Sunday, May 2, 2004

Grad Nite report
Man, I'm tired. Really tired. Staying up all night will do that...

So, we went to the Magic Kingdom, and got Ernesto a wheelchair so he didn't have to stay on his crutches the whole night. We got our picture with Buzz Lightyear, chatted with janitors, rode rides, and hen went to the Simple Plan concert.

There were two concerts that night. The first one, we went all the way up to the front row.

God, it sucked. We were so close that we couldn't actually make out the lrics, everyone was screming and shoving each other, and *I*, as always, had to be the responsible one who made sure purses did'nt get lost, or wheelchairs knocked over.

Of course, eveyone else thought it was great. --;

We rode the Haunted Mansion, which is so completely not scary. We wandered a bit, then went to the second SP concert. This time, I stayed in the back of the crowd, and enjoyed the experience a lot more.

Then, we rode Space Mountain. It was scary, but not in the way you'd think. My head was less than six inches from various protruding bars above me. I could have been decapitated.

Wee.

One the whole, though, it was a good night, but I'm really, really tired. Really.

My first AP test is on Tuesday, and it's the one I'm most worried about: Spanish. Here's to hoping I get a good grade. ^__^

Oh, yes, I'm also doing an entire project on a book without having bothered to read it, or watch the movie. This will be the crowning BS achievement of my high school career. ^__^

Stephanie: Please send me an e-mail; I don't think mine are going through.

Thought of the moment: Screw it; I'm too tired to think.

Quote of the moment: "Zzzzzz..." -Me

Sol

VIII

From his wrists to his mid-forearms, Tybalt had a pair of cybernetic cup-links under his skin. They were tiny field generators, with tiny wires that ran up the length of his arm to a component nudged into his neo cortex. They produced, according to his mental whims, green, translucent force fields, the types a science fiction write would dream of. Tybalt used them to create a variety of plasma weapons, usually blades. He could also produce shields or daggers. The daggers could be tossed, but they lost cohesion about ten feet away from his wrists and disseminated harmlessly.

Von was not ten feet away, however, so the green, translucent plasma daggers Tybalt tossed were real and very deadly. He skittered, lizard-like, up the wall of a nearby building, then leapt over Tybalt in an attempt to get out of range.

It didn’t work. “Just give me the tracking device,” Tybalt said calmly. “I don’t have to kill you, you understand. However, you may force my hand if you’re not careful.”

“N..no…” Von stammered, scared out of his bloody wits. “Rena told me to keep it away from you. You’re just going to take the Sol system to your crazy father!”

Tybalt didn’t like that. “My father is the greatest warrior in the galaxy! I could train my whole life to achieve half his skills! I will not let you defile his name!”

Forming a sharp-edged plasma blade on his left arm, Tybalt struck at Von’s chest. Von, however, was not unarmed. He had an expandable staff hidden on his person. He had quickly whipped it out and extended it while Tybalt was ranting. The staff had a sharp, distinctive barb on the end; it was the trademark weapon of Von’s people, and he had trained with it since he was a hatchling. He brought it up to block Tybalt’s blow, but the black warrior’s strength was
overpowering his defenses.

Tybalt suddenly ceased his attack and gasped in surprise. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder; Rena’s claws suddenly pulled out of his skin, dripping with his blood.

“I thought you incapacitated, Mistress Rena,” Tybalt said. “I forgot to take your tenacity and stubbornness into account.”

“It will take more than you stupid smoke bombs to defeat a warrior of the Ichnet clan,” Rena sneered, trying to appear defiant. In fact, the gas Tybalt had used was working in full effect; her stance was unstable. She was physically unprepared to fight, but one thing a gas can’t counteract is personality. Rena was drugged up, but she was also too stubborn to let something like that stop her.

“Very well,” Tybalt said. “Your funeral.”

**

Simon raced through the streets, looking for Rena and Von. He turned a corner and ran smack-dap into a person running equally fast in the opposite direction. They fell to the ground.

“Hey!” Simon swore. “What’s up? Where’s the fire, hotshot?”

The man quickly got to his feet. “Kid, don’t go that way! There’s some sort of freaky gang war or something going on back there!”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, there’s a big fight. And these guys look…weird. Like circus freaks or something. I’m getting the cops!” The man raced away, presumably to alert the
authorities.

Circus freaks? Simon thought. You don’t suppose…aww, of course it’s them. Who else would it be? Sounds like they found that Tybalt guy…great…

Simon got up and ran to the source of the panic.

**

Tybalt grabbed Rena’s arms and easily tossed her over his head. She landed with an unceremonious thump, making Von wince. Taking his opening, he leapt towards Tybalt, but the more experienced fighter easily dodged his clumsy attack.

“I hadn’t wanted to take the route of a common blackmailing thug,” Tybalt said. “However, you leave me no choice. Here are my terms: you give me the tracker to find the Sol system, or I kill Mistress Rena right in front of you. It’s a simple proposition.”

To emphasize his point, Tybalt grabbed Rena by the back of the neck and form a plasma blade close to her throat. “She’s strong, but in her current state is far too disoriented to stop me.”

“Von…don’t let him have it…” Rena gasped, still in pain from the impact.

“I…I don’t know…” Von was in way over his head.

“Look, it’s simple: I will kill her, and then take the tracker device from you anyway, and the sol system will still be presented to my father. The only difference is that Mistress Rena will be dead. Do you want that?”

Von took the silver rectangular box that was the tracker for the sol system out of his suit’s pocket. He glanced at it, then to Rena, then to Tybalt. He had no idea what to do.

Tybalt sighed impatiently. “Listen, just give me the tracker. This isn’t some epic story; no deus ex machina, no hero to come in and save you- AGGHH!”

There was a violent impact on Tybalt’s back, and suddenly his entire torso burst into flames. Howling in pain, he released Rena and frantically tore his burning shirt off. “Who…”

He turned and saw a native of the planet. “Who are you?” he demanded.

