displeased nor distressed. (Loki does not miss the raised eyebrows of Valkyrie, who practically leers in her direction.)

Thor crosses his large arms over his chest, expression dour.

“Very well. Asgard thanks you, as I’m sure Loki does, as well.”

He most certainly does not, but Loki knows well enough to hold his tongue.

The engineer gives an insincere, tired smile. “Alright. Mission accomplished, yay team,” he adds weakly. “Hey Clint, you can come down from there. Geez, how are you even - nope, forget it. I don’t want to know.”

“Do I still get to shoot him?”

“Not today, Legolas. If he punches me again, he’s all yours.”

“Great. I like those odds.” Barton jumps from the bookshelf, glaring at Loki as he strides out of the room, flipping an arrow in his hand. Romanov rolls her eyes and joins Valkyrie in raiding the liquor cabinet, bottles clinking like chimes. The show is over, the trial concluded, and now Loki is nothing but a footnote to the rest of the evening. (Thor does not deign to look at him, does not say a single word before leaving the room. Something close to despair claws at Loki’s gut.)

He falls into the corner of the nearby couch.

Villain. Hero.

Savior of Asgard. Destroyer of Asgard.

He is all of these and yet none of them.

Loki of Nowhere, Loki of Nothing.

He stares out the large windows onto the harsh lights of Midtown Manhattan. How quickly the mortals have rebuilt their concrete and steel metropolis. How quickly everything has changed since he last stood in this room.

Loki allows his head to rest on the back on the couch, long raven hair spilling over the side. Too long, he muses, wriggling his head as if to test the weight of each strand. He has been meaning to cut it for some time now, but fears he would not recognize his own reflection if he did so. (But all mirrors are lies anyway, aren’t they, Laufeyson?)

The god shudders, pushing aside the thought. No, the hair had been a purely practical matter. Cutting it would have necessitated dropping the glamour of Odin’s visage, and even a second’s lapse would have been one too many, knowing what hunted him.

He wonders how many seconds it has been since Thor’s return to Asgard.

Norns, he is exhausted.

#loki #thor #tony stark #clint barton #valkyrie #natasha romanov #writing #cut scene #outtake #deep listening

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Days Gone PC Port Could Highlight Controversial Game’s B-Movie Charms

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In a way, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the PlayStation team recently confirmed they’re bringing Days Gone to PC as the first of several new PlayStation ports Not only was the PC port of Horizon Zero Dawn reportedly a tremendous success, but games ranging from Red Dead Redemption 2 to Bayonetta show that PC gamers are eager to buy properly done ports of titles they’ve previously been denied. The PC market has a way to extend the life of a game that more and more developers are finding hard to ignore.

Even still, you’re forgiven if hearing the name Days Gone caused you to raise an eyebrow. After all, it’s not just one of the most controversial PS4 exclusives; it’s a game that some consider to be the absolute worst PS4 exclusive this side of The Order 1886.

We’ve previously spoken about the Days Gone controversy in our review of the game and a look at how it oddly helped define the legacy of the PS4 itself, but the long and short of it is that Days Gone was, at the very least, an odd entry into the PS4’s legendary library. After years of hype, Days Gone proved to be a technically flawed attempt at a largely familiar open-world title that rode the end of the zombie pop culture wave to a decidedly mixed reaction.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Yet, despite my many, many, complaints about Days Gone, I’m genuinely excited for the title to hit the PC market and potentially reignite the discourse surrounding the game. Whatever else that game is, it’s also one of the strangest pieces of “so bad, it’s good” storytelling in modern Triple-A gaming history, and it deserves to have the chance to be remembered as such.

Even if you were determined to enjoy Days Gone, the game’s launch problems made it hard to do so. Along with the usual glitches you’d expect from an open-world title (even if Cyberpunk 2077 abused the privilege), you’ve got a series of poor animations and worse detection features that often impact the actual gameplay. It’s the kind of issues you’d expect to see in more ambitious indie titles, but the fact they’re so prevalent in one of 2019’s biggest PS4 games is why legitimate unanswered questions remain regarding developer Bend Studio’s techniques and intentions.

Presumably, the PC version of Days Gone will address most of those technical problems by incorporating most of the fixes that have been added to the game via patches and a next-gen update. If that is the case, then it will make it that much easier for more people to witness Day Gone scenes such as this one where a bride’s wedding speech includes the words “Ride me as much as you ride your bike.”

That scene is considered to be the centerpiece of Days Gone‘s collection of downright weird storytelling and acting that elevate the title’s “How did this get made status?” to another level. It’s fairly amusing even out of context, but to truly appreciate it, you’ve got to play Days Gone to the point when you realize that the line “ride me as much as you ride your bike” is meant to be one of the emotional climaxes of the title’s love story.

It’s also very much worth mentioning that the line itself was seemingly taken from an early Sons of Anarchy episode in which “Opie” tells his bride that he promises to ride her “as much as my Harley.” It’s one of the many ways that the game borrows themes, characters, ideas, and, yes, even lines from the popular FX series.

Much like Sons of Anarchy, Days Gone‘s over-the-top biker characters have been embraced by a community that often insists that “soft” viewers just wouldn’t understand why they’re so cool. If you also feel that an endless parade of curses loosely strung together and growled out by heavily tattooed Canadian tuxedo aficionados (led by a hero The Irish News rightfully refered to as “Joe Kickass”) is the height of cool, you’re going to find a lot to love here.

To be fair, even those who don’t outright love these characters may find themselves strangely drawn to them after they’re willing to accept that they’re all essentially variations of the same basic archetype. Days Gone has been called Sons of Anarchy meets The Walking Dead, and that’s not just a line that looks good in marketing. There are times when it feels like that’s literally what the developers were going for, and it’s absolutely wild to see the commitment that went into biker cliches and zombie cliches battling it out across a 40-hour apocalypse cliche. It’s like an open-world game populated entirely by clones grown from Mickey Rourke’s Rogue Warrior character:

It doesn’t help that the game’s dialog adheres to this bizarre style that sees nearly every character regularly throw some “umms” and “ahhs” into their lines. It feels like the idea was that such speech patterns would make the game’s dialog feel more natural, but when you’re watching a small army of underdeveloped and comically tough bikers stammer through every line of dialog like they’re imitating Jame’s Stewart’s It’s a Wonderful Life performance, you eventually start to wonder whether Bend tried to push this concept just a bit too far.

The whole thing reminds me of Deadly Premonition. Much like that game, you’ve got a developer that is clearly inspired by a TV property (in that case, Twin Peaks) yet can’t seem to harness their fondness for that concept long enough to produce something that feels like a parody made by someone who intended to craft a tribute.

And you know what? I kind of love Days Gone for that. As a fan of some of so-called the worst movies ever made, there’s nothing more amusing to me than when someone misses the mark so wildly in pursuit of a passion project. It’s the difference between a bad major motion picture like the later Pirates of the Caribbean films and something like The Room or Troll 2. The people in the latter movies weren’t just getting through the day for a paycheck: they had an idea and, against all odds, they managed to get it out there in whatever form it was eventually able to survive in.

Days Gone embodies the best of that spirit by being this game that I honestly believe was intended to be genuine in its characterizations, scenarios, and emotional beats. The fact it falls on its face after going over-the-top in pursuit of all of those concepts makes it this strange entry into a time when the biggest budgets are usually awarded to the teams that publishers know are going to avoid these exact kinds of passionate misfires and instead deliver something reliable.

Like a million monkeys sitting at a million typewriters trying to reproduce the works of Shakespeare, Days Gone attempts to recreate ideas that we’ve seen before and often fails at doing so. Yet, it trips so often out of pure enthusiasm for trying to get where it’s going that it’s weirdly easy to recommend checking this game out on PC just to experience it for yourself.

