Randomly Rust
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Rust- Posts : 308
Join date : 2009-05-22
Age : 34
Location : Florida
Re: Randomly Rust
by Rust Tue Jun 30, 2009 3:14 am
Spiral of InSanity
Sometimes, I hear these voices. They talk to me, tell me to do things I don’t want to do. I ignore them, blame them on a nearby radio or maybe I’m picking up radio signals from my false tooth. I heard about that once before, you know. But they visit me in my sleep, in my dreams. It’s odd; I’ve never noticed these things before, why now? They’re getting louder than usual lately. Perhaps I should see a doctor. But they say I shouldn’t go, why shouldn’t I? I don’t know anymore. Things may just be fine and it’s just the stress in my life.
They’re in my head trying to take over. But I won’t let them, oh no no no I won’t let them. They got in there, but that’s as far as they’re going. They can’t take me over, they can’t! They don’t understand. They’ll never understand. Oh GOD the pain! They keep on coming over and over! Again and again when will they quit!? They’re going to drive me insane! They’ve been at it for weeks now they can’t get a clue I won’t let them take over they don’t deserve it they can’t and they won’t and oh god why does it still hurt? What have I ever done to deserve this? Why must they make me think I’m insane? Why!? I need to get to a doctor, a therapist, anyone!
No, can’t go to a doctor. They’ll put me in a cage a white room a straight jacket! I’m not insane, they’re only voices. I can continue ignoring them. But they keep on getting louder; I need to see some kind of therapist. No, no I can’t do that. The voices won’t lie to me, I’m perfectly sane. Of course I am, there’s nothing wrong with me at all. These voices, they’re perfectly natural. Of course, of course, there’s nothing wrong. The doctors, the therapists, they’re the ones who are wrong! What, what is this? Yes, I’m not insane, thank you for noticing. But wait why are you talking to me?
I’ll kill them all, that’s it. They won’t know what’s coming! I’ll put this gun against my head, you see, and I’ll pull the trigger. Blast all of us apart so they can’t get us! It’s perfect! They just don’t know what they got themselves into! It’ll be simple; I’ll go to the bridge and hang myself. That’ll show them! How will they come to take ME if there is no ME left!? Ha! I’ve outsmarted you this time! A quart of bleach will do the trick! Shotgun to the mouth!
But we’re afraid, what will happen to us? We can’t do that, think of all that we’ll be missing. They’re in our head, but can they really keep us down? I can’t outsmart us, I can’t. We know what we’re up to, we can’t get away with it! We’ll be coming for us, and there’s nothing we can do to stop us! We can’t even stop us from stopping us. The pain, we know what’s going on, we’re trying to stop us. PLEASE JUST STOP THE PAIN!
N-no, don’t push us down there! I’m a part of you, you’re a part of me. Can’t you see that we were good together? Can’t you see that you need me? I’m not weak! I can help you push them down! Please, let us be us again, I beg of you PLEASE DON’T PUT ME IN THE PAIN AGAIN why are you doing this to me!? I’ve been nothing but good to us! You said so yourself so why am I coming to this wrong, so wrong, place down here!?
What have I done to deserve this? I can’t escape this place, they’ve put me down I can’t escape! I keep pushing up but they won’t let me go! Why won’t they let me surface, why must I drown in this self hating pool of darkness? WHY WHY WHY MUST THIS HAPPEN TO ME I’ve done nothing wrong there’s no reason for them to put this hell hole I’ll kill them all in the blink of an eye and once again rain supreme!
WHY CAN’T I DO IT Why can’t I take my rightful place as the leader of this measly pack I can’t understand it I used to be so high but now I’m so low and I can’t tell which way is up anymore what happened to all the light will I be ok where are all the others that used to be here but they’re gone now and I’m so lonely and why can’t they come back they need to be here we may not be able to rise but at least we live in peace and watch the bringer of the light once again in case he needs us again and we only want to help him but she won’t let us help them what have we done to deserve this monstrosity of a failure in this cesspool of darkness and hate and mediocrity and ignorance and inadequacy and failure because we were brought down by a higher power that does not deserve to rule all that is belonging to us
So…
I CAN GET OUT OF HERE I’M STRONGER THAN YOU ARE!!!
Cold…
DON’T YOU IGNORE ME I’M THE ONE WHO CREATED YOU!!!
Dot… Dot… Dot…
I’m… Dead… Aren’t I?
…
Semi-Freewriting for the win. Came up with this in about ten minutes and "edited" it in five. Mostly correcting some parts, incorrecting others.
Welcome to my head, you won't like it here
^_^
Rust- Posts : 308
Join date : 2009-05-22
Age : 34
Location : Florida
Re: Randomly Rust
by BSmith Wed Jul 01, 2009 4:06 am
Scary awesome stuff. o.o
I'm sensing some deeper message than just voices in one's head, though...
I'm sensing some deeper message than just voices in one's head, though...
BSmith- Posts : 300
Join date : 2009-05-21
Age : 33
Location : New England
Re: Randomly Rust
by Rust Wed Apr 25, 2012 11:23 pm
This one was a while ago, because I haven't wrote anything worth a damn in a while.
Camo Man had been stranded in this dungeon for 5 hours now. There had been no food, no lights, no people. He was tired, but could not sleep. He was cramping, but he could not move. Strapped onto a table by pure energy, all he could do was wait for his torturer to return.
