Running – Chapter 1

My first post, possibly going to try and continue this when I can. Apart from that, enjoy and please give feedback!

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The world went to hell in the short time span of a day.

A more average morning couldn’t be found at any other time.  The streets were packed with commuters, and noise could be heard for what seemed like miles. Smoke marred the sky, a sign of the beginning of another productive day. If looked upon in a birds eye view, the city would be nothing short of a living, breathing throng of people dressed in suits. Now and then the occasional horn of a car would sound, triggering more than a few brawls, but that was normal. The traits of a busy city. If only the unaware city-goers could savour that moment of routine for a second longer.

A scream signalled the start of the outbreak. A loud, terrifying shriek that would chill even the coldest of men. Blood spurted onto a nearby graffiti covered wall, painting a new kind of art known as death. The bystanders had no idea what was going on. Nobody knew if it was a performance of some sort, some of the poor fools clapped at the woman’s doom. The woman of course just kept screaming, until it got to her throat. Then her legs gave way, and the bystanders clapped even more, attracting it’s attention. The poor fools.

With that, order was broken. Snatched away by them, shattered in the cold, dead hands of them.

The outbreak itself was by no means the worst part of this. Soon after the outbreak came the gangs, terrorising the populous and taking advantage of the panic. This was their glory moment, at least that was what the insane ones kept chanting while the ones with a speck of sanity ran like Satan himself was on their heels. Their little facade lasted little more than a few minutes, maybe at the very most an hour, before they got overrun as well. You can still see the remnants of the gangs splayed along the empty streets or splattered on nearby walls, as long as their killers allowed even that much leeway in their feeding.

The gangs may seem pathetic, but at the time they really were powerful. Deaths from the infection were only rivalled by deaths from the gangs. They tortured their victims as well, worse than the infected did. At least the ones that took death from the cruel hand of the gangs didn’t move after they died.

After the gangs got overrun, survivors grouped together, some from the shattered gangs that had ran. Every move made was one made by the groups decision and the groups decision only. That was if you were lucky enough to be in a democratic group. The unfortunate ones were stuck with gang leaders that somehow survived, the dictators that commanded the groups like slaves.

Even after all this, it still wasn’t as bad as the next disaster.

A deep feminine voice from the sky had reached ears of anyone that still had ears. At first nobody knew what it was, then we saw the soldiers. Then we knew. In the minute that spanned over the talking, utter silence ensued, as if the infected had shut up to listen. Of course, it was general crap about “remaining calm” as they eloquently put it, but the last part really got us. The firebombings were coming. The city was being quarantined, and survivors were to head to areas where the military had control of to be checked and “saved”. After two weeks, a series of incendiary bombing devices were to be dropped on the city, eliminating all organic life. The broadcast ended, and the silence continued for another minute.

The city was a deserted, barren, industrialised wasteland. The buildings looked out of place. The streets were coated in a deep red. Fires illuminated patches of smoke, bathing the city in a demonic red-orange light. Well, at least it fit the blood.

And that is how the city fell, and how my life began.

-End chapter 1

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“Logicomix warns against the pursuit of order in a disordered world.” – Jason L.

An essay I wrote for the Logicomix sac in mainstream english. Not perfect but could be useful for others studying the graphic novel in the future. -Jason Li

 

Albert Einstein stated that “As our circle of knowledge expands, so does the circumference of darkness surrounding it.” In the graphic novel Logicomix Apostolos Doxiadis and Christos Papadimitriou explore the life of Bertrand Russell’s “epic search for truth” and its effects. In many ways the novel tells the dangers of chasing logic in a chaotic and inexplicable world. Many individuals who continue down this difficult path surrender to mental illness. Furthermore, by committing their lives to hard work, they not only expose themselves to disappointment but also then find it hard to maintain close relationships. However, Logicomix also suggests that the pursuit of logic is not necessarily perilous as fame and satisfaction can be gained. Therefore, while the authors clearly warn against the dangers of devotion to the pursuit of order, they also suggest that there are certainly hidden benefits.

