Version
Sting Ray
Mayganne
closed her cellphone after chatting with Sheri. They had chatted for
three hours about everything and nothing. It was a good time killer,
she thought.
She
left her bedroom and entered the living room, where her brother had
been playing a new video game.
She
could hear him out the front window playing street ball now. Denny
must have conned him into leaving the new game because it was a rare
thing for him to do.
He
had left the game on the pause screen, meaning that he was planning
on getting back to it.
Mayganne
got herself a soda from the fridge and was about to head back into
her room to listen to the new Max & The Mana Junkies track
she had downloaded while chatting.
She
heard the whisper of wind and a space-like hymn coming from the
television set.
She
walked over and was about to turn it off when she sat down and
decided to give it a play; she reached over to the control pad and
exited and hit the start button.
Cool
opening sequence of what appeared to be a cylindrical space station
over a huge orange sun. The stars in the background. Then a ship flew
from overhead and towards it, the faded name still readable: Nexus
Wave.
It
was a old fashioned ship flying like the ones in that 'Pirates of The
Caribbean' movie but it was flying through space. Then the word
flashed upon the screen: Citadel.
The
next screen popped up and it was a huge array of characters to choose
from. She scrolled through them all looking for a cool female
character.
Serisia
- Angel
Kitty
- Street Thief
Maus
- Warrior
She
selected Maus and hit play.
20131217
Understanding the Eye
Version
Delta Fox
Susanna jotted down the idea on the inside of the cigarette pack. She didn't have time to run and get a sheet a paper or a napkin and the cigarette pack was handy.
Life is sweet like hidden treats, she had written.
She also wrote 4/4 Beat.
She began to hum a few bars of a melody, but to her it didn't sound quite right. So she began again in a low tone.
The waitress slid a coffee in front of her, "There's no smoking in here, Miss."
"Oh, I wasn't planning on lighting up," Susanna told her. "Just that when inspiration hits I grab the first thing that resembles a sheet a paper."
"Well now, if that's the case. Since there is no one here, you could light up," The waitress said with a smile and wandered away.
Susanna jotted down the idea on the inside of the cigarette pack. She didn't have time to run and get a sheet a paper or a napkin and the cigarette pack was handy.
Life is sweet like hidden treats, she had written.
She also wrote 4/4 Beat.
She began to hum a few bars of a melody, but to her it didn't sound quite right. So she began again in a low tone.
The waitress slid a coffee in front of her, "There's no smoking in here, Miss."
"Oh, I wasn't planning on lighting up," Susanna told her. "Just that when inspiration hits I grab the first thing that resembles a sheet a paper."
"Well now, if that's the case. Since there is no one here, you could light up," The waitress said with a smile and wandered away.
Conflict Resolution II
Version
Crimson.4
Riveta stared intently at the screen. The net-cafe was busy this morning, emails getting checked, flash games played, clips watched. She had been here since the place opened, as directed. Made sure she sat at the right terminal. Logged onto the message-board using the account she had been provided.
Reading for hours, exchanges between posters about anti-oppression theory, magickal practices, comic books, technological developments. There was a long thread about a decision to ban one of the posters, pages upon pages of text debating communication styles, scientific methodology, language and identity. It was an argument, a discussion, a lament, a challenge.
She watched the words on the screen stream and interlock, conjuring patterns of meaning, mysteries of intent, little pixelated sticks and curves summoning epic passions and petty indulgences. Figures and grounds. The beauty of connection and the terror of disconnection. The thoughts of dozens of people spread across the planet, caged, transmuted, sent into combat with each other. Agonizing contortions of principles and visions, to make a determination of the future presence or absence of one current of text on the message board. To silence or to manage, to embrace or to resist.
How could something so small feel so huge? she thought.
What is it the Professor wants me to see?
Riveta stared intently at the screen. The net-cafe was busy this morning, emails getting checked, flash games played, clips watched. She had been here since the place opened, as directed. Made sure she sat at the right terminal. Logged onto the message-board using the account she had been provided.
Reading for hours, exchanges between posters about anti-oppression theory, magickal practices, comic books, technological developments. There was a long thread about a decision to ban one of the posters, pages upon pages of text debating communication styles, scientific methodology, language and identity. It was an argument, a discussion, a lament, a challenge.
She watched the words on the screen stream and interlock, conjuring patterns of meaning, mysteries of intent, little pixelated sticks and curves summoning epic passions and petty indulgences. Figures and grounds. The beauty of connection and the terror of disconnection. The thoughts of dozens of people spread across the planet, caged, transmuted, sent into combat with each other. Agonizing contortions of principles and visions, to make a determination of the future presence or absence of one current of text on the message board. To silence or to manage, to embrace or to resist.
How could something so small feel so huge? she thought.
What is it the Professor wants me to see?
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