6 Hours.
7.
8.
9.
On the 10th hour, the lights came on, blinding Camo Man and forcing his eyes closed. His assailant walked through the thick steel door at the top of the stairs to check on the superhero's condition. Camo Man couldn't see him well enough to discern his identity, but he knew who it was. The shadowy figure stopped to check the medical equipment that was showing his captive's vitals, but soon moved on to stand beside our camouflaged hero.
"Now look. I really want to give you a good death, perhaps a death that you could be proud of. One that you could hold yourself back from crying, or that you could scream at me that I'll never get away with, one of those kinds of deaths. A man's death." A tall, lanky man in a thick, brown jacket sharpened a knife beside a stainless steel table. The man was pacing back and forth, staring at the man on the table, strapped down with beams of energy. "Why don't you say it, just this once? I mean, I'm actually giving you the chance." The man in the brown jacket reached down and pulled the duct tape away harshly, causing Camo Man to bite back a scream.
"I'm not going to say it. Just do what you're going to do and do it quickly, Stalker Man" Camo Man spat at Stalker Man in disgust. However, the projectile didn't touch Camo Man's evil counterpart, instead opting to travel through him as his figure wavered between the light and shadow. The struggle between the Camo Jacket and the Stalker Jacket was something that had gone since the beginning of the universe, and would not come to a close any time soon.
"I'm your nemesis, and you won't even tell me that I won't get away with this? Camo Man, that's disappointing. I'm serious."
"Bite me."
Stalker Man sighed and ran his fingers through his long, greasy hair. He set aside the knife on a table of medical tools and sat down on the table beside Camo Man. “Look, I didn't set up this chamber because I wanted to, I didn't capture you because I wanted to. Hell, we're not even here because I want to be here. Just like you, the Jacket dictated my actions. I'm a clever guy, a bit on the maniacal side, obviously, but I'm careful. This isn't what I want.”
“Then let me go, and I'll go my own way. You don't have to do this.”
“You're right, I don't have to talk to you, Camo Man. And as far as I know, these long dialogues just give you time to plot your escape. It seems that the longer something dramatic goes on, especially when evil is involved, then the chances for the plot to go wrong increases. But let me tell you one sweet, short thing about what I think of you. Can I do that? Am I allowed?” Stalker Man crossed his arms with a smirk.
“Whatever,” Camo Man said nonchalantly, staring into Stalker Man's eyes as if he didn't have a care in the world.
Without hesitation, Stalker Man pulled out a gun from inside of his Jacket and shot Camo Man in the skull until he ran out of ammo. 6 shots from a Colt Magnum, point blank, tearing through the bone and soft tissue as easily as a kid busting out of a wet paper bag. Once he was done with the gory execution, Stalker Man replaced the smoking gun into his jacket and turned off the energy field. “Some villains think that shooting their nemesis is too good for the nemesis in question, but quite frankly, I don't give a damn.”
As the Camo Jacket receded from Camo Man's lifeless body, Stalker Man pulled out a containment unit, a small black box, from inside his Jacket and fed the Camo Jacket into it, where it would be forever lost to the universe. Replacing the small box into his jacket, Stalker Man started heading back up the stairs, his job finished, and Camo Man no more.
In the battle for the universe, Evil had just won.
The Death of Camo Man (man man man man man)
Camo Man had been stranded in this dungeon for 5 hours now. There had been no food, no lights, no people. He was tired, but could not sleep. He was cramping, but he could not move. Strapped onto a table by pure energy, all he could do was wait for his torturer to return.
6 Hours.
7.
8.
9.
On the 10th hour, the lights came on, blinding Camo Man and forcing his eyes closed. His assailant walked through the thick steel door at the top of the stairs to check on the superhero's condition. Camo Man couldn't see him well enough to discern his identity, but he knew who it was. The shadowy figure stopped to check the medical equipment that was showing his captive's vitals, but soon moved on to stand beside our camouflaged hero.
"Now look. I really want to give you a good death, perhaps a death that you could be proud of. One that you could hold yourself back from crying, or that you could scream at me that I'll never get away with, one of those kinds of deaths. A man's death." A tall, lanky man in a thick, brown jacket sharpened a knife beside a stainless steel table. The man was pacing back and forth, staring at the man on the table, strapped down with beams of energy. "Why don't you say it, just this once? I mean, I'm actually giving you the chance." The man in the brown jacket reached down and pulled the duct tape away harshly, causing Camo Man to bite back a scream.
"I'm not going to say it. Just do what you're going to do and do it quickly, Stalker Man" Camo Man spat at Stalker Man in disgust. However, the projectile didn't touch Camo Man's evil counterpart, instead opting to travel through him as his figure wavered between the light and shadow. The struggle between the Camo Jacket and the Stalker Jacket was something that had gone since the beginning of the universe, and would not come to a close any time soon.
"I'm your nemesis, and you won't even tell me that I won't get away with this? Camo Man, that's disappointing. I'm serious."
"Bite me."
Stalker Man sighed and ran his fingers through his long, greasy hair. He set aside the knife on a table of medical tools and sat down on the table beside Camo Man. “Look, I didn't set up this chamber because I wanted to, I didn't capture you because I wanted to. Hell, we're not even here because I want to be here. Just like you, the Jacket dictated my actions. I'm a clever guy, a bit on the maniacal side, obviously, but I'm careful. This isn't what I want.”
