Well, as you may have noticed, I haven't posted anything since school started. :| I've decided that I'm only going to make myself write on the weekends or days off.
In addition, I'm going to try and complete a list of 100 prompts that are as follows:
1. Broken.
2. Motion.
3. Sarcasm.
4. Attention.
5. Never.
6. Accusation.
7. Companions.
8. Blessing.
9. Metal.
10. Eyes.
11. Shadow.
12. History.
13. Talent.
14. Heaven.
15. Green.
16. Taste.
17. Sunset.
18. Laugh.
19. Promise.
20. Formal.
21. Memory.
22. Denial.
23. Arrows.
24. Sudden.
25. Neutral.
26. Thousand.
27. Spaces.
28. Excess.
29. Purity.
30. Enigma.
31. Snowflakes.
32. Temptation.
33. Command.
34. Tremble.
35. Sensual.
36. Family.
37. When?
38. Serenade.
39. Hunger.
40. Ragged.
41. Sleepwalk.
42. Glimpse.
43. Questions.
44. Fringe.
45. Diamond.
46. Passing.
47. Flame.
48. Happiness.
49. Fleeting.
50. Years.
51. Thunder.
52. Taboo.
53. Look.
54. Music.
55. Solitary.
56. Jump.
57. Young.
58. Tragic.
59. Madness.
60. Knowledge.
61. Bewildered.
62. Smirk.
63. Moon.
64. Summer.
65. Weakness.
66. Balance.
67. Bright.
68. Letters.
69. Corruption.
70. Transformation.
71. Scars.
72. Rebellion.
73. Glory.
74. Prepare.
75. Mistake.
76. Restless.
77. Orange.
78. Beginning.
79. Sickness.
80. Thanks.
81. Air.
82. Doors.
83. Bias.
84. Waves.
85. Stray.
86. Flying.
87. Overwhelmed.
88. Stupidity.
89. Haze.
90. Incomplete.
91. Vengeance.
92. Critical.
93. Walking.
94. Drink.
95. Death.
96. Outside.
97. Always.
98. Wrong.
99. Forgotten.
100. How?
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
09/01/11
No writing today because I completely forgot. ><;
I'll try to write an extra-long one tomorrow. For now, I need to sleep.
I'll try to write an extra-long one tomorrow. For now, I need to sleep.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
08/01/11 Shooting Star (Fan Prose - Ace Attorney)
It was days like today when Phoenix Wright wondered why, exactly, he had ever thought that becoming a defense attorney would be a good idea.
Today was the fifth consecutive day of the trial of Ronda Bout, a client of his accused of killing someone at the local fair. She was accused of pushing her boyfriend, Vince Seere, onto the tracks of the rollercoaster after hours.
Phoenix was sure of her innocence, but the problem was that she had such an irritating, damnable way of talking... It took her an hour of talking for one to understand her point; she was so indirect and vague. If she would just testify in a straightforward manner, and explain it all...! But, that wasn't the case; her meandering, airy speech left the judge and jury unconvinced of the truth in her words.
It was made worse that one of the main witnesses for the prosecution was Wendy Oldbag, his least favourite -- and yet enduringly present -- witness. She prattled on and on, much in the same way his client did, but without the charming vapidity, and with each testimony more fabricated and phony than the last.
To top it off, the prosecutor in the Bout case was none other than Miles Edgeworth. The cool, calm, silvery-haired prosecutor, whose every look at Phoenix in the courtroom was full of sneering confidence. If the testimonies of the irritating witness and his unconvincing client weren't enough to drive Phoenix to the edge of his wits, Edgeworth's haughty smirk directed at him through all of it was the cherry on top of the foul cake.
For now, however, the trial had adjourned, and Phoenix couldn't be happier. After a short and thoroughly aggravating chat with his rambling client, Phoenix left the courthouse, striding quickly towards his beat-up old one-speed bike that he rode to and from work every day.
However, on his way to his trusty, rusty bike, a sleek red sportscar pulled up beside him. The window rolled down, and Miles Edgeworth looked out at him. "Surely you didn't forget?" he asked.
Phoenix frowned at him. "Not really in the mood, Miles." His voice held a bit more of a snarl than he intended.
However, he remained unfazed. "C'mon, get in."
He was silent for a moment, and then jerked his head over towards his faded blue bike. "What about my bike?"
He regarded it with a similar expression that one might have when presented with a pet leaving an unwanted surprise on the freshly-washed carpet. "You can come back for it tomorrow, I'll give you a ride."
Tomorrow. Like he needed to be reminded that he would be coming back here to try and finish up this damn case.