One of Logicomix’s main themes is the dangers of being involved in the quest for logic. Those who are involved in this pursuit are obviously deep thinkers who question “even what every child knows.” This different view of the world and constant questioning can lead to madness. Cantor is one such victim. He is depicted in a, presumably mental hospital with the frames featuring dark colours and strong contrast creating a sense of gloom. The rain during the scene also foreshadows Cantor’s madness as it represents the countless thoughts pounding constantly in his brain. Cantor’s work with infinity, something “you cannot count” seems to be the direct cause of his mental state, as his brain cannot cope with trying to use logic to explain everything about such a complicated subject. Frege is similarly damaged. His “rigour” and intense constant concentration on logic leads him to believe that Jews are “undermining the nation’s foundations.” The colouring of the frames is also very dark. Moreover, the fact that the window frames of his study are highlighted suggests he is imprisoned by his own obsession. The large bold font in phrases such as “THE DANGER IS TOO GREAT!” and “THE JEWISH ONE OF COURSE!!!” as he frowns angrily through gritted teeth and thumps the desk, seems to suggest that he has lost his senses and that his obsession is totally illogical. He is also depicted as obsessed by his wife, as shown by the fact that he is scribbling busily and surrounded by piles of paper. Looking Russell observes “logic is a tool…you can use it to cut bread with – or kill” it is clear that the novel is suggesting that mentally disturbed academics can actually be dangerous for society as a whole, since Frege seems to be supporting the eventual genocide of Jews in the Holocaust. In this way, Logicomix shows the dangers of pursuing logic for society as a whole.

There also seems to be dangers in becoming so obsessed with pursuing logic that relationships suffer. In order to achieve goals, hard work is necessary, but people must also face competition and devastating failures. During Russell’s career, he is constantly aware of competitors. When he attends a talk in Paris with “everybody who was anybody in mathematics” his entire competition is laid out in front of him, placing him under intense pressure. At this point, he feels it is necessary to work harder as he sets out with “fiery, though rather misjudged, optimism, to write” a book following his return from Paris. The detrimental effects of pursuing logic can be clearly seen when Russell decides to write the “Principia Mathematica” with Alfred Whitehead. Believing that “hard work was all” that was needed, they take “ten years to complete the first three volumes.” They even live together “to gain more time for work.” Yet, despite all these efforts, their work is a failure. The publishers could not “find a single reader to evaluate the manuscript” and leaves the two with an ultimatum to either publish if they “pay for the printing” or not publish. The rain and grey colour of the outside world represents the disappointment and sadness of the two men which the artists also show through their slouched bodies with shabby clothes, silence and emotionless faces. Russell’s time and effort into building “foundations for logic” is also challenged and dismantled by his student, Wittgenstein who writes a book contradicting his teacher. This event leaves Russell terrified at the possibility of “total annihilation of his life’s work” as Wittgenstein’s work gains influence. Wittgenstein’s decimation of Russell’s work echoes the way Russell himself took apart Cantor’s set theory with one paradox showing that however successful an academic is, he can still be challenged. Thus, Logicomix warns about the hard work and commitment required to work towards an intangible result, and the failures along the way.