Simon was nervous now. That guy had shrugged off a flare to his back. “Uh…I’m Simon…and I was kind of hoping that the flare would stop you…”

Suddenly, the tracker in Von’s hands began to beep violently. Tybalt glanced at it and then at Simon. He easily put two and two together.

“Oh, I get it. The Sol system activated prematurely and bonded to you.”

“Yup,” Simon sneered. “And they told me it bonds for life. So you might as well leave right now, because you can’t get it anymore.”

“Oh, I think I can. I don’t even need the tracker anymore. I’ll just relieve you of the system myself. I’m sorry for the inconvenience it will cause.”

Simon dropped the flare gun and backed away slowly. “Hey, wait…they told me it bonds to a host for life…”

“Correct. The operative term is ‘life’,” Tybalt said. He formed a plasma blade on his right arm and charged at Simon with astonishing speed.

“It’s nothing personal, but you have to die now!”

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Saturday, May 1, 2004

Update, then more SOL
Well...I got my yearbook. Eh. It's okay, i guess; I'm not in it, nor did I expect to be. I'll just get the signitures and carry on with my life.

Tonight is Grad Night, which means I'm going to spend the entire night in the Magic Kingdom at Disney. ^___^ A Simple Plan will be there. Yay.

So, I'l be tired tomorrow, and most likely won't update the site.

By the by, if anyone wants to see me argue about the Second Amendment, go to the 'Gun Control' thread in the Otaku Lounge.

Anyway, more Sol.

VII

Simon was in the bad section of town, but he still didn’t care. He was confused and disoriented, and really not sure what he was doing. The events of the last half hour kept swirling in his mind. None of it made any sense!

He ran past a homeless shelter, and then stopped cold. He listened again, and verified his suspicions: it was Her! Susan was inside the shelter. He was confused, of course, but he needed to talk to her. He needed to talk to somebody, anybody, and he knew she would listen.

He wondered into the shelter, hiding his right arm under his jacket. The first thing he noticed was that it smelled like people. It smelled like huddled masses of people. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell; in fact, after all of the strange, alien things Simon had experienced, it was rather comforting.

There was a dingy hallway, and Simon followed it towards the source of Susan’s voice. As he got closer to the partially opened door at the end, he realized She was laughing. Simon grinned; he loved to hear Her laugh.

He peered through the door; it opened into a cafeteria. Behind the buffet line, Susan was one of the people serving food to the homeless patrons waiting patiently in line.

Perhaps Simon was biased, but Susan seemed to be the most cheery, pleasant person in the serving line. She greeted each person with a hearty smile, and asked how they were. She seemed to know many of them by name, and took to the task with a zest all Her own.

Oh my God, Simon realized. This is what She had to do. This is why She couldn’t go out with me. Good Lord, She’s amazing…

Susan finished serving Her last patron, and took off Her hairnet and gloves. “I’m going to take a break for a few minutes, Tony,” She told the man apparently named Tony; he had a look that suggested he was in charge of the place.

“Sure, Suzie,” he said, grinning. “Go check on the boat, can you?”

“Sure.” As She walked away, She saw Simon in the doorway. “Simon? What are you doing here?”

Busted, Simon thought. Best to tell the partial truth. “Well, I was walking by, you know, just walking, and I thought I heard you, so I came, and, well, here you are…”

She smiled, showing those perfect teeth again. “Yep, here I am. My church group volunteers here every week, and I always show up. Tomorrow, we’re taking some of the people in the shelter on a fishing trip. Do you want to come with me and see the boat?”

“Okay.” He followed Her out back, where a respectable fishing boat was waiting. “Nice boat.”

“Yep. It’s Tony’s. He lets us use it for the fishing trips. Sometimes, it’s the only fun the people in the shelter get. It’s really rewarding.”

Simon snickered while at the same time making sure his jacket covered his metallic right hand. “I should have known you’d be involved in things like this.”

“We have to help those in need, Simon,” She said. “’There but for the grace of God go I’.”

Simon sighed. “Sometimes I think God forgot about me.”

“Don’t ever say that, Simon. God has a plan for everyone. I just know you’re destined for something important.”

“You’re just saying that. I mean, come on, what would I do?”

“Well, all you really need to do is to live the best way you can.”

“How?”

“I’m not sure…when it comes to the Bible, there’s a lot of debate on that part. The one thing I know for sure is that you always need to help others, no matter what. That’s what I’ve dedicated my life to doing.”

Simon thought for a second, regarding Rena and Von. “Hey, hypothetically, if you’ve got someone who needs help, but to help them would really complicate things on your end, should you do it?”

“Absolutely. Think about it; you might be the only one who can help out.”

“I didn’t realize it was so cut and dry…”

“Simon,” She looked into his eyes, and his heart skipped a beat. “If you have the opportunity to help anyone, in anyway, it’s your responsibility to do so. That’s why I’m going to be a missionary when I graduate college. I’ll be able to help people all over the world.”

“A missionary?”

“Do you think that’s stupid?”

“No way.” He flashed a smile. “In fact, I think you’d be the best damn missionary ever.”

“Thanks, but please watch the language.”

“Sorry.”

She checked Her watch. “I’ve got to go back. Are you going to be okay with you hypothetical problem?”

Simon considered for a moment. “Yeah, I think I am. Thank you.”

She turned, then stopped and turned back. “See? You needed help and I gave it to you. That wasn’t so bad.” She grinned.

Simon snickered. “All right, I get the idea. I’m gonna’ book. See you Monday.”

“Bye.”

As she went back inside, Simon climbed into the boat. If he was going to help Rena and Von, he wanted to be cautious; that Tybalt guy sounded dangerous. He checked underneath a floorboard of the boat, and found a pair of emergency kits. He opened one up.

