Mega Bear's Writing

I write short stories in the form of science fiction that deal with a lot of problems with society, though some are just written to be thrillers. Here's some of my best work. You can rate them if you want. This topic will be updated if I ever write anything worthwhile in the future.

Most of my writing has been done for school, having always earned me a full letter grade of extra credit every grading period. I've won first place in a local library writing competition for tender matters in the modern world, and first place in a state fair creative writing contest.

The Peaceful Shadows (Five pages). I give it a B+.

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The Peaceful Shadows

   Tyrone McKinnon wanted to have an adventure, to explore. He had always wanted to be a sailor when he grew up, but never got around to it. So on his thirty-fifth birthday, Tyrone bought a twenty-seven foot long ship, complete with a cabin full of household necessities; a kitchen, a bed, a couch, a table, a bathroom, and a TV. Oh, that boat was Tyrone’s most prized possession. It’s white underbelly, wooden paneling along the side, carpeted interior, leather seats, and relaxing awning above the sundeck. Occasionally on the weekends Tyrone would take the boat out onto the ocean and spend the night on it. He enjoyed the feeling of isolation while still being able to watch the city from afar. Then one day, Tyrone was fired from his job as a construction worker. Nearly the entire field of construction had been taken over by robots, as they required no pay, were easily programmed to perform the work, and ran no risk of injury. In fact, robotic workers had been introduced into nearly every job available on Earth -- astronaut, restaurant waiter, maid, freight ship captain -- you name it. So unless Tyrone were to win the lottery, obtain a human-only job such as CEO or professional athlete, then he was doomed to bankruptcy, and ultimately, would lose his boat. He had only two choice; lose the boat and make another attempt at life, or go into hiding. Tyrone didn’t give up his boat. He took all the food from his house, his TV, videogames, batteries, and other important possessions onto the boat and set sail. Let’s follow him. Closely.

