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At 9/10/06 02:46 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote:

At 9/10/06 02:40 PM, gumOnShoe wrote: It happens from time to time: http://www.newground../topic.php?id=567016

You got banned for that? Tell me, which Mod did you piss before hand? 'Cause i personally don't see how that breaks the rules. I've seen shit worse than that get ignored by Mods in the past.

Well, I'm not banned, its happening right now, but I suppose I could get banned for it. It is spam, and its a shit topic and what not. But currently I'm not, and a mod has deleted other posts in it so maybe I won't get banned.

But anyway, I'll post here with a link when I make the next one as well.

Sweet. Now I can amuse the more intelligent members of General with my sub-par poetry.

lol, awesome.

lol, see it was spam ;) (check the link)

At 9/10/06 02:49 PM, gumOnShoe wrote: lol, see it was spam ;) (check the link)

Well I'll be a monkeys uncle...

Here you go tnt: http://www.newground../topic.php?id=569301

Hey i can join right? i'll be posting a really cool story when i've finished developing the world and when I have some free time . At the moment I need confirmation that these factions are good:

The main Character is called Jaraki Niolas a flash artist and werewolf

Flashers: these are very much like magicians in the world of NG city
GroundLords:People who run NG city Wade Fulp is one of these Tom Fulp is the HighGroundLord
Mods:these are the chosen of Tom Fulp
SpriteGods:these are worshiped by some of the NG poeple ,Mario is one of the more powerful of the sprite Gods
Portal guardians : these guard the gates and the portal to NG city they enclude Pico,P-bot,BigBadRon,A-Bot and some others
Regulars:these are the noblery of NG
Reveiwers:the work force of NG
Flashborn:ceatures and people born of flash example :Bitey
Noobists: Noobs on their own are fine but this is a dark cult of noobs
Voters:without these poeple to feed them the Flashborn would fade into nothingness
Spammers:Malformed poeple who cause no end of trouble and destruction

tell me if you think i should add anyothers and if you really want to pm me with the faction you are in. I still need to draw a map and a think of a couple of other things but i will not be posting any of the story until i get my midterm and even then i might not because I have a book I'm writing that I'm half way through. I will post the story eventually .

Here's the beginning of that story I started on the last page. Chapter 1 (Part 1 or such depending on how much I post up now :P) of "Brutes"....enjoy.....I hope :)

I awoke to the faint hum of machinery and a dazzling glare of sunlight beating down against my tired eyes. I thought hard, making the chords attached to my nervous system tighten, and slipping my lifeless body into my Shell. I got up out of my bed and walked in front of the mirror, fixing my mop of blonde hair as light glinted off of the sleek, metal Shell that fit snugly around my average form. I then did what I was prone to doing often: staring for a moment at my large, grey eyes. My father told me that it was an extremely rare occurance among the blue or green eyed Techa, and that it was possible that I was the only grey-eyed one in the whole continent. I felt unique because of this, but little did I know that I was far more unique than that.

I was going to make the absolute most of this day, for it would, symbolically at least, be the final day of my childhood. The next day would be my sixteenth birthday, the day of my First Hunt. It was an important rite that all Techa men went through on their sixteenth birthdays. The hunting parties would go out into the lands of the Brutes and mercilessly slaughter them for sport. Man, woman, or even child, it made no difference to the Techa, they were all Brutes to them. I look back now disgusted that I was so excited for that event to come.

My father was not home, so I quickly took a sustenance pill and left my house. The sun was shining, and the buildings of the squares and the grass of the parks were glowing. Surely, the Techa were a brilliant and blessed people.

('Oy, can't post any more now, I'll be posting the rest of Chapter 1 and more very soon.)

Chapter 2, Part 2...ooh ya......

The tranquility of this scene was abruptly shattered when I was suddenly tackled to the ground. In a slight daze, I looked up to see who my attacker was and thinly grinned.

"You need to stop daydreaming all the time and pay attention to what's happening around you, Gray," he said as he helped me get up.

"You need to stop being such a Brute, Dasher," I said, laughing, getting up on my feet and facing my best friend.

"Big day tomorrow, thought you'd wanna celebrate tonight," said Dasher.

"Yeah, where?"

"Don't know. Somewhere out of the city but away from the Brutes."

"Who'd you talk to?" I said somewhat shakily, knowing that Dasher knew what I was getting at.

"She's coming," he told me, stifling a laugh. My ears pricked up and I spoke quickly and rushed.

"We should stay inside the city."

Dasher widely grinned and said, "Yeah, of course. I forgot that there were certain...interactions that can't take place with helmets on."