"C'mon, Wright," Edgeworth sighed. "We both agreed when we started this: we leave courtroom politics in the court."
He frowned. "Fine." He walked around to the other side, admiring, with more than a little jealousy, the fine vehicle. He got in, sinking into the soft leather seats, and closed the door.
"Seatbelt, Phoenix."
"Shut up, Miles." Click.
They sped smoothly off. They made a stop-in at the grocery store to acquire supplies: Dill Pickle chips and a bottle of Fanta for Miles; and gummi worms and a six-pack of light beer for Phoenix. As Miles studied the various brands of chips to find the best deal, Phoneix leant against the shopping cart and wondered what they must look like to outsiders. They were both still in their suits. Would people think they were work friends? Roommates? Brothers?
They left the store after purchasing their junk food and drove to Phoenix's apartment. They alternated each week; sometimes they would go to Mile's sleek penthouse apartment with lush carpets and gorgeous paintings, and then sometimes they would go to Phoenix's shabby one-room apartment with a bed, TV, and not much else. Miles had learnt to hold his tongue on the matter of Phoenix's relative poverty; it was a touchy subject.
So, just like every other week, they sat down on Phoenix's bed, leant against the wall with junk food in hand, and watched a movie. This week they were watching one of the more terrible Steel Samurai made-for-TV movies -- all of which Miles owned on DVD. They had seen it many times before, and therefore did not pay that much attention to it. They chatted and laughed, made in-jokes about the terrible acting and recited particularly cheesy lines.
For just a few hours every week, they were no longer an attorney and a prosecutor, facing each other down in court. For just a few hours every week, they were simply friends.
When Phoenix thought about it, as he did now while Miles, in spite of himself, had gotten caught up in the tense dramatic part of the movie -- a fanboy for life -- he supposed that all this animosity that was supposed to lie between them was his own fault. He had become an attorney to follow Miles in his dream to become a prosecutor; to follow him and meet him again even after the terrible incident with his father, when his best friend was suddenly taken away from him like waking up from a dream.
He supposed that, in retrospect, it was a somewhat foolish idea to hope that he could once again become friends with Miles by being his opponent in court. But, as he looked over at his friend and professional opponent, clutching a pillow with his eyes locked on the television, perhaps it wasn't so foolish. After all, here they were, all these years later, friends, despite the distance and despite their careers.
It was days like today when Phoenix Wright remembered why he had gone chasing after Miles Edgeworth's dream; he was following the coma of the shooting star, hoping to, one day, catch up with the star itself.
Today was the fifth consecutive day of the trial of Ronda Bout, a client of his accused of killing someone at the local fair. She was accused of pushing her boyfriend, Vince Seere, onto the tracks of the rollercoaster after hours.
Phoenix was sure of her innocence, but the problem was that she had such an irritating, damnable way of talking... It took her an hour of talking for one to understand her point; she was so indirect and vague. If she would just testify in a straightforward manner, and explain it all...! But, that wasn't the case; her meandering, airy speech left the judge and jury unconvinced of the truth in her words.
It was made worse that one of the main witnesses for the prosecution was Wendy Oldbag, his least favourite -- and yet enduringly present -- witness. She prattled on and on, much in the same way his client did, but without the charming vapidity, and with each testimony more fabricated and phony than the last.
To top it off, the prosecutor in the Bout case was none other than Miles Edgeworth. The cool, calm, silvery-haired prosecutor, whose every look at Phoenix in the courtroom was full of sneering confidence. If the testimonies of the irritating witness and his unconvincing client weren't enough to drive Phoenix to the edge of his wits, Edgeworth's haughty smirk directed at him through all of it was the cherry on top of the foul cake.
For now, however, the trial had adjourned, and Phoenix couldn't be happier. After a short and thoroughly aggravating chat with his rambling client, Phoenix left the courthouse, striding quickly towards his beat-up old one-speed bike that he rode to and from work every day.
However, on his way to his trusty, rusty bike, a sleek red sportscar pulled up beside him. The window rolled down, and Miles Edgeworth looked out at him. "Surely you didn't forget?" he asked.
Phoenix frowned at him. "Not really in the mood, Miles." His voice held a bit more of a snarl than he intended.
However, he remained unfazed. "C'mon, get in."
He was silent for a moment, and then jerked his head over towards his faded blue bike. "What about my bike?"
He regarded it with a similar expression that one might have when presented with a pet leaving an unwanted surprise on the freshly-washed carpet. "You can come back for it tomorrow, I'll give you a ride."
Tomorrow. Like he needed to be reminded that he would be coming back here to try and finish up this damn case.
