That soudns like a really good idea, but we need to get some more people first before we start something like that.

Hmmm..now how to get people....

At 6/29/07 09:45 AM, Deathcon7 wrote: I'm thinking, to pick up a little momentum, we can start a competition.

Yeah, I think this would be a superd idea. Don't count on me though, because I continually forget about this superb thread.

:At 6/29/07 09:45 AM, Deathcon7 wrote:

...we get more than 6 people to consistantly participate, I'll get it going

Hi, I too am not a regular on this guild, but I was looking though C&C and I saw this and found it quite interesting. =] I used to do a lot of writing and I enjoyed it very much, but for some reason I guess I slowly stopped.. I hope to go back to writing and maybe this guild can help. And your competition thing sounds like a good idea :]

At 6/30/07 12:50 AM, anime-shorty003 wrote: Hi, I too am not a regular on this guild, but I was looking though C&C and I saw this and found it quite interesting. =] I used to do a lot of writing and I enjoyed it very much, but for some reason I guess I slowly stopped.. I hope to go back to writing and maybe this guild can help. And your competition thing sounds like a good idea :]

Welcome to the guild mate :-)

Hope you enjoy your stay. Feel free to post anything you've written for a bit of a critique, or feel free to look back over some of the stuff here and give some opinions.

IBR here with a request to join this lovely guild of yours.
If you want a sample of my writing, here is something I threw together a while ago, to explain to someone how I feel about my guitar.

The Guitar.

In that dark corner,
Of that very attic,
It lays.
The old six string was nothing more than what it was.
A musty old guitar.
But to the boy,
it was more,
It was a lively person,
With a beautiful voice.
Forever to be trapped within those six steel strings.
But the cries of said person could still be heard,
All you needed was a pick.

To the boy,
Who found that musty old six string,
In that musty old pawn shop,
And purchased it,
From a musty old man.
The guitar was a friend,
and a good friend at that.
It was never angered by him,
It was never saddened by him,
It never felt neglected,
Or abused,
It always loved the boy.

It always said what the boy wanted it to say,
It always felt what the boy wanted it to feel.
When the boy was mad,
So was the guitar,
When the boy was weeping,
The guitar also wept,
When the boy was happy,
The guitar sang like it never did before.

It was more alive than any being could be,
It could portray emotions in ways more powerful than words,
It could inspire more than any speach could,
It could rebel better than any anarchist,
It could enlight more than any religion,
It could convert better than any preist,
It could sing better than any vocalist.

But with every great story,
Comes a sad ending.
Because as the guitar follows the boy,
And immitates the boy,
It will pass,
At the moment the boy does.
And there it will lie,
In that dark corner,
of that very attic.
A once lively,
Loud,
Warm instrument.
Is now as dead,
Silent,
and Cold.
That is,
Until it finds its way back to that musty old pawn shop,
So its musty old self.
Can be seen by some little kid,
Who will purchase it,
From a musty old man.

At 6/30/07 11:16 PM, Itsa-Bouncing-Rock wrote: IBR here with a request to join this lovely guild of yours.

Welcome to the guild matey.

The Guitar.

This isn't bad at all.

There are a few lines I think could be broken up into two, just so it doesn't look quite so odd when reading it though.

The only other thing was I thought you used too much of the word musty. One or twice fine, but it seemed to be the only real descriptive you used. A quick check in a thesaurus should find some other words to use to make it sound less repetitive.

Either way, good job :-)

At 7/1/07 05:52 AM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote:

At 6/30/07 11:16 PM, Itsa-Bouncing-Rock wrote: IBR here with a request to join this lovely guild of yours.

Welcome to the guild matey.


There are a few lines I think could be broken up into two, just so it doesn't look quite so odd when reading it though.

I'll be sure to fix that.

The only other thing was I thought you used too much of the word musty.

I know other words for musty, I repeated it on-purpose, I think it sounds better, but then again, that's just me.

Either way, good job : )

Thank you.

Anyway, for those of you who are missing the point of this writing its supposed to represent the undying impact that music can have on the world.

guess I should have told you that when I posted it.

At 7/1/07 03:41 PM, Itsa-Bouncing-Rock wrote: I know other words for musty, I repeated it on-purpose, I think it sounds better, but then again, that's just me.

It would seem we just have an artistic difference of sorts then :P Nothing wrong with that though ;P

Anyway, for those of you who are missing the point of this writing its supposed to represent the undying impact that music can have on the world.

I'd say that was pretty obvious in all honesty :-)

guess I should have told you that when I posted it.

