Table of Contents

Poetry-
War Poem
Cat Poem

Sal Jackson-
Prologue
Chapter 1 Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Mud-
Prologue


Fog-
Part 1


Steel-
Part 1
Part 2

Ocean-
Part 1
Part 2


Brain-
Log 1
Log 2
Log 3
Log 4
Log 5

Brain pt. 3

Table of Contents
Part 2

Log 3: The second I realized that I was being attacked, it was as though time was slowed; in that I could actually see the air bending around the darts as they came at me. I was moving accordingly slowly, but I found the darts, at this speed, quite easier to dodge, akin to dodging a thrown baseball from a hundred feet away. As they continued to fly out of the holes in the walls, I noticed that the rate at which they were coming towards me was increasing, as was the number of holes. I soon realized that there was such a great volume of darts that I wouldn’t be able to dodge them all. Instead, I tried to knock them off course, which was very difficult. Again, like deflecting a thrown baseball with your bare hands.

     And that’s when I noticed that the darts were curving away from my hand before I touched them. I was causing them to curve with my focus alone. Once I realized this, I expanded my focus to include the darts that weren’t heading toward me. I brought them to a stop, and brought them into a large sphere, which I used to shield myself. Once I was sufficiently protected, I continued to make my way across the room. 

     Time returned to normal, and my ears began to ring with the sound of darts clicking against each other as my makeshift shield did its job. This was an interesting side-effect of time slowing down… it was as though someone had flipped a mute switch on reality. And sound I did hear was of very low pitch, so it was barely audible.

     I found a door, and this time, instead of looking around mindlessly to find a key, I used my power that I felt coursing through my mind to rip it off its hinges with a flick of my finger. The darts immediately stopped flying toward me from the walls seconds after the door hit the ground. I let my dart-shield fall to the floor, which resulted in a satisfying clattering. Before taking another step (which would have been suicide, as the darts were coated with synthesized black widow venom) I waved my hand and all of the darts littering the floor went flying into the wall next to me.

     I, at last, took the opportunity to look into the room I had just opened. I saw the man who had put me under the last time I was awake, along with a number of other medical-looking people. “Ah, you’ve survived the first day of rehab.” The short man with the glasses said. “And not a scratch on you. Good, good, good. Those darts were coated with synthesized black widow venom.”

     “What kind of rehab IS this? And what did you do to me!?”

“We simply improved you. No cause for anger.”

     “… Improved me?”

“Well, I’d certainly call the addition of telekinesis to one’s skill-set to be an improvement. You do like your new abilities, correct?”

     “Well… yes.”

“Good. I can see that you are the first person for whom the surgery has worked so flawlessly. Some of our test subjects descended into madness after realizing how much power they had.”

     “What happened to them?”

“We had them killed. An angry person with your abilities would be… unstoppable. Law enforcement simply would be no match, and countless people would die without cause.”

     “What exactly did you do to my brain?”

“We streamlined the connections between the neurons, allowing your brain to generate massive electromagnetic fields. The mathematics behind your abilities are extremely complex, so of course to allow them to be practical, we had to ‘program’ the set of mathematical laws associated with your abilities into your subconscious so your abilities would be useable. Perhaps when we completely perfect the method, we’ll make the telekinetic effect weaker. There’s no practical use for abilities of your strength.”

     “Yes, I can’t imagine any.”

“So, you feel alright, John? No headaches?”

     “No, no headaches… And my name is Neligula.”

“What an odd name… Is this your last name?”

     “No. My last name is Octavian.”

“Neligula Octavian? Okay, that’s a great deal more eccentric than John Smith.”

     “Yes, so am I.” I was rapidly regaining my memory. I was remembering why I wandered into this shady clinic in the first place. I had been disowned by all of my closest friends after I slit that man’s throat and tried asking them for help disposing of the body. None of them would help, so I burned the body, and after I learned from the last friend that stayed true to me that the police were after me, I ditched my car and my job. And I wandered the streets for weeks before coming across the flyer on the side of the Dumpster. It changed my life, of course.

     I wandered in, hoping to score some money with which to begin building a new identity. They didn’t ask any questions save, “Are you ready to begin a new life?”

Of course I said yes. And then they brought me into the room in the back. And that’s when my memory ended.

     I couldn’t let them know of my past. I was sure even then that there was more dirt in my past than I remembered. Even the name had been made up. I still didn’t actually remember my name. I know that if they found out what kind of man I am, they would try to take these powers back.

And I wouldn’t have any of that… I liked these powers.

Next Log

Brain pt. 2

Table of Contents
Part One
     Log 2: I awoke in a room with no windows and no doors, with nothing in the room but a puddle of oil. I would only see it because of the light that was firmly bolted to the ceiling. I called out several times. There was no answer but my own echo. It was cold. I was hungry. But I was curious. So I began to explore my little jail cell, and found nothing in it but the puddle of oil.

     However, I did find one interesting feature of my prison.  There was a little vial near the puddle of oil, which looked like it was connected to some intricate mechanism. I tried to touch the vial, but my finger was too wide for the little hole it was set in. It looked like it was meant to hold a liquid of some sort. So I spat into it. And nothing happened. In fact, the saliva appeared to pass through the bottom of the little vial as though it were not there.

      So I looked back to the oil puddle, which was the only other thing in the room, other than the light, which was far above my reach. So I walked back to the oil puddle, and an idea began to form in my head. Was this some sort of puzzle? Maybe the oil was supposed to go into the little vial.

     I then tried to scoop the oil into my hands and carry it to the vial. It didn’t work, the oil found its way through the tiniest gaps between my hands. Then I tried pushing it along the floor, but found that that wouldn’t work either, as the oil was resting in a wide depression in the floor and simply flowed around my hands back to its original position.