Perfect. It had a flare gun. Simon mentally acknowledged what a strange weapon of opportunity a flare gun was, but if worst came to worst, he’d probably need it.

He hid it under the folds of his jacket and hopped off the boat. Now, he thought, time to find those two again. Man, is Susan persuasive or what? Hope they’re not getting into any trouble.
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Thursday, April 29, 2004

VI
“…I totally don’t believe this…” Simon muttered. He really didn’t; already he was theorizing that he’d gotten hit on the head somewhere along in his day and was hallucinating furiously. Maybe if he were lucky, that grade he’d gotten on his math test would be a hallucination, too.

“I assure you, this is real,” the female alien said authoritatively. She had the tone of one that was used to being obeyed. “It is very important that you cooperate.”

“Please?” the short male alien added. He had the tone of one used to receiving orders. It was an interesting dynamic.

“No, see, this is all in my head. I’m high or something. I didn’t think I was the type to use drugs, but apparently I was, ‘cuz here we are…me and my hallucinations…”

The female alien snorted in disgusted and backhanded Simon across the head. “Are you awake now?”

“Ack! What the hell was that for? ET would never do that!”

“I told you, we don’t have time to waste! Now come with us!”

“No way! First, you tell me who you are and what you want! Then you tell me everything you know about this!” He gestured to his metallic right forearm.

“First, let’s…” the male alien began, but the female cut him off with a gesture.

“No, he’s right. He deserves to understand the situation before becoming involved any further.”

Simon nodded. “That’s the first thing you’ve said that makes sense. Start from the beginning. Who are you?”

“I am Mistress Rena of the Ichnet Clan,” she said, somewhat haughtily. “This is my pilot and ship’s mechanic, Von Drazil.”

“Hi,” the alien now known as Von said meekly.

“We were shot down over your planet by a pursuing warrior,” Rena continued. “His name is Tybalt. He is the son of a rogue warlord known as Natas. Natas has amassed a very respectful empire; however, he is a cruel, maniacal creature who has violated galactic peace laws without remorse, waging war on peaceful planets in violation of previous charters. He is currently the single most hostile force in the galaxy.”

“Wait, Natas is the most hostile, or his son?” Simon asked, confused.

“Natas. Tybalt simply follows orders.”

“Why was he after you?”

“Because I stole something he wanted. The ‘Sol’ system, a cybernetic enhancement device of unknown origin. I stole it, and he wants it, so he sent his son after us. We were shot down, but we were able to track the system. We tracked it to you.”

Simon blinked, then blinked again. This was a lot of information to digest. “Wait…you mean I…”

Von nodded. “Yeah, sorry, but the system’s bonded to your organic system. It can’t come off unless you…die…”

“What?! So that’s what’s been happening to me? This thing’s been ‘enhancing’ me?!”

“Yes. Now you must come with us,” Rena said again. “We’ll need your help in dealing with Tybalt.”

“No!” Simon backed away. He was terrified for the third time that evening. “You freaks stay away from me! This is so unreal! Good God, how am I even understanding you? You’re freaking aliens!”

“Like all intelligent species, we’ve been outfitted with translator chips in our throat,” Rena said, still maddeningly calm and haughty. “Now come with us. Although I hate to admit it, we need your help. You are a native of this planet, and our ship was almost destroyed. We need your help while we’re here.”

“No! I don’t want any part of this! I just want this piece of crap off of me!”

“We told you, we can’t do that. It bonds for life.”

Not waiting to hear anymore, Simon simply turned and ran from the park. He didn’t turn or stop.

“Uhh, should we follow him?” Von asked.

“No. He’s unstable and incompetent,” Rena said, snorting again in disgust. “We’ll go into the town and find help elsewhere.”

After a few minutes of wandering in the streets, deserted due to the late night darkness, the two foreigners began to feel a little less confident. Not that Rena would ever show it, of course.

“Maybe we should find him,” Von suggested. “We still have the tracker…”

“We don’t need to use the tracker!” Rena snapped. “We certainly don’t need the help of that cowardly Sol-being!”

A small, circular canister landed in front of her feet, releasing a yellow gas into the air. “Wha-“ Rena began before the gas hit her nostrils. The world span in front of her. “What’s going on…”

“If you have a device capable of tracking the Sol system,” a voice said out of nowhere. “Please hand it over. I don’t want to kill you if it can be avoided.”

Von and Rena turned to the source of the intrusion. It was a tall male humanoid, dressed from head to foot in stark, elegant black. He had red eyes that pierced the darkness.

“Tyb…Tybalt?” Von stammered.

“Of course. Don’t try to fight, Mistress Rena,” Tybalt continued in a slow, monotone voice. “That gas canister was specifically built to match your species, sex and build. You are far to disoriented to walk forward, let alone fight me. Von, give me the tracking device.”

“Von,” Rena hissed, staggering. “Don’t let him have it, no matter what!”

“But…”

“Don’t.” Rena looked into Von’s eyes with a pleading look, and he knew he wouldn’t give the tracker to Tybalt. He wouldn’t betray Rena like that.

“Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to take it by force, then.” Tybalt closed his eyes, and his features began to morph. Unlike Rena and Von, whose change in appearance had been caused by holographic technology, Tybalt possessed a shape shifting ability that allowed him to mimic a bipedal being of similar build. He revealed his true form.

His skin was black. It wasn’t black in the sense that humans think of a person of African descent, it was completely black, a slick, oily black akin to a snake. His eyes were two slit that seemed to glow red. He had sharp, pointy teeth and no hair or scales. From his back, hidden under his shirt, two small, red wings sprouted. They were too small to allow total flight, but were just large enough to allow simple gliding. Finally, he had a slim, simple tail that ended in a triangular point.

All in all, he had the appearance of a demon, but he held the air of being a respectable demon at least.