   I had not heard another person’s voice in over a week. Of course, I always had the TV, but a person on television just didn’t cut it. It wasn’t a natural voice, it was a voice that once existed, was turned into radio waves through some kind of scientific tomfoolery, then bounced off a satellite, and sent back to my television as a real voice, but not a real voice. It was at one time a fresh, crisp and pleasant voice that was produced from a real person, but then we degraded it be sending that wonderful sound up into space through all kinds of electronics, then sent it back down to a receiver, who was crazy enough to accept it as a real person’s voice. Well, guess what!--it isn’t. It isn’t a real person’s voice. It used to be. I think if this keeps up, I may eventually forget to speak. I may forget my own name. Sometimes I lay awake at night, just repeating my name back to myself. Tyrone McKinnon, Tyrone McKinnon, Tyrone Wallace McKinnon, Tyrone McKinnon. I’ve stayed up all night just talking to myself before. I think that’s a sign of sea-crazy. I’ve been on the ocean too long, and am going crazy. It is a very possible reality.
   My maps are useless now. I gave up on navigating my way to South America about three days ago, and have just drifted since then. I think tomorrow I will begin to steer in the general direction of Brazil, based only on which direction the maps says Brazil is and which direction the compass is pointing. I’ve always heard that Brazil was a beautiful place, but I am American. I am afraid of most countries that are poorer than mine. I think that Brazil, in all its beauty, will just be a slum with tons of metal shacks laying along a river, until after driving for two hours, you come across the large and happily presented city of Brasilia. Last I heard, the robots were really fixing that place up. That’s pointless, as the city is fine as is. It is the main tourist attraction of Brazil, and possibly of the entire South American continent. If you ask me, the robots need to fix up the unknown-to-the-world towns that not even the inhabitants know the name of. If those towns were given a couple schools and a water purification plant then I think I’d dock there permanently. Though, I’m sure if the robots were ever sent to one of those towns, it would be completely put out of work just like the rest of the world. What a shame.
   I woke up the next day at eleven in the morning, eastern standard time. I had stayed up until midnight repeating my name and pretending to talk with old friends and family. I talked with two of my ex-girlfriends about politics, my divorced wife about local eating (or at least, food that used to be local, when I still had a house), my late father about sports, and my dog about fine literature. I honestly don’t understand what had gotten into me with the last conversation. I must have been very sleepy.
   I groggily walked out of my cabin to let the sun shine on me. The salty water from waves splashing into my boat flew into my face, lightly creating a clean layer of the ocean itself on my skin. I stood there for a moment just watching the ocean. The water was flat, very calm, and wonderfully pristine.  I could see a small coral reef below my boat, with many exotic fish swimming around. A little hungry, I baited my fishing pole and cast out my line. I wanted to have a real genuine seafood breakfast, with an obvious side of cantaloupe to prevent scurvy. After that I would start for Brazil and its glory.
   The line began to tug after a few minutes of being submerged. I pulled the line up quickly. The fish seemed to weigh quite a bit, at least forty pounds. It put up a good fight, but eventually met its fate. As the animal hit my deck, flopping around just a little bit, I gasped. It was like no other aquatic animal I had ever seen. The creature was three feet long, had a green-gray gradient kind of color on it, where the body gradually got greener until the tip of the tail was a sick, polluted hue of green. Its skin was rough, and felt like moist sandpaper. The dorsal and tail fin were round. I managed to open its mouth, and found that it had flat teeth, and two canines on each row of teeth. Whatever this fish was, it had yet to be documented. I quickly emptied the drinks from my cooler and put them in the fridge, then gently lay the fish among the ice. Once it was positioned, I dumped some more ice onto it and made sure the cooler was safely stowed under my small table. When I reach some kind of human settlement, I would take that fish straight to the nearest zoological center.
   After that I caught a tuna, which tasted good with a little cooking. I then turned the boat motor on and steered in Brazil’s direction.
   I listened to the TV as I drove. There were many dark clouds that had appeared overhead not too long ago. It made me miss the clear morning of today. The news reporter on television spoke in Portuguese, which meant I must have been close enough to Brazil to pick up its local news channels. I didn’t understand a word she said, but there were many images of dark clouds and the word ‘Furacão’ appeared on the screen a lot. My best guess is that there is a tropical storm heading my way.
   It turns out my guess was correct. The clouds quickly surrounded me, and rain began to pour down very heavily. Soon, I was overpowered and retreated into my cabin. I made my best attempt to seal the doors and windows from the onrush of waves that continuously rocked my boat, but to no avail. Last I remembered was my ship capsizing, and the cooler containing the odd fish knocking me out.
   I awoke with a burning sensation all over my body. My eyes wouldn’t open. Was I dead? I wouldn’t accept death, and kept trying to open my eyes. Eventually it worked, and I saw the ridiculously bright sun above my head. There were a couple of green objects in my peripheral field of view. My back was horribly hot, so I sat up and noticed the green objects were palm trees. I looked around and saw that I lay on a small beach, with my boat torn in half along the shore, with the opened portion facing myself. Apparently the storm had blown my boat off course, and I somehow survived the whole thing … barely. As I inspected the wreckage, I found the cooler with my new fish still inside, perfectly preserved. I dumped a little bit of melted water out, then stowed the cooler away in my bathroom, to keep whatever ice that was left alive. Once finished, I stepped outside to look at my surroundings. The land was littered with jungle, and had one large mountain in the middle of the trees. I began to walk along the beach to see if I could find any humans, but the entire place was stranded.