The post Days Gone PC Port Could Highlight Controversial Game’s B-Movie Charms appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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velcro-rave · 7 years

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post-emoji movie Trauma

WARNING: the following text contains spoilers and can be considered disturbing to some readers. especially my brain, because it’s leaking out my ears after typing this.

This is the first movie ever I’ve gone to see on opening night. And let me just say that, for the record, I’m glad I went to watch with friends. Without them, I would have most likely calmly exited the room, climbed up to the roof, and dived straight off.

I’m honestly fucking terrified of how much this shitty movie has pushed me to the edge. I’ve never felt more ANGRY in my life and at the same time wanted to just curl up in a ball and cry myself to sleep. This is so fucked up. What made it possible for this level of psychological warfare to be used so casually by Sony? Why did they decide this was ever a good idea to present to the public? I’m still shaking (and not from the overpriced Coca-Cola I was sold). Whether it’s out of rage or fear, I don’t know. Not even throwing myself into the deep fires of hell can attempt to restore the intrinsic warmth I felt before I witnessed this crime of a movie. They say that there’s a special place reserved below for people who cause enough pain to humanity, and it is at this point where I pose this question to the following:

Tony Leondis. Eric Siegel. Mike White. Michelle Raimo Kouyate.

Why?

Did you want this to happen to me? Was this the plan all along? To destroy everything you could possibly love in the process of creating this film, to make the audience suffer without any remorse? You got PATRICK FUCKING STEWART as a voice actor, and what is it you do?

Yeah, you make him play A WALKING PILE OF SHIT!!!!

Someone could’ve ran up to me after I left the theater, put a shotgun directly up to my forehead, pulled the trigger, and that would have still not come close to how much my mind had been blown at the shocking reality that this movie, this spawn, could exist in the known universe and continue to be shown to innocent people. There were kids there. Hopeful, happy, young kids with iPhones who thought it was a great idea to head off to the movies and watch a funny relatable movie about emojis without a care in the world. Communicating ideas without the use of words is the “staple” of their generation, as the movie so proudly portrays (even comparing it to ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics!), and there’s no reason a family shouldn’t agree to bring their children to this beautiful, heartwarming adventure, right? WRONG.

Nothing could have prepared me for the horrific amount of groan-worthy jokes this movie tossed out. I’ve been wracking my brain for an entire hour trying to remember the most potent ones, but they were so easily forgettable that I can only recall a few offhand. They were tragic. Whenever an opportunity for a shitty pun showed itself, you can bet your ass the writers took it and ran with it to lengths beyond the realms of humor. From the character known as Hi-5′s nonchalant Bye Felicia! to his two puns about snapping (as if one wasn’t enough), I wanted to get up and scream at the ceiling in the hopes that my cries of agony would disrupt the structural integrity of the building and have it fall on top of me, finally freeing me from the slow-cooker of torture that is The Emoji Movie.

At a certain point, Hi-5 (by the way James Corden, I thought you were cool. I thought you were here for us, for all of us as an entertainer, but you just had to take part in ruining me and the world as we know it by accepting this role. I will never forgive you.) mentions something about his heart beating. His… heart? This walking, talking hand has a heart? Does he have lungs? What other internal organs could fit in there and be capable of being slapped around constantly as a result of his stupid ass decisions? Why doesn’t he have arms like Gene or Jailbreak, does his body somehow take into account that he’s already a living appendage? This movie is making me sit and contemplate the anatomy of a fucking animated HAND, and that’s not even as preposterous as a thought can get while watching.

On multiple occasions throughout my viewing experience, I had to take a break to just lean back and sigh, both in anguish of what was happening onscreen as well as the sheer exhausting aspect of it all. The voice acting couldn’t have been more unreliable. Every other line it was a gamble between it being a poorly executed pun delivered so flatly that not even the 4-year old up front let out a little giggle, an obvious statement about what they’re planning to do next, or the most unremarkable snippet of backstory ever revealed. I’m sure all those scenes between Gene and Jailbreak where they gaze at each other were meant to be construed as romantic, but her blasé response to each of his approaches because she “isn’t some princess waiting for her prince” or how “women are deserving of more respect” completely knocked the mood off whatever pedestal it was stepping up to. I get it, these are actual important themes that need to be recognized, and I would be more than happy to see this acknowledged in a movie built on as many metaphors as Zootopia, but the timing of her commentary was the worst I’d ever seen. The constant interruptions made it seem like her words shouldn’t be taken seriously at all!

Unsurprisingly, character background was virtually (unintentional pun. I’m incredibly sorry.) nonexistent, and everything that’s possible to be wondered about the universe could pretty much be answered with a big shrug. For example, why does Hi-5 have a band-aid? Did he get stabbed or something? When did Gene begin to show signs that he was capable of other emotions? Was the Just Dance girl deleted after the trash bin emptied itself out? We didn’t see any signs of the characters going back for her after Hi-5 had to shake off the troll, so did they just leave her there to die? If Jailbreak had been working for a long time to get out, why didn’t she use more of her hacking skills? She pulled up her hologram window things maybe three times total to escape or hide somewhere, does she seriously not have anything else in her repertoire that could potentially help Gene and Hi-5 get to where they need to be quicker? There’s so many questions that don’t even get passively explained. Then again, I’m arguing against the same people who genuinely advocated for the setting to be called Textopolis.

AND WHOSE FUCKING IDEA WAS IT TO MAKE THE MAIN CHARACTER “MEH”??

The ONE emoji with zero interesting qualities and the most monotone parents that, for some fucking batshit insane reason, were given more than the minute of screentime they deserved. I understand for a quick gag, their emotionless response to everything could be funny, but their conversations would just stretch on and on and on. As for Gene, I trusted you, T.J. Miller. I can’t believe you betrayed me, especially after such a hilariously perfect role in Deadpool. Never in my life have I felt so disappointed in a single person. There is no justifiable reason for you to be proud of what you’ve done here. To be honest, I’m pretty sure I astral projected at least three times as I struggled to repress the memory of this trainwreck before it even ended. When I wasn’t desperately clawing at the armrests mid-convulsion, I was staring vacantly at the center of the screen, wondering how this week could have gone so wrong.

This was basically a 91-minute long advertisement. The whiplash of traveling between product placement to product placement nearly made me throw up, which was ostensibly the only thing that could’ve made this worse. Dropbox, Spotify, Candy Crush, Just Dance, YouTube, Facebook, and the almighty Twitter, I hope you’re happy with what you’ve wrought. The “emoji-pop” dance assaulted my eyes so suddenly, acting as the unnecessary cherry on top of the feel-good ending; I think that’s when I officially lost all hope in enjoying the rest of my night.

It’s honestly taking every ounce of my being to hold onto the little bit of life that I have after the Emoji Movie ripped my soul to shreds. The amount of violation I felt as my ears were subjected to endless pop culture references that were relevant years ago, nightmarish depictions of the content of each app on Alex’s phone, and the fact that the god damn Eggplant was in the Unused Emojis room when everyone knows that’s not the case is indescribable. I now have to live with the fact that every time I switch keyboards on my phone, those blank yellow faces will serve as a dark reminder of what I’ve gone through. To any of you reading this that have also watched The Emoji Movie, I am so sorry. I know how difficult it is to process. My recommendation to each and every one of you who haven’t had the chance to witness this sickening spectacle is to KEEP IT THAT WAY. Don’t give in to the peer pressure; this abomination parading itself around as an endearing motion picture will wholly and truly rattle you to the core. My only solace was the complete absence of dabbing or whipping (apart from hearing the song), and I’d like to thank every deity above and below for that small act of mercy.