At 7/1/07 04:18 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote:

At 7/1/07 03:41 PM, Itsa-Bouncing-Rock wrote:

I'd say that was pretty obvious in all honesty :-)

I have trouble seeing themes in writing though, even if it is obvious, so tend to clear it up for other people out of habit.

At 7/1/07 06:56 PM, Itsa-Bouncing-Rock wrote: I have trouble seeing themes in writing though, even if it is obvious, so tend to clear it up for other people out of habit.

Ah I see. Have to say I don't normally have that trouble so I never really think about it.

At 7/1/07 07:16 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote:

At 7/1/07 06:56 PM, Itsa-Bouncing-Rock wrote: I have trouble seeing themes in writing though, even if it is obvious, so tend to clear it up for other people out of habit.

Ah I see. Have to say I don't normally have that trouble so I never really think about it.

See I've always had the trouble because I never payed too much attentiopn to it in my earlier years of reading.

I'm baaaaaack!

Yeah, my earlier posts here sucked, but I've been writing lyrics for a Malaysion girl, which is odd since I live in the US of A, but she can speak English, and I swear to God, she has the best voice I've ever heard.

But aaaaaabyway, back to literature. If you want me to show you some lyrics I've been writing for her, just ask.

At 7/1/07 09:03 PM, WildfireHedgehog wrote:

But aaaaaabyway, back to literature. If you want me to show you some lyrics I've been writing for her, just ask.

Seeing as how I'm bored as hell, go right ahead.

At 7/1/07 09:03 PM, WildfireHedgehog wrote: But aaaaaabyway, back to literature. If you want me to show you some lyrics I've been writing for her, just ask.

I'm always interested in reading lyrics. So go ahead and post some.

Hey there! I'd like to join this club mostly because I'm a writer. A while back, I started a school essay with the theme of "Battle Royale" but figured it wouldn't be "school appropriate" and stopped. I resumed it a week later and since have been working on it, and I'm still not done. I realize I still need a lot of improvement, mainly in detail, but all my friends though it was good. You can read it, but there is pretty much no detail in the students since the people I wrote this for knew most of the people in it from memory. You may know someone from the story, although I really doubt it.

You can view it Here.

At 7/2/07 05:05 AM, Ass-Crumb wrote: You can view it Here.

Haven't read it all yet, but it's not a bad peice at all.

However, I do have word of advice for you.

Show Vs Tell.

When describing thigns you tell the reader what's happening. What you need to do is show us. I.E. don't jsut say ' He started to cut Nick Chest open', but go into vivid detail about it ' Nick felt the knife pierce his skin and wathced the first droplets of blood start to flow out. The oainw as excrutiating. The scream he let forth was almsot primal in nature, but the attacker paid no heed and continued to crave out Nicks heart'.

Stuff like that, especially in a horror genre which si what your story is sort of, works really well.

Either way, I'm going to read the rest of your story later as I did enjoy what I read.

At 7/2/07 05:18 AM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote:

At 7/2/07 05:05 AM, Ass-Crumb wrote: You can view it Here.

Haven't read it all yet, but it's not a bad peice at all.

However, I do have word of advice for you.

Show Vs Tell.

Stuff like that, especially in a horror genre which si what your story is sort of, works really well.

Either way, I'm going to read the rest of your story later as I did enjoy what I read.

Thanks for the advice, I'm planning on going through sometime and adding some detail to certain parts sometime. It's still not done, though.

At 7/2/07 06:28 AM, Ass-Crumb wrote: Thanks for the advice, I'm planning on going through sometime and adding some detail to certain parts sometime. It's still not done, though.

I look forward to it being finished.

I was just remembered of this club and I thought to myself, why not. so I have to questions for you to answer.

1). May I join?
2). If I may, is it ok to post both poems and short stories?

At 7/6/07 06:56 AM, Phantom wrote: I was just remembered of this club and I thought to myself, why not. so I have to questions for you to answer.

1). May I join?
2). If I may, is it ok to post both poems and short stories?

Any form of literature is appreciated. Feel free to post away.

Welcome :-)

At 7/6/07 10:26 AM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: Any form of literature is appreciated. Feel free to post away.

Great, then first I'd like to introduce you to one of my older stories which I'm writing a sequel to as we speak. Here it is, it was originally made for the NG Mafia but I hope you like it too.

Mafia- Reincarnation
“by Phantom”

Look carefully through your lives, you’ve heard the word before, but what importance did you give it? Hearing the word “Mafia” brings references of crime and hatred. But what about those who are there, the very people we know nothing of, their lives and intentions, who might we be to judge? This short story is brought to you to show how things work on the other side of things, enjoy.

