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Post by Garrant on Oct 30, 2003 9:26:02 GMT -5
Garrant awoke to feeling of cold earth beneath him.
Odd I could have sworn I fell asleep in the house, Garrant thought to himself as he slowly rose from his reclined position. He was resting in a small clearing in the woods not far from his house. A hint of smoke filled the air, making Garrant crinkle his nose.
Ahhh, Dad must have made a fire for cooking his famous home style bacon and egg breakfast.
Garrant picked himself up off the ground and began the short hike back towards home. Along the way he expected to hear the melodies of the morning birds, but to his surprise there was only the sound of the wind.
Strange, in all my years of living here I never remember the forest being this quiet. Even when I was up before the other animals, there were still the sounds of the insects.
As Garrant continued along the lightly trodden path, the smell of smoke grew stronger and soon he began choking as it filled the air around him. Garrant activated the emergency air filter in his helmet as he quickened his pace to an all out run. He knew something was wrong, even when his father had burnt the food once, there was never this much smoke. The smoke was now thick enough that it began to impair his vision. Ahead of him, Garrant saw a small figure lying in the middle of the path.
Cautiously, Garrant approached the unknown object; he waved his hands in the air to clear away some of the smoke blanketing the area. As the figure came into focus, Garrant’s heart felt like had been torn apart by a black hole. Before him lay, King, the Doberman his parents had given him when his was 15. King's hair was singed off. Smoke still rose from his tortured body, which was covered in bruises and cuts. Garrant gently laid his hand on the muzzle of his friend.
"No, who could have done this...why...”, Garrant choked out each word like it caused him pain just to speak them. Garrant began mourning for the loss of his beloved pet, taking no notice that that smoke around him was thickening.
Well that's the preview of the book I'm writing about Garrant's past. Questions? Comments? Post them and I'll answer as best I can.
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Post by Notesurfer on Oct 30, 2003 11:27:04 GMT -5
I was going to write a book about Notesurfer's past, but there were too many inconsistencies, so I changed it. Anyway, it's sw00t. 8-)0.
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Post by Garrant on Oct 30, 2003 11:37:26 GMT -5
Thanks!
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Post by Garrant on Oct 31, 2003 9:18:14 GMT -5
Part Two.
Even with his air filter working overtime, the smoke began to seep into Garrant’s suit. He was once again running at full speed towards home. Many questions filled his mind, Where is all this smoke coming from and why am I wearing my combat armor? His last thought bugged him the most. True, he usually never took his armor off, but while on his home world Garrant preferred something more comfortable. One part of his armor, though, could not be removed; the buster gun that he had personally fused to his body about a month ago.
Garrant glanced down at the cumbersome weapon that replaced the part of the limb he had lost in combat. The gun was mainly cylindrical in shape; it tapered of in the front and formed a barrel, while the back was attached to his arm. The whole thing was only about a foot long; it was attached halfway between where his wrist should have been and his elbow. Garrant had the option of exchanging the barrel from a robotic hand.
Garrant was so lost in thought that he almost didn’t notice that he had emerged from the forest. The wind was picking up now and the smoke was beginning to dissipate. Garrant froze in his tracks and stared at the destruction around him. His house was burnt to the ground and pieces of it were scattered everywhere. Gigantic craters pocketed the ground, and burn marks littered the area. Nothing could have prepared him for the horror that lay behind the house. Garrant took an uneasy step forward and then fell to his knees; he punched the ground with his robotic fist hard enough to make a small indentation in the soil. Garrant looked up once more at the scene before him, as tears began to stream down his face. His family lay ahead of him on the ground, all of them were dead.
Garrant felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest. He let out a terrible cry that could have been hear for miles. Shakily he stood up and slowly walked over to where his family was.
“Why is this happening to me, who could have done such a thing?”, Garrant cried.
That’s when he noticed something a small box was laying beside his parents. Garrant picked it up; it was a Vid-disk recorder. He reset the device and began to play it from the beginning. The video appeared to be a personal diary his mother was keeping. Garrant only had to skip a few entries until he found today’s date. The recording seemed to start out like all the others; his mother would greet whoever was watching the diary, comment on the weather, and talk about what she was planning to do. A massive explosion rocked the house and the recorder must have been knocked out of her hands.
When the small camera in the recorder once again focused on his mother, there was a small trickle of blood running down her forehead. She was urgently trying to say something, but apparently the blast had damage the fragile microphone set into the device. Another blast shook the room she was in, but this time she held fast to the tiny recorder. Something off screen caught her attention and a look of fear and confusion wash over her face. Her mouth opened in an evident scream as close range blast threw her across the room. The recorder bounced of something and fell to the floor with the camera looking up at the ceiling. A few seconds ticked by, then another figure appeared on the screen.
What Garrant saw scared him so much that he dropped the recorder and turned away. Inside the tiny screen, Garrant had seen himself raise the gun on his arm and fire near point blank blast that engulfed the room in fire. The screen turned to static and the recorder abruptly shut off. Garrant raised his hands to his face and stared at them.
It was me, I did it, I killed them. I don’t remember anything, but I saw myself…kill my own mother.