Here’s to you, Sony. Thanks for ensuring that I not only sink deeper into my depression, but for forcing my mind to house the images I’ve seen today for as long as I live. I wish I could physically bring myself to chuck my phone in a garbage fire, but my entire body has gone numb. Here’s to you, and to all the writers, producers, and directors of this movie that made me sit in a corner pondering how I can possibly live in a future where this monstrosity exists.

Gravely, sincerely,

fuck you, and goodnight.

🖕

#long post #rant #p #the emoji movie #emoji movie #FUUCKKKKKK.#I feel like banging my head against the wall until I pass out #food mention #I would appreciate it if any of you could recommend a good therapist #god knows I need the help #goodnight #2017 #tumblr keeps getting rid of readmores i'm really sorry if this takes up your dash

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foxvslynch · 7 years

Text

Fox Vs. Eraserhead

“What’s the strangest thing anyone has ever said to you about Eraserhead?

I like to have people be able to form their own opinion as to what it means and have their own ideas about things. But at the same time, no one, to my knowledge, has ever seen the film the way I see it. The interpretation of what it’s all about has never been my interpretation.”

From Vulture.com’s interview with David Lynch, September 2014.

There you have it. If you are searching for a ‘correct’ interpretation or analysis of David Lynch’s 1977 debut Eraserhead, you have come to the wrong place. Every place you could conceivably go is also wrong because, according to Lynch, no one has ever read Eraserhead like he does. In this write up, and in all the write ups to come, I do not ever want to claim I have gotten anywhere close to the ‘correct’ interpretations. However, I do want to write about the images Lynch presents, and where they lead me.

Image is the perfect jumping-off point to discuss this film. David Lynch’s formal training as a visual artist at the Pennsylvania Academy of Visual Art is oft-cited as a means of contextualizing the focus of his filmmaking. Eraserhead is ground-zero for David Lynch the painter creating David Lynch the filmmaker. The first thing I always notice when I watch Eraserhead is how consciously composed every frame of the film is. To the extent that this film has any clear precedent in filmmaking, it is reminiscent of very early impressionistic and experimental films of the early twentieth century. However, where those films necessarily lack a degree of self-consciousness or experience, Eraserhead uses the canvas of black and white film expertly. The film is deep and rich and grungy. Lynch’s keen interest in two-dimensional projection as his canvas always shines through. Frankly, Eraserhead can be enjoyed simply as an exercise in careful, beautiful framing and cinematography.

However, most people (including yours truly) do not go to the movies simply to marvel at the visual ingenuity of directors. That era of filmmaking and viewing died long before we, or even Lynch, were alive. We want to see images on the big screen that, in some way, speak to us about our own lives. Eraserhead on its’ face may confound that demand. It’s mysterious, and weird, and single-minded in a direction that we aren’t privy to. In my viewing of Eraserhead I’ve isolated quite a few interesting themes worth tugging on and stretching on which will make up the focus of this write-up.

Eraserhead’s life begins at ejection. Specifically, the oral ejection of a horrific sperm-worm piloted by a barnacled man inside of a planet. This film is steeped in bodily violation. Henry’s nightmare gives a crash-course in the sort of horror Eraserhead specializes in. It is reminiscent of HR Giger’s work in Alien, but is even bulkier and more unreal.. Many of the creature effects in this film are either physical puppets or stop-motion animated. Escaping Henry’s dreams into the ‘real world’ (more on that later) gives us an understanding of the environment that produces these nightmares.

I often end up viewing Eraserhead as being about adolescence, and the ways that children have to try on the clothes of adulthood in preparation for the real thing. The sequence of Henry walking home with his sack of nondescript groceries provide tons of fodder for this interpretation. It’s worth re-watching this scene as if it were film of a child making their way home from school in typical suburbia. We can observe the common obstacles like mounds of dirt and thick mud; it’s not a stretch to imagine the sack as reminiscent of a backpack or a lunch sack. Another point for this interpretation is his ritual of checking the mail cubby. I can almost imagine Henry’s dejection every time he gets no mail. Henry’s extreme vulnerability is central to all of his scenes outside of his apartment. The world dwarfs him, it is cruel and industrial and uncaring, he has to establish a single route home just to exert some sense of stability and control (as evidenced by his very deliberate mound traversal). This manufactured comfort will be contrasted during his awkward visit to Mary X’s house.

Viewing Henry as somehow adolescent or childish, we can see many references to common childhood emotions in the film. Walking down his apartment hallway, he is stopped by his enticing neighbor (Judith Anna Roberts). Henry is obviously intimidated and confused by his own intimidation in the face of a confident adul, and he escapes the conversation with as few words as possible. This disparity or outclassing between Henry and the world of adults is another thread I’ve found particularly interesting.

It’s worth making a note about the physical design of the lived-in spaces of this world. The most important space in the film is Henry’s apartment, and it’s incredibly dour and depressing. His attempts at sprucing up the place with plants go as far as piles of dirt with twigs stuck in them. He has virtually no real belongings. And the sound. Like most spaces in this world it is permeated by a constant vaguely industrial whirl and drone. To cover it up, Henry plays a record of atonal carnival music, but that only makes the aural assault even more troubling. An underlying aspect of Eraserhead is the results of industry on society. The rooms we see feel absolutely barren and devoid of what we would recognize as the human element. How do people get used to this? Is that a normal function of becoming a fully-realized human?

Eraserhead is often interpreted as a film about the fear of fatherhood. I see a lot of merit in this analysis. Henry is invited to dinner at the home of his on-again off-again girlfriend, Mary X (though, tellingly, this invitation is conveyed by someone much smokier and more seductive). His trek to her house is about as perilous as his walk home from the grocery store: the streets are now dark and muddled, exposed piping belches steam, dogs yelp in the distance, vines and semi-trees are growing up the exterior of the X household.

Before we get to the meat of the dinner scene (no pun intended), let’s circle back around to the notion of dreams. As I mentioned before, Lynch takes a peculiar approach to the canvas of cinema. The observation is often made that film is essentially a mass hallucination or dream, yet, many mainstream filmmakers want to avoid the reality of how film is consumed as much as possible. The goal of set and sound design, acting, editing, and visual effects in many ‘standard’ films is to convince viewers that they are experiencing a version of reality, as opposed to watching a series of moving pictures projected on a screen. We will come to some examples later in Lynch’s canon where he plays with the idea of verisimilitude and what it means to trick an audience into believing in the unreal, but you have to remember that Lynch is always aware of the façade and is often either counting on you to forget or remember it. It is seductive to imagine Eraserhead as operating on two separate layers of reality; Henry’s dreamscapes and the dreamscapes presented as Henry’s reality (ostensibly). However, do not feel restrained by this delineation at all. This is a free-for-all, and you are always watching a dream.

The whole dinner scene (including the lengthy preamble) is wonderful and confounding. This could be its’ own essay, where we dissect (pun intended?) the dense relationships and symbolism on display. However, since this write-up isn’t meant to be a play-by-play, I’ll stick to my two favorite elements: man-made chickens, and Henry and Mary’s sex life.

The chickens are a fascinating piece of symbolism, in part because they may be the only time a character seems to note, out loud, the odd state of their world (with the possible exception of Bill on the subject of plumbing – people think pipes grow in their houses). The chickens are very explicitly stated to be the result of human genetic muddling. Bill believes them to be just like regular chickens, but once one starts writhing and bleeding on the plate, we are forced to either wonder about what chickens are like in this universe, or consider that perhaps we are not dealing with people who are fully there. There are so many things you can take from the chicken-carving scene and analyze, but I’m going to stick with the physical act. Carving a bird at a family gathering is a classic signifier of masculinity and adulthood in Western culture, hell, James Joyce wrote about it in The Dead. However, in Eraserhead, this mode of human existence, like music and agriculture, is also perverted and horrifying. It is drained of all it’s commonness and played fully for horror.