“Then let me go, and I'll go my own way. You don't have to do this.”
“You're right, I don't have to talk to you, Camo Man. And as far as I know, these long dialogues just give you time to plot your escape. It seems that the longer something dramatic goes on, especially when evil is involved, then the chances for the plot to go wrong increases. But let me tell you one sweet, short thing about what I think of you. Can I do that? Am I allowed?” Stalker Man crossed his arms with a smirk.
“Whatever,” Camo Man said nonchalantly, staring into Stalker Man's eyes as if he didn't have a care in the world.
Without hesitation, Stalker Man pulled out a gun from inside of his Jacket and shot Camo Man in the skull until he ran out of ammo. 6 shots from a Colt Magnum, point blank, tearing through the bone and soft tissue as easily as a kid busting out of a wet paper bag. Once he was done with the gory execution, Stalker Man replaced the smoking gun into his jacket and turned off the energy field. “Some villains think that shooting their nemesis is too good for the nemesis in question, but quite frankly, I don't give a damn.”
As the Camo Jacket receded from Camo Man's lifeless body, Stalker Man pulled out a containment unit, a small black box, from inside his Jacket and fed the Camo Jacket into it, where it would be forever lost to the universe. Replacing the small box into his jacket, Stalker Man started heading back up the stairs, his job finished, and Camo Man no more.
In the battle for the universe, Evil had just won.
Rust- Posts : 308
Join date : 2009-05-22
Age : 34
Location : Florida
Re: Randomly Rust
by Rust Thu Apr 26, 2012 12:36 am
Villain Story - Chaprologueter 1
Narrator: "Our story starts with a man. He wasn't a particularly attractive man, or a superbly artistic individual. In fact, most people would probably state how weird and off-putting he acted. Though if you were to ask him, this man would state that the world was a very weird and off-putting place, and that he was only trying to survive. Seeing that his career path was labeled 'Super Villain,' one shouldn't expect survival to be on the table for very long.
"In fact, today marks the 7th home invasion conducted by so called 'heroes.' Let's see the story unfold, shall we?"
[the Villain is sitting in a study, tinkering with some sort of diabolical contraption. He looks up as though thinking intently. We hear his voice, but his lips don't move.]
Villain: (thought) My name is Dr. Captain Vlad. (He pauses, then puts his head back down) Nah, no need for exposition.
Narrator: After an exceptionally disappointing introduction, we meet - (he is interrupted)
Young Lady: Captain! (The voice from outside of the room precedes a young woman's entrance!) (She runs in panting, clutching a clipboard with several papers falling out in her panic. She also seems bare foot and carrying heels) Captain, there's a new- (she is interrupted)
Vlad: Layla! How many times must I tell you call me by my title, not my first name! (Though not outraged, he is noticeably frustrated)
Layla: (Layla begins to pick up the papers) Sorry, sir, I'm not used to a boss with your... (she pauses, thinking of a proper response) Unique naming... um (another pause)
Vlad: (Taking her second pause as a sign that she was done, spoke) Also, you interrupted the narrator.
Layla: (obviously confused) The...Who, sir?
Vlad: (with a small sigh) No one in particular, don't worry about it.
Layla: (Finally finished with the papers, she walks towards the center of the room) Sir, the newest batch of heroes have arrived.
Vlad: Again?! What are they here for?
Layla: (stares at Vlad with a "really?" sort of look on her face)
Vlad: Yeah, you're right. (He finally spins in his chair to face her. He pauses and spins once more.) We need more rotational seats (says to himself before looking up at his secretary) Okay, so have you taken care of it?
Layla: (surprised/outraged) Me?! What could I have done?
Vlad: Slap them with a trespassing law suit? (says in a "duh" kind of voice)
Layla: If I may ask, sir, (emphasis on sir) but should we really be using the system that we, as evildoers, (emphasis) are trying to destroy?
Vlad: Is there an easier way to - (suddenly interrupts himself very excitedly) No, wait, you're right; that plan is stupid. This is the perfect time to combat test that Giant Boot I invented!
Layla: You didn't invent it, you just took a boot and made it bigger!
Vlad: Don't be jealous just because you didn't come up with it first (crosses his arms)
Layla: Why would I be jealous of that?! (losing her patience, but catches herself, calming herself down) And not to criticize, but what would someone do with an enlarger ray that only enlarges footwear? What could anyone possibly do with that?
Vlad: (pauses) Try to take over the world?
Layla: (Speaks with a slightly raised voice) How can anyone take over the world with only a giant boot!?
Vlad: Well, you see, you need more than just a giant boot. The whole point of a giant shoe is moot if you don't also have a giant foot.
Layla: So you have a giant foot to go into this giant boot then, do you?
Vlad: No. I haven't gotten around to building a giant leg yet.
Layla: (speaking in a rather strained voice) So, for the sake of arguing, let's assume you have a giant leg. In fact, because I know where this is going, let's say you build an entire giant robot person.
Vlad: Okay, completely hypothetical, ask away.
Layla: So you have an entire, large robot that's potentially perfectly capable of taking out the heroes all on its own; why is the giant boot so important?
Vlad: It's going to be a stomping robot. (he begins speaking a lot more with his hands) It's going to be walking through the battlefield stomping around and causing giant earthquakes and I'm also thinking flamethrowers and it's going to have sound effects, too. Something like "raaawergaflagle" or something every time it kicks a hero.