“Now, please don’t struggle,” he said as he attacked.
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Wednesday, April 28, 2004

V
Simon arched his back, getting out of the range of Brooks’ swing. His right hand shot out and grabbed his attacker’s extended forearm. Hoping for the best, he applied pressure.

Simon got more than the best. Brooks actually cried out in pain, which totally took Simon by surprise. Since when could he hurt Brooks?

“Damn you, Lewis!” the jock howled, yanking his arm away. “I will kick your ass!”

“Gotta’ catch me first,” Simon sneered, more confident than he expected.

Brooks took another swing, with the opposite arm; however, rather than dodge, Simon got a wild notion. He outright blocked the attack, deflecting the blow with his forearm.

Good lord, Simon thought. How the hell am I doing this? This isn’t possible! Maybe this has something to do with the metal stuff…if that’s the case, me likes muchly!

Brooks grew frustrated again and charged Simon, having lost any type of planning. His drunken rage at being humiliated by this…this nobody was beyond measure. He was working on an animalistic level.

The sudden brutality frightened Simon, so he decided to test his theory right then and there. If the metal stuff on his right hand was what caused his newfound skills, then perhaps the concentration would be strongest at the point of infestation (for lack of a better term.)

All the while, the mysterious pair watching in the shadows stood silent. The shorter young man tried to make eye contact with his companion, but she remained focused on the battle. The look in her eyes revealed a simple truth: the gears were turning.

Simon waited for Brooks to get close enough. As the larger teenage was within striking distance, Simon suddenly thrust his metallic right hand out into Brooks’ stomach.

It was like a bat hitting a baseball. Brooks was literally thrown off his feet, sailing about ten yards through the air before crashing into the side of his car. He slumped to the ground.

“….owww….”

Brooks’ buddies, who had been hooting and hollering incoherently all through the fight were suddenly stuck dumb. Stevens glared at Simon.

“…you…what the hell are you, man? What’s up with your hand?”

Simon, for his part, was terrified at the reaction his attack had. The metal coating hadn’t just changed him; it had made him a freak. Although he always considered himself emotionally alienated, he had never been physically identifiable as unique. Now, the gripping realization that he might have to wear a Michael Jackson glove for the rest of his life made him want to wet himself.

A second realization his harder: the metallic coating was spreading. At first, it had stopped at his wrist; now, it stopped in the middle of his forearm. When would it stop?

Not looking back to the drunks, Simon raced away into the night. After a while, he found himself in a secluded spot and simply collapsed to his knees, totally overwhelmed.

“What’s happening to me?” he muttered aloud. “Dear God…what’s happening to me?”

“I can tell you,” a feminine voice said. “But you’ll have to cooperate fully.”

Simon looked up; the strange Hispanic girl and her vertically challenged companion stood before him.

“Wha-who-who are you?”

“Observe.” Suddenly, their forms began to shimmer, like a television with bad reception. When it stopped, the people standing before him weren’t people anymore.

The female was still tall, six feet even. Her body seemed to be covered in a light brown layer of fur, even on her face. She had triangular ears on the top of her head that ended in points. Her eyes were large, green, and almond-shaped. Her hair was strait and shoulder-length, and totally black.

She wore a gray bodysuit that seemed to be armored in several places. It covered all but her head and hands. Her nails were silver, and sharp to the point of being claw-like. Behind her, one could see what appeared to be a tail. It whipped back and forth purposely. It was the same brown fur as on the rest of her body, except for the tip, which was the same black as her hair.

One phrase popped into Simon’s head: “cat girl.”

Her short accomplice, on the other hand, was a different story. Standing about four and a half feet tall, his body was covered in light-green scales. His hands had no nails, but hand only three digits. He wore a bright silver jumpsuit, with a black belt around his waist. His feet were exposed through the suit; there were two spread-out toes, with a third, opposable toe out of his heel.

He also had a tail, a thin thing that ended in two digits. His face, however, was the most interesting feature. He had two red, tangerine-sized eyes with a thin line for a pupil that spread horizontally across the orbs. In the center of his pupils was a v-shaped indention. His mouth had two rows of tiny, sharp teeth, with a skinny tongue.

He had no hair on the top of his head, (or anywhere else on his body, but Simon couldn’t know that), but at his forehead, his head branched off into another v-shape. Between the indentations were another set of scales.

Another two-word phrase: “Lizard boy.”

Simon had no doubt what he was seeing: these were aliens. Honest to God aliens.

“Whoa…”

**

The predator ship touched down on Earth, and the pilot stretched his muscles. His quarry was within a two-mile radius; he would soon find them, retrieve the artifact, and return to the home
base. Anything that interfered would be dealt with appropriately.

It was a simple mission.

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Part III & IV
3

The sky was slowly getting darker as Simon sat in quiet contemplation. He’d found his favorite place in town: a hidden part of the park, where he could be alone with his thoughts. Due to his harsh treatment at the hands of his peers, he accepted solitude as a preferable state of being.

Soon, the stars were coming out. Simon loved to watch the stairs, though he knew nothing of astronomy. It was actually rather interesting; he created his own constellations based on his first impressions of the heavenly outlines. Because the next day was Saturday, he would be out all night stargazing, sleeping in until well past noon. Why get up? He had no one to miss him.

For a brief, poignant moment, Simon wished that things didn’t have to be this way. He wished that someone would care about him, or miss him. He could have been picky and wished it were Susan, but poignancy plays no favorites. Anything had to be better than being so terribly alone.

The moment passed, though,
as such moments have a way of doing; after they’re gone, their owner would deny their existence to everyone, even themselves. Simon was waiting for the sky to get bright enough to see the Lizard, one of his homemade constellations, when he noticed something: two of the stars were moving.

He’d seen shooting stars before. He knew their pattern of movement: they fell downward quickly, disappearing from sight like a poignant moment. These moving stars weren’t doing that, though; they were diving sideways and up and down. It reminded Simon vaguely of Tom chasing Jerry…

No, actually, it reminded him exactly of Tom chasing Jerry. Whatever the hell those things were, one was defiantly scared of the other.