Is becoming an adult an exercise in desensitization? Is becoming a man, specifically? This dinner scene raises that question. We’ll get back to it. After the aborted dinner, the real point of this whole play comes out – “Did you and Mary have sexual intercourse?”

This entire evening, Henry has had to try on the clothes of adulthood. He’s been asked about his vocation (he’s on vacation, a very adolescent dodge that Mary’s mother does not waste time accommodating), he’s been asked to carve the chicken, and after dinner he is asked directly if he has been having sex with Mary. Henry cannot answer this forward question, just as he can’t handle the smoky siren next door. He might be having sex, but he is not even close to being in a place where he can understand it, or speak about it. In fact, as we have seen, his nights are haunted by immensely sexual imagery. Henry’s attempts at adulthood have been markedly unsuccessful so far, but he doesn’t have much time to get with the program – there’s a baby, and even in Eraserhead babies need fathers.

At this moment, I’m going to follow the somewhat obtuse structure of Eraserhead, and let myself off the hook for annotating every scene, and get into some broader discussions of the themes I’ve detected in the film.

Fatherhood

Henry and Mary’s new infant is not human, even granting that sometimes babies are hardly human. It is small and reptillian. It rejects food, and very quickly contracts sores reminiscent of the barnacles on the face of the man in the planet from the beginning of the film. In a sense, this is the most hyper-charged way of talking about an issue that is common but not very popular: what if you have a responsibility to a baby that you did not want and cannot bond with?

Henry and Mary are neglectful parents to their quasi-baby. Mary ghosts Henry within days. Henry is not perturbed by the incessant crying of the creature, but it drives Mary crazy. This is a playful use and inversion of the instant perfect mom. Mary’s motherly instincts have not kicked in, she isn’t upset that the creature is crying because crying indicates some distress, she’s upset because it is annoying and robs her of her sleep. She does seem to try her best for a short time, but she’s paired with a man-child (a scene I’d like to draw attention to is when he arrives home on what seems to be the first day and lays lengthwise across the bed. It’s classically adolescent.) But within a night, she is gone, not to be seen in the *real* world again.

Henry also doesn’t find much in fatherhood to latch onto. When the baby becomes sick, he gets a radiator for it, but his concern is mostly centered on the fact that it would look bad if the infant died or got sick under his care, especially after an argument with his wife. Henry cannot accept his responsibility, in part because he cannot actually imagine this creature as having any meaningful relation to him, or even to the concept of a real child. The woman in the radiator suggestively points to filicide as a real option for Henry as she stomps on sperm worms. He further abdicates responsibility in the related dream where he pulls worms out of his wife, seemingly shifting the blame away from Henry’s troublesome sperm.

The real moment of Henry’s undoing comes with his affair with the woman next door. In an unbelievably intense scene, Henry is immediately seduced and (in a sense) liberated. Finally, we see Henry as a sexual entity, as he tries (in an outrageously symbolic manner) to keep his monstrous baby silent (though, in a telling moment that points to this being a dream of another sort, his neighbor apparently cannot retain focus on the infant for too long in the heat of Henry’s newfound prowess).

Henry’s lengthy post-coital dreams take him on a whirlwind psychic tour. He encounters the lady in the radiator again, is decapitated, his head is replaced with a leering sperm worm, and so on. There’s a lot to read into all of this. Henry’s head’s new use as an apparatus of his industrial world, the old man lying in the dusty street feebly watching a child collecting his head. All of it is dense and mystical and deserves another adjoining essay, which I haven’t written. Were these dreams about heaven, hell, suicide, guilt? I don’t have the answers, and again, I find the questions themselves more interesting.\

Is Adulthood Just Desensitization?

I briefly mentioned the sound design in Henry’s apartment, and I feel guilty that I don’t have the expertise on audio production to give this element of the film the gravity it deserves. Sound is so important to Eraserhead. The mixture of foley work and the otherworldly (though not entirely unfamiliar) industrial droning is iconic. Desensitization or failure to desensitize to sound is an important element of Eraserhead.. Henry has to put on a faded record to try and escape the constant drone of his apartment. Mary X cannot deal with the sonic stress of her crying creature/baby. Henry has to gag the creature to not alert his neighbor to its’ presence. The proliferation of unpleasant sound in this world is fundemental to its’ construction, and it seems like a big part of existing in the world of Eraserhead is simply dealing with intrusive sound.

Another aspect of desensitization in this film is Henry’s apparent sexual awakening. I’ve struggled a little in my interpretation of what the film is trying to say about sexual maturity. Henry, despite the construction of the story and the fact that he got a woman pregnant, has an extremely virginal outlook at the start of the film. Remember back to how he describes his outings with Mary X “why don’t you come around anymore?” and his dodginess when faced with Mary’s mother and her frank questioning. Henry seems marginally more comfortable in making sexual advances by the end of the film, but it also seems to be a wellspring of guilt and fear for him. His desires, rather than being healthily realized either by Mary X or his neighbor, instead seem to be made manifest as a terrifying, spermic creature.

New watchers of David Lynch should get ready for lots of confusing depictions of sex and gender in general. Lynch can don the clothes of a turn of the century white American man or a bohemian, depending on what sort of imagery he chooses to create. I think it’s more helpful to simply ask the question - what is Eraserhead saying about Henry’s growing knowledge and desire for sex?

A third type of desensitization present in Eraserhead is related to the lived-in environment. I touched on before how unflattering and unkempt Henry’s apartment is, but we should also retain sight of the fact that, well, David Lynch is working with late mid-century Philadelphia as his canvas. He seems to delight in the factory town in a way that I cannot fully understand, but if you read interviews with him about Eraserhead, he states that he loves the universe they created for the film and would live in it if he could. He’s an industrialist. But it’s also clear that these characters are not made whole by their environment. No one seems worried that all their plants die, and that all their music is atonal and garish This desensitization to an abjectly gross living situation isn’t an active process in the film- Henry never seems to be that upset by the shabbiness of his apartment, the concrete caverns of his apartment building, or the dead factories of his city. But we, as viewers, not accustomed to it, do have to take note of the circumstances, and eventually we come to internalize them as well. People are moulded by their environment, and Eraserhead wants to see what shapes they can take.

Adolescence

To wrap up my analysis, I want to think a little bit about the ending of the film. I come to it with a simple question: what direction is Henry going?

I’ve made previous mention to many instances of Henry’s evident childishness and naivete, but I perhaps haven’t been explicit enough.

I consider Henry’s sexual encounter with his neighbor to be almost purely adolescent fantasy (which isn’t to make a statement on it’s level of truth in the layered structure of this film, it seems to reside on the same layer as any other concrete event in the film, which is to say, it’s one layer down from planet man, and half a layer down from Henry’s head being used to make erasers, but also my layered structure is also completely just my own invented heuristic). My statements on the levels of narrative in this film are almost certainly undercooked, but I don’t necessarily think that we are meant to ever get any further than we want to on the question of what is real).

Adolescent impressions of sexuality are often eclipsed by real experiences later on, but in this scene the moments feel very raw and expectant. They are the impressions sustained by a preceding lifetime of unexperience. Every word in this scene hangs heavy. It’s incredible straight male wish fulfillment, and an intensely frank depiction of what children imagine sex to be: enticing and cosmically terrifying. What are we to see in this encounter? It seems like it is a source, or reincarnation, of guilt that Henry has created in the past and cannot escape, an interpretation that is bolstered by the violent imagery that follows as a consequence, and the fact that the two characters literally sink into a pool of goo.

Also, as a forward-looking note, this is not the last time Lynch creates impossible sexual encounters that feel positively inescapable. It’s one of the things that really draws me to his work.