A blood freezing shout echoes down the streets of the notorious city, followed by numerous gun shots, but as any one would say, it was that scream that was the first thing ever to scare the New-York inhabitants. The sort of howl that released the lungs last hint of air and life. The kind people are never the same after.

“Nooo! You’ll pay, you’ll pay if it’s the last thing I do at death! *gun shots* “

Such were the words uttered at the crime scene soon to become the center of attention to all. A journey of vengeance and retaliation that will never truly end.

He could hardly breathe at that point, rushed to the hospital after police was called to the location of gun shots. The bleak sirens of the squad cars that were approaching, neighbors watching by their windows and hiding their young. What they found was a daily picture in the soulless island. A dead young women, surprisingly innocent and with no previous convictions with gangs or cops alike, shot in the head in hit-man like fashion. Blood oozing from the open wound by a small pool of blood and fluids from the exit wound. Her eyes wide open as if still gazing on her assailant. By her a man, seemingly dead from multiple shots in the body, but upon closer examination, still alive. His eyes shut and blood dripping endlessly to the pavement. By him a silver pistol, empty and surrounded by empty morphed shells. Seems he was more stubborn than death this time. On the street side were 5 dead men, all in matching attire and unregistered weapons at their clammy, dead, cold hands. All were, Asian.

Weeks of intensive care for the man who had survived more bullets than most people ever did before. The doctors had to stop operating him for a few days to let his blood refill from all of the blood loss of both the wounds and the surgeries. 9 bullets were removed from his abdomen and legs. The doctors outside talk among themselves, the patient still hasn’t regained consciousness but is stable. They had ended the operations, placed the tray of the bullets in a platter by him, along with the surgical knives and other instruments.

“I’m surprised he survived the whole thing, he’d make 2 Pac proud…” A doctor mumbled while zipping his stale hospital coffee from a plastic cup.

“Yeah, I wonder why it happened, and what will he do about his dead friend, or knowing it’s been 3 weeks…” Said another surgeon standing aside. Thinking of the day the patient had arrived along with police. The detectives alerting to the doctors : “As soon as he is all patched up and ready to go you give us a call, clear?” says the grim faced officer as he hands out a personal card inscribed with “Detective Grinwall, homicide” and below his number. The Doctor nods in agreement to him.

“His brains are mush now any way, all that blood loss must have affected him” said the one with the stale coffee, who had now tossed it away and was scraping at his tongue trying to vanish to dreaded taste, possibly replacing it with his own blood.

“Actually…The biopsy shows he only lost a couple cells from the memory section of the brain, his memories may not be complete now, but his motor functions should be alright” calmly says the Doctor leaning at the hallway wall.

Suddenly the patient wakes up, he instantly springs upwards banging his head against the massive lamp beside him that is used for light during operations. He lies down again with his hand over his forehead muttering swears. His left hand is pressed against him because of the pain of surgery, his right arm shoots aside knocking over the tray holding both the crumbled bullets that hit him as well as the surgical instruments.

“Where am I? Why the fuck is there a light bright enough to blind me over my head?” the now energetic patient questions. The doctors push each other into the room, hating being the barer of bad news, or an aggressive patient.

“Sir…This is the “All Saints” general hospital, you’ve been here for 3 weeks now, since your accident..Ehh..Crime scene. You are awake now but we can’t let you got for another couple days, just to check up on you and to let the police know you are awake. ” Said a doctor to him.

The patient in his bed looks carefully at the doctors and surgeons who saved his life, ponders for a moment and says: “Let me go now and I won’t kill you, keep me here a minute more and I promise you a fate far worse than a couple bullets…And keep the damn police out of it”

Within 18 minutes he was hauling himself out the hospital with a pair of crutches and a painful look in his eyes.