Additionally, Doxiadis and Papadimitriou suggest that chasing logic obsessively can destroy relationships. When men devote their every living moment to their quests, they inevitably have no time for their wives. Women are depicted as secondary to their husbands, with no real input or thoughts of their own. They are just left alone, and seemingly regarded as a mere inconvenience. Frau Frege is clearly frustrated with her situation as seen by her tired facial expressions and having to tell Frege when he has enough flowers, living with a man whose rigour and absent-mindedness strains their relationship. A concerned Alys witnesses Frege’s eccentricity and later remarks that she “wouldn’t want to be the great man’s wife.” Although Frege’s marriage stays intact the same cannot be said for the Russells. His decision to “uncover the treasures of logic came at a price.” Russell’s obsession with logic has visible impacts on his relationship with Alys. One such occasion is when she kindly asks Russell if he would “require anything” and he snaps back with “peace from further interruptions.” She is diminished in the background and seen with back turned symbolising how unimportant she has become to her husband. When the stress finally boils over at Whitehead’s house, Russell releases his rage against the long-suffering Alys, insulting her as “a total ass” and claiming that he is “sick and tired” of her. The red walls in this scene represent Russell’s anger and the abruptness of the fight that separates the two forever. After this divorce, his marriage to Dora also fails as he moves “out of Beacon Hill and his marriage with Dora.” A result of a fight which was because of his obsession with trying to give his “own children an ideal education” and selfishness seen when he doesn’t care about his baby’s crying and leaves Dora to check.He later concedes that his quest deprived his children of both “home and parents.” By focusing on these marriages Logicomix highlights the danger that relationships face when a man commits to logic.

On the other hand, the text also suggests that minds can never stop enquiring and the pursuit of logic can achieve fame and satisfaction. Even as a child Russell has an inquisitive mind. From just one “unearthly moan” Russell’s “eagerness to know” drives him to investigate. This curiosity extends into his adolescence as he challenges a professor at Cambridge University on the definition of “infinitesimal”. His “thirst for knowledge did not diminish” and is one of the main driving factors in his quest. Russell’s discovery of a paradox existing in the idea of sets is portrayed in five frames showing his deep thoughts and shock when he makes the discovery which “made him an overnight celebrity mathematical circles.” The wall in the background changes in turn with his surprise showing his sense of satisfaction in the discovery. His holiday in Wales shows what the pursuit of reason gives him. Rather than be worried about his dark past, he is ready to battle against his “old enemy irrationality” and pursue the “natural harmony of Reason.” This section of the novel is filled with greenery, flowers and birds and an entire page devoted to Russell standing arms outstretched and shouting at the beauty. He describes himself “strong enough to cry out” as he could he could finally “turn [his] back on [his] dark legacy. Here the authors show that the pursuit of reason allows Russell to move forward in life. Furthermore, despite his failures he becomes a highly respected “philosopher, mathematician and above all, great logician.” The audience’s clapping indicates how respected he is, something he may not have achieved had he not pursued his quest. Therefore, the novel suggests that although that pursuing logic can have rewards.

Clearly, Logicomix offers a variety of messages about the effects of pursuing logic. Extensive thinking can lead to madness, no guarantee of results from hard work and difficulty in maintaining a close relationship. Despite the dangers, fame and satisfaction can be gained and minds cannot stop enquiring. The dangers of pursuing logic in a chaotic world is clear but there are benefits which come out of the inevitable chase.

The Journey Of Terro Chapter One, Alex Joshi.

This is the first chapter of a story I’ve started to write, hardly edited and it’s likely a few details will change.

Enjoy!