Garrant suddenly felt very tired, he wandered over to a small area of grass that hadn’t been burned away and fell asleep. His dreams were cursed by nightmares where watched from a distance as a dark shadow appeared to him in his dream. It surrounded his body and took control of him. Garrant watched as he mercilessly attacked and killed his family. Garrant’s dream ended quickly as nothingness fill his mind.
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Post by Notesurfer on Oct 31, 2003 11:09:45 GMT -5
omygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygosh omygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygosh omygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygosh omygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygosh omygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygoshomygosh thatissocoooooool!!!
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Post by Garrant on Nov 4, 2003 14:20:48 GMT -5
Well its finally happened. I got an email yesterday from a Discussion Board Monitor about the content of my stories. See I got to Keystone National Highschool, its a totally online school. In it there is a board for posting stories or poems that you have written. Well since I had succes here and in other places with "A Warrior's Journey" I thought that I should post it for my fellow students to see. Well on of the mods read my story and automatically assumed that since Garrant killed his parents (Which if you know anything about Garrant itwas really the Dark Power), that I was sending a subliminal message about myself. Of course I wrote them back a strongly worded email and have yet to recieve a response. I have put my story on hold and might possibly cancel it all together. I have some issues to think through on how I should continue with the story. Sorry about putting up this story and not being able to finish it.
Sincerest apologies, A.J. Hill aka Garrant
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Post by Draxas on Nov 4, 2003 17:04:38 GMT -5
This sort of crap really ticks me off... As always, the easily offended among you should stop reading right now. Ever since it became good business for the media to report every school shooting that occurs in the US (and believe me, they happened just as frequently before Columbine, we just didn't hear about them), a lot of people have been blowing stuff like this out of proportion. Not that I minimize these incidents; quite the opposite. I think it's tragic that innocent people get caught up in one troubled kid's madness. But let's face it: most, if not all, of us have been picked on by the typical "cool-guy popular jock bully" that the average idiot strives to become while in school. Suffice to say I was a favorite target of several during my formative years. Did I run out and start picking off my classmates with automatic weapons. No. 99.999% of us don't. However, if the insanely paranoid school administrators of this day and age saw what I did during school, they'd flip out. Then put me in a straightjacket. Then heavily medicate me until the only thing I would be able to do correctly is drool. Mind you, this is the same sort of stuff that the teachers and administrators typically ignored back when I was in school. I had a modicum of artistic talent when I was a kid, mostly in the form of mechanical drawing. What did I do with this talent, you ask? The same thing every male member of my class did: we all drew massive weapons of war. Pages and pages of tanks, fighter planes, guns, swords, battleships, you name it. We used to "fight" them against each other (fight as in argue about whose vehicle was better, which army would win, etc.). Our teachers thought it was cute, and encouraged our artistic expression, as long as we didn't do it during class time. Nowadays, if any school official saw what was going on, every one of us would be hopped up on Ritalin and undergoing intensive psychotherapy. Ever since they found the Columbine shooters' notebooks, full of doodles of weapons and the like, this sort of activity has gone from art to a warning bell. It's kind of sad more than anything else. Anyway, my train of thought has pretty much been derailed at this point, so I'm going to end this rant. I think the real point I'm getting at is this: Garrant, don't let some random administrator with his head stuck up his rear end censor you like that. You have a great deal of writing talent, and people want to read your stories. Your story isn't any more violent or disturbing than the average spy novel, the only difference is that the guy who wrote that is over 18, makes his career out of it, and yours is more interesting . I think I speak for all of us here when I say we eagerly await the time when you decide to post the next part. Don't let some self-important idiot bring you down. Jeepers, maybe my school years scarred me more than I thought .
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Golden Magnum
PDBA Veteran
Pie-eating Heretic
OMG!!11!1 WTF!!1!11!! HE MSUT B3 A HAX0R!!!1!1!11!
Posts: 434
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Post by Golden Magnum on Nov 10, 2003 19:59:54 GMT -5
Great work! And the fact is, I agree with it completely!
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Post by Razor on Mar 10, 2004 12:09:45 GMT -5
Heh...you don't get crap like that here...hell I just drew a nasty looking katana in the "doodle section" a teacher put on the test.
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Post by Draxas on Mar 10, 2004 13:21:49 GMT -5
Speaking of, I was hoping we might get to read the rest of this story someday... Don't tell me some little twit administrator dried up your creativity, Garrant...
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Post by Notesurfer on Mar 10, 2004 15:30:42 GMT -5
*ditto*
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Post by Garrant on Mar 15, 2004 9:02:12 GMT -5
The exciting continuation of "A Warrior's Journey" is coming soon to a forum near you.
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Post by Notesurfer on Mar 15, 2004 10:49:23 GMT -5
Yay! ^_^
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Post by Draxas on Mar 15, 2004 11:02:31 GMT -5
;D
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Post by niff on May 12, 2004 0:10:34 GMT -5
Nice rant. XD
I've been trying to draw weapons properly for quite a while now.. it started from 2d, to slightly 3d drawings, but it hasn't progressed much due to parents. I was drawing an array of weapons, assault rifles, pistols, sniper rifles, etc, and my mum walked past, glanced at the picture, looked at me and made an annoying =/ look. So I stopped.. Blargh.
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