But does all this - change Henry? Does it change us? What, by observing his dreams, are we meant to understand about him? I have impressions, but they are not concrete enough to try and write out. I consider the last twenty-five-ish minutes of Eraserhead to be a true litmus test. How they make you feel, what worlds they conjure and what possibilities are included and excluded in them is entirely personal. Frankly, writing about Eraserhead is somewhat quixotic because the film succeeds in a realm beyond words. There’s a reason telling someone else about your dream is so boring, after all.

So there we go! That’s the first post in my series. I cannot believe I’m going to write one of these every week for the next few months, but it’s immensely exciting and a new type of challenge. If you don’t like my take, or if you have your own, comment it. If you like this project and are excited for more, I’d really appreciate you subscribing or sharing this post!

Next week: The Elephant Man!

#eraserhead #davidlynch

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throwingideasatthewall · 3 years

Text

Clone Wars Brothers

I know of one of the weakest episodes the weakest relation,

I’m enthused (No I’m not)

Whoa,

It’s red

WHY IS IT RED??

You had one episode about Ven -tress

Is it now her show?

Seriously, what happened in that episode?

Hold up

[Let me ch- -eck]

Nope still is season four

Now with an apparent drop in quality

Great

[ *Cracks open*]

Ai- ght

O-h

B-ea ten

Ah no, he was shocked which yeah should’ve resulted in him being unconscious

But ,“beaten”?

Not the word I would’ve use there,

To be hon-est,

Cr-ea -tor

Oh he exist- ed before her *Spell * So, He’s not exactly Franken stein here (Frankenstein‘s monster if you’re being damn specific] Un-less..

Any-how-

Sense Him,

Bull shit,

But Okay,

(Seriously Dooku is just having all the vengeance today,

Sav-age Op -press

I mean everyone’s pretty equal on energy so ��I guess an experience And confidence (He can- )

*Seriously what is up with the coughing thing I know that was a something from the Og, But it has to mean something,

And have forseeable consequences

(Aka add to the story)

“A threat..”

Dude you consider-ed Ven -tress a threat last episode,

(Like Maul was apprenticed to Si-d-ious who by all means should be higher on the chain of command than V-en- -tress- -)

(The power chain is all screwy,)

Though I do kind of give them points for addressing the criticism I had last episode, of grievous being assigned assignment way below his belt,

Also excluding a few circumstances this is just constantly kicking with Grievous while he’s down,

And I’m honestly expecting a Face- turn any day now

(Like he got a glow up one episode before it promptly got thrown away, ,) ) “ All of us,”

All of us en-ablers,

“Con-trol,”

You can’t control an adult human being groomer (Se- ntient) . A din-n -er

Also why is the waitress bot fle-e-ing

Like wouldn’t it’s protocol dictate, Either conferring with a customer or Order-ing them to leave?

Like why by any name would you program your waitress bot to panic . And frigh ten- patrons? . Why - A-ight- - W-h

Well, that went on to long to be funny (Having it just cut to him ordering a cheeseburger now that would’ve been funny,)

Also - the hell?

Look nothing about anything that just happened indicated that this guy was on a mission or had any sort of plan other than malician

You can’t show him openly participating in the malici-an one second and then turning around and acting intelligent and on a mission . Not without a transition a whole lot more Of emotion And expla-

Ex;

“Where is it? You sa-”

“Put her down now or I’ll call the author-ities,”

[Catch -es eye- Backs Away - Slow-ly Runs into the alley/ cargo way] [Touches box- has some kind of indicator

[because of now- there’s nothing there, I have no idea what to do with it- Because there was no indicator of what he’s referring to,

Dude just touch the box and was like ‘This must be a clue!’

?? [like you need to throw some sand- or something on there-]

I generally have not feck what they were going for though

[Objectivity needs to reflect with what your chara -cater is saying otherwise I’m just going to assume they’re crazy]

(Aka you don’t need to put all the details out there out-front But you do need some indication. (Again some kind of residue or substance on his fingers)

Again I would have no idea what that would mean but I would have some indication that it meant something in the greater plan and I wasn’t just watching this character go un-accountable

[Sorry but details are im-portant] - ? [So she straight up track ed him right?]

Because if I don’t see a track-ing chip on him. . . I’m going to be a bit mad. . . ? - Yeah those dots are practically on top of each other so they must be in the same feck in din -ner - O-p. - Oh back to this boring plot point, . Maybe it’s gotten better from the documentary, it was . . . ? . They are un-accountable that started a war and people that could and very possibly would’ve murder- ed you at any point,

(I’m not sure jumpiness but generally aggression would be pretty well reason, ( Actually jumpiness at the unaccountable’s would be reasonable)

Also yeah I know her tone is still as dry as sand paper - Zero e-motion - Hey still no e-motion [A lower head and

Quick movement

Aren’t emotions]

Any puppet can lower it’s head and move quickly,

There’s no regrets in her line there’s no conflict. . . No inquisitive-ness there what-soever- - No rais. -ing of the eyebrows or lightning of the eyes,

Nor lightning of the tone or any energy,

Do you know to tell her pupils didn’t widen or move in anyway nor did her body language changed at all

... or her tone?

[that’s how you tell it’s fe’cki’n boring)]

There’s no emotional consequence to this at all

[Entertainment as a field that relies completely on empathy, on emotion, emotional stimuli

If you don’t have that

It’s not entertainment

It’s an animation and logistical voice acting how-to-course

[not that that’s not of value, just that it’s not as advertis-ed, Not as promoted, a problem]

Again what does any of this mean?

[This is BOR-ING- ] -

[Pretty sure they’ve never met this guy,]

Why. ? [I know because my amulet is pur -ring,] ] [ All said with no emotion, - ] - [Hot cold hot cold how the thing works nobody fecking knows- - ] [why does he look like a damn Muppet.]

[standing out in the field.]

[Why,]

[it just turned off five minutes ago what makes this time so important? ?

Wow that had no emotion or commitment whatsoever,]

It’s a snake

A sen-tient snake,

[ignoring any boom-er symbolism]

The heck kind of logistics does that make?

Like to make sentient?

It has to have the estimated amount of accountable energy,

Of everyone else

[Otherwise you’re just a cruel God]

Like with Zila

She had to be very delicate

*Em

So,how... ?

[”I have no time for you,” * proceeds to attempt to fight them* Constant characterization and consistency, what?

[This is very Stupid]

[Si-lence]

Oh, Ha Ha ha, it’s supposed to be funny because he’s a cheapskate despite that not being establishing no emotion being behind it , ha ha ha ha, so funny

[Damn this movie]

[Revenge against selfish and entitled boomers can be funny]

[Not in this case with no emotion]

[Or establishment]

[Making this unclear if it’s kicking down at your own level]

Feck you

No Emotion!

[No motivation whatsoever!]

Oh yeah sure they say that his thing is fine his brother whatever, whatever

[That’s a whole lot of telling and a fecking an inconsistent amount of showing

* as well as [lower] quality

If you want to put words and explanations over things happening go to documentary school

[i’m sorry I’m just a little pissed about this being called anything but observation]

If you want to do a thing at least make sure to do it properly!