Suddenly, the star Simon had already dubbed “Jerry” stopped. It stood still for a split-second, and then began to spiral downwards. Dozens of tinier pieces fell from it. What was going on?

Simon lost track of the aggressive star, but couldn’t help but notice where the falling star was.

It was heading towards him.

One of the tiny pieces of star debris was defiantly coming down towards him. Excited, he leapt to his feet; whatever this thing was, he would see it when it landed! Leaving his Thoughtful Spot, he raced through the dense trees in of the park’s forested area. Getting towards the picnic tables, though, gave Simon a reason to take a detour.

On the tables, Simon could
see and hear Brooks. Stevens was also there, as well as three or four other football jocks. There were beer cans everywhere. Simon shuddered when he thought of what a team of drunken football players would do if they caught him, off of school grounds, no less.

Electing to take the long way, Simon trudged through the underbrush and trees, almost getting lost as he shied away from the lampposts. Every few minutes he would glance over his shoulder to the falling star; as it got closer, he began to make out a shape…

It was a sphere, a perfect sphere, about the size of a basketball. Now, Simon was no expert, but even he knew that a geometrically perfect sphere was not a shape found in nature. Sure, something could be round, or spherical, but the fact remains: no natural force can create a perfect sphere. Logically, whatever the stars were, they must have been unnatural…

Simon managed to pull his legs free of the denser bushes and turned around again. He gasped. The falling star was now twenty feet above him, and it was coming right at him. He barely had time to comprehend that he falling star was not only spherical, but also metallic. On instinct, he turned around to run, but was suddenly struck in the back by the sphere at full speed. The impact sent him flying.

Simon marveled for a second at just how far he was being thrown by the collision just before he was driven into the ground, the sphere still grinding into his back. Everything went dark.


4

The pilot of the predator ship smiled to himself as he watched his prey spiral downwards into the planet’s atmosphere. Now, all that remained was track the artifact he sought, and his mission would be complete.

He brought his ship down.

**

Simon drifted in and out of consciousness, not feeling cold metallic tendrils work over his body. Instead, he inhabited the dim world between sleep and reality. Random events flashed through his mind: his last memory of his parents, his first memory of Susan, and his self-imposed soul searching.

There was a sudden electric jolt through his body, harshly yanking him back to the real world. He shook his head groggily, flexing his muscles. He had a dim perception of something being wrong; something was out of place.

It hit him like a ton of
bricks: the shooting star. It had struck him at a speed well above one hundred miles per hour. He should be in pain; hell, he should be a paraplegic. Yet he was fine. Why?

He performed a mental survey of his body, and everything was working normally. Nothing was out of place…except his right arm. It felt cold, like cool metal. Why was he reminded of cool metal?

He got to his feet. Maybe he’d imagined the whole shooting star thing…he looked at his right hand and screamed.

His right hand was metal. It was like his hand had been coated in liquid metal, ending in splotches around his wrist. It was silver and reflective, like a polished surface. What was going on? What in the hell was going on?!

Terrified, he ran through the park. He didn’t know where he was going, but he couldn’t just stand around. Already he had decided that whatever happened to his hand had something to do with the shooting star that struck him. How long had he been unconscious?

In his panic, he forgot his earlier caution regarding the picnic tables. So when a foot was stuck out to trip him, he didn’t see it until it was too late. The law of inertia working as it should, he was sent flying. However, instead of landing in a heap, he somehow managed to regain his balance while in mid-air. He landed on his feet; this surprised him so much he temporarily forgot his predicament.

“That wuz pretty neat, Lewis…” Brooks lisped, clearly intoxicated. “Mebbe’ you can be faster’n that in a fight!”

“Wha-why?” Simon
asked. “Brooks, you’re wasted, and being stupider than usual. I don’t have time for this…”

“He be tryin’ you, man!” One of Brooks’ teammates yelled. “Beat his ass!”

Stevens stumbled over to his compadre. “Hey, man…’member…’member what he did to your shoes…that was nasty…”

Brooks nodded. “Hell yeah! You, you’re goin’ down, you prick!”

As Simon and Brooks faced off, neither of them noticed the two strangers who stood nearby, appearing as if from nowhere. One was a tall, Hispanic girl in blue jeans and a halter-top. Her companion was a short young man, about four feet tall. He appeared to be Caucasian, and wore a green turtle neck and khaki pants.

Their enigmatic arrival was not noticed by anyone they watched, however. Brooks was circling Simon menacingly, occasionally punching the air near him.

“Brooks, I really don’t have time for this!” Simon said. “Get out of the way!”

“Don’t you order me, bastard!” Brooks yelled. He took a swing for Simon’s jaw.

Simon, acting on instincts he never knew he had, went into action.

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Tuesday, April 27, 2004

More in the ongoing saga
Because I love you.

Sol, part II

Simon Lewis was a young man of about five foot ten, average build. He wore his black hair in a chaotic pattern that implied a lack of maintenance. He had green eyes and was perpetually snide. He wore, from head to foot, black: a black t-shirt, black jeans, a black windbreaker, and black tennis shoes. All of his clothes contained black and could therefore be mixed and matched with no care given to style or possible color clashing.


When Simon was a young boy of five years old, his parents had died in a car crash. Simon was at day care at he time, but was picked up by social services. The new question was: where would the boy go? After checking the Lewis’s files, it was determined that the only living relatives were Mr. Lewis’s sister, Fran Richards. Fran, for her part, thought it would be wonderful to have a child around the house, and eagerly accepted him.