I looked away for a moment so he could not sense my embarrassment, and then we headed out to tell the neighborhood about that night's plans.

Dasher's father owned a vacant spot of real estate inside our city, a nice residence building that had not yet been inhabited, so my friends and I all chose to congregate there. The turnout was much larger than I had expected, and I was the center of attention. I thought to myself that this was the kind of boost that one received once they went on their hunt. As if an affirmation of this thought, a large circle of boys and girls my age was affixed to every word of a large and intimidating young man, Kilgore Brass. Kilgore had gone on his first hunt just the day before, and he had killed not one, but seven Brutes. As I walked nearer to him, he pulled me in close and spoke loudly and obnoxiously.

"Ah, little Gray Anderson, finally gonna get out there and get some Brutes for us," he said. "Now, if you want my advice-"

"Um, no thanks, I think I'll be-" I was immediately cut off by him.

"-I killed seven of 'em on my first hunt, Gray, of course you want my advice. First of all, you can't let 'em get too close to you. They don't have guns or any other ranged weapons like we do, so really they can't do anything to you if you keep your difference. And second of all," he leaned in closer and whispered, "if you wanna rack up a big number of kills on your first time, go for the little ones. I managed to kill five of those little Brute kids, and I suggest you do the same." The fact that that comment did not phase me at all now disgusts me.

Kilgore kept boasting about his adventures on his hunt, but I had stopped listening entirely, for Sylvia Dekadran had entered the room. She was an average heighted girl with long, straight, light blonde hair and blue eyes. She was the perfect ideal model for all Techa women, and as such I was hopelessly smitten with her. I was about to go on my first hunt, and I felt powerful, infallible, and confident. I simply walked up, greeted her, and whispered something in her ear (just what it was now slips my memory, it is not that important anymore) and she was giving me a look of awe. My heart was skipping many beats due to nervousness as I drew closer and closer to her until...the door burst open, destroying the moment and causing everybody to rapidly turn towards the door. A large, formidable shadow of a man was standing in the doorway.

"It's getting late, Gray. Let's go," the shadow said.

And that's Chapter 1 (and the real meat of the story picks up in Chapter 3 after a brief Chapter 2, so don't worry if this exposition is a little blah :P) More to come later!

How Do You Like This Story. Its Supposed To Be For A School Project, But I Thought It Was Cool Enough For Newgrounds. This Is The Newgrounds Version.

Taco Island - by autumnite

Sixth Grader Jonny Smith Woke Up And Went To His Boring School Called "The Government Makes You Go Here About 7 Hours A Day 5 Days A Week, But Your Parents Think All Our Choral Performances Are Nice, But Really The Hate Them And Find Them A Waste Of Time" He Goes As Though It Were A Normal Day, The Teachers Say "Do This Homework Or I'll Kick Your Ass!" He Goes Home With His Back Pack Waying A Frickn Ton. He Walks In His Room To Touch Himself, But He Finds A Giant Warp Hole Right In Front Of Him. He Doesn't Want To Do His Homework, So He Jumps In. "Uhhh, Where Am I?" He Finds Himself On A Beach, But All The Plant Life Are... Tacos? Two Guys Are Sitting In BEach Chairs. One Says: "Geez, You Call This A vacation?" The other says: "No, I call it, Taco Island!" Jonny, To Stupid to do anything, walks up and down the beach

I dont feel like finishing it, bcuz my fingr hurts. ill post the rest later.

JACK
(voiceover)
Everything around me... it's punishment for everything we've done. We screwed up, we didn't make it up, and we got our punishment. It's funny... in a morbid way I mean. You see God as a peaceful guy who wouldn't harm a fly, but then he goes along and obliterates nearly all of humanity. Well, he didn't do it, so you can't really blame him. We did it to ourselves. It may sound odd, but we really are the scourge of this place. It's kinda hard to explain, but believe me... nothing's been the same. I suppose I should tell you who I am. My name's JACK RHIEN. I'm your normal Neo-Catholic adolescent. I have views different from the more traditional people... and I'm glad. At least that way I have some sort of dignity in my morales. But when it comes to my life, I don't have a shred of dignity left. I have no friends, my parents and I are disconnected, and quite frankly, my luck sucks.