Chapter One
The tall, dark man stepped into the bar, out of the freezing winds. He had a very archaic cloak draped around his shoulders, made out of some sort of dark leather. It covered most of his body, concealing all but his head. He had dark, greying hair, and he clearly hadn’t shaved for days. His dark eyes observed the room around him, searching for something.
The bar was in the south polar region of New Belgrade, a medium sized planet with a temperate climate for a good half of the year, apart from its polar regions, which were, polar.
The other half of the year, New Belgrade moved much closer to it’s sun, making the otherwise temperate regions fiery, barren and uninhabitable. The polar regions became tropical and warm.
The planet’s native flora was adapted to this cycle. Each year the plant cells switched from a green, soft, absorbent material into a dead, white, hardened matter. It was subject to intense research by the scientists of the European Union, which had a research base at the planet’s north. No civilians were allowed up there, meaning that the south was the only place for the small economy, which relied upon the EU citizens looking for a relaxing stay in a quieter part of the galaxy.
The war hadn’t reached so deep into the EU sector. In fact, the EU was probably the least affected by the war. With thousands of robots doing the fighting for them, the EU’s people were far happier compared to the Asian’s or the Antarctic’s.
The man found his the person he was looking for. He walked over, long, confident strides.
He sat next to a fairly young man. Early thirties. Brown hair, grey eyes. Pale face, twitchy. He was drinking a carbonated alcohol, sweetened, a dark lilac.
The tall, dark man put on a pair of electronic glasses. He tapped them once, and a heads up display flipped up, displaying biodata of the people he was looking at. More importantly, it also showed mana levels, as well as checking for elemental powers. The latter was what the tall, dark man was looking for.
The tall dark man sat down heavily on the stool next to the brown haired, grey eyed man. The brown haired, grey eyed man spun around on his stool, and looked at the tall, dark man.
“You could, like, sit a little further away?” The brown haired man said.
“I’m here to talk about your daughter.” The tall, dark man said.
The brown haired man sighed, dropping his glass onto the bar. It buzzed as it settled. He reached for something on the other side of his body.
“My name is Terro. I’m not who you think I am.” The tall, dark man said.
“You know what they said ten years ago?” The brown haired man said.
“No.” Terro replied.
“The exact same f***** thing.” The brown haired man said, pulling a gun out and pointing it at Terro.
“To the letter?” Terro asked. “Moving statue? What this man is having, please.”
The robot behind the counter twisted and scanned Terro. “You are of age.” It made the drink.
“Yes, to the letter.” The brown haired man said sarcastically, wiggling his gun.
“Are you being sarcastic?” Terro asked. “It’s hard to tell. This century has made language difficult.”
“This century? What was your name again?” The brown haired man asked, twisting his head.
“My name is Terro Earthshaker, alternatively Terro Stromtor, Lord of Earth.” Terro scowled. “Or Ex-Lord of Earth now.”
“And now you want to take my daughter away from me? If you really are who you say you are, who the legends say you are, then you have compassion. You have no idea what it feels like, to have a person you love taken away from you.”
The glass in Terro’s hand shattered into a thousand glowing pieces. “A person? Try your entire life. Your domain. Everything you ever worked on, anything you ever helped, and anyone who you helped- all burned in one fiery instant.” Terro said, a fiery anger burning under his voice. “I’m trying to rebuild what I lost- your daughter is the first step for that.”
“How do I know you aren’t just another one of the Queen’s dogs?” The brown haired man asked.
“You’ve heard my name before-” Terro started.
Shouts could be heard down the street.
“I’m wanted by the Queen.” Terro said.
The brown haired man listened to the shouts. “You lead them here.”
Terro paused for a moment. “We’re out of time. Where is your daughter?”
The shouts were getting closer. The brown haired man took a deep breath. “You can come with my daughter and I for now. She can make the decision herself. Do you have a ship?”
“No, I came here by shuttle.” Terro replied.
“You what?!” The brown haired man said.
“I wasn’t counting on trouble.” Terro answered, as heavily armoured soldiers burst through the door.
The soldiers were wearing full body armour, and were covered from their head to their toes. They spotted the brown haired man, holding the gun.
“This is him!” One of them yelled. “Put the gun down.”
“It’s your choice.” Terro said to the brown haired man, standing up.
The brown haired man turned the gun to the soldiers. “Why don’t you?”
“Fire at will.” One of the soldiers said.