   After much walking, I eventually came back to my wrecked boat. I had walked around the entire land, so it was an island. So that was it, I was stranded on an island. I plopped down into the sand and sat there repeating my name to myself. “Tyrone McKinnon. Tyrone McKinnon.” I said. Then I noticed something move around by my ship. I looked up to see the shadow of a fellow human being cast from behind the bow. Immediately I stood up and cautiously walked over to it. When I turned the corner of the hull and saw that no one was there, I shed a tear. The sea-crazy really was getting to me. I kicked sand onto the evidently fake shadow and walked on. I looked back and saw the shadow begin to follow me. So it was my shadow.
   I went back over to the spot I was previously sitting in, and again collapsed into the sand, watching the sun set. My shadow followed me, but then stopped when I sat. “Sit down!” I yelled at the shadow for no apparent reason, allowing the crazy to set. “Sit!” The shadow still stood there, as if someone else was casting it onto the sand. I kicked some sand onto the figure, and it seemed to move away from the pebbly rain. Intrigued, I again grabbed a handful of sand and threw it to the figure. “Stop.” I heard a voice say. I jumped up, shocked. A human voice! A fresh, living human voice! “Who said that?” I shouted. “I, of course.” The voice again said. I asked, “Where are you? Where!” “Down by your side.” The voice said. I looked around myself but saw no one. “I don’t see you!” I said in frustration. The voice replied, “Look down.” I did as it ordered, and looked down at the shadow. “What a peculiar being you are,” It said, “not being limited to mere horizontal existence.” I stared closer at the shadow and said, “What?” Then, as if it was really speaking to me, the shadow said, “You. You are three dimensional. You have width, length, and height. I only exist on the X-Axis.” “The shadow is talking?” I said. As night began to fall, the shadow moved away into the forest. I followed best I could, and right before the sun went down and total darkness set in, I thought I saw more shadows.
   The next day was even odder. When I woke up there were many silhouettes along the ground moving about, seemingly in some sort of chaotic dance routine. I leapt up from the ground on which I had slumbered and ran into the brush, watching this odd occurrence. Everywhere in this open area, shadows similar to the one I saw yesterday were locked in some kind of battle, throwing spears and shooting arrows, all while keeping  a two-dimensional shape. It was like something out of a horror movie.
   Then, after crouching in the bushes for a few minutes and watching shadows murder each other, one of these beings came up behind me and said, “You again.” I turned around with fright and stared at the dark figure on the ground. “Don’t be afraid.” It said. I, for some reason, seemed to loosen up when it said that. It was as if my subconscious knew this thing was of no danger.
   “Please, allow me to explain this.” The shadow said. I nodded hesitantly and listened. The shadow said, “On our island, we have never seen a creature like you. You have the first three dimensions, which we have only theorized based on our mountain and the trees. How is it even possible for you to exist?” I looked at it for a moment, then said, “How is it possible for you to exist?” The shadow lay there still, then said again, “It is obvious that neither of us can think within the other’s dimensions. Then, let me attempt to put all this in terms you understand. We are not of your dimension. We lack the breadth you have. Understand thus far?” My head was cocked, though I did manage to nod. “Good,” It said, “this is going well. Can you imagine, we are speaking inter-dimensionally! Oh yes, might as well keep this basic. Simple. As I was saying, we exist in two dimensions only. This island is home to--” A lighter-colored shadow came up behind the one speaking to me and threw one of their spears into him. I watched in horror and interest as the shadow who had been so fond of I keel over and die. The lighter shadow told me to follow.
   I was taken to what seemed to be a camp made for the shadow people. They sat me down, which would have had no affect anyway, but for them it seemed to be a sign of formality. One light shadow appeared from the jungle and ‘sat’ at the other end of their circle, opposite of me. “Three dimensional man, we welcome you.” It said. “Yes … hello.” I said. This was one serious case of crazy.
   “Tell us, why do you visit our war-torn land?” The light shadow asked me.
   “A storm blew me here.”
   “A storm? What is a storm?”
   “You don’t know what a storm is?”
   “Well, we may know, but we most likely have not been able to name it.”
   “A storm is a large collection of rain and wind that can cause damage to many things. The storm I had, for example, tore my boat in half.”
   “Boat?”
   “You guys really have little three dimensional understanding, huh?”
   “All we know of is the mountain, the trees, and the imperfections of the dirt.”
   “Just save me the breath of explaining every object I know of, please.” I said.
   “Of course. Continue.”
   “Well, the storm simply blew me here. I found one of you shadow-people and he led me to that huge battle.”
   “Ah, yes. I assume you would like the battle explained.”
   “Yeah,”
   The shadow appeared to clap his hands, and a lesser shadow came up to him with some kind of square.
   “This,” The light shadow leader said, “is  our holy book. It explains all.”
   “Really now?”
   “Yes. It can tell me why we have been fighting for so long.”
   “Please, ‘read’ it.”
   With an opening of the object, the shadow spoke, “According to this passage, our war with the darker shadows began thousands of years ago--”
   “You’ve been fighting with the other shadows for thousands of years?!”
   “Apparently. As I was saying, it all began back when we were created two-dimensionally on this three dimension world. We were enemies with the darks from the start. So we had wars constantly, but to no gain. Every night, our life is restored by the darkness. Only on full moons do we not replenish. Then, during the day we fight more. It’s been like this every day for as long as anyone can remember.”
   “That’s messed up!”
   “No, not when your opponent is a conniving race of low-lives.”
   “Do you even know why you two races began to fight in the first place?”
   “The holy book says nothing of a reason to fight, only that fight we must.” The shadow said.
   “Well, can’t you make peace with them?”
   “It is against the holy book!”
   “But, where I come from, we do not let religion get in the way of politics. You see, we find associating the two very juvenile and discriminating.”
   “Discriminating?”
   “Hating a whole race of someone for no reason at all.”
   “But the holy b--”
   “I don’t want to hear you use the holy book as an excuse for everything. You and the darker shadows can make peace, and end all the wars. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
   “Well,” The lighter shadow said.