LEAFMORE HIGH BUILDING EXT. - Day

[The camera moves to the side of "Leafmore High School." You hear a blow landing. There's a loud grunt and you see JACK flying backwards from behind the building and falls to the ground. He is wearing the same clothes as he did in the opening sans the coat. There is blood coming from his nose and mouth. He groans loudly as he raises his head and plants his hands on the ground. RYAN KIRSTEN, a buff teen about the age of JACK, possibly a year or two older with spiked hair, walk towards him. He's wearing a football jacket and blue jeans. He laughs quietly as he approaches JACK. He grabs JACK by the collar of his shirt and lifts him up. RYAN pulls his hand back to punch JACK, but JACK quickly gives him a quick punch to the face, stunning him momentarily. JACK falls to his feet, staggering briefly, but quickly regains his balance. He gives him a quick kick to the stomach. RYAN seems minimally affected by the kick. He moves back a couple steps, but soon starts charging towards JACK. He rams JACK, wraps his arms around him and rams into a wall. JACK screams in pain as RYAN backs off. JACK falls forward. He stretches his arms out to stop the fall. A pained look is on his face as he breathes heavily. RYAN chuckles quietly.]

JACK
(voiceover, during fight)

Welcome to my life: rejection from the norm, beatings from the elite. The guy beating me is a jock named Ryan. This guy's been making my life a living hell since he first saw me... that being the first day of high school. We have a schedule you could say: anytime he sees me and there's no authority figure, we fight, and he humiliates me with his trademark insult that involves me having to degrade myself.

[JACK moans quietly as his eyes slightly tear up. He shakes his head and raises it to look at RYAN. RYAN stares at JACK with a smug grin. JACK growls loudly as he glares at RYAN. RYAN'S hands curl into fists as he nears JACK. When RYAN is close enough, JACK sweeps his leg around and swings it at RYAN'S legs. RYAN grunts loudly as he falls on his side. He rolls on his back and tries to get to his feet. JACK quickly gets to his feet and runs toward RYAN. He gets on top of him and starts to punch RYAN repeatedly in the face. After several punches, RYAN knees JACK in the groin. JACK gasps loudly in pain and RYAN flips JACK over him. JACK'S whacks his head on the concrete. JACK becomes still as blood begins to seep from the wound in his head. JACK'S eyes are half-way open. The camera changes to his POV. His view moves to look to the side. There are "ghost trails" when his view moves around. His head turns to see RYAN. A fist comes straight towards JACK'S face and punches him. The camera returns to third-person. RYAN kneels down next to JACK and grabs him by the hair. He raises JACK'S head and hangs it above the puddle of blood that was formed with JACK'S blood. RYAN laughs quietly as he leans his head forward.]

RYAN
(to JACK)
You know what to do, freak.

JACK
(groggily)
No... I don't-

[RYAN jerks JACK'S head forward as an irritated look grows on RYAN'S face.]

RYAN
(in a low voice)
Do it... now.

[JACK tries to protest, but falls silent. He slightly nods. JACK'S eyes slide down and he stares at the puddle. His lip twitches as he closes his eyes. He slowly sticks his tongue out and hangs it above the blood. He soon lets his tongue touch the dirty blood. He slowly begins to lick up some of the blood. When he stops, he does not swallow it. RYAN sees this and uses his other hand and grabs JACKs nose and mouth, sealing them shut. JACK begins to grunt loudly as he uses his arms to attempt to move RYAN'S hands away. He fails. RYAN grins as he lowers his head to look at JACK. He looks significantly bloodier compared to the beginning of the fight.]

RYAN
Man, you're being pretty resistant today. Well, you better swallow, Cause if you don't... you won't have enough life to do it.

[JACK grunts loudly as he tries to move the hands. After several seconds, JACK'S hands lower and he nods. You hear a swallowing sound and you see a lump in JACK'S throat appear briefly than quickly disappears. RYAN grins and then moves the hand covering JACK'S mouth and nose. JACK gasps loudly as he takes in deep breaths. RYAN chuckles quietly.]

JACK
(voiceover, during action)
For me, that was the biggest insult I ever could have gotten. I had to drink my own blood. For RYAN, there was some symbolism in it. I pretty much drank defeat, and by blood, I was no better than dirt. Yeah, it sounds stupid. Of course, RYAN was practically an idiot, so it made sense.

RYAN
Next time... you'll do what I tell you, freak.

[RYAN lifts JACK'S head by the hair and slams it against the concrete. JACK grunts loudly as he goes still again. RYAN slowly stands up and begins to walk off. The camera slowly begins to pan towards JACK. As the camera gets closer, the screen fades to black. In the darkness, various voices overlapping can be heard. RYAN and JACK can be heard, but overall, most of the voices are unknown. There are whisperings in the background. Another score of ominous music plays as the voices speak.]

Unfortunately I had to cut a chunk out so this might not make much sense. I apologize.