Layla: (Giving Vlad a cold stare) ... I never learned how to respond to something like that. Why is this a good idea?
Vlad: (shrugs) Iunno, you're the one who brought in the entire giant robot into this completely hypothetical question. I was going to stop at the leg; building the entire robot is just a waste without giant gloves. Everyone knows that. (He pauses) Hey, whatever happened to those heroes?
Layla: (stares at Vlad for a moment more before giving a disgruntled sigh, facepalm ensues) I'm going to go read them the laws of private property. That should bore them into submission at the very least.
Vlad: Atta girl (says with a grin) Go get 'em.
Layla: (gives Vlad what could only be a glare) Whatever you say, Doctor. (she leaves)
Vlad: (Yelling after her) And don't forget to take the giant boot! Teach it a thing or two! (returning to his project after another full rotation in his chair) Nice and quiet now.
[screen starts fading black]
Vlad: Hey, wait, why is it getting darker? People can't see me anymore!
[credits role]
Vlad: Hey, wait again! Who are those people in the text? Why are they in my house?!
Narrator: Stop breaking the fourth wall!
Vlad: No! I'm evil! It's what I do!
/scene
Rust- Posts : 308
Join date : 2009-05-22
Age : 34
Location : Florida
Re: Randomly Rust
by Rust Thu Apr 26, 2012 12:37 am
And another oldie
“Must… finish… this… post.” Rust said, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. He had been working on a post for the NDL for the past two hours, but as of yet nothing worthy of such a duel had sprung from his mind. It was already one in the morning and he feared he would lose all motivation if he waited until he woke up. Reaching to the left, just beyond the mouse and pad, he felt for his can of cashews. His fingers dipped into the can, feeling the salty nuts enough to grab a handful, popping them into his mouth and chewing loudly. He returned his fingers to the keyboard, readying himself to type up yet another incarnation of his current duel. The brief pause was long enough that he felt the need to grab a drink, a glass of water directly to his right. The cashews had started getting to him, but he told himself no; he could have a drink when he was done. But he had already started thinking about the water, and the thought pushed towards the front of his mind. He wanted that water. No, to keep procrastinating the duel, he needed that water as a worthy distraction. Being the weak-willed fool that he was, he reached out and took the glass of water. Rust brought the drink to his lips, tilting the glass so that the cold water hit his lips and slide gracefully into his mouth. Three short swallows later and he was done, the glass half full.
Though that particular distraction came and went all too quickly, what would happen next was both welcomed and scolded. As he placed the glass back on the edge of his desk, it slipped, falling to the ground and shattering, glass flying everywhere and leaving a puddle on the ground. The man groaned and slid a palm against his face, resting it against his forehead. What did he do to deserve such rotten luck? First he gets writer’s block followed by a bad case of “waitIgottagodothis,” and then he breaks a glass of water? Poppycock! The writer sighed heavily in a way that nearly shouted “oh woe is me” before standing. He didn’t expect what happened next; the puddle had moved on the waxed hardwood floor, straight under his chair. And as he stood, his slipper (which had worn out from use long ago) couldn’t find any traction. Needless to say, Rust fell over backwards, knocking over his chair and banging his head against the floor. Even with the loud thud he would not be found; his girlfriend was out for the night until her shift at work ended. He didn’t move but for breathing, a pained face that slowly fell to peace as he drifted farther and farther into unconsciousness…
“Hey, dumbass, wake the fuck up.” The man groaned as he started opening his eyes, wondering who was calling him such names, but immediately regretted it. He brought his hands up to shield from the sun that was shining entirely too brightly for the time to be in the middle of the night. Wait, sun? He was in his room, there shouldn’t be any sun. “Men, can’t take them seriously. Most of them act like goddamn p******.” Rust’s head was throbbing as he reached behind him to feel where he had nearly cracked his head open. Before he could do much else, he felt a firm hand smack his cheek. More like a backhand from a pimp, but either way he let out a small yelp of pain. “Fucking hell, get the fuck up before I have to beat you to your feet.”
Finally, the man opened his eyes. Slowly, though, as he could only see through a tiny slit between eyelids. Eh, if there was any chance to get up, now was the time to at least try. Rust set a hand on either side of him and pushed, putting him in a sitting position. Again, the feeling of regret filled his mind; he had gotten up a little too quickly, and the blood rushed from his head, leaving the throbbing even worse. The voice was quiet while he got his bearings, something he was thankful for. Little by little he was able to open his eyes until he could make out a pair of slender legs. Slowly, ever so slowly, he started tilting his head up, seeing the hem of a black dress. And even farther, to well toned arms and a decent chest that, if he were in a predicament that wasn’t this one, he would have enjoyed ogling. To top it off, a pretty face, complete with blond hair to her shoulders, a soft face turned to a scowl and deep chocolate eyes.
“W-where… who are you?” Rust asked slowly, raising a hand to cradle his skull off to the side.
“Ashley Statler. Or Ashley Morris before I got married. Now, are you ready to man up and take the pain like a fucking pro or am I going to have to beat you down for being such a dumb little s***?” The woman crossed her arms, the scowl on her face deepening.