A spray of bullets burst from the soldiers’ rifles, and the brown haired man dove behind a table. Terro, on the other hand, held up his right palm. The bullets stopped in the air, glowing slightly.
“He’s an earth elemental!” One of the soldiers yelled. “Switch to energy!”
Terro winced, and flicked his hand outwards. The bullets flew out, back to their owners. The soldier’s armour absorbed them easily.
The brown haired man looked up. He hadn’t seen Terro’s display of power.
“How are you not dead?” He asked, looking over the table and giving fire.
Terro drew his sword and lunged at the nearest soldier, slicing through the soldier’s armour like paper. The armour could take a hit from a high calibre rifle, but high calibre rounds weren’t sharper than a surgeon’s scalpel. Terro grabbed the soldier and used him as a shield from the other soldier’s energy blasts. He threw the soldier towards another soldier, sending them both tumbling.
“Your drink, sir.” The robot barman said.
Terro grabbed the moving statue/robot and smacked the remaining soldiers with it.
“I am calling the police. Stay where you areee….” The robot died.
The brown haired man stood up. “We better go. Follow me.” He reloaded his gun and walked out a back entrance.
“Can you fly a metal boat?” Terro asked, following him into a dark alleyway.
“You mean a ship? You mean you can’t?” The brown haired man asked. “Are you kidding me?”
“I can’t fly a metal boat.” Terro said, frowning. “I don’t kid. I’m a man.”
“Bloody hell.” The brown haired man cursed. “I can fly, luckily enough. In here.”
Soldiers filled the alleyway. “Down here!”
Terro followed the brown haired man into a cheap hostel, and sprinted up three flights of stairs, up the fire escape. They ran through the fire door.
“Seal the door.” The brown haired man said.
Terro twisted around and melted the hinges of the fire door. The brown haired man stopped at room 35. He squatted down and had his eye scanned.
“Welcome.” The soft, smooth voice of a computer permitted entrance.
“Xanthe! We’ve got to go, now.” The brown haired man said. “Close the door.”
Terro closed the door with his mind. He felt it mechanically lock.
“Do you want me to seal it?” Terro asked.
“So we’re trapped in here? Sure, why not?” The brown haired man said sarcastically.
Terro sealed the door.
“Oh my god. Are you kidding me?” The brown haired man said. “Xanthe. Now.”
“Dad! I heard shots! Are you OK?” Xanthe charged into the room. “Who’s that?”
Terro put his glasses on. They started to calibrate Xanthe’s power levels.
“This is Terro. We’re going to have to trust him, for now-Hold the fire door.” The brown haired man said to Terro. Terro smashed open the door.
“Xanthe, you’ve got 20 seconds to get your bag.” The brown haired man, Xanthe’s father rushed around, grabbing necessities. Xanthe did the same.
Terro walked out the door, into the corridor, facing the fire door they came in. He waited a few seconds, and frowned.
“They aren’t-” He started, as energy blasts knocked the door off it’s melted hinges.
Terro sent the door flying back where it came from. It heated up as it flew towards the unfortunate soldiers standing in the doorway. As it hit them, it turned into molten metal, pouring over the two soldiers. Terro froze the metal over their armour, immobilizing them, blocking the door.
Xanthe and her father emerged from the door behind Terro.
“Terro, let’s go.” Xanthe’s father said.
Terro blocked the doorway by levitating the screaming soldiers and fusing their new metal casing to the door. He turned around and followed Xanthe’s father down the main stairs.
“They won’t expect us to come down the main entrance.” Xanthe’s father hoped as he sprang into the lobby. “Xanthe, stay between Terro and me.”
The lobby was glassy and open, with a few couches. Very little cover. Terro heard shouts from upstairs.
“Let’s get out of here.” Xanthe’s father said, getting to the door and gesturing for Terro and Xanthe to go through the door first.
“What are you waiting for? Go!” Xanthe’s father said, running off through the snow towards the starport, up the street. Xanthe and Terro followed him.
Luckily for them, the starport was within running distance, but in the snow and the wind, it would be difficult. They reached an intersection, and Xanthe’s father was knocked over by the wind as a sudden gust caught him off-guard. He flew three meters right, down the other street.
Xanthe got to her father first. The snow around him was covered in blood, too slow, she saw the bullet-hole in his forehead. He would have been dead before he had hit the ground.
“Miss, put your hands up and come quietly!” A small squad of five soldiers had formed a concave around her, pointing their guns at her head. “This is your final warning.”
Xanthe raised her hands. “You did this.”
Terro stretched out a hand locking the soldier’s bullet’s into place- they clearly hadn’t heard he was around.
Suddenly, all of the lights in the street flickered out. The Terro and the Soldier’s heads-up-displays powered down, leaving limited vision.