"C'mon, Wright," Edgeworth sighed. "We both agreed when we started this: we leave courtroom politics in the court."
He frowned. "Fine." He walked around to the other side, admiring, with more than a little jealousy, the fine vehicle. He got in, sinking into the soft leather seats, and closed the door.
"Seatbelt, Phoenix."
"Shut up, Miles." Click.
They sped smoothly off. They made a stop-in at the grocery store to acquire supplies: Dill Pickle chips and a bottle of Fanta for Miles; and gummi worms and a six-pack of light beer for Phoenix. As Miles studied the various brands of chips to find the best deal, Phoneix leant against the shopping cart and wondered what they must look like to outsiders. They were both still in their suits. Would people think they were work friends? Roommates? Brothers?
They left the store after purchasing their junk food and drove to Phoenix's apartment. They alternated each week; sometimes they would go to Mile's sleek penthouse apartment with lush carpets and gorgeous paintings, and then sometimes they would go to Phoenix's shabby one-room apartment with a bed, TV, and not much else. Miles had learnt to hold his tongue on the matter of Phoenix's relative poverty; it was a touchy subject.
So, just like every other week, they sat down on Phoenix's bed, leant against the wall with junk food in hand, and watched a movie. This week they were watching one of the more terrible Steel Samurai made-for-TV movies -- all of which Miles owned on DVD. They had seen it many times before, and therefore did not pay that much attention to it. They chatted and laughed, made in-jokes about the terrible acting and recited particularly cheesy lines.
For just a few hours every week, they were no longer an attorney and a prosecutor, facing each other down in court. For just a few hours every week, they were simply friends.
When Phoenix thought about it, as he did now while Miles, in spite of himself, had gotten caught up in the tense dramatic part of the movie -- a fanboy for life -- he supposed that all this animosity that was supposed to lie between them was his own fault. He had become an attorney to follow Miles in his dream to become a prosecutor; to follow him and meet him again even after the terrible incident with his father, when his best friend was suddenly taken away from him like waking up from a dream.
He supposed that, in retrospect, it was a somewhat foolish idea to hope that he could once again become friends with Miles by being his opponent in court. But, as he looked over at his friend and professional opponent, clutching a pillow with his eyes locked on the television, perhaps it wasn't so foolish. After all, here they were, all these years later, friends, despite the distance and despite their careers.
It was days like today when Phoenix Wright remembered why he had gone chasing after Miles Edgeworth's dream; he was following the coma of the shooting star, hoping to, one day, catch up with the star itself.
07/01/11 - Stoic (Original Prose)
"I think that I'm in love with you."
He looked over at her. She was staring at him, her head cocked slightly to the side. Her nose was scrunched up in the way it did when she was considering a particularly tricky riddle, or guessing that he had gotten a haircut recently.
He must have heard her wrong. "Sorry?"
"I said, I think that I'm in love with you."
"Oh."
There was a somewhat awkward silence. She kept staring at him, and he found himself staring back, unable to break away from her gaze.
He swallowed a lump that had appeared suddenly in his throat. "Okay?"
"Yeah. Just letting you know."
She looked back down at the comic that she had sprawled open on her lap, her long dirty blonde hair coming down in a curtain around her face.
He kept staring at her. That was it? That was all she was going to say on the matter?
"Um," he said, and she glanced up at him. "So, you're in love with me...?"
"Basically, yeah."
"So... what do you wanna do about it?"
She bit her lip thoughtfully. "I don't know."
"...Like, did you want to start dating, or whatever?"
"Mmm... not sure..."
"Then why did you tell me?" He was getting more and more confused and frustrated, and began to have the sneaking suspicion that she was just messing with him. She possessed a calm, stoic demeanour, and therefore was an absolute master at deadpan comedy. It was one of the reasons he was such good friends with her.
She stared at him, like his question was an odd one. "Because I wanted to."
"Why? What's the point?"
She shrugged. "Well, I just realized it. I thought you might want to know." She bent her head again, her attention returning to the comic book.
But his confusion persisted. "So you don't want to date?"
She shrugged. "Sure, if you want."
"You don't want to kiss me?"
"Hmm. It might be nice, but I'm fine right now, thanks."
"You don't care about if I return your feelings?"
"Well, yeah, but... Whatever."
He gawped at her. She flipped a page, seemingly oblivious.
"So... what now?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well... you love me."
"Yep."
"Doesn't this change everything?"
She made a non-committal, neutral sort of sound. "If you want."
He frowned. "Well... I don't know what I want... this is so sudden..."
"So take your time and figure it out. I'm pretty sure I'll still love you tomorrow... the day after... I think I'll love you forever, to be honest."
She stifled a yawn with her hand.