Guys, I could do with your opinion on my interpretation of Death - Pratchett has done his, I've pulled mine out of a slightly more bizzare concept:

Night fell and the caravan was split into two groups – one on either side of the road. The evening stage passed by as the fires were being lit. The driver saw fit to criticise the decision to make camp overnight and received a few jeers and catcalls from the majority of the guard members, who quite obviously knew better.

“Stagecoach drivers hardly stop at all, save for the coaching inns. As if a caravan like us could fit into a coaching inn!” Ned Scully was sitting down on a rock, by the fireside, eating an apple. He’d been a carter for quite a while and threw his weight into the carters versus coach driver argument at every given opportunity.

“But you’d like to spend one night on these long journeys in an inn, wouldn’t you, Ned?” Bert Wilkins had been friends with Ned for some time and once again, they were paired up on this journey.

“You know me well enough not to have to ask me that, Bert! Course I would, but like I said, we can’t all fit in them inns.” Ned spat onto the floor, as if to say the sole reason he wasn’t warming his toes in a coaching inn was every single person on the caravan except him. “Besides, we’ve got all of these young kids to look after us. They need things like these to toughen em up! Put some hairs on their chests!”

“Aye, they’ve got to learn to fight and defend themselves.” Mused Bert, as he took a sip of wine from the skin which hung from his shoulder. “They wouldn’t learn stuff like that back home, would they, Ned?” When no reply came from Ned after a few seconds, Bert nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. Ned’s corpse toppled forward off the rock and lay there with his face in the mud, an arrow protruding from his back. “Oh… SHIT!” Bert’s mind caught up with the situation, as the sound of horns went up in the darkness around the camp. The caravan was under attack.

“We’re under attack! Sound the alarms!” Went the cry, as people heard the horns outside the camp and the chittering cries of the attackers. The guard officers tried in vain to get control of frightened, bemused people who were now milling about the camp in disarray. Bert sat there on the rock, staring vacantly at the recently deceased Ned.

“Come on, it’ll be like old times. Watch each other’s back and we’ll both get through this alive!” Ned shouted at Bert, grasping his arm and pulling him away from the fire. Or at least that was what Ned’s ghost tried to. He reached to his belt and drew his sword and suddenly noticed that Bert was not in tow. Furiously, he strode back to the fireside and tried to grasp his friend’s arm. When his fingers passed straight through Bert’s arm, he looked questioningly at his own hand. “What’s wrong with me? Bert, are you coming, or what?” Still Bert continued to ignore him. Slowly, Ned’s gaze followed Bert’s and came to rest upon a familiar looking figure lying face down in the mud with an arrow protruding from his back. “Oh… so this is the end of my journey then?”

“So it would seem, Ned Scully.” Ned turned around, looking straight at a thin man in a well cut black silk doublet and trousers outfit. He had a thin goatee beard, also in black, making him look like a more evil version of William Shakespeare. Standing before him was a lectern with four wooden feet. The lectern held a rather large black leather-bound book and a vial of ink. The man looked over it at Ned. “Congratulations, you are the first today.”

“The first? Why are you not paying attention to the fight that’s taking place? I’ve got to defend the caravan, dammit!” The man just smiled at him over the lectern, as Ned approached the lectern, walking through a guard, who was rushing toward the incoming enemy. As Ned watched, the scene seemed to slow down, almost to a stop. The fight continued, but in the minute detail of slow motion.

“I’m afraid that will not be possible. Your body is in no fit state to continue, though I do note that your spirit is. Quite commendable. You see, you are dead. I cannot do anything about that, but would be grateful if you would just sign here,” The lectern spun around to face Ned and the man offered a pen to him “We can proceed from the past to the future.”

“What am I signing for?” Ned suddenly became quite tense, his hand pausing on its way to the quill pen. The man sighed. Clearly he had to explain this quite a lot.

“As a keeper of the balance of the universe, I am charged with collecting the souls of the deceased. Since you do not have a note next to your name warning me of any lingering existence scenarios or any renewed existence scenarios, I am hereby charged to collect your essence and return it to whence it came from.” He smiled smugly over the lectern at Ned, who looked back at him, bemused by the long words.

“Lingering… existence? What does that mean?” This drew another sigh from the man in black

“A scenario where your soul is either trapped and thus prevented from passing back to the other side by, for example, becoming a ghost, vampire, lycanthrope, lich, wight or other ‘walking dead’ with the exception of skeleton and / or zombie.”

“I see. Why not skeletons or zombies?” The man sighed again, but this time smiled, having not experienced this question too often before.

“Well, zombies and skeletons do not need the soul to function – they are completely mindless, which is why they don’t feel pain. They are detached from life, completely.”

“And the…” Ned clicked his fingers a few times to try and remember what the man had said to him. “Renewed existence?”