You’d think the one thing in this man’s mind is now vengeance, anger and vengeance. You’d be wrong. First he stumbles to the nearest florist, he buys a bouquet and walks on with the flowers in his hand, he needs no directions, the place he goes to now is one he knew all too well before. The direction of the cemetery. He walks into the plots, a minister rushes to him saying “Son, you can’t just walk in here in those clothes, have respect to the deceased. Plus there is a funeral going on right now”. Then the angered man lets go of one crutch, grabs the minister by his robe and pulls him in. Through grinded teeth he says “If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll crush your head into a tombstone, shove you in an empty grave and there will be another funeral! ” He pushes him away, and walks on with a single crutch. He doesn’t know where exactly he is going, but he can sense it. He spontaneously stops at a tombstone. Slowly falls to his knees ignoring the intense pain of the impact. The grave stone reads: “1985-2006 , Here lies the loved daughter and friend Kate R.”. He cannot stand up, having been crushed with the death of the only person he had ever cared for, the least he must accomplish is revenge. He places his hand on the stone and whispers: “It’s not over yet, I’ll get them”. And this time, he knew just how to get it. Approaching a large mansion in the northern part of the city he was going to get some help in order to obtain his desire. He would usually despise asking help, but this time he felt he owed her at least that much. Walking by the gates he presses the intercom and awaits an answer. A grumpy voice answers, “Wha…What’a you want…” A quiet reply soon comes, “You ordered Pizza or what? ”. Some noises come out the other side and shout as the speaker pulls away from the intercom, “I told you fucks not to order here, delivery costs a fucking fortune” the unknown voice near the intercom again ”…Fine, come in.”. The buzzer sounds and the doors are unlocked. Our limping hero marches his way through the nicely decorated pathway of lawn, nature and underground weapon storage rooms. Freely walking to the doors, opening them and walks through the large initial hallway. He yells out “Pizza!”, room doors are slammed shut and the sound of a rushed exit, crowds flee to the lobby, only to see our Pizza less attraction. Some stand there in shock and recognition. Some stand baffled, unaware of the phenomenon where one yells pizza, yet holds no pizza.

“You the pizza guy, where’s the pizza then?” asks a person from the back, obviously too new to know of who he is.

An answer finally came out the foreigner’s mouth: “Told you I’d be back…” He says with a slight smirk as he struggles to stand firmly. He fails to balance and drops to one knee. The dazed mafia members now rid their shock and come to his aid. Two of them take him by the arms and drag him to the main hall. They toss him to the couch and begin the questioning of who he is. Fighting to catch his breath, he isn’t answering yet but trying to. An older member, much older, nearly the oldest really, comes to and speaks up, good old grumpy Strauss: “That’s our old Capo of sharp shooting, well he was until he left, that is.” The newer members help him sit down properly and ask him why he’s there. He hesitated but finally said, “Some of you guys might remember Kate…” Boris stepped through the crowd saying “Yeah, that broad you were seeing and quit the mafia for, for a better, cleaner life and stuff…” , “Yeah, well…*deep breath* She is no longer with us. (He pauses briefly) 3 weeks ago we were attacked by a large group, they looked Japanese. They shot her in the head, and stuffed me full of lead, but I got 5 of them too. Now, As much as I hate doing this, I need your help guys…Can I count on you?” He says while fighting to seal up his own tears and keep a steady expression.

Strauss uttered, “Yakuza cock smokers. Bah…Never even liked their food.”

Slowly but surely one by the one they all spoke up. First was Short, a martial artist, he said he’d help with a flying back kick, a bit enthusiastic, but a good person. “I’ll be at your side, I’ll shove an antler up all their asses, and they won’t enjoy it this time!” were his exact words. Next stood Prower, a strange fellow with an eccentric affection to the same clothes and odd red-yellow hair. And Prower was a Capo so no one mentioned his jeans and ancient green vest reeked to high heavens, and our injured hero didn’t care for the smell having lived in a small apartment with too many people in the past and gotten used to the scent of rotten flesh.” You can count on my skills! ” Prower said strangely. I always thought Prower was a bit beyond human boundaries. I’d consider him a meat popsicle more so than human.

Then preparations began, our healing avenger walks to Triv’s weapon lab. “Yo Triv, you must have heard the story, I need a couple new guns, anything new you have? ”, “Dude, you kidding? I have enough guns here to make Osama wet himself, take your pick, I’ll be outside smoking my newest experiment” calmly utters Triv (seemed weed actually helped him be less oblivious). While browsing through the isles of weapons our hero turns into a little boy in a candy store, “M16, duel Desert Eagles, oh M90, Remington…” To make a long scene short, he cleaned house.

By the next day the whole thing was set up, every one was to take part in a joint attack in the Yakuza representatives. By noon the entire Chinatown area was crawling in fire arms, and then we showed up…

Firing soon began; the initial thugs were no match to the sniper squad our injured hero once trained how to shoot. The inner part was different though, angry Asians with guns stormed the outside. Bullet by bullet, shell by shell, with a couple casualties to the mafia and few injured, the Yakuza were nothing more than a body pile, then leaving the dead behind they enter the building, all empty, every single man was already dead and his body lying outside. They reach a closed room, inside is the Yakuza leader, clearly seen through his windows, smoking a Cigar calmly, the group is ready to rush in, but our valiant hero insists on walking in alone. He enters and closes the door behind him. Now the two face each other.

“Why! Why did it matter to you kill her? Tell