He could do nothing but stare at her incredulously.
"You may be the most impassive person on the face of the planet."
"Possibly. It's a rather large planet."
"Well..." His brain was beginning to hurt with the swirling eddy of emotions and thoughts whirling around and clashing with each other. "Can I think it over?"
"Be my guest."
"...Right now?" he asked warily.
"If you'd like."
"...Okay."
He cautiously went over to his bed, watching her still, waiting for a laugh, a smile, anything to show that she was anything but deadly serious in her professions of undying love. But no such sign came; she remained very relaxed, leaning against the wall as she sat cross-legged, reading one of his well-thumbed comics.
So, he lied down on his bed, looking at the ceiling, painfully aware that she was still in the room with him, and begin to consider what she had told him.
There was silence in his bedroom for half an hour. The only sounds were those of their quiet breaths and the crinkling noises of the girl flipping through the comic book pages.
After awhile, though, he sat up. She glanced up at him. "Have you finished thinking?" she asked pleasantly, as if asking about the weather.
He nodded decisively.
Although she waited, he said nothing more. "Well?" she prompted.
"I..." He seemed to redden slightly. "It's difficult to say..."
"Do you like me romantically as well?" she asked bluntly.
After a pregnant pause, he nodded stiffly.
"Oh, well, that's nice then." And she returned to her comic book as if nothing at all was amiss.
"...So? Should we like... do couple-y stuff now?"
"What, like kiss or something?"
"Yeah."
"Well, do you want to?"
He considered this for a moment. "Well... I don't know..." He'd never had a girlfriend. How was he supposed to... well, deal with this? His best friend had just confessed her undying love for him, albeit somewhat placidly, and he had realized he returned her feelings. Weren't they supposed to kiss passionately, or say cheesy things to each other, or something? That's what they did in all the movies... but he didn't feel much like doing that right now. He was content to just be with her.
He voiced this sentiment to her, and she nodded in agreement. "Yeah, me neither. The mood's not good."
"...That's because you are about the most unromantic person ever."
"Perhaps. It is a big planet, like I said."
He bit his lip nervously. "Can I..." He gulped down another throat-lump. "Can I come sit next to you?"
"I would like that, yes."
He stood and walked the few steps over to where she sat against the wall, and slid down beside her. He was suddenly acutely aware of how close they were together. Her right leg was pressed against his left one, divided only by his jeans and her tights. His eyes flicked over, and he realized, or rather became significantly aware of the fact, that she was wearing a skirt. He felt his heart speed up, and he forced his gaze elsewhere.
She was watching him, he realized. Their faces were very close together. They gazed at each other. An irresistible, mad force was building up in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to kiss her now. He wanted to kiss her more than he had ever wanted to do anything else in his life. But, just as the tension was about to become unbearable, she opened her mouth to speak.
"Are you alright with Blankets, or should I grab another comic?"
His mind went blank. Quicker than it had come, the warm bubbling in his stomach disappated. He didn't comprehend what she'd said at first, until he realized Blankets was the comic that was opened up in her lap.
"Um, no, that's fine."
"Alright then." She turned her head forward to read, and he followed suit.
A page or two later, her head rose to look at him. "I want to hold your hand." There was a slight pink tinge to her cheeks, he saw. He'd never seen her show an expression like that.
"Oh. Okay."
He took her proffered hand, and they rested their linked fingers on her leg, continuing to read the comic. Every so often, she would squeeze his hand, and he would squeeze back. At those moments, he stole a glance back up to her face, and saw that her normally stoic face would be creased in a slight, almost impercievable smile.
He looked over at her. She was staring at him, her head cocked slightly to the side. Her nose was scrunched up in the way it did when she was considering a particularly tricky riddle, or guessing that he had gotten a haircut recently.
He must have heard her wrong. "Sorry?"
"I said, I think that I'm in love with you."
"Oh."
There was a somewhat awkward silence. She kept staring at him, and he found himself staring back, unable to break away from her gaze.
He swallowed a lump that had appeared suddenly in his throat. "Okay?"
"Yeah. Just letting you know."
She looked back down at the comic that she had sprawled open on her lap, her long dirty blonde hair coming down in a curtain around her face.
He kept staring at her. That was it? That was all she was going to say on the matter?
"Um," he said, and she glanced up at him. "So, you're in love with me...?"
"Basically, yeah."
"So... what do you wanna do about it?"
She bit her lip thoughtfully. "I don't know."
"...Like, did you want to start dating, or whatever?"
"Mmm... not sure..."