“Ashley… Mori- What? That… that can’t be true; you don’t exist, you’re just a character thought up by my girlfriend.” Tilting his head upwards, he looked up at the woman’s features. She definitely LOOKED like the Morris he thought she was. Damn near perfect with it, too. It must be some kind of coincidence, it had to be.
“Yeah, then you took me on as your own fuckin’ character for that piece of s*** S-III world. The one you seemed to have abandoned, dumbass.” Once again Rust felt the force of a backhand strike his face, and once again he let out a yelp of surprise and pain. He shook off the pain, leaving himself with the third regret of the day.
“Will you stop hitting me!?” The writer yelled, pushing himself up to his knees before slowly ascending to his feet. He grasped at a nearby tree for support (When did that get there?) but continued to cradle his head.
“Fuck off, be lucky I’m not hitting you for putting me in this hellish dress. I’m doing this for your own good. The sooner you stop being a b**** the sooner we can get this s*** over with.” Recrossing her arms the lady, if she could even be called that, continued to glare at her. Obviously her being in that dress, as nice as it looked on her, was not something she would be getting used to any time soon.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever lady,” Rust responded, his thoughts on who the b**** was here very clear. “Just tell me where we are, yar?”
“We’re in your goddamn head. The creative part where all your characters live, even the s***ty ones.” Jerking a thumb over her shoulder, Rust followed it to see a large two story building. “Congratu-fucking-lations, you have a concussion, asshole.”
“I have… What!?” The memory started to flash into his mind: the NDL, the cashews, the water, he slipped, pain. “Why am I here?”
“What do I look like, your damn therapist? Fuck that, kid, I may live in your head but I know when I’m in over mine. Just get into the building, the others are waiting.” Without wasting another breath on him, Morris turned around and started walking towards the building. She did tilt her head back so she could yell at him one last time, though. “And don’t be staring at my ass, got that? It’s not yours, for fuck’s sake, what the hell would your girlfriend think?” She spat on the ground in a very un-lady like manner before disappearing into the building’s double doors.
“Yeah yeah, you’re b****ier than I remember…” Rust whispered under his breath, not daring to say that to the volatile woman out loud. He took the opportunity to assess the building. It looked a lot like a school, more like his old high school, actually. He frowned, high school… Oh joy be to those who went back. After a few moments hesitation, he ‘manned up’ and walked through the doors Ashley had gone through moments earlier.
“Is that him? Is that the writer? The Rust? The guy who does things for me and us and everyone here? Is it is it is it?” The first scene Rust would see is Basis bouncing up and down beside a large man. The child was in his standard uniform; a pair of black pants, shoes, and blindfold with a white button up shirt. The man beside him was nearly twice as big as Rust (who was already a pretty big guy to begin with) of all muscle, brown hair and a pair of blue shades.
“Yeah, Basis, that’s him.” His name was Surge, one of the first characters that Rust had ever created. “Hey, kid, you’re the real Rust, the actual Writer and not the guy from PQ or SFP or SS, right?”
“Yeah sure, why not? And why is everyone calling me kid? If I created you, shouldn’t you be showing me a little more respect?” Rust had crossed his arms with an irritated look on his face.
“Ha! Even Basis is older than Rust, yup yup. Only by a year though, but that’s more than enough for Basis! Maybe Rust shouldn’t make characters so old? Rust’s a ki-id, Rust’s a ki-id!” Basis sang out before bursting into a fit of giggles.
“Alright, Base, head back to the others and tell them that he’s here. I’m sure they’ll want to know all about this.”
“Aye aye, captain Surgesky!” With that, Basis started running off, skidding around a corner and disappearing completely from Rust’s sight.
“Right then,” Surge said after Basis relieved them of his presence. “Onto busine-“
Out of the one of the many hallways came another man, this one an inch or two shorter than Rust, a slender frame with a bald head and glaring blue eyes. “This is supposed to be the guy we’re bringing in to assist us? If I knew we needed someone who appears to be an overweight businessman I would have gone and found some random man who had not received an introduction yet.”
“Oi, Grant, give the kid a break. He’s a writer, not a character; they don’t build people in real life like they do us.” Surge said with a sigh, resting his forehead in his palm in response to the character from The Bounty, William Grant.
“Either way, I am allowed to speak my mind. Neither you nor any other man will take that away from me.” Grant, also known as S the assassin, leaned against the wall, watching his writer carefully.
“Gee, thanks. Give a character an ego and they think they can walk all over you.” Rust said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “So, what, all of my characters I’ve ever created are here? All of them?”
“Everyone that’s ever sprouted from your mind and have hit a medium in one form or another, yes, you’ve got that correct.”
“Great, so I’m going crazy with characters. Can I go home yet? As much fun as this will probably turn out to be, I really should be getting to sleep it’s like two o’clock in the morning and I should be in bed by now.”
“Rust,” Surge spoke, walking over to the writer. “You can’t leave yet. There’s been a bit of a… Well, there’s a problem, and we need you to fix it.”
“Right, because I’m the writer. I’m supposed to fix all of your problems, am I right? And what am I supposed to do, just write your problems into oblivion? Sure, can do, just gimme a pen and a piece of paper.” Rust glanced between Grant and Surge, expecting one of them to pipe up and offer him some helpful information about what’s going on. He, of course, got none.
“I think it’s best if you followed us…” With a hand on Rust’s shoulder, Surge started leading his writer through the hallways, Grant following behind them.
“Okay… What exactly am I looking at?”