[I’m a fan of en- tertainment]

[As well as observation]

[Seeing either mis-labeled is a damn shame- ]

[Could’ve been pretty useful,]

[Thanks to mislabeling it’s damn wasted time]

[And effort -]

[which again damn shame , ]

*apologies for the excessive use of [the word] “damn”

Unf-ortunately I don’t have anything else to say because there’s nothing much engaging, happening on screen,

[You know this could’ve been an honestly heartwarming message about someone who’s been treated to tox behavior by their peers and cre-ators, [. em-bittered to the world ] struggling to find value in themselves, On a mission by said pro-genitors, And a sandstorm- Cutting com- munication, To said tox influences,

Except for one (Semi)

Unfortunately due to the lack of commitment that didn’t happen,

The scenes with his communication gets cut is dry and tasteless, as well as (emotionless) , The set up is non-existence to poor taste. - And-

[Well I have no interest in his goals so this action scene is pretty pointless] -

[Nor does this have any tension because these guys are Junk -ers, We’ve seen Savage throw round heavier foes, and we have no idea anything ~ about - this guy ~ to give this any tension - no psy-chological weak -ness or dis -like~ - [You’ve turned a concept that could be a less emotionally implausible Franken -stein, Into dry-wall]

With no emotional in-vestment

[You know what would’ve been fun- [Done in writer’s tense;

If the snake and him had started to form a bond; and if the snake had given him some kind of order like, don’t attack those people;

Something that goes against everything that he’s been taught;

As well as the concept of people responding in re-tribution;

If he does; maybe the snakes showing some com- passion,

Since he knows what it’s like to be re-latively helpless-

Or just any sort of em-otion-

Because there is just nothing there~ ~No humanity there-

No humanity-

In this scene~

Not even inhumanity

[The evils in inhumanity

- Toxic humanity-

Or any - Self awareness-

What-so-ever

Any way

The story-

Continues to grate-

On my nerves-

Til the end-

[Oh look it’s fan-favorite; Maul

He’s [Un-accountable-]

If only you had hadn’t establish- ed everyone else is un- emotional puppets

And any outliers as anomalies-

There might’ve been someone to bounce off of

And give us a scale for how “off this is,

As it stands ‘gruff’ is now a per- sonality- - And people randomly attacking and yelling things at each other is a pretty much norm,

Great job taking all the emot-ion out of your supposed to be emot-ionally impactful moment

. *Re-veal

[Good time to contrast any sort of feelings towards -family-

- it’s - wasted- - You know in the most emotionally charged reveal you wouldn’t think they’d want to hide the eyes- the most emotional part of the body-

[then again you wouldn’t be these writers-]

NOTHING!

[Was gained]

Well.

What an awfully cho-reographed (Put to-gether) (Coordinate) Emotionless dull And un-entertaining Mis- labeled Observational Mess, (With no harsh regards) (I pity the animation team that had their efforts so poorly directed. (Stitch-ed together). (Used)

(Po-orly. Exposé (Ex-ecute)

Turning

What could’ve been an emotionally tense and F-ascinating story;

About a person who’s been subjected to talk with behavior since childhood and even in a supposed partnership (in one’s supposed Gen) being sent on a quest, by one of said person (s)

To find their older brother Gen(eration);

Who has since given into enabling

Getting cut off by a sand storm

F(inding a less tox influence

-That seems to show some interest for his well-being,

The communications refusing to work after the sandstorm leading to the implication that the toxic individual abandon him

The emotional res- ponse-

Getting re-abandoned by the less tox individual-

Encountering the older tox enabling gen -eration;

Who not only physically assa -ults him upon meeting

But refuses to ac-cept That (Seeing as how Savage is 22 (And an adult) It means he’s fail-ed and become the very thing he’s grown to dis-like,

And insist on staying focused on his ven- geance

(Against one group of enablers). )

(Expressing similar disposition to his abusers)

(And attempting to return to them;

Having gone through a world of nothing but cruelty)

Into;

Cardboard cut outs enacting an emotion -ally dead story,-

(With no proper set up)

[Not a yank - at the animation team.- -Just the dead soul -less nature of everything,

Involved.]

With no self-awareness,

About what a dry-

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nephyartis · 4 years

Text

“Out of Memory”

The Bird

"Listen closely now, r—ready? Tell her. Rebecca was. She was, uh. She's gone. I need her back. The idol of my worship. My soup kitchen sacrifice. And my sister in arms. And—and I was her sunshine! She told me so. She—I—I—the idiot that could make her laugh and kept her grounded. The dumb math, all the time. Calculating. Why wouldn’t she do it herself? I guess obviously because when you live with an accountant, all math is your, uh. Your job. My second job. Or theirs. Mine. I’m really fucking this up, oh god. Okay, three months ago. We found out she was pregnant—pregnant. Nearly in tears. Happy tears, mind you. Like, sadistic times when I enjoyed seeing her frazzled. Reminded me she was, erm. She wasn’t a god, but actually human. Gods don't just go away. Do they? Hah, maybe that’s just part and parcel. Oh lord I’m fucking this up. Well she fucked it up. Create life then disappear forever. Kah! Stupid. Utterly ridiculous. It's also not the point. Irrelevant. This isn't about me. Not me. I keep trying to, uh. To remind myself. Hasn't stopped the guilt yet. An—and I think I'm just making it worse, honestly. So—so! The purpose of this is to explain. Rebecca didn't run away. Something bad has happened. I’m not sure what. Meili, I need your h-heck-help!" The bird squawked the ends of its message.

It was like watching some grade school science project blow up in your face, or that’s what Mei thought. The parakeet started violently thrusting its head back and forth, heaving spats of blood. Then it appeared to lose any sense of balance, all while still hemorrhaging. This was enough to convince her that it was a good time to slide the door shut. Still, Mei continued to watch from behind the glass pane. Watch as the bird’s frantic motions painted her studio balcony. It was morbidly—dumbfoundedly—fascinating. But the spell soon worn off as the creature finally started to sputter out. Likely due to blood loss, no doubt, as some seconds later it collapsed. Its emerald feathers posed a stark contrast, speckled and glistening against the red, as it lay there unmoving.

It was a contrast that only served to make its message seem all the more shocking. Or perhaps panicked? Should she feel panic? No. Focus. All concerns gradually boiled down to two root sentiments: Apathy and Disgust. A talking bird that pukes itself to death? This was a sick joke. She had to be at work in an hour. That thing just ruined her balcony. To top off, she had no idea who this ‘Rebecca’ person was. Mei deflated with a sigh, studying the sad mass of bird. Then it struck her. While she didn't know who Rebecca was, she did know a sappy accountant that could fit the bill as sender.

Turning quickly, she slid back into to the rolling chair she had left behind, riding it all the way back to her desk. Everything in the meager apartment was where it ought to be, from bed sheets to car keys. Save for that bloody blemish upon the balcony, of course. She forces it out of mind though, focusing on the task at hand. The desktop. It was a plain and unremarkable piece of furniture, even sporting a few scuff marks. As she approached, however, the latent machine was beckoned to life. A task window, resting documents, input controls, some textual reminders, and various animated characters, all became physically illuminated over its surface.

“Glen Peckard.” It took little more than the name and a flick of her wrist for the machine to read her query.

“Right away, ma’am!” The little characters all became animated, appearing to dive through networks and data dumps, before returning with their prize. Glen Peckard, and his public handles. In the times he and Mei had spoken, there was never mention of significant others. Not for a lack of trying, of course, but he was one awkward dolt. Sappy to a fault.

“Any hits for a Rebecca?”

A notification chimes. Zero cross-references between Rebecca and Glen. Next up was private media networks. Being the breed of hopeless shut-in he was, Glen probably wasn't active on any shared networks, but it was worth checking at this rate.

Or it would be, except the search wouldn’t execute. No voice or virtual command seemed to register. Even after using the keyboard for manual entry, the machine simply refused to cooperate. So she leaned far to the right, chair squeaking as she examined the cord that trailed up from the back of the desk and to the ceiling. Up there was where the projection node hung. Everything about it seemed intact, though, and so to spite its failings, Meili started to snap her fingers up at it impatiently. As if the machine were under any obligation to respond. All the animated characters watched on, indifferent.