   So Tyrone convinced the two races of shadows to end the wars, and they experienced peace on that island forever more. All because of Tyrone, who ended up settling down there. He used parts from his boat to build a humble house, in which a fish unknown to the world is mounted on the wall as Tyrone’s most prized possession. On his island, the television picks up almost any channel on Earth, allowing him to have unlimited entertainment.
   When another human appeared on the shores of Tyrone’s island, he was happily greeted. It didn’t matter who they were, Tyrone would build them a house. Tyrone would gather their fruit, would introduce them to the shadow people, would teach them about two-dimensional living, and all that stuff for a small price. You know what he charged that person for all the luxuries they could ever want? A word a day.


Meet Me in the Courtyard (Nine pages). I give it an A.

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Meet Me in The Courtyard

   My and my friend Lloyd were boarding a plane to Germany to meet some of the undergrounders. I was ecstatic to be going there, the undergrounders were a major discovery in our history, you know. Being historians, this could be quite a breakthrough for us. Especially since the undergrounders were relatively new to the media, we could sell some our report to independent companies for literally millions of dollars.
   On the plane Lloyd asked me, “Have you seen the pictures of them?” I nodded and said, “Yeah.”
   “They’re kind of pale, don’t you think?”
   “Evidently. They have been underground for hundreds of years.”
   “Well, not just pale. The majority of them are blind.”
   “Yes, Lloyd, the darkness of caverns has that effect on animals.”
   “Animals?”
   I frowned, “Maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words.”
   “Well I know what you mean. Even then, though, they have lights.”
   “Not the miners. The miners are in the caverns most of their life with merely a headlamp, they don’t get much light at all.”
   “No torches hung on the wall? Lanterns?”
   “Those are limited to the main city. Lloyd, their running an entire civilization down there. All the metal and coal they bring up is used in the buildings, homes, and factories.”
   “I get it, but they are able to keep those hundreds of farms and artificial forests strong for, what was it? I mean, how long have they been down there?”
   “Five centuries. Beginning during the reformation of the Catholic Church leading to Protestantism.”
   “Yeah. Five hundred years. If those cave dwellers kept farms and forests from dying for five hundred years just through old oil lamps and torches passed down through generations, shouldn’t they have built up enough resources from mining to light up their mines?”
   “You’re acting as if they are cavemen.”
   “What? Well … essentially, aren’t they?
   “Of course not. To be underground for five hundred years, completely cut off from all outside contact, they figure things out on their own. The undergrounders created intricate electronic systems spanning throughout the city, much like the one we have today.”
   “How?”
   “Two hundred years of pickaxes, then another two hundred years of gradually more powerful drills.”
   “No, seriously. How?”
   “Metal. They found the raw materials needed to create electricity. Copper and various other elements.”
   “All that stuff just in one spot under Germany?”
   “No way. Their mines extend a couple hundred miles under the country, even the continent, to untapped areas full of resources like oil and iron.”
   “In five hundred years?”
   “We did it in about the same time too, you know. I mean like, that’s about the time it takes for a country to get on their feet. Plus they didn’t start fresh.”
   “Huh?”
   “The undergrounders weren’t idiots, Lloyd. They were all Lutherans, which of course Lutheranism was a very radical philosophy for the time. These colonists of Earth’s final frontier were intelligent, they knew how to create a self-sustaining society. How else do you think they got all the dirt necessary for farms, were able to dig to the correct depth to prevent cave-ins, and above all odds establish a power grid under two miles of rock?”
   “But Christopher,” Lloyd said uncertainly.
   “Yes?”
   “They’re covered in dirt!”
   I chuckled and said, “Animals tend to get dirty when underground for five hundred years.”
   Upon landing in Germany, we were delighted for our embassy to have already arranged a cab that would take us to a hotel. The hotel itself wasn’t pretty, nor did the nightclub next door add to the already-beautiful atmosphere, but the beds were soft and the shower was shiny. As Lloyd and I tried to relax a random maid would come by and knock on the door every ten minutes insisting we had ordered extra towels to be delivered to our room, for an extra fee of twenty dollars. Every time we kindly corrected them in broken Portuguese.
   The next morning we watched a short documentary about the discovery of the undergrounders before checking out of our room. The video claimed the city was originally discovered when an iron mine collapsed into the main citadel that was constructed ages ago in case the Catholics sent troops to destroy them. The fortress was damaged, so clearly there had been some kind of an unrecorded battle there. Live footage was shown from the point of view from the first expedition crew to venture far into the city. After an hour of trekking through three-meter-high tunnels the camera showed them emerge into an almost unbelievable scene of tall buildings and dim lights scattered about a poverty-mangled metropolis. The camera panned around as undergrounders gathered about these outsiders and stared blankly at them. Communication was attempted but they all spoke some old European language that no one could make out. Lloyd had a degree in communication, and was an expert with foreign languages and guessed that it was a language they created on their own. From some of the lightly guttural noises they used, he said it was likely derived from German.
   Later that day when we got to one of the main entrances to the city--the natives called it Lutheraum--we were hounded by guards and asked for passes. We just showed them our nametags which stated who we were representing. It was enough to get us into the main citadel. A second line of guards wouldn’t let us into the enlarged tunnel leading to the city itself.
   “Christopher,” Lloyd said to me in a low tone.
   “Yeah?”
   “I will be damned if we don’t interview real undergrounders.”
   “I’ll get us in there somehow Lloyd. I wouldn’t give up this opportunity.”
   I told Lloyd to wait in the citadel and get pictures of the ruined fort while I went up two miles in an elevator and called my boss. Although our organization--we call it that to gain support from the public as “company” sounds to corporately snobbish--was small, we still had a decent caste system.
   “Dante, glad I reached you.” I said.
   “Ah, Christopher. How was your flight?”
   “It was fine. The new security they introduced last year is really high-tech and exhausting, but there’s been literally no threats since then.”