However, like a young child with a new toy, Fran soon grew tired of the work involved in raising Simon and took a hands-off approach. Her husband, Lenny Richards, had no interest in the boy in any way, shape, or form, and Simon quickly realized he couldn’t count on his aunt and Uncle for anything. Thus Simon grew up somewhat bitter and quite snide. His dim view of the world and human nature could hardly be considered his fault, considering the environment he grew up in: Fran was something of a harlot, Lenny never got off the couch.

When Brooks called Simon a “goth”, he was incorrect, because “goth” is a term for a social group, and Simon belonged to no social groups. He was alone, and he had convinced himself he was better off this way. He had made some friends before his parents died, but he was five then, and they were on the opposite coast of the country. Simon had lived in a cheerful suburb in Seattle, but Fran lived in a tacky suburb in Virginia, so there Simon went.

Simon’s new house was rather slovenly, with an obnoxious paint job and a poorly cared-for lawn. He sighed as he opened the door, resigned to his fate of sub-mediocrity. As he walked inside, Fran came up to him hurriedly.

“It’s about time you got home,” she said, not making eye contact. “Your money’s on the table.” Fran’s secret to legally imposed child rearing was to give the kids cash and let them worry about things like food and clothing.

“Where are you going?” Simon asked, deadpan.

“I’ve got to work late with Mr. Reilly at the office. I’ll be gone all night.” With that, she left.

Simon rolled his eyes. It was funny, but no matter how much Fran “worked late” with her male co-workers, she never got any work done. He wondered if there was a Mrs. Reilly, but decided he was better off not knowing. He went to his room.

Simon’s room was the single neatest room in the house. This did not reflect on Simon’s habits, but was rather a reflection of his personality. The house was messy, so his room was clean. Had the house been clean, his room would have been messy. It was simple.

Looking at Simon’s room would cause one to ponder exactly what kind of person lived there. It was full of contrasts. Above his bed was a large poster of the velociraptors from “Jurassic Park”. His bookshelf held such diverse titles as The War of the Worlds, David Copperfield, The Andromeda Strain, The Cat in the Hat, Faust, The Silence of the Lambs, and Moby Dick. On his dresser were a mismatched assortment of playing cards, baseball cards, cards from movies and comic books, and game cards. A reproduction of the Mona Lisa was on his opposite wall.

His modest collection of second hand VHS and CD’s were equally mismatched. “Batman”, “The Great Muppet Caper”, “Young Frankenstien”, “Ever After”, “The Mask” and “The Pokemon Movie” were among the tapes available for his viewing pleasure. His music collection consisted of REM, Tim McGraw, Mozart, Billy Idol, Blink-182, Madonna, and “Thriller”. All in all, Simon’s room gave the suggestion of a very unique
individual residing within, a theory that wouldn’t have been off the mark.

Simon sighed once again and deposited his school supplies in their designated locations. He changed into casual attire, a simple action that merely necessitated changing his shirt. Determined to leave the house, he put on a jacket of predictable color and went into the kitchen to get his money.

“Hey,” Uncle Lenny called from his busted recliner in the living room. “Where you goin’, boy?”

“Out.” Simon wished, just for once, that a one-word answer wouldn’t be enough to satisfy, but he was disappointed.

“Well, then, don’t take the last cola outta’ the fridge. I’m savin’ that.” Lenny never even bothered to look up from “Jerry Springer”, a fact that did not escape Simon’s attention.

“Sure,” Simon said as he grabbed the last cola from the fridge. It wasn’t a blatant display of rebellion so much as it was a bid for attention. Sadly, Simon knew he would not get the attention, and accepted this. He walked out the front door, not bothering to say good-bye.

He would go to the park, he decided. Simon loved the park, mostly because of the seclusion offered. With Susan off doing who-knows-what with who-knows-who, he felt that a bit of natural seclusion would do him a world of
good.

**
She didn’t know what the planet’s name was, but it orbited the star marked as “Sol” in the ship’s database. Her enemy was hot on her trail, so the time for further education was limited, to say the least. She turned to her companion.

“Did those last rounds damage the ship?” she asked authoritatively. Of course, she did not ask this in English, but due to the phonetic limitations of human keyboards, suspensions of belief must be made for the benefit of the audience.

So, the audience will kindly pretend that she really did ask “Did those last rounds damage the ship?” instead of a phrase sounding more like “Ieyscazaa toloro muka ne?”

Her companion nodded. “The cargo hold is badly damaged! Another shot may knock us out of the sky!”

Murphy’s Law working true to form, a sudden jolt raked through the ship. “Our cargo hold’s been blown open!”

“Has the artifact been lost?” she demanded.

“Everything’s lost but that’s the least of our problems! I-!”

Another jolt, and the ship’s lights went black. “Scuz!!” she swore as the ship was pulled apart from the rear and began to descend into the planet’s atmosphere.

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Monday, April 26, 2004

Something different
Because I'm really too busy to present you with detailed, well-thought posts, (relative terms, of course), I'd like to present you with my personal work of art, the Sol Chronicles. some of you may have seen this before.

It's unfinished, but up to 60+ pages. I plan to work on it more after exams.

Part 1

Simon knew who was shoving him before he even hit the ground. There was only one suspect, actually. As he crashed to the ground, he was already preparing to right himself and get into the inevitable altercation. Getting back to his feet, he turned around and sighed as his suspicions were confirmed.

“Well,” he said sarcastically to the aggressor. “Why am I not surprised it’s you, Brooks?”

Matthew Brooks, six foot three, wearing a varsity football jacket, was the perfect image of the obnoxious jock. His parents were rich and irresponsible, the later trait having been passed on to their offspring. Brooks took special pleasure in making Simon’s life a living Hell, and took to the task with a work ethic he applied to little else, least of all his studies.

Next to Brooks was his best friend/crony, Tyler Stevens. Tyler was the second best player on the football team, the second most popular jock, and the second dumbest kid in the school. Brooks had first place in all those categories, and it seemed that Stevens was destined to be a second banana for the rest of his life. So he did the only smart thing produce in that position could do: hang out with the top banana. Stevens himself really had no problem with Simon personally, but the second banana never makes diplomatic policy.