"Then why did you tell me?" He was getting more and more confused and frustrated, and began to have the sneaking suspicion that she was just messing with him. She possessed a calm, stoic demeanour, and therefore was an absolute master at deadpan comedy. It was one of the reasons he was such good friends with her.
She stared at him, like his question was an odd one. "Because I wanted to."
"Why? What's the point?"
She shrugged. "Well, I just realized it. I thought you might want to know." She bent her head again, her attention returning to the comic book.
But his confusion persisted. "So you don't want to date?"
She shrugged. "Sure, if you want."
"You don't want to kiss me?"
"Hmm. It might be nice, but I'm fine right now, thanks."
"You don't care about if I return your feelings?"
"Well, yeah, but... Whatever."
He gawped at her. She flipped a page, seemingly oblivious.
"So... what now?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well... you love me."
"Yep."
"Doesn't this change everything?"
She made a non-committal, neutral sort of sound. "If you want."
He frowned. "Well... I don't know what I want... this is so sudden..."
"So take your time and figure it out. I'm pretty sure I'll still love you tomorrow... the day after... I think I'll love you forever, to be honest."
She stifled a yawn with her hand.
He could do nothing but stare at her incredulously.
"You may be the most impassive person on the face of the planet."
"Possibly. It's a rather large planet."
"Well..." His brain was beginning to hurt with the swirling eddy of emotions and thoughts whirling around and clashing with each other. "Can I think it over?"
"Be my guest."
"...Right now?" he asked warily.
"If you'd like."
"...Okay."
He cautiously went over to his bed, watching her still, waiting for a laugh, a smile, anything to show that she was anything but deadly serious in her professions of undying love. But no such sign came; she remained very relaxed, leaning against the wall as she sat cross-legged, reading one of his well-thumbed comics.
So, he lied down on his bed, looking at the ceiling, painfully aware that she was still in the room with him, and begin to consider what she had told him.
There was silence in his bedroom for half an hour. The only sounds were those of their quiet breaths and the crinkling noises of the girl flipping through the comic book pages.
After awhile, though, he sat up. She glanced up at him. "Have you finished thinking?" she asked pleasantly, as if asking about the weather.
He nodded decisively.
Although she waited, he said nothing more. "Well?" she prompted.
"I..." He seemed to redden slightly. "It's difficult to say..."
"Do you like me romantically as well?" she asked bluntly.
After a pregnant pause, he nodded stiffly.
"Oh, well, that's nice then." And she returned to her comic book as if nothing at all was amiss.
"...So? Should we like... do couple-y stuff now?"
"What, like kiss or something?"
"Yeah."
"Well, do you want to?"
He considered this for a moment. "Well... I don't know..." He'd never had a girlfriend. How was he supposed to... well, deal with this? His best friend had just confessed her undying love for him, albeit somewhat placidly, and he had realized he returned her feelings. Weren't they supposed to kiss passionately, or say cheesy things to each other, or something? That's what they did in all the movies... but he didn't feel much like doing that right now. He was content to just be with her.
He voiced this sentiment to her, and she nodded in agreement. "Yeah, me neither. The mood's not good."
"...That's because you are about the most unromantic person ever."
"Perhaps. It is a big planet, like I said."
He bit his lip nervously. "Can I..." He gulped down another throat-lump. "Can I come sit next to you?"
"I would like that, yes."
He stood and walked the few steps over to where she sat against the wall, and slid down beside her. He was suddenly acutely aware of how close they were together. Her right leg was pressed against his left one, divided only by his jeans and her tights. His eyes flicked over, and he realized, or rather became significantly aware of the fact, that she was wearing a skirt. He felt his heart speed up, and he forced his gaze elsewhere.
She was watching him, he realized. Their faces were very close together. They gazed at each other. An irresistible, mad force was building up in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to kiss her now. He wanted to kiss her more than he had ever wanted to do anything else in his life. But, just as the tension was about to become unbearable, she opened her mouth to speak.
"Are you alright with Blankets, or should I grab another comic?"
His mind went blank. Quicker than it had come, the warm bubbling in his stomach disappated. He didn't comprehend what she'd said at first, until he realized Blankets was the comic that was opened up in her lap.
"Um, no, that's fine."
"Alright then." She turned her head forward to read, and he followed suit.
A page or two later, her head rose to look at him. "I want to hold your hand." There was a slight pink tinge to her cheeks, he saw. He'd never seen her show an expression like that.
"Oh. Okay."
He took her proffered hand, and they rested their linked fingers on her leg, continuing to read the comic. Every so often, she would squeeze his hand, and he would squeeze back. At those moments, he stole a glance back up to her face, and saw that her normally stoic face would be creased in a slight, almost impercievable smile.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)