“Ah, well that is a more simple case. When you die, some people believe that you are born again, taking elements of their past existence into the new one. They are usually very awkward customers, especially if they have been doing is for a long time. Now, are you going to sign, or what? There will be plenty of people needing to sign back in with me, so we need to make it move along.” He tapped his foot irritably at Ned, still offering the pen to him.

“Look, if I sign the paper, can I just step back in and watch the fight for a few minutes. I need to know how Bert gets on without me.” The man looked up at the sky, almost in despair.

“Ok, sign the ledger and I’ll allow you five minutes to watch the fate of your friend.” Ned suddenly became quite suspicious of the figure before him

“Are you trying to tell me that he’s only got five minutes to live?” Ned would have gone white if he didn’t already have a pale hue to his face.

“I don’t have a good memory for names – in this line of work, I never have to remember them for long. You’ve got five minutes to have a great view of the battle. Then you will have to take the journey back.” Ned nodded solemnly, took the quill pen and quickly signed his name on the dotted line. “At least you people know how to sign your name. I’ve done barbarians who would even know which end of a pen to use. I’ll be back for you in a few minutes” The man walked off and was followed soon after by the lectern, which waddled slowly after him.

Ned returned to the fireside, where even though the fight was raging about him, Bert was still sitting there, looking at his recently deceased friend in a state of bemused shock.

“Bert, I know you can’t hear me, but I want you to snap out of this, or you’ll be a dead man too. They’re only goblins, for crying out loud. I don’t want to see you dying needlessly, so get up and show them that you ain’t dead yet!” Suddenly, Bert’s head jerked level and he smiled. He stood up and drew his sword in one smooth movement. A goblin who could not have been more than four feet tall came running over the rock and met a quick end against the point of Bert’s sword, as he thrust it through the creature’s throat.

I have to say Coop, I'm quite enjoyed that. I quite liked the description of death as an evil version of Shakespeare. Brings a nice image to mind.

Is this part of a larger project or a one off?

Just in case you didn't see, Tri, Chapter 1 of my story is on the page before this, and more to come (like....beyond exposition :P) soon.

At 9/24/06 10:56 PM, Dr-Worm wrote: Just in case you didn't see, Tri, Chapter 1 of my story is on the page before this, and more to come (like....beyond exposition :P) soon.

I'll have a look later when my mind isn't half dead from work overload.

Don't expect a particualrlt indepth review or anything. That requires active thought, and at the moment such an activity is beyond my mental capacities.

I've posted a couple of stuff before, but I think I want to officially join now. My career focus is in the Writing department, like anything related to writing. (Eg Journalism.)

Even though when I submit pieces here I might cringe thinking about the reactions, I think I'm going to go ahead, and give you a lot of rough stuff that needs some eyes for constructive critiscism.

My workload'll probably go through patches when I give you a lot, sometimes a little. That's all to do with school work and my social life, I suppose.

Soon I'll post something I did for school, but haven't got back yet from marking.

I get the feeling I've asked to join before actually... Nevertheless...

At 9/25/06 12:46 PM, 1 wrote: Soon I'll post something I did for school, but haven't got back yet from marking.

Welcome. If you have already asked to join at someothe rpoitn it doesn't matter :P Your welcome to join either way.

When you post some stuff, it WILL get reviewed eventually. Just have some patience as we have lives outside of NG, and I don't know about anyone else, but mines quitebusy at the moment so I don't have that much time to review stuff. but I'll try and review your stuff when i get the time, if it gets to a poitn where you feel it sbene ignored, drop me a PM and I'll see to it then :-)

Welcome

At 9/25/06 11:53 AM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: Don't expect a particualrlt indepth review or anything. That requires active thought, and at the moment such an activity is beyond my mental capacities.

Haha. You do whatever you want.

At 9/25/06 03:42 PM, Dr-Worm wrote: Haha. You do whatever you want.

Sadly the law prevents me from dressing up as a giant rooster and running up and down my street with the sole purpose of pissing off the neighbours so i can't do what I want. apparently its breaching the peace or somesort of nonsense.

Your story was fairly good. There were a few instances where I you used a comma when you shouldn't have in my opinion, and some palces that could do with a re-write, but apart from that good work.

BAD NEWS

Taco Island cancelled! It was 19,432 (or something) characters, so there will be no Islands of Tacos on Newgrounds. :( But, I will Post it on My site (soon) so visit my site to see Taco Island! (Renamed to the Adventure Of Stephen)

At 9/25/06 04:03 PM, autumnite wrote: BAD NEWS

Taco Island cancelled! It was 19,432 (or something) characters, so there will be no Islands of Tacos on Newgrounds. :( But, I will Post it on My site (soon) so visit my site to see Taco Island! (Renamed to the Adventure Of Stephen)

If your story's too large then why not just divide it up between a number of posts?