   “Oh that’s good.”
   “Yeah.” There was a pause. “I didn’t call you to small talk, though.”
   “I kind of knew that.”
   “Well, here’s the problem; the guards won’t let us past the main citadel. We need pictures of the city and the undergrounders in their own environment to spark the attention of clients.”
   “Ah yes. I guess we can just be glad it isn’t like airport security huh?”
   “Of course. What I don’t understand is why the government fills our airports with the entire military, but leaves quite possibly the greatest piece of history at the hands of a couple hundred grunts with pistols.”
   “Quite, these undergrounders are basically an entirely new race of people.”
   “Okay this is all beside the point. How do I get into the city?”
   “From what I read from the accounts of the first expedition crew, there were deep chutes in the walls every hundred or so feet that are presumed to be used for trash. They are big enough to fit a person in.”
   “You aren’t suggesting we kill the guards, are you?”
   “Not at all, just put them in the chutes until you‘re done then get them out.”
   I was quiet for a second then said, “Dante?”
   “Yes?”
   “We are historians, not special operation forces infiltrating an enemy base.”
   “The media has done worse in the past.”
   “Why do you always insist on calling us ‘the media’?”
   “Isn’t that what we are?”
   “No Dante. We are very different from television reporters or journalists.”
   “How so?”
   “The stuff we write goes into history books, the stuff those sleazy liars write goes into newsletters that imbeciles read then overreact to. Our stuff is written unbiased or all future generations will be misinformed. Their readers lose interest after fifteen minutes.”
   “It’s interesting when you put it that way.”
   “I can also tell you the difference between a civilian and a citizen.”
   “There’s a difference?”
   “A huge one, even larger than--”
   Dante interrupted me, “Sorry Chris, I need to go. Secretary just said I am to attend an interview with the press about how our field workers are getting first-hand stories with the undergrounders.”
   “If you’re using a roundabout way of telling me to get back to work, it isn’t convincing. I still need to get past security.”
   “Lloyd will think of something.” He hung up.
   When I went back underground Lloyd was closely examining a stone wall in the citadel. He thumbed some dust away and looked closer. “What is it?” I asked. Lloyd looked up at me and said, “Some weird scratches. They don’t look like they were caused by any documented weaponry from the era.” I shrugged then said, “Dante couldn’t get us past security.” Lloyd looked up at me then said, “You called Dante?” “Of course, I couldn’t think of anything.” I replied. Lloyd stood up then said, “I have a plan, grab some chunks of this stone.”
   We walked up to security with long pillars of stone slung over our shoulders. Lloyd said, “Excuse us gentlemen, we are bringing some supplies to the undergrounders.” One of the guards stood up and investigated the stone.
   “You’re bringing them worn-out stone slabs?” The guard questioned.
   Lloyd hesitated then said, “They prefer traditional materials.”
   “Used stone? I could understand marble or granite, but used stone?”
   “Look, we really need to get this stuff down there now.”
   “Clearance?”
   “What?”
   “Where’s your clearance? Official permission?”
   Lloyd used his free hand to pull out his ID and organization ID for our historical institute. “Here you are.”
   The guard looked at his counterparts then, with his tongue in his cheek, nodded us through. Lloyd and I walked silently until we turned a corner so that we were out of sight. Then the two of us dropped the stone slabs down a chute and continued onward. We arrived at a third line of guards about an hour later. These ones carried weapons still, but wore no bulletproof vests. They stood up upon sighting us and asked, “You boys the ones supposed to have the stone slabs?” I looked at Lloyd and he looked at me. I acted quickly.
   “Oh those guys?” I said. “We saw them awhile back, they were apparently kind of tired from lugging that stone around and were taking a small rest.”
   “Funny, I was only radioed about those guys coming down here. No one else.” A guard said and held up a walkie-talkie.
   “Really? That’s weird. Well we’ll be on our way.” I then stepped forward trying to get past them, but they wouldn’t allow me to penetrate their wall of frantically shoving arms. Past them the enormous dome-shaped cavern was visible, along with all of its office buildings, homes, and parks.
   “Not so fast now. Please identify yourselves.”
   “We work for the,” I began to give an explanation, but then Lloyd grabbed a guard and flung his arm gripping the gun around and pointed it at the other men. For a moment I stood there stunned that such a daring moved would have been tried by anyone in this conversation. Hastily, I did the same with one of the other men. Of the three that were there, two were now completely under our control, along with their pistols. The third placed his gun on the ground so we wouldn’t do anything endangering, which I thought was funny since our current situation was the one thing we least wanted to radicalize.
   “Lloyd,” I said uneasily, “what do we do now?”
   Lloyd struggled with his guard for a second. “I have no clue.”
   “Well we can’t just leave them here!”
   “Obviously! This has to be a felony.”
   I grabbed two of the guns and shoved them into my pockets. Lloyd did the same, and we ordered the guards to follow us. We took them down into the main city, viewing all the undergrounders along the way. The undergrounders stopped to stare at us as we passed by, some occasionally gasping or hurrying their children along. We smiled fearfully and waved.
   After wandering for some time, Lloyd and I decided to just leave the guards in the middle of a park. If they were to find their way out, it wouldn’t be very fast.
   Lloyd and I hard an easy time finding the capitol building. It was at the center of the city and clearly labeled in both German and their language. When we walked in, there were many undergrounders walking through the main room and disappearing into hallways for various political meetings or negotiations with Germany, seeing as how both nations now shared land. Lloyd spoke fluent German to a secretary at one of the multiple desks along the perimeter of the room, asking her if we could question some undergrounders and look at historical records. She granted us permission to the archives of all the city’s libraries, but said that no historian nor political figure was willing to speak to surfacers at the moment. This didn’t disappoint us, the undergrounders were very cautious and were bound to wait until they knew for sure whether or not the surfacers were safe.