“That… is your writer’s block.” Surge had lead Rust to what appeared to be the school gymnasium and, in the middle of the large room was a large block. It was plain, completely white and definitely huge. All in all, it wasn’t much more than a giant cube, but it was somewhat imposing, as if it knew it wasn’t supposed to be there but it stayed anyways because it was too lazy to move.
“So… I get a concussion, have a dream where I meet my own creations and one of my girlfriend’s creations that I jacked, and the best I can come up with is “I have a writer’s block?” Surge, I’m dreaming. I must have fallen asleep at the computer. I’m going to wake up now, okay?”
“I don’t think it’s as easy as saying “I’m going to wake up” and then actually doing i-“ Surge stared at Rust for the moment. The man seemed to be fading at the feet, slowly disappearing into thin air.
“Yeah… about that, I’m just not into this whole writer’s block thing. So I’m going to wake up and go to bed, got me?”
“But you can’t go so soon! Daku and the GAMX are planning to siphon power from this writer’s block! If you leave them unchecked, the rest of us could be completely annihilated and you could give up writing forever! Do you know how bad that would be!? All that untapped potential you have will go to waste as Daku and DAMG lead the rest of us into the ground!” Surge argued, raising his voice at his writer and grabbing his collar to lift him off of the ground.
“I doubt that’ll happen, besides I won’t let that happen. Too many people like my writings. Don’t worry about it, things’ll be fine, they always work ou-OUFF.” Rust stopped midsentence to let out an exhale as he was struck in the chest with a flying object. Surge set him down and bent over, picking it up. It was a book! The book had a stain-yellow cover with wood inlaid and engraved “Rust’s Writer’s Block” on it. It was big, too, perhaps a few hundred pages long. Surge placed it in the writer’s hand before Grant spoke up.
“Kadom, from Kallistia, he said to give that to you, that it would help us if you decided to refuse. Personally, I saw this coming from the moment I saw you, so I can’t say I’m disappointed. But the choice is yours and yours alone. I mean, we’re only puppets to your whim, do as you wish.” Before Rust could respond, the assassin had left the gym, leaving Surge and his writer alone with the now slightly intimidating block all on their own.
Surge looked down at Rust with a small, though somewhat sad, smile. “I know you’ll do the right thing in the end. Hopefully that book will help you out. I’m hoping, anyways, for everyone’s sake. Take care, kid.” The man watched as the rest of his writer slowly disappeared along with the book.
Rust woke up with his head on the keyboard, mouth open and drooling somewhat. Wiping his mouth and chin free from the saliva, the man shook his head with a scowl. It had only been a dream, nothing but a dream, just as he expected. He glanced up at the word document on his laptop and let his scowl deepen; the entire page (and 189 others) where filled with the letter H, the one button lucky enough to be pressed last. “Well fuck that, I’ll deal with it tomorrow.” A quick glance to his clock told him that it was, indeed, still tomorrow, but as he stood to go to bed, he was startled by a loud thud at his feet. Looking down, what he saw shocked and appalled him.
At his feet was a stain-yellow book with a wood in the cover. His eyes widened, but then he closed them, rubbing them with a chuckled. “Wow, I’m delirious. I’m going to bed.”
Without another word or thought, Rust stumbled to his bed in the corner of the room and let himself collapse. He had no problem falling asleep after that, his problems seemingly solved by a dreamless night…
Rust's Writer's Block
“Must… finish… this… post.” Rust said, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. He had been working on a post for the NDL for the past two hours, but as of yet nothing worthy of such a duel had sprung from his mind. It was already one in the morning and he feared he would lose all motivation if he waited until he woke up. Reaching to the left, just beyond the mouse and pad, he felt for his can of cashews. His fingers dipped into the can, feeling the salty nuts enough to grab a handful, popping them into his mouth and chewing loudly. He returned his fingers to the keyboard, readying himself to type up yet another incarnation of his current duel. The brief pause was long enough that he felt the need to grab a drink, a glass of water directly to his right. The cashews had started getting to him, but he told himself no; he could have a drink when he was done. But he had already started thinking about the water, and the thought pushed towards the front of his mind. He wanted that water. No, to keep procrastinating the duel, he needed that water as a worthy distraction. Being the weak-willed fool that he was, he reached out and took the glass of water. Rust brought the drink to his lips, tilting the glass so that the cold water hit his lips and slide gracefully into his mouth. Three short swallows later and he was done, the glass half full.
Though that particular distraction came and went all too quickly, what would happen next was both welcomed and scolded. As he placed the glass back on the edge of his desk, it slipped, falling to the ground and shattering, glass flying everywhere and leaving a puddle on the ground. The man groaned and slid a palm against his face, resting it against his forehead. What did he do to deserve such rotten luck? First he gets writer’s block followed by a bad case of “waitIgottagodothis,” and then he breaks a glass of water? Poppycock! The writer sighed heavily in a way that nearly shouted “oh woe is me” before standing. He didn’t expect what happened next; the puddle had moved on the waxed hardwood floor, straight under his chair. And as he stood, his slipper (which had worn out from use long ago) couldn’t find any traction. Needless to say, Rust fell over backwards, knocking over his chair and banging his head against the floor. Even with the loud thud he would not be found; his girlfriend was out for the night until her shift at work ended. He didn’t move but for breathing, a pained face that slowly fell to peace as he drifted farther and farther into unconsciousness…
“Hey, dumbass, wake the fuck up.” The man groaned as he started opening his eyes, wondering who was calling him such names, but immediately regretted it. He brought his hands up to shield from the sun that was shining entirely too brightly for the time to be in the middle of the night. Wait, sun? He was in his room, there shouldn’t be any sun. “Men, can’t take them seriously. Most of them act like goddamn p******.” Rust’s head was throbbing as he reached behind him to feel where he had nearly cracked his head open. Before he could do much else, he felt a firm hand smack his cheek. More like a backhand from a pimp, but either way he let out a small yelp of pain. “Fucking hell, get the fuck up before I have to beat you to your feet.”