“Hey... Search!” It didn’t help, of course, but by the time the command did execute, she was standing in her chair, snapping up at the node. Glen’s latest logins were over six months ago, on a local networking server. This was going nowhere. Voice, text, and video attempts were all equally futile. Mei leveled a deadpan glare at the display field, once again trying to pressure the machine into spitting out the answers. Glen would reply sooner or later. Not that glaring should have him reply any quicker of course, but in her mind, the contest had only just begun. Before long, she would find herself reclined in the chair, then standing behind the chair, then eventually perched on her bed in the distance, watching from across the room. As if giving the machine more space was going to ease it into delivering Glen's reply any faster. Instead, the silence that followed gave way to the outside world. An incessant buzz of insects and the distant wail of a siren. No familiar chime of a new notification, though. So she deflates with a sigh once more, falling flat on the bed. It was about time for her to get going.

Keys, wallet, bag, umbrella, and socially appropriate attire. Check. She ran through the list with a nod. Next combing her fingers through the bangs of her hair, so as to tie it all back. Glen's place wasn't far and even if he wasn't behind this, she could still probably get him to clean up the bird.

Oh. The bird. Her eyes closed with a wince as the dead critter creeped back to mind. No. There was enough to worry about with the upcoming Servo Rally. The bird could wait.

Open Doors

"Move your fucking freckle!" Someone a few cars back blared their horn. Both the manual and autodriver lanes were at a crawl, trying to enter New Albany. The city even had their electric dummies up, which were basically just repurposed street lamps. Tall cylindrical chambers that depicted holographic persons inside, all dressed in safety vests and waving newcomers towards the rally. Fortunately, however, this would be the worst of it for Mei.

After finding her exit, she let go of the wheel and just laid her head against the window, looking up at the sky. A metamorphosis was about to take place. Soon the midday sun would be swallowed up by towering structures and the web of advertisements that hung between them. The murky Brisbane that snaked through the city's center would be no exception. Its waters full of ferries and freighters. These were sights less common for those who lived inland, where it was nothing but scorched wastelands. And everything was all the more bustling thanks to the political festivities.

"You have arrived." The car slowed to a stop, just outside of a large shadowed complex. It was a quiet street, vacant of any other vehicles or signs of life. As if all the city's blood had been pulled inwards, leaving the outskirts in a state of dreamless sleep. In fact, that’s probably what Glen was doing right about then. Sleeping. Mei stepped out and approached the building, glancing up towards the third floor where his room ought to be. Hanging there, just behind a bit of window curtain, was a fluorescent bird cage. It was like a neon sign showing exactly who to blame. The prior sense of disgust began to churn in the pit of her being once more, but not in the company of apathy. This time she laughed. She laughed equal parts vengeful sadist, and dissociative disbelief. And it would be that laughter that formed the basis of the smile that she wore, all the way up to room 306.

Knock, knock. "You home? Helloooo." She drew out the words in a mix of honey and venom. But no reply. Next came the door-bell. She rang it over and over again, in obnoxious repetition. After a few seconds more, there was still no reply. So with a huff and puff, Meili started to dig through her shoulder-bag until she found her jackknife. Of course, this wasn’t an ordinary jackknife. It was proprietary technology of CyberDags LLC. Her place of work. Instead of a blade, a mechanised key folded out from its handle. Once activated, it would attempt to match itself to whatever lock it was inside. Normally she was paid to do this sort of thing, but this was a special exception.

"I've respected your privacy by knockin' but am asserting my concern for your well-being by comin' in anyways!" The moment was a rush, as her tool made short work of the lock, and the sarcastic line simply emboldened her grin. She was ready to charge in with fangs bared. However even with her manic bitterness for what Glen had done, she was ill-prepared for the sights within.

There were no lamps on, leaving the room sparsely lit by what light could seep in between the curtains. Even still it was enough to tell something was wrong. The apartment looked to have been rearranged, either by some demented artistry or an internal explosion. To the left, kitchen shelves were thrown open. Their contents mostly shattered across the floor. In the distance, a closet had evidently erupted, spewing out its clothes. And to the right, each drawer of the nearby desk had been pulled opened, some completely pulled free. The room was littered in loose paper. Yet despite all the apparent chaos, everything created visual cues, leading one's eye to the center of the room where a horribly warped ceiling fan slowly spun in place. It was barely hanging from the roof by its wires, further serving to illuminate the place with electric sparks of light. Glen lay on the ground just below it, motionless. Without thinking she stepped closer but almost immediately slowed her pace. There were no signs of blood and it looked like he was still breathing. The bastard. Meilie’s posture stiffened, hands held tightly down at her sides, forcing a quiet laugh. Her smile returned.

"Had a wild night, did ya? Wake up, asshole." She got closer, crouching to the floor with knees tucked to chest, fully intent on slapping him awake. But at that moment she became suddenly aware there was someone, or something else, encroaching the periphery of her vision. She immediately looked up to see… nothing. That’s all she could think to call it. Nothing.

She was face-to-face with Nothingness. A patch of space from which the very air seemed to flee. It formed some nimbus shadow of absolute void. Through it translucent mass, everything appeared sharper. Mei was utterly baffled, losing balance and stumbling back onto her rear. As if in response, the epicenter of the shadowy nimbus blinked. The entire room trembled. Its invisible mass pressed into two opposite ends. Each one swelled then spilled to the floor, like a stream of tears. But there was no splash. Not a sound. Nothing.

"Glen!?" Mei shrieked in condemnation. Another sick joke? She began frantically kicking him in the side but Glen still wouldn’t stir. Instead, those stagnant streams of nothingness both begin reaching for his right foot, and as they did, the rubber of his shoe began to peel off in weightless flakes. Shortly after, so did his flesh. Droplets of blood, dusty shards of bone and strands of muscle fiber, all being torn free as they gravitated upstream. Gradually forming an entirely new entity as they melded together in the shadow's core. Creating that of a worm like tube, pale and ridged with membranous layers of mucus. Four triangular flaps of naked muscle eventually defining its mouth, as the tube contracted, then breathed out some form of archaic language.

"Vaj-took-kal."

#writtensamples

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writer59january13 · 6 years

Text

A Nightmare In Collegeville,™ Pennsylvania circa mid 1980's

While shuffling off to Buffalo (another name I use to call the bedroom here at 2 Highland Manor Drive), an impulsive whim found me rifling thru notebooks of very early writings from yours truly.

Back some decades (perhaps an amount of time approximately equal to the half life of element named Matthew Scott Harris), typed document unexpected spilled forth from a heavy duty three ring notebook binder.

Upon rummaging among typed efforts of literary amateurism, these myopic eyes stopped short when espying a stapled composition about four pages long. The material in question refers to the title of this piece de la resistance.

There appeared to be a beginning, middle and end, which degree of completion would absolve me to ponder a theme for self subscribed daily assignment, which discipline forced refinement of a verbose harried style, and not always swiftly tailored.

Hence the brief preface now allows, enables and provides this wordsmith to segue-way into the core firmly identifying lodestone of material (making alterations to hone clarity, favorability, and integrity) before releasing completed fictional story into cyberspace.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A primal fear coursed through my body, and haunted every fiber of my slight (slip of a young man) corporeal essence every time I passed the burned out hulk of what used to be the discount lighting and fixture store located at 3714 Germantown Pike, Fairview Village, Pennsylvania.

An emotion of fright gripped my psyche most prominently when I drove past the dilapidated, hollowed out scorched structure after the bewitching hour of duck. This palpable quotidian uneasiness best characterized as an eerily foreboding, ghostly sensation. Phantasmagoric phenomena purportedly populated these premises prior to the pyromaniacal torched act of a Mongolian Vandal.

Twas at twilight nocturnal sweeps of the clock, that the heavily damaged wing of the building stirred like some dormant, huge monster.

The charred ruins of unsold merchandise, collapsed rubble heap, crumpled corrugated roof material, and twisted (sister like) beams of steel appeared to lumber silently and stealthily along the ground analogous to sinister beast in search of prey.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Braggadocio got the better part of this ordinarily overly cautious young man (asper fools rush in where angels fear to tread apothegm).

Abe Zion (my best friend since kindergarten) double dared ourselves to test our comfort zones, and apply exposure therapy under apropos weather conditions.

Thus, when came a ferocious, dark and stormy night (nsync with thee refrain "It was a dark and stormy night" is an often-mocked and parodied phrase written by English novelist Edward Bulwer-Lytton in the opening sentence of his 1830 novel Paul Clifford. The phrase is considered to represent "the archetypal example of a florid, melodramatic style of fiction writing", also known as purple prose.

Actually, we struck up this mutual pact on a recent pitch perfect, gloriously sunny spring day to prove paranormal phenomena a confabulation, where nature played trick or treat with vulnerably susceptible rudimentary precinct of individual human mind.

We agreed on this deal (after watching an episode of Let's Make A Deal on television based on similar context). While brimming with testosterone roaring swagger, both of us sought to accomplish a twofold objective. We wanted to put to rest this unfounded rumor, that evil spirits inhabited the

abandoned , abysmal site, to test fledgling manhood by carrying out this adventure of daring-do.

When the rush hour traffic diminished on this most tempestuous, torturous, tumultuous evening, and no on-coming vehicles could be seen approaching from within our severely restrained minimal visual range, and the last traces of fearful silhouettes from passing headlights dissolved, we parked the car (a 1970 Yolks Beetle) within a secluded area of brush.

Each of us dressed appropriately in sturdy rainwear then walked the short distance to the forbidding, dismal, decrepit shell of a burnt offering with portable phones, and other paraphernalia in hand. Naturally, we conveniently ignored the NO TRESPASSING sign. Just a little bit of the heebie jeebies gave goosebumps as four light as a feather legs gingerly stepped over yellow plastic construction stripping cordoning and marking off perimeter of danger regard this condemned property.

Upon approaching what used to be the doorway to the store, we found the entrance blocked. Long (and fostered) animal nests, cobwebs, and thick vegetation impeded further progress. This dense brush needed to be cleared. Both of us unclasped the scythes and created (NIKE) swishing motions in an effort to minimize upsetting the resident flora and fauna ecosystem, who rightfully owned provenance to this territory.

Once a passage got cleared wide enough for slender framed teenage boys to slink through, the mission resumed. As told, donned cladding bolstered top of the line waterproof gear. Also lugged thru this morass comprised backpacks filled with ample food and drink. Entrance made into the inky black ominous void, whereby every sensory nerve cocked, primed in case an ill fate triggered necessity to escape.

When suitably acclimated to the pitch black environment did attention turn toward the raging tempest (that would no way fit inside a teacup), and ferocious roar outside indicative of horrible creatures, (where the wild things lurked) evident via cacophony of sounds.

Amidst this earsplitting maelstrom, a faint yet sharp noise (similar when people toast and clink wine glasses together) punctuated infinitesimal brief silences between the bagging and rattling din.

Subsequently, a phantom (possibly of the Opera) flitted close to our non-visible presence like some ephemeral spirit aware of intruders.

The hairs along my spine stood on end in tandem with chattering of my teeth, which found me to cling nervously (for dear life) the coat tails of Abe. He laughed softly, and said “come on scaredy cat”, concomitantly taunting me with mild unflattering names. Braveheart endearment tossed to him, whence the erratic waving flashlight, his signal for us to proceed.

Abe and I walked slowly and carefully with beams of light (flickering with fluctuating diminution of battery life) pointed to the ground, whence one direction indicated the vanished specter.

With each footstep closer to our objective (the bowel of what could easily be presumed bombed building), a hitherto undetectable source of phosphorescent shimmering now glowed dimly some length down the corridor.

As we headed deeper into the hallway (in an attempt to lay eyes on that after glow luminous emanation) to discover visa vis the mystery of this nebulous halo, my head accidentally knocked against dangling overhead merchandise, and right foot unwittingly kicked broken cluttered electrical contrivances scattered across the floor. The reverberation of the moving objects got me spooked. As a result, I let out a shriek of surprise.

When I next heard a maniacal cackle, I momentarily believed Abe to be playing a boyish cruel, practical joke sans emulating my voice in a sinister exaggerated tone. “Abe”, I said in a stern tenor. “Stop with that childish nonsense”!

Before he could defend his innocence, a blood curdling squawk filled the dank air as a whole horde of hobgoblins maddeningly swooshed about our faces.

We quickly (albeit instinctively, since painful black bore down upon blinking eyelids) dove for cover in a narrow, yet long abysmal recess within the wall. The pinched width of this alcove forced us to negotiate a careful maneuver, especially as the obstacle course incorporated serpentine curves.

Before planning a strategic approach, we each outfitted our baby soft hands with durable rubber gloves to protect the tender flesh against damp dark surfaces.

Inch be ooze filled inch (unbeknownst why, but the refrain from inch winch spider...occurred) as we edged forward through the void of absolute zero visibility, whereby a natural poorly wrought tunnel bled caustic, drastic, elastic flux akin to a soldering iron fashioning precise jewelry. Par for the course, and typical of most generic spooky tales hid sundry vermin lodged in crevices.

Said various and sundry critters scampered and slithered across thickly clothed arms and legs.

Eventually, the closed area expanded into a wider corridor, and eased growing claustrophobic tendencies.

Abe and I breathed a premature collective sigh of relief at this prospect, and exhibited less restraint by conversing in a more audible level of conversation versus a forced coda of whispering moments ago.

This creeping complacence did not last but a couple minutes. Once again peculiar creaks captured our acute hearing. In addition noticeable vibrations shook below our feet.

These tremor like movements (I associated, kindled, and linkedin, with earthquakes) increased in duration and intensity. Soon thereafter even more powerful shakes made standing and/or walking impossible. The entire (once complex) edifice shook violently, and forced us to take a knee way before Colin Kapernick.

A seismic shock wracked the foundation to its mooring, and thru us violently to the ground.

The timbers creaked and groaned as if under an unrelenting strain, and wrenched loose from their respective mortise and tenon joists. Floor boards popped loose from heavy duty industrial nails below, while shingles flew (akin to carrion diving after fresh road kill) haphazardly overhead. A patchwork of moonlight filtered down from a clear sky, and revealed a anatomically distorted skeletal frame.

One need expend imagination to envision the demolished structure waving like some hideous beastial ghoul or buoy. An ethereal quality imbued the remnant relic with a haunting spectre, a person could expect to encounter at a Halloween party.

The powerful force of each crumbling, grumbling, and lumbering surge (Knight clanging in rusty armor) from this pseudo living thing (satan incarnate) swept aside any immediate hope of escape.

While thinking to myself about the foolishness of this decision (an exploit to boast) to test the verity of a super-natural situation, a covey of apparitions considered myself and Abe ground zero (in this macabre version of zero sum game), and immediately rendered each of us unable to utter a word.

Try as I did, nary a recognizable plea exited this mouth.

Unlike anything I ever saw in this brief life of mine (suddenly cherished as more valuable than fine spun gold), these transparent, milky fiendish beings epitomized a demonic streak.

No doubt our earlier uninvited subterfuge (interpreted by these horrible hosts as a most sinister transgression) riled the figurative (or...maybe real tail feathers) these phantasmagoric banshees sought revenge.

Rather than meekly resign ourselves to whatever malevolent fate awaited us, we fought tooth and nail for our survival. This amounted to defensive access to an out of reach fenestration, when not parrying nor ducking from bodily harm.

A mighty strength grew up inside us as if by magic. Despite the topsy turvy momentum of the structure, we managed to stand upright like the bipedal hominids we knew and loved. I suddenly reacquired my speech and yelled out “for Christ sake Abe run for your life”!

I instantaneously followed suit.

Neither of us succeed in outsmarting our nemesis. Every cubby hole and hatchway found us face to face with a leering malicious grin much more frightful than that of the Cheshire Cat.

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