   The main library was relatively small. Any books that were available to the public had been written in the past five hundred years by residents of Lutheraum. Even then, all the books were comprised of broken German that had been slowly transitioning to their language. The only books that any residents were able to read were modern ones. Lloyd and I selected a mere five pieces of literature from the public section as examples of their language development. Although these would be useful in explaining how their culture developed, both of us agreed that the archives were where we would need to search.
   Now the archives were actually larger than the public section, though only by a slim margin. Anything down here we were told was not allowed to leave the city, so if we were to study them later on I would have to photograph the pages. Both of us had brought cameras for our report, so this would be easy.
   The majority of the books in the archive were written in old German dialects, as they were brought underground by the wealthy Lutherans that could afford them, let alone read them. There were a few historical accounts down here, we took pictures of any notable parts as Lloyd was still able to read some of the more basic phrases used in the older German variations. We left the library with three novellas and two outdated textbooks, all of which had historic value. Next the two of us took some pictures of local landmarks and important locations. One building was the first Lutheran church to be built here. We were bombarded by police-esque authorities shouting at us in very imperfect German not to get the holy painting of Martin Luther in any of our images, and we tried not to. Promptly we looked elsewhere for visual aids, as the church wasn’t going to yield much significant material for our report. Local shops and schools were one of our biggest priorities to show the life of the common undergrounder. A few residents allowed us to photograph the interior of their homes. Two let us ask them questions, as they were representatives for Lutheraum and negotiated with surfacers. Lloyd did all of the talking since only he could communicate with them through German.
   “So could you tell me about Lutheraum’s founding?” He asked.
   “I am sorry, I don’t understand the question. Our city found nothing.” The undergrounder we were talking to said.
   “I’m apologize, I think I incorrectly used the words.” Lloyd said, turning to me for the next sentence. “Their German dialect is very odd. I can’t phrase the question as ‘Lutheraum’s founding’, only as ‘the founding of Lutheraum.’ Evidently German was quite different five centuries ago, that or they lost most meanings through lack of writing.” Then he turned his attention back to the undergrounder, whose name was Edgar Stalengrud, who not only was a negotiator but a historian as well. “Mr. Stalengrud, what I meant to say was ‘could you tell me about the founding of Lutheraum?’”
   “Yes. From the contexts I’ve read, a man named Arthur Henden convinced just about everyone in a small village Lutheran--”
   Lloyd looked back at me, “The way he uses the terms ‘village’ and then ‘Lutheran’ shows their technique of religious description. Write that down.” I nodded and wrote it down on a pad of paper.
   Stalengrud said, “--to leave their homes and move on to a safer place where they would be safe from the Church Catholic. Arthur proposed this because he, among many of the other men in the village, had witnessed troops Catholic raze entire towns that had a population Lutheran.”
   “Did the village require coaxing into this?”
   “Yes, Arthur had to promise many benefits. Most of these people were lowly farmers with no money to their name. To convince them to pick everything up and move was very complicated.”
   “Well clearly he succeeded. So how exactly did they build the city?”
   “It wasn’t all just sudden.”
   “I know, that’s a given.” Lloyd said. “I’d like to know how long it took to build the city, the labor, the resources.”
   “First some mathematicians planned out the city. They used precise calculations--although still slightly incorrect, but nonetheless they were geniuses for the time--to figure out at exactly what depth the city should be, where buildings should be placed, and all those things. Then the village’s strongest men went to work constructing a large staircase-like path into the earth, cautious not to let it collapse by erecting pillars and ceilings to support the thinner areas. Overall, the planning and digging to the desired location took over three years of almost constant work. When the digging was done, the cavern was just a very big hall. We can’t ever tell for certain, but writings described it as about forty or so feet across, twenty feet worth of headroom, and it stretched for a couple hundred feet.”
   “You’re familiar with feet, inches, et cetera?”
   “I read up on the metric system, SI measurement, and English customary units last week. They are all quite different from our way.”
   “I see. We will have to review that later on. Anyway, what were living quarters like when Lutheraum was first created?”
   Stalengrud was silent for a moment, rubbing his cheek. “There are many different claims from the era talking about it. I recall one resident saying it was ‘humid and very damp, but extremely roomy.’ Another, written by Arthur himself, said it was ‘large, and easy to get used to. This desolate grotto will, without doubt, evolve into a thriving terrene settlement that not even the largest Catholic cavalry can overtake.’ That isn’t word-for-word, as much of it was lost in translation. The only part of it that bears resemblance to the language of the time is the ‘Catholic cavalry’ portion. This is, as you may have already noticed, improper in our language as we state religion after noun or pronoun.”
   “So in general, it was nothing more than a cave with a few homes?”
   “You could say that. Though I forgot to mention, the homes were at first just holes in the wall with a few rooms inside. Doors were added shortly after, and a few regular trips were made to the surface for resources.”
   “At what point was the surface cut off from the ‘desolate grotto’?”
   “An event known only for its, and I quote from a resident, ‘great earth shaking’ collapsed the staircase, killing Arthur and two other men. We can infer that this was likely to be just an earthquake.”
   Lloyd turned back to me and said, “Are there any fault lines in this area? No, I don’t want to know now, write it down.” His attention shifted to Stalengrud, “So how did they survive while being completely cut-off from the surface?”
   “At this point Lutheraum had existed underground for about two decades, so they had raised the ceiling, built farms, and stockpiled supplies in a building.”
   “How did they keep meat from going bad?”
   “Any perishables were wrapped in thick hide and placed on elevated surfaces. There was always an occasional case of food poisoning, though.”
   “And how did they dispose of this spoiled food, along with other waste?”
   “There was a specific building with a deep hole in it. Any waste was taken in a bucket or box, dumped into the hole, then covered with some sand or gravel.”
   “Didn’t the hole ever get full?”
   “Yes, more holes were dug.”
   “Well, didn’t dangerous gas build up from the decomposing matter?”