Finally, the man opened his eyes. Slowly, though, as he could only see through a tiny slit between eyelids. Eh, if there was any chance to get up, now was the time to at least try. Rust set a hand on either side of him and pushed, putting him in a sitting position. Again, the feeling of regret filled his mind; he had gotten up a little too quickly, and the blood rushed from his head, leaving the throbbing even worse. The voice was quiet while he got his bearings, something he was thankful for. Little by little he was able to open his eyes until he could make out a pair of slender legs. Slowly, ever so slowly, he started tilting his head up, seeing the hem of a black dress. And even farther, to well toned arms and a decent chest that, if he were in a predicament that wasn’t this one, he would have enjoyed ogling. To top it off, a pretty face, complete with blond hair to her shoulders, a soft face turned to a scowl and deep chocolate eyes.
“W-where… who are you?” Rust asked slowly, raising a hand to cradle his skull off to the side.
“Ashley Statler. Or Ashley Morris before I got married. Now, are you ready to man up and take the pain like a fucking pro or am I going to have to beat you down for being such a dumb little s***?” The woman crossed her arms, the scowl on her face deepening.
“Ashley… Mori- What? That… that can’t be true; you don’t exist, you’re just a character thought up by my girlfriend.” Tilting his head upwards, he looked up at the woman’s features. She definitely LOOKED like the Morris he thought she was. Damn near perfect with it, too. It must be some kind of coincidence, it had to be.
“Yeah, then you took me on as your own fuckin’ character for that piece of s*** S-III world. The one you seemed to have abandoned, dumbass.” Once again Rust felt the force of a backhand strike his face, and once again he let out a yelp of surprise and pain. He shook off the pain, leaving himself with the third regret of the day.
“Will you stop hitting me!?” The writer yelled, pushing himself up to his knees before slowly ascending to his feet. He grasped at a nearby tree for support (When did that get there?) but continued to cradle his head.
“Fuck off, be lucky I’m not hitting you for putting me in this hellish dress. I’m doing this for your own good. The sooner you stop being a b**** the sooner we can get this s*** over with.” Recrossing her arms the lady, if she could even be called that, continued to glare at her. Obviously her being in that dress, as nice as it looked on her, was not something she would be getting used to any time soon.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever lady,” Rust responded, his thoughts on who the b**** was here very clear. “Just tell me where we are, yar?”
“We’re in your goddamn head. The creative part where all your characters live, even the s***ty ones.” Jerking a thumb over her shoulder, Rust followed it to see a large two story building. “Congratu-fucking-lations, you have a concussion, asshole.”
“I have… What!?” The memory started to flash into his mind: the NDL, the cashews, the water, he slipped, pain. “Why am I here?”
“What do I look like, your damn therapist? Fuck that, kid, I may live in your head but I know when I’m in over mine. Just get into the building, the others are waiting.” Without wasting another breath on him, Morris turned around and started walking towards the building. She did tilt her head back so she could yell at him one last time, though. “And don’t be staring at my ass, got that? It’s not yours, for fuck’s sake, what the hell would your girlfriend think?” She spat on the ground in a very un-lady like manner before disappearing into the building’s double doors.
“Yeah yeah, you’re b****ier than I remember…” Rust whispered under his breath, not daring to say that to the volatile woman out loud. He took the opportunity to assess the building. It looked a lot like a school, more like his old high school, actually. He frowned, high school… Oh joy be to those who went back. After a few moments hesitation, he ‘manned up’ and walked through the doors Ashley had gone through moments earlier.
“Is that him? Is that the writer? The Rust? The guy who does things for me and us and everyone here? Is it is it is it?” The first scene Rust would see is Basis bouncing up and down beside a large man. The child was in his standard uniform; a pair of black pants, shoes, and blindfold with a white button up shirt. The man beside him was nearly twice as big as Rust (who was already a pretty big guy to begin with) of all muscle, brown hair and a pair of blue shades.
“Yeah, Basis, that’s him.” His name was Surge, one of the first characters that Rust had ever created. “Hey, kid, you’re the real Rust, the actual Writer and not the guy from PQ or SFP or SS, right?”
“Yeah sure, why not? And why is everyone calling me kid? If I created you, shouldn’t you be showing me a little more respect?” Rust had crossed his arms with an irritated look on his face.
“Ha! Even Basis is older than Rust, yup yup. Only by a year though, but that’s more than enough for Basis! Maybe Rust shouldn’t make characters so old? Rust’s a ki-id, Rust’s a ki-id!” Basis sang out before bursting into a fit of giggles.
“Alright, Base, head back to the others and tell them that he’s here. I’m sure they’ll want to know all about this.”