Note: This is a piece I thought up as I went along. It's an Imaginative Piece I had to do for school. I wrote about half of it a week prior to the deadline, and then the night before I translated it while editing it in the process onto a Word Processor. Then I wrote the second half off the top of my head on there. I've not gotten it back from my teacher yet, but I'm going to post it here since I've already written it. It should have some minor errors, though.

I know the plot is a complete cliché, but I wrote it with the character's opinions, the metaphors and morals behind it in mind. I hope you can provide me with some thoughts on it, for me it's a big thing showing something from your head to other people. Thanks.

- 1.

"Divided City"
PART I
James stared out the window of the carriage. The train had been rolling around the subway for at least twenty minutes. He was one of a few passengers. From this, he gathered that this was the evening’s last call.

He checked his watch. It was just after eight o’clock. There were a few teenagers on the train. They looked about seventeen, possibly eighteen, and were most likely students at college. James figured they had been transferred from their Campus down at West Bell. They looked nervous; like this was the last time they were going to see this half of the city, the place with all the clubs, cinemas, and other establishments where young people could go.

This wasn’t fair. They were all in this together, but they were going to the B-Sector, the place for second class citizens, inexperienced and criminals. They were failures in this city’s eyes. This was now a city divided.

James’s wife had been taken away. She was a wonderful woman. Well educated, sophisticated, smart and funny. These personality traits led to her division.

There was a jolt, and the train came to a sharp halt. Everyone stood up sharply and almost instantly, as if to attention. About six or seven Police Officers scrambled to each carriage door, and scanned everyone exiting the train. James took a few deep breaths. A few people had been held back for closer inspection, but he was lucky. He looked ahead of him at the sprawling metropolis. A lot of work had been done to this place since he had last been here, but that was not a good thing. Clearance zones littered Sector B, which was heavily guarded. Innocent people were being beat to the ground by bigot soldiers. This poverty-stricken area had been affected horribly by the divide. People had set fire to bins for warmth, and set up makeshift stalls to sell whatever they could find. It was like going back in time to a primitive era.

Bodies were being carried away for disposal and were hauled into the back of re-designed ambulances. James had been called over by a guard. His ID badge read “BIXLER”, and his face was concealed by a tinted visor. Lightweight armour covered his body. In his holster was a handgun and pepper-spray. If the army had supplied every officer in this vast sector with this kind of equipment, the citizens must have been out of control. Rightly so, James thought. This was the grim vision of the future he had never imagined.

”Name”, stated Bixler, the guard.
”Kiedis, James.” replied James.

Bixler checked James’s ID card, which all citizens had to carry by law. Apparently this would help to stop terrorism.
Bixler sent James over to the queue of people which was forming quickly towards Nendville. They all shuffled slowly towards the clearance gate. James could see a few families in front of him. All of the children were crying and holding their parents hands tightly. He gaped ahead at the graffiti-scrawled apartment block. He was going to have to get used to this place.

James had read the rumours in the newspapers about Nendville. It said gangs roamed the streets here, fighting amongst one another and carrying out terrible terrorist activities such as packing government organisations full of explosives and killing political leaders. This was all exaggerated propaganda, of course, but James’s mind still wasn’t put at rest by this thought. If the rumours were true, he certainly wouldn’t conform to the gang’s extremist ways. He preferred to use his writing talents to reach the masses. He could write, but unfortunately, the newspaper he wrote for, “The Conquest”, wasn’t very successful. People tended to buy tabloids nowadays.

The large groups of people in front and behind James were ushered forwards by violent Riot Police, who clearly adored abusing their privileges. James could hear them shouting generic insults at the crowds. They really thought they were better than everyone in Sector B. There clearly was no justice in the world. Eventually everybody was led through a long dark tunnel under the bridge in Nendville. It was damp and cold, but they had to keep pushing towards the light if they wanted to see where they were going to live from now on.

PART II
On the huge cinema screens which had been installed around the city (which you could see for miles), General Roland blurted out convincing lies and slander to the ant-farm. This all boiled down to politics and power. He separated the useful from the useless. Now, James was here, a place where he would stay for the rest of his life, barely managing to survive.

After further stumbling forwards, the crowds were ordered to split up and follow the guards who were showing them where they were allocated. Names were read out from lists and the crowds got smaller and smaller. Finally, James’s name was called out and he was led by a Police Officer to his apartment. The Officer handed James a single key, and he was warned that if he lost it, he would find himself living on the streets.