“Hey there, Goth geek,” Brooks sneered. “Did you have fun on your trip?”

“Yeah,” Stevens snickered. “Wanna’ go again?”

“Wow,” Simon said, deadpan. “You guys thought that up all by yourselves. Want a cookie?”

Brooks laughed, an irritating bray. “That’s what I love about you, Simon. No matter what, you’re still an annoying prick!”

“It’s all you’re good for,” Stevens confirmed.

Simon sighed and rolled his eyes. “Well, glad I could help. And you know, I’d love to continue this conversation, because it’s really fascinating. I mean, I didn’t know anyone actually could be dumber that dirt. But I really have to go…”

“Hey,” Brooks grabbed Simon’s shoulder. “I didn’t say you could go yet!”

Simon yanked his shoulder away. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know I had to ask Mommy permission to go anywhere.”

Brooks glared. “Watch yourself, Simon. Don’t forget where you are in the food chain.”

Simon knew he was treading on thin ice, but his anger overtook his caution. “You moron, can you even spell ‘food chain’?”

Brooks nodded slightly to Stevens. Stevens stepped behind Simon and gabbed his arms. Brooks began to pummel Simon with a series of blows to the stomach. Simon felt queasy.

After a minute, Brooks stopped and Stevens let him fall to his knees. Simon fell to the ground, reminded of his lunch in a most unpleasant manner. “See?” Brooks gloated. “This is what happens when punk-ass guys like you start thinkin’ they’re somethin’ special. You’re just a loser, got it?”

“Aww,” Stevens crooned. “You hurt his feelings! He doesn’t have a smart-ass reply!”

“Actually,’ Simon groaned. “I have one…”

“What, hot shot?”

Simon grinned up at Brooks. “I just puked all over your shoes.”

Stevens looked down. “Matt, he ain’t lyin’. Your Nikes are all gross and stuff.”

Brooks looked down too. “Damn it! Come on,” he gestured to Stevens. “I gotta’ go home and change.” For good measure, Brooks kicked Simon before leaving.

“Later, loser!” he laughed as he and Stevens walked off.

Later loser? Simon thought. Wow, did you think that one up all by yourself? He got to his feet and brushed himself off, the nasty taste of bile fresh in his throat. Damn jocks, he thought bitterly.

He continued his walk home, then stopped suddenly. Across the street was the image of perfection and goodness, but She went by the name of Susan Hawkins. Simon sighed. Susan was a girl he’d known ever since he’d lived in this town, and She was the only human being he didn’t find repulsive in some manner. While others might say She was pretty, Simon would say She was beautiful. Not because of Her looks, which casual observers would describe merely as “cute”, but because She possessed a trait almost unknown in most other people: She was actually nice to Simon.

It would be going a bit too far to say the two were friends, though Simon would have given his right arm for it to be true. If you asked Her, She would say they were, in fact, friends, but She was one of those people who wanted to be friends with everyone, and Simon knew it. He could actually try to form a real friendship with Her, but he held Her in such high standards that She intimidated the heck out of him. He thought he might love Her, but he knew at least he was infatuated with Her. For a couple of high school juniors, the difference was minimal. Simon could at least claim his attraction to Her was purely mental and emotional, and he would be right; he did not lust for Her.

A wild thought suddenly hit Simon like a truck ramming an armadillo: maybe he could go up to Her and ask Her out. On a date?! With Her?! Was he mad?

“…what do I have to loose?” he asked himself. The answer: not a thing. If he could pull it off without passing out, he’d be proud. The worst that could happen was that She could say “no”, in which case he would simply go home and forget the whole thing. It was a win-win scenario.

Jay-walking across the street, Simon inhaled deeply, then called out, “Susan!” At least, that’s what he meant to call out. It got caught in his throat in the last minute, so all that could be heard was a sound similar to a gag. Susan kept walking, not having heard a thing.

Damn, she’s leaving! Simon thought, panicked. I’ve got to get it right this time! He counted down in his head. “Three, two, one…”

“Hey, Susan!” She stopped and turned around. Yes! He thought. Wait…now what do I do?

She smiled at him, Her perfect white teeth gleaming. “Hey, Simon!” She said. “What’s up?”

To say Simon had butterflies in his stomach would have been a very large understatement. It would have been more appropriate to say that Simon had Mothra’s family reunion in his stomach, and they’d stated a game of Battle Tag.

“Hey, uh, hi!” he said, feeling stupid. “Hey, you know, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to see the new Bond flick…with me…you know…”

That’s it?! He demanded of himself. That’s the best you could do?! That’s it, you’re screwed!

“Thanks, you’re sweet,” She said, still smiling. “But I’m going to be busy all weekend. I’m sorry.”

As the entire Mothra family simultaneously burst into flames, Simon tried to keep his cool. “Sure, no prob. I understand.”

“Okay.” She smiled again. “See you Monday! Oh, wait, take one of these.” She handed Simon a purple flier; it was an advertisement for some event at her church.

“Thanks,” he said, not even looking at it.

“Bye!” She waved, walking away. Simon waved back weakly.

“See ya’…”

__
The entire walk home might not even have happened. It was as though Simon had been standing there, watching Susan walk away one minute, and the next he had been on his doorstep. All that was in-between was a horribly morbid self-examination that left him oblivious to his outside surroundings; he was lucky not to have been struck by a car.

The question of the hour was, of course, why Susan hadn’t said yes. Was She really busy? Was She just blowing him off? Was he too upfront? Did She think it was a date? Would it have been a date? Hey, did he even know if She had a boyfriend?

The most important question remained: did he just screw up the only chance he might have had to go out with Her?