   “Eventually a large vertical tunnel was built atop the garbage building and any harmful fumes would float upwards, and leak out onto the surface.”
   “They got back to the surface?”
   “Yes, though by that time surface resources were no longer needed, so no trips were made to the surface unless the residents were in dire need of said resource.”
   “Did any of these shortages occur?”
   “Only two major ones were recorded. One for lumber, and another one for animals to breed. Meat was very valuable, so animals were in constant demand. A farmer would always have a hard time with animals since they were just living in a large underground pasture, but it paid off when they received top dollar for some pork.”
   “You’ve brushed up on surface currency too, I see.”
   “Most political figures had to if they wanted to keep their job. If I was to become a good negotiator and historian, I would need to learn about the way of life of the surfacers.”
   “That’s good, Mr. Stalengrud. I have one more question before we leave. At what point did Lutheraum begin to expand the fastest?”
   Edgar leaned back in his chair. He seemed to be deep in thought. “That is hard to answer. No immigrants ever arrived for palpable reasons. Lutheraum grew at a fairly constant rate that was entirely up to the residents. I’m sorry I can’t give you an answer.”
   “That’s fine.” Lloyd said. Then we left.
   The next person, a woman named Francine Svuhrur, taught at a public school. Although, their public schools weren’t the same as ours. Girls were not allowed in, this factor having come about due to influence from early European culture that never died. Lloyd and I didn’t think much of it, there were far worse education systems in the world. I just quickly scribbled it down on the notepad and continued to listen as Lloyd asked Francine some questions.
   “What is life like for the average adult man?” He asked.
   “He wakes up during active hours and prepares for his job.”
   “Active hours? I’m assuming that’s your version of day.”
   “You are correct. With no sun or moon to shine on our city, the lighting sources are kept dull at all times. Lights are turned down, candles are blown out, all to simulate the night and day cycle.”
   “That’s amazing. Is anything done for seasons?”
   “Simulating the conditions for seasons is much too complex, plus it would only be imposing on our way of life. You know, creating something unnecessary that can only slow us.”
   “Makes perfect sense. So what do the men around here do?”
   “Half of them work in the mines. The other half are farmers, animal caretakers, or work for the city and its hospitals, electric grid, or any other federal institutes. There’s a very small percentile that work as politicians or businessmen, though. The men work during the active hours as I said a few seconds ago, but authorities, catastrophe control, and doctors tend to work night shifts too.”
   “What are the ‘catastrophe control’ people for?”
   “They put out fires, rescue people from collapsed buildings, those kind of things.” When Francine said this, I began to take note of undergrounder emergency services.
   “That makes sense. Now, what do women do?”
   “Stay at home, some teach at schools.”
   “Do any women own property?”
   Francine frowned and said, “Nothing more than some material possessions.” I then took note of the caste system the undergrounders use to determine social status. Strictly sexist environment with perks to both genders, but less vivid female lives.
   “What kind of government is run in Lutheraum?” Lloyd worded his question so as not to say ‘what kind of government does Lutheraum run?’
   “It may be hard to say, so I’ll just attempt to explain it to you using your own government terms. We are ruled by a king, but he consults a cabinet on decisions. Whether he decides to take the cabinet’s word into consideration or not is his choice.”
   “A monarchistic democracy?”
   “Exactly, though the government is run by Lutheran political figures.” So the king is more of a religious zealot leading these people through faith.
   “Religion is associated with state?”
   “Lutheraum was founded by Lutherans, and named after Martin Luther. Of course our only leaders are Lutheran.”
   Lloyd got up and said, “I think we’ve gathered enough information for now. Let’s get ready to go back to America. You have the books?”
   I got up too, and made sure I had everything in my backpack. “Yes.”
   We left the city, spotting the guards on the way out, and dropping the stolen pistols into those chutes along the hall. Lutheraum was a pretty big place, despite being underground. The guards would probably be lost there for a while. Lloyd and I arrived at the airport an hour or two later with the books we had taken from the library, our pictures, and notes. The flight back to the office was tiring, especially with the jetlag. Lloyd deciphered parts of the books, and saved the Lutheraum-language ones for a much later date. Dante had our photos printed and typed up a report for the press based on my notes and firsthand accounts. Every picture I had taken of the city was completely new and unreleased to the public. And since only a select few had earned the privilege of entering Lutheraum, each picture sold for a small fortune. The report sold for even more. Not long after, our information was all over the Internet, in updated textbooks, and being sent from person to person. Our historical organization was quite a success.
   After all the frantic activities that come with publishing golden information, me and Lloyd made frequent visits to Lutheraum. The undergrounders gradually began to settle in homes on the surface, and the ones we had become friends with periodically came to visit us in America. Though Lloyd seemed to dislike them. The reason, I don’t think I will ever know. Their religious close-mindedness? Their sexism? Impossible, Lloyd knew that many cultures are different and could accept people for who they were.
   One day I invited him to the courtyard behind the small building used as a headquarters for our organization. Originally we were just going to chat and have lunch. I also asked Francine and Edgar to join us, and Lloyd was surprised to see them. A couple minutes into the conversation we were having and he stormed off. I guess intolerance will turn you into a jerk like that.
   Bored, I called Lloyd. When he picked up and greeted me I said, “Want to come to the courtyard today for lunch?”
   “Will there be undergrounders there?”
   “Yes.”
   He sighed, was quiet, then said, “Okay, I’ll come. There’s a lot of stuff we never got to ask them.”
   “Like what?”
   “Like how they manage to stay clean when underground their whole lives.”
   “I think they just get dirty and occasionally clean it off with rags.”
   “Or they stay dirty.”
   “Like animals.” I said. Lloyd laughed nervously, and I realized that, even though I was being sarcastic and sparking some nostalgic thoughts between us, what I just said could have been sparking a new discriminative trend.  “Maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words.”