James opened the door with the key, and the Officer walked away to leave him with his property. He closed it behind him and he saw what he was left with. There was a small coffee table with several stains across it, an old couch and small television (restricted to several carefully moderated Politics channels), simple cooking appliances and a fridge/freezer. There was a bathroom with a single toilet and shower (there was no sink), and a single bed in another room. On the coffee table was a telephone and an envelope.

He ripped open the envelope. It was addressed by the government, and came as standard with every apartment owner in Sector B. It told him that he would be starting work in the Factory tomorrow, for a 6 day week. He reached into his shirt pocket for a packet of cigarettes, ripped them open, and placed one between his lips. He set it alight, and contemplated his situation. Before long, he found himself lying on his poor quality bed the government had so generously provided him with.

He got up, removed his shoes, and stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table beside him. He staggered clumsily across to the living room, next to the coffee table, picked up the telephone and reached into the pocket of his trousers. When his hand returned, it held a piece of paper ripped from a newspaper. It contained his wife’s number for her mobile phone. He dialled the number and waited. The line rang for several minutes. James gave up. There was no reply, and he knew there wouldn’t be. The other half of the city didn’t care about him anymore. They didn’t care about anyone on the other side of the city. It was like an eclipse. One half of shining light, and the other concealed in shadow.

James turned on the TV only to see General Roland grinning straight at him. He turned it off again and walked towards the window. On the balconies above, he could see people being led by the Police to their new homes, just as he had been around an hour ago. He looked down and saw people being led through clearance gates, citizens being beaten up, General Roland shouting at the city via screens, and some debris. This summed everything up.

He went back across to his bedroom and opened the wardrobe. Clothes supplied by the Sector were lying in a heap at the bottom. He laid a set out for work in the morning and switched the light off. The vicious cycle was to begin tomorrow. There would be no more writing for him, just underpaid manual labour. James then got undressed and climbed into bed.

He thought about his wife.
He dreaded work.
He hoped for a better future which wasn’t going to come.

He dreamed of the other side.

At 9/25/06 03:46 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: Your story was fairly good. There were a few instances where I you used a comma when you shouldn't have in my opinion, and some palces that could do with a re-write, but apart from that good work.

Yay! If I can write "fairly good" mindless exposition, just imagine where the real story will go! :P And damn the man for not letting you live your poultry-related dreams >:(
Anyshways........

"Brutes" Chapter 2

Huxley Anderson was uncharacteristically large for a Techa, and thus was a very formidable man. He stood at over six feet tall, and he had neat grey hair and piercing jet black eyes. He was also a very wise man, an official historian and scholar for our city, making him the most respected member of the community, besides Governor Steele, of course. Huxley could have easily become Governor himself, but when I asked him why he chose not to run, he simply said, "Politics makes you think you're above people that you really aren't."

"I was in the middle of something there, father" I mumbled to him as we walked home, looking at the ground lest I be overpowered by his gaze.

"Don't think I didn't know," he calmly yet sternly replied. "You need to be fully alert tomorrow, Gray, and the thought of some girl will be distracting. This is life or death I'm talking about."

Unable to match my father's unbeatable logic, I remained silent for the rest of the walk home.

"It's time that you prepare yourself for tomorrow, Gray," my father said, sitting down in a chair in the living room.

"I've already done all the preliminary traini-"

"You've trained your body, Gray," he interrupted me. "Now it's time that we train your mind."

"Let's start with the technical things," he continued. "Always make sure you have ammunition in your gun. You don't want to be reloading after missing your prey to find a club in your face."

More later....

At 9/25/06 04:12 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: If your story's too large then why not just divide it up between a number of posts?

it is split in THREE parts, but the parts are like 7000 character's long

At 9/22/06 11:50 AM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: I have to say Coop, I'm quite enjoyed that. I quite liked the description of death as an evil version of Shakespeare. Brings a nice image to mind.

Is this part of a larger project or a one off?

Well, it is the end of chapter 3 and the start of chapter 4 of my big story that I've been writing for some time. I thought I should introduce my version of death. I'm trying to find a different way to lead into a fight scene and well, since death is a major part of war, I decided to combine the two.

At 9/25/06 08:09 PM, autumnite wrote:

At 9/25/06 04:12 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: If your story's too large then why not just divide it up between a number of posts?

it is split in THREE parts, but the parts are like 7000 character's long

Well, since the limit is 6,500 characters, why not try again to put it in 3 and a bit parts.

Hey, people. I haven't posted here at all lately, since I've been submitting and reading stuff on TheShadowSun.net (which probably makes me a traitor). But there's something going on at The Shadow Sun that might actually interest some people here.