     But I didn’t give up because I was desperate and I couldn’t think of anything else to do. So I pushed at it again, focusing very hard. This time, it actually made it out of the little dip. I was surprised by this, and that’s when I saw something that made me realize my life had been drastically altered by whatever operation it was that took place under my head.

     The oil was over the edge of both of my hands, but it was moving as though there were an invisible wall pushing it. I was so shocked by this that I lost my concentration and the oil went back to being a puddle. Some of it sloshed back into the depression. I caught my breath, and tried again, this time putting more focus through my mind. Slowly but surely the oil began to slide out of the depression. I then cupped by hands and found that with this newfound power, I could hold the oil as though my hands were a seamless container. I walked over to the little vial and poured the oil from my hands. It settled into the vial and didn’t pass through the bottom. Then, a small spark leapt across the top of the vial, causing a little bang, which resulted in a series of whirs and clicks inside the wall, ending in a panel falling off of the wall, opening a lit chamber wide enough for me to crawl through.

     I entered it and found myself blocked about 10 feet into the crawlspace by a transparent acrylic pane. Yes, I discovered it by ramming my face into it. On the other side of the pane there was a little ball, and a slot large enough for the ball to roll into. Remembering what had just happened in the previous room, I tried focusing on the ball, while running my hand over the pane close to it. Sure enough, after a few minutes of intense focus, the ball moved into the little hole, and after a few little humming noises, the pane slid upward into the wall of the chamber and I was able to crawl through the rest of it.

     It ended abruptly and I found myself on the floor of a large room. More specifically, I found myself inside of a locked, barred, wooden cell in the corner of a large room. The key was just outside of my reach, on the floor outside of the cell. I strained and reached for it before a strange realization struck me. These were a series of tests. Specifically, a series of tests designed to affirm that the surgery had gone well. Having gained a noticeable boost of confidence from realizing this, I pointed at the key and, using purely my new-found abilities, slid the key toward me across the floor, until it hit the bottom of the set of bars locking the cell. I bent down, picked it up, and unlocked the bars.

     I stepped out into the large room, and that’s when the darts started flying towards me from the walls.
 Part Three

NaNoWriMo

This is a month-long thing. When you write a 50,000 word novel in a month. The longest thing I've ever written so far was only 10,000 words, and it took me a year. So I'll be uploading parts of my story (We're not allowed to start writing until November, but I'm excited as piss.) about twice a week over the month. I want you all to do me a favor. Just COMPLETELY lose all respect for me as a writer if I don't finish this. I need motivation in the form of fear of humiliation.
The tentative title is "A Stroll." Will keep you posted.

Walk With My Dog.

It's a fucking beautiful day, so I took my dog for a walk.
We went into the woods behind my old highschool and explored them for a bit.
Long story short, she fucking bit off the head of a chipmunk.
Pic related: It's my dog.

Brain

Table of Contents

Log 1: I woke up in a hospital bed. My head hurt, I reached up to feel it and found that my head had been shaved. I ran my hand down from the top of my head and it crossed a line of stitches. I began to panic, and that's when five or six men in white coats rushed in, restrained me, and then one of them injected me with what I am guessing was a tranquilizer. It was slow to affect me, but when it did, I went under very quickly.


I awoke again (this is pure guesswork, there were no windows, no clocks, and therefore no way to tell time) perhaps a few days later, feeling very famished. I felt my head again. The stitches were removed and a thin stubble covered my head. There was a definite thin scar across my forehead where the stitches had been, and it felt like there was a bump in my skull under the stitches. I decided to try my luck and call out for a glass of water. "Hello! Is anyone out there?"

A voice responded, "Stay there, just a moment."

I complied, fearing that if I did not, bad things were sure to happen, specifically a return of the tranquilizer. I checked my surroundings. There were, as I have mentioned, no windows, and one door. I was strapped to a steel gurney with a thin mat between me and the cold steel. I had an IV attached to my arm. I couldn't turn my head far enough to see what was in the bag it was feeding from. There was a TV in the corner of the room, but is looked as though it hadn't been used in years.

"Alright, Mr. Smith. You called?"

"My name isn't Mr.Smith..."

"Really? What is it?"

"Uh... Damn. I know it wasn't Mr. Smith."

"Well, what was it? I'm listening."

It was like something was deliberately clouding my brain. "Uh... I... Call me... John?"

"Okay, your name is Mr. John Smith?" I realized that I was playing into his hands perfectly. But my mind was too fouled up to do anything about it. So I cooperated.

"May I have a glass of water?"

"Yes. Stay here, while I get it."

The man left quickly. He was short, stout, and bespectacled. He had no hair on the top of his head, just on the sides of it, and he walked with a cane. It seemed as though he only used the cane because he liked it, not out of necessity. He returned a little under a minute later carrying the glass of water. He carefully unstrapped one of my hands and I grabbed the glass of water and began to drink furiously.

"I should take this time to tell you that the operation has been confirmed as a success. The memory loss you are currently experiencing should wear off in a few days, at which point we will give you the allotted sum promised by the contract you signed prior to the surgery."

"... What operation? The one in my head?"

"Yes, that one precisely. It has been confirmed as a success by EEG scans of your brain waves, particularly the theta waves. Activity in those regions has increased by a thousandfold."

"What does that mean?"

"The implications of the surgery will be explained to you in a few days, as part of the recovery and rehabilitation process."

"... Oh. What's in this IV?"

"Mr. Smith, I think it's best you go back to sleep." He said before, blindingly quickly I might add, he injected a heavy dose of the tranquilizer into my arm. The last sound I heard was the glass shattering on the floor next to the gurney.

Part Two

Joe vs Kühlschrank

hey fridge hiking man
you keep carrying that fridge
you fucking badass