“Aye aye, captain Surgesky!” With that, Basis started running off, skidding around a corner and disappearing completely from Rust’s sight.
“Right then,” Surge said after Basis relieved them of his presence. “Onto busine-“
Out of the one of the many hallways came another man, this one an inch or two shorter than Rust, a slender frame with a bald head and glaring blue eyes. “This is supposed to be the guy we’re bringing in to assist us? If I knew we needed someone who appears to be an overweight businessman I would have gone and found some random man who had not received an introduction yet.”
“Oi, Grant, give the kid a break. He’s a writer, not a character; they don’t build people in real life like they do us.” Surge said with a sigh, resting his forehead in his palm in response to the character from The Bounty, William Grant.
“Either way, I am allowed to speak my mind. Neither you nor any other man will take that away from me.” Grant, also known as S the assassin, leaned against the wall, watching his writer carefully.
“Gee, thanks. Give a character an ego and they think they can walk all over you.” Rust said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “So, what, all of my characters I’ve ever created are here? All of them?”
“Everyone that’s ever sprouted from your mind and have hit a medium in one form or another, yes, you’ve got that correct.”
“Great, so I’m going crazy with characters. Can I go home yet? As much fun as this will probably turn out to be, I really should be getting to sleep it’s like two o’clock in the morning and I should be in bed by now.”
“Rust,” Surge spoke, walking over to the writer. “You can’t leave yet. There’s been a bit of a… Well, there’s a problem, and we need you to fix it.”
“Right, because I’m the writer. I’m supposed to fix all of your problems, am I right? And what am I supposed to do, just write your problems into oblivion? Sure, can do, just gimme a pen and a piece of paper.” Rust glanced between Grant and Surge, expecting one of them to pipe up and offer him some helpful information about what’s going on. He, of course, got none.
“I think it’s best if you followed us…” With a hand on Rust’s shoulder, Surge started leading his writer through the hallways, Grant following behind them.
“Okay… What exactly am I looking at?”
“That… is your writer’s block.” Surge had lead Rust to what appeared to be the school gymnasium and, in the middle of the large room was a large block. It was plain, completely white and definitely huge. All in all, it wasn’t much more than a giant cube, but it was somewhat imposing, as if it knew it wasn’t supposed to be there but it stayed anyways because it was too lazy to move.
“So… I get a concussion, have a dream where I meet my own creations and one of my girlfriend’s creations that I jacked, and the best I can come up with is “I have a writer’s block?” Surge, I’m dreaming. I must have fallen asleep at the computer. I’m going to wake up now, okay?”
“I don’t think it’s as easy as saying “I’m going to wake up” and then actually doing i-“ Surge stared at Rust for the moment. The man seemed to be fading at the feet, slowly disappearing into thin air.
“Yeah… about that, I’m just not into this whole writer’s block thing. So I’m going to wake up and go to bed, got me?”
“But you can’t go so soon! Daku and the GAMX are planning to siphon power from this writer’s block! If you leave them unchecked, the rest of us could be completely annihilated and you could give up writing forever! Do you know how bad that would be!? All that untapped potential you have will go to waste as Daku and DAMG lead the rest of us into the ground!” Surge argued, raising his voice at his writer and grabbing his collar to lift him off of the ground.
“I doubt that’ll happen, besides I won’t let that happen. Too many people like my writings. Don’t worry about it, things’ll be fine, they always work ou-OUFF.” Rust stopped midsentence to let out an exhale as he was struck in the chest with a flying object. Surge set him down and bent over, picking it up. It was a book! The book had a stain-yellow cover with wood inlaid and engraved “Rust’s Writer’s Block” on it. It was big, too, perhaps a few hundred pages long. Surge placed it in the writer’s hand before Grant spoke up.
“Kadom, from Kallistia, he said to give that to you, that it would help us if you decided to refuse. Personally, I saw this coming from the moment I saw you, so I can’t say I’m disappointed. But the choice is yours and yours alone. I mean, we’re only puppets to your whim, do as you wish.” Before Rust could respond, the assassin had left the gym, leaving Surge and his writer alone with the now slightly intimidating block all on their own.
Surge looked down at Rust with a small, though somewhat sad, smile. “I know you’ll do the right thing in the end. Hopefully that book will help you out. I’m hoping, anyways, for everyone’s sake. Take care, kid.” The man watched as the rest of his writer slowly disappeared along with the book.
Rust woke up with his head on the keyboard, mouth open and drooling somewhat. Wiping his mouth and chin free from the saliva, the man shook his head with a scowl. It had only been a dream, nothing but a dream, just as he expected. He glanced up at the word document on his laptop and let his scowl deepen; the entire page (and 189 others) where filled with the letter H, the one button lucky enough to be pressed last. “Well fuck that, I’ll deal with it tomorrow.” A quick glance to his clock told him that it was, indeed, still tomorrow, but as he stood to go to bed, he was startled by a loud thud at his feet. Looking down, what he saw shocked and appalled him.
At his feet was a stain-yellow book with a wood in the cover. His eyes widened, but then he closed them, rubbing them with a chuckled. “Wow, I’m delirious. I’m going to bed.”
Without another word or thought, Rust stumbled to his bed in the corner of the room and let himself collapse. He had no problem falling asleep after that, his problems seemingly solved by a dreamless night…
Rust- Posts : 308
Join date : 2009-05-22
Age : 34
Location : Florida
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