Xanthe screamed as raw energy poured from her fingertips stretching out as lightning poured from her hands and into the soldier’s chests. They burned inside their armour, which could do nothing as ozone filled the air.
Xanthe turned towards Terro, energy glowing around her. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t burn you right now!”
“Xanthe, I’m trying to help you!” Terro yelled over the wind.
Xanthe either didn’t care or couldn’t hear, so an arc of lightning sizzled through the air towards Terro.
“Everything was fine until you showed up!” She yelled, as an explosion of energy ran through the area. Terro lifted a lamppost and turned it into a disc of hot metal, blocking it. Xanthe collapsed from the exhaustion. Terro sighed and walked over to her, and picked her up in a fireman’s lift.
An EU dropship warped in overhead, filled with combat robots. They dropped from the sky, surrounding the remaining soldiers.
Terro walked into the starport and found a small, sleek Skyhawk, a tiny two wing, twin capillary engine EU-designed craft for civilian use. No warp drive. This particular model was armed with light blaster, meaning that it’s owner had prepared it for light battle.
Terro used his powers to open the lock manually, entering the small vehicle. It had two pilots seats, and a small bed to one side. It was one room, with about half of it plastaglass cockpit arcing around and under the two pilots seats. There was two sets of manual controls.
“Warning- Ship has been breached. Warning!” The ships computer wailed.
“Shut up.” Terro growled. He put Xanthe’s limp body on the bed, and sat down on the right pilot’s chair. He took his coat off and draped it over Xanthe’s body.
“Identify yourself!” The computer said.
“I am Terro Earthshaker, Lord of Stromtor, Lord of Earth. I require this ship in order to escape from the militia of Asia.”
“You have been identified as: Simon Leighft, MI7. Status: Deceased.” The computer said. “You are not authorised!”
“Authorise me then!” Terro yelled.
“What is the maiden name of your mother?” The computer asked, as smug as a computer can be.
Terro glared back at the computer. He didn’t have a mother. He took a deep breath. He could feel the computer- all the thousands of tiny intricate pieces. Gold, copper, some strange metal somewhere between metal and nonmetal, with tiny impurities. The tiny parts of the computer on their own meant nothing, but together, as a whole, had created something akin to life.
The memory storage in this life, though, wasn’t made out of biological parts. This memory storage was made out of metal, earth substances which Terro could control.
Terro held a hand over the computer. His fingers twitched, and every file on the computer was erased, including the security protocols. The computer had a safety mechanism which rebooted the ai, resetting it.
“Welcome to Skyhawk! Congratulations on your new ship. First you’ll need to login, or make a new account. Or would you prefer to start in offline mode?” The computer ai was back.
“Cease your speaking.” Terro ordered. “Take me away from here.”
The computer said nothing, complying to Terro’s command. Instead, words appeared on the screen.
I’m sorry, I can’t do that for you.
Terro glared hatefully at the screen. He flashed his hand again.
“Welcome to Skyhawk! Congratulations on your new ship. First you’ll need to login, or make a new account. Or would you prefer to start in offline mode?” The computer was reset once more.
Terro considered his options. He could “log-in”. It must mean he needed a log. A ship’s log? A watchman’s log? Terro had none of these things. How about a-count? Thought Terro. That meant numbers, which was something Terro didn’t want to deal with. Off-line. Off, line. Line was a newfangled word in Terro’s time- something traders and old sailors had brought in to the castle. It meant a form of rope. Terro knew what off meant. Offline must meant off the rope. Rope’s hold up ship’s masts, Terro had travelled enough to know that, so going offline wasn’t something he wanted to do.
Though numbers weren’t Terro’s favorite thing, the only option he had was to “make a new a-count.”
“I would like to make a new a-count.” Terro said, scowling.
“What’s your name?” The computer asked.
“Terro Earthshaker, Lord of Stromtor, Lord of Earth.” Terro stated.
“What is your communication identification?” The computer asked.
“What?” Terro asked.
“What is your communication identification?” The computer asked
“I do not have one.” Terro responded.
“You require a communication identification.” The computer said.
“Can you just fly us out of here?” Terro said.
“As soon as you login with an account.” The computer said.
Terro had lost his patience. He felt the computer, and fried the very hot part.
The holo-screen disappeared. Terro sighed. No-one had found them yet. It seemed that the metal men were not after him, and there were enough of them to handle the men who were after him.
Terro leaned back in the chair, and closed his eyes. He sealed the door with his powers- no one would be able to get in without a considerable amount of noise. He took a deep breath, and tried to get some sleep.