There's a writing contest, and the prize is $50. Like writing? Want money? Cool. The theme is Halloween, so write a scary story or anything else Halloween-related. To enter the contest, sign up for an account, and then submit the contest entry via the e-mail address on this page. Entries are due on October 22, and they will be voted on from October 22 to October 28.

And in case it makes a difference, a bunch of Newgrounds users are already members of TSS -- including TheDoctor, earfetish, MystWilliams, and myself (as DarkForce). This is also a reminder to those NG/TSS members to enter the contest.

Also, I'm self-publishing a book tomorrow, but I won't go on and on about that because you can read it on my freakin' website if you actually give a rat's ass which you probably don't.

I propose a Writer's tournament. Not for a prize, but to compete your stories against other writers. I and Two other volunteer judges will score your story, and the winner will be announced. No special theme, but at least have a plotline. Again, just to compete your pieces. Yeah, no prize, hey, I'm a kid, so don't kill me. So, anyone up for it?

Oh crap, another tournament, scram boys! (Jumps out of a window)

"I Love Longwood" Episode 1 - Part 1.

Zork sat on the recliner watching his favorite show on earth Tom Goes To The Mayor. He mezmorized every line of every episode, you can't bother him when that comes on. "That god damn son of a bitch!" yelled Pete as he walked through the apartment front door. "What happened this time?" asked Jose. "Mario got another fucking raise. Damn it! I had better scores than him on the Plumbing H.Q. Plumbing Chart!" yelled Pete. "Damn it, Pete, you can't let that son of a bitch get to you. Here I have a good idea, let's go to the movies, it'll clear your head." said Jose. "ZORK, COME ON! WE'RE GOING TO THE MOVIES!" yelled Jose. Zork looked back from the recliner, his eyes were wide. "HOW FUCKING DARE YOU SAY SOMETHING TO ME WHEN I'M WATCHING TOM! I"M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!" Zork pulled out his laser gun and started shooting Jose. "AH! MY EYE! MY EYE! HOLY SHIT!" The phone started to ring. "I'll get that said Pete. "WAIT, WAIT! GET ZORK OFF OF ME! COME ON! AH! MY OTHER EYE! HOLY SHIT!" "Hello?" said Pete. "Hey it's me." said Dameon. "Dameon? Your just in your room, aren't you?" asked Pete. "I know, but I hate getting out, the light hurts my eyes, man." replied Pete. "Alright fine. What do you want?" demanded Pete. "Yo, could you like, get me some porno, man. You know what I'm saying, man? But not just any regular porno, man. I want some man-on-man action, you know what I mean, man?" said Dameon. "Dude, that's fucking sick. If i'm gonna get you any porn, it's gonna be WOmen on WOmen action." said Pete. "Dude, that's gay, man, you know what I'm saying?" "No." said Pete. "Look, do you wanna go to the movies or not?" asked Pete. "Is it gay porno?" asked Dameon. "uh, hold on let me chack. JOSE! IS THE MOVIE GONNA BE GAY PORNO?" said Pete. "Who the fuck said that?" asked Jose. Both of his eyes had burnt out. "Is the movie gay porno?" asked Pete. "Uh, I think so, let's see here, wait I can't see! Damn it! Think, think, think, you son of a bitch. Oh yeah! It's about a white swallow named Creamy Goodness." answered Jose. "Oh," said Pete. "HEY DAMEON! IT"S ABOUT A WHITE SWALLOW NAMED CREAMY GOODNESS! WANNA SEE!" asked Pete. "Is the swallow's companion a boy or a girl?" asked Dameon. "Girl." said Jose. "I'm out." said Dameon. Zork said: "I'll come! Tom's over so I have nothing else to do." "Alright, let's go." said Pete.

BTW:
Jose is a giant Portirican Hampster.
Zork is an alien
Dameon is a gay emo.
Pete is a fat, bald guy with a greasy tank top.

Hope you like!

(Damn, I hate double posting)

At 9/30/06 12:02 PM, subpar wrote: And in case it makes a difference, a bunch of Newgrounds users are already members of TSS -- including TheDoctor, earfetish, MystWilliams, and myself (as DarkForce). This is also a reminder to those NG/TSS members to enter the contest.

Also, I'm self-publishing a book tomorrow, but I won't go on and on about that because you can read it on my freakin' website if you actually give a rat's ass which you probably don't.

I've been meaning to sign up to Shadowsun for a while. I just never got around to it...meh might as well do it now.

Done. Regiestered as BritishBulldog

Now I need something to actually put on it...hmmm...I now need some inspiration.