These questions were at the forefront of the young man’s mind as he entered his humble abode. However, up until now, the audience has know almost nothing of Simon; not his name, his appearance, his history, or anything else useful in forming any sort of opinion on him or his character. A closer examination is in order.

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Sunday, April 25, 2004

Prom Report
Where have I been lately, you might ask. Well, maybe you weren't asking that, but it'd be really nice if you were.

I've been busy with a blance of school work and Prom Prep. And Prom was last night. I'll get to that, but first, other business.

Li-C, if you're reading this, please cheer up. Your last blog post really worried me. If there's anything I can do to help you out of the funk you are in, just tell me, 'kay?

Ryo-Tas: Your e-mail address isn't working, you haven't updated your web page, and I have no way of contacting you. I'm concerned. If you're reading this, *please* send me an e-mail.

I got the new Shonen Jump a few days ago. As usual, my preferred reads were Shaman King and Hikaru No Go!. Naruto was a bit confusing this month; they introduced too many characters too quickly, and I got a little lost.

Ya'll might have noticed that I stopped doing regular reviews, like I used to. The simple answer is, I've been really, really busy, and haven't had time. Once school's out, reviews will return, as will new additions to The Sol Chronicles. (Ha! Thought I forgot about Sol, didn't cha'?)

I also got my first career call back. Quizno's subs, they of the Spong Monkies ("We like the Mooooon!"), want me to work for them. In complete honesty, I forgot that I had even applied there. However, even though they aren't my first choice, I might end up working there until something better comes along.

Now, Prom!

In movies like American Pie, mere seconds after Prom, the guys are out of their pants and getting into their date's. this is,o f course, entirely unrealistic, simply because of the sheer amount of work involved in putting on and taking off a tuxedo.

I had a jacket, and it had two pockets. However, it had slots for four pockets. It had two pockets that lead to nowhere. That's frickin' wierd.

After (finally) getting dressed, I went to my date's house and presented her with her corsage (SP?). I then took her to the Bonefish grill.

She had the salmon, which cost $14.50. I had the shrimp, which cost $4. You can tell where my prorities were.

The 'Bang Bang' shrimp was pretty good, but very, very hot. It was breaded shrimp coated in this spicy sauce. It wasn't so spicy that it was bad, but if the waiter hadn't been constantly refilling my water glass, I don't know if I could have made it through the meal. ^^;

We spoke of things.

Then came the trip to the Rusty Pelican, home of Prom. I got lost twice, and we were about twn minutes later than I estimated, but in the end, it didn't matter, because when we showed up (At 7:30, and it started at 7:00), hardly anyone was there.

However, the atmospere was great. tHe Rusty Pelican resataurant/ballroom overlooked the bay, right to St. Petersburg. It was a beautiful view.

We got our picture taken quickly, although it was a bit awkward for a while. It took our photographer a minute or two to understand that we were dates, but not a couple. Yeah, awkward.

Carrying on, we mingled. For all her insistance that she hardly knew anybody at school, Julie knew more people than I did. she also knew a lot of the exact same people I did. Odd...

Also, I learned that, whereas guys at a dance greet each other like normal people, girls make odd squeling sounds when they see their friends. They sounded like wounded puppies.

The music left something to be desuired, though. My God, did they have anything other than hip hop? I hate hip hop so much.

In all fairness, though, they broke it up with a couple of slow songs every once in a while. They get points for playing "Wanted: Dead or Alive" and the "Electric Slide".

And, for some reason, the snack table had Twizzlers. Everywhere.

I like Twizzlers.

Anyway, after I recieved a crash-course in dancing, the room got totally packed; we were burning up, it was so hot. Eventually, we retired to a small courner of the lobby where someone was playing the piano.

Julie, out of the blue, asked if I wanted to leave and go catch a movie. We'd been there a good hour and a half or so, and had pretty much exhausted our Proming options, so I said okay.

Here's something that's been bugging me: How do girls use the bathroom while wearing full-length dresses?

Well, the way back was less eventful than the way there. I got a bit worried that we might not be going the right ay, because it had been a long time since I saw a street sign for Brandon, but eventually we passed one and got right onto Highway 60.

We went to the movies (Still in formal wear; got a few odd looks) and saw "13 Going on 30". Okay movie, but a bit predictable.

I took her home, and got home by 12:30. I was asleep by 1, totally worn out.

All in all, Prom was exactly what I expected it to be: a nice diversion, but not excactly living up to the hype. Well, we had fun, and...that's really all that matters, isn't it?

Now I must return my tux.

Thought of the moment: I gots homework to do.

Quote of the moment: "So that's your oversoul, eh, Asakura?" -Horohoro, "Shaman King- Rincarnation 34: The Powers of Kororo"
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Wednesday, April 21, 2004

Thanks ^_^
My room is a mess...

But that's not the point. The point is, I want to thank those that offered condolences to Bandit...but did everyone have to go an' use my name? ^^;; It was embarassing...

Anyway...not much to say...'cept I finally uploaded my new avatar/banner theme, 'Bring On the Bad Guys', featuring several prominant Spider-Man villains. too bad no one around here knows much about Spider-Man, or cares. Alas.

Thought of the moment: 'EuroTrip' was a great movie.

Quote of the moment: "Let's fry the kid." -Electro, "Ultimate Spider-Man #12"
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Monday, April 19, 2004

A Request
First, just because I said I'd keep count, the Prom countdown is at five days and holding.

Now, to what really matters: my friend and OB Wife Bandit Joeykuba's mom is in the hospital.

If you're reading this, there words I am writing now, even if you don't know her, it would be really, really nice if you could just stop by her page (linked at the left) and offer a few words of support.

Think of it as a favor to me, if ya' want.

Thought of the moment: If ya'll don't post at her page, I'll be pissed.

Quote of the moment: "Don't you dare, you little freak! I control the game and you play according to my rules, you hear me!" -The Green Goblin, "Spider-Man: Return of the Goblin"
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