By Alex Joshi

Prologue, Edward Jin 11J

This is part of a novel I’m trying to write(have been for some time, but kept getting sidetracked, haha) . Anyway, I’m posting the prologue for everyone to look at. Please take a look through it for me. It’s probably full of mistakes, haha.

Prologue

An old man pushed opened a wooden gate and entered a small cottage. There was a young couple inside that was expecting him. Exchanging a light greeting, the old man continued to walk deeper into the building. He reached a bedroom. Faltering in front of the door, the old man took a deep breath and sighed. Having prepared himself, he opened the door.

There wasn’t much in the room, just a bed and a chair. A girl of tender age was lying in the bed, waiting for him.

“How are you feeling, little one?” The old man asked.

“I’m fine, grandpa,” came the reply.

The old man walked in and sat in the char beside the bed. Nothing was said for a while. The old man just sat there looking at the girl. The old man was thinking back on how the girl the girl had to spend her days I this bed.

This had all happened suddenly. The girl was fine one day, prancing around and playing around in the garden, but when she woke up the next day, her body had been paralysed. The most she could do was move her head, eyes and mouth. A week later she became blind and incapable of moving her head. Then, one by one, other parts of her body started breaking down. She was now at the stage where she could only hear and speak.

Noticing that the silence was turning awkward, the the old man finally opened his mouth. “Eve, tomorrow is your birthday. Is there anything you want?”

“No, there isn’t anything I particularly want.”

“Are you sure? Are you sure there isn’t anything you would like?”

The girl didn’t reply. The old man sensed the girl’s hesitation, and said,”you can ask for anything, anything at all.”

Eve forced a smile.”Thank you for asking, grandpa, but there isn’t anything I want.”

The old man nodded. “Well, if you decide you want something, make sure to tell me. Oh, but don’t tell me too late or this old dog won’t be able to fetch what you want in time, alright?

He did’t receive a reply. Sighing, he got up to leave. As the man was about to leave the room, Eve called out to him. “Please wait a minute, grandpa. To be honest, there are some things I want. Is it alright for you to listen to this selfish request of mine?”

The old man came back and sat down beside the girl again. “Of course. Tell me anything. I’ll listen to anything you say. So, what is it that you want?”

“… I want to go and see the garden one more time. I want to climb the highest of mountains. I want to dive into the deepest of oceans. I want to fly in the sky. I want to dance in meadows and lie there bathing in the warm sunlight when I’m to tired to move. I want to smell the fragrance of flowers. I want to watch the sun set in the horizon and gaze at the stars in the night sky. I want to be free. I…”

She stopped speaking.

“Yes?”
“I…”
“I?”
“I…”
“It’s fine, you don’t need to hold back. Tell me what you want.”

The girl couldn’t help but burst into tears.
“I… I… I,I want to live.”

Lava of the Imagination- Ashane

This is a poem I wrote a while back. Any thoughts on what I am talking about?

Cogs and gears in the mind, block and halt, Pens hover over paper, urging;

Futile seconds, minutes, spent diverging,
How rules are to be followed without fault; The lines, the rhymes, the structure by default, Raids and ravages first thoughts emerging; However, as said, forced to come surging,
Is original, for words to exalt.
Extra time allowed for right thoughts to come, For rules to be kept and followed by one; Imagination grows, expands, evolves, Individuality brought out from glum,
And when the piece is completed and done,
A righteous masterpiece at whole, resolves.