The City Hungers (Two pages). I give it a C-.

Code:

The City Hungers

   They said it couldn’t happen. It wasn’t supported by science, in fact, it was denied by science. Though, that was obviously wrong. They exist, and everyone everywhere knows it. Despite the government’s attempts, they have spread. The ‘zombies’ as they are commonly referred to have taken over most of America, small parts of Canada, all of Mexico, and all of Central America. Small groups of the undead have been lucky enough to get into South American countries, but the Brazilian military has held them off for the most part. Lucky for them, because my friend and I are probably the last humans left in the southwest. Though, we are both focused on one thing; getting to Brazil. We will have to journey for weeks, probably months. Eventually we will need to cross through dense jungle to find a clean Brazilian settlement. But that is ahead of us, and survivors live in the ‘now.’
   “Andy,” I said in the darkness of our locked room, “we should be leaving. I think it is getting bright outside.” Andy didn’t stir in his sleep. The concrete floor we rested on all last night must have gave him a hard time, and I am sure the groans of the undead outside the building didn’t help either. I shook him a little bit to see if I could wake him up. It worked, but not very well. Andy awoke with great fright and instinctively cocked his pistol, then pointed it at me. “Come on, Phil,” He said with a sigh, putting the gun down, “you know not to scare me like that.” Andy was deathly afraid of the zombies. Well, of course everyone was afraid of the zombies, but Andy had a specific kind of fear. His boss had been dragged out of their office one time while he and other employees were working a late night. This was back before the threat had spread very widely. Andy had heard the cries for help and the groans of death. He and a few other of the IRS workers that were previously typing away on their computer had armed themselves with as many makeshift weapons as they had. He had a fire extinguisher, while Bee had a chair, and Frederick a couple of pens. All his other co-workers had just grabbed a useless office item in hopes they wouldn’t be charged. When they finally found the pack of undead, Andy’s boss was mostly devoured with his three killers standing over him. Amazingly, Andy and his group fought the zombies into an elevator, where they hastily sent it to the basement. Police arrived and launched a full investigation, but the zombies couldn’t be found anywhere in the office building. Though, back when people still existed in mass numbers, this was the theory as to how Dallas first got its major infection. While those three zombies were never found, they are the most likely cause as to how Dallas became overrun.
   “Let’s go Andy,” I said, “pack up the bags and we can head out.” Andy nodded and rolled up his sleeping bag. Afterwards, he put all his food into plastic bags and stuffed them into his backpack. “I thought you knew not to do that.” I said. Andy replied, “Do what?” “Leave food out. It attracts zombies.” I said matter-of-factly. “Right, sorry.” Andy said and walked over to the door. He opened it to find a zombie lingering a few feet from the entrance. Andy quickly raised his arm and shot the monster before it even realized what had happened. “Oh crap!” I exclaimed. Andy slammed the door shut, which added to the noise we had already made. In the stairwell connected to our door we could hear tons of zombies suddenly become alert and start moving up to our room. Although our door was made of a thick metal, it would not hold them for long. We had to make an escape. “Damn it Andy! That gunshot is going to call every zombie in the city to our location!” I shouted over the fists banging on our door. “I’m sorry! I was scared and it was an impulse!” Andy protested as he moved to the window. I walked over and looked out it and saw a horde of undead approaching as the sun rose above the horizon. “We can’t escape on foot, that’s for sure.” He said. I noticed the remnants of a fire escape alongside the exterior wall of the building, and had an idea. Although the escape was destroyed in many parts, if we were careful enough we could get to the roof. “Andy,” I said, “we need to try to get to the fire escape.” He looked at it and instantly cringed, “It’s broken and will probably fall to pieces if we put our weight on it.” He kept staring at it then finally said, “Well, it’s worth a try.”
   We climbed out the windows and slowly walked with our stomachs against a brick wall, while slowly moving our feet along a small concrete decorative overhang. We reached the fire escape and started to carefully yet hastily move up it, occasionally having to fire our gun at a more limber zombie who managed to climb out a window and follow us. It was evident they had broken into our previous room and were beginning to pursue us further. Andy was right about the ladder being likely to break away under our feet. A couple of times we were challenged with our feet suddenly having no support, but we did miraculously make it to the roof. Once up there, we both ran around the perimeter of the building and destroyed all other ladders, making sure there was no way a zombie could get up here. There was, however, a small door on the roof that led to the stairwell, but it had a padlock and chains on it.
   “Well, now that we are up here,” Andy said, “what do we do now?” I hadn’t really thought of it that far. We climb onto the roof of a five-story apartment building, break all the ways back down to isolate ourselves, then what? Die of starvation on the roof or fall down into a mob of flesh-eating monsters? “Well?” Andy said. I shrugged, “I really don’t know.” “So we’re stuck up here now.” Andy said blatantly. I sat down in misery and said, “Yeah. We’re stuck up here.” Suddenly we heard some knocking on the door that leads to the stairwell. We both walked over to it hesitantly. The knocks were very precise, almost timed. They were three short taps, three long taps, followed by three short taps again. For the first time in years, I remembered my days in the scouts. I learned Morse Code, and these knocks sounded familiar. “Oh my God,” I said in a low voice. Andy spoke without taking his eyes off the door, “What?” “That’s Morse Code,” I explained, “for SOS.” There were two possibilities. Either there was someone in the stairwell, or there was a zombie who had just so happened to repeat SOS five times perfectly. Andy and I simultaneously reached for the door, and carefully opened it.


© 2010 Ethan Ross
Yep, they're all copyrighted.

If that's copyrighted then I can copyright my name

Cookieman wrote:If that's copyrighted then I can copyright my name

Cookieman sounds like a common name though.

Mega Bear wrote:

Cookieman wrote:If that's copyrighted then I can copyright my name

Cookieman sounds like a common name though.

I was more thinking of my Steam name, but alright then.

dafrandle wrote:

k

kk.

Cookieman wrote:kk.

KKK

FAILUER

Mega Bear wrote:

Cookieman wrote:kk.

KKK

KRAZY KWILTING KLUB!

Cookieman wrote:

Mega Bear wrote:

Cookieman wrote:kk.

KKK

KU KLUX KLAN!

... rasitst

dafrandle wrote:

Cookieman wrote:

Mega Bear wrote:

Cookieman wrote:kk.

KKK

KU KLUX KLAN!

... rasitst

Says the one who can't spell "racist"

Cookieman wrote:

Mega Bear wrote:

Cookieman wrote:kk.

KKK

KRAZY KWILTING KLUB!

I Made... a Scary Ghost Costume!

what?

dafrandle wrote:what?

try watching [You must be registered and logged in to see this link.], then probably you'll understand why i said that.
and probably say "you racist bastard" ¬_¬

Neohax wrote:

dafrandle wrote:what?

try watching [You must be registered and logged in to see this link.], then probably you'll understand why i said that.
and probably say "you racist bastard" ¬_¬

Smosh isn't funny anymore.

i get it now

Cookieman wrote:

Neohax wrote:

dafrandle wrote:what?

try watching [You must be registered and logged in to see this link.], then probably you'll understand why i said that.
and probably say "you racist bastard" ¬_¬

Smosh isn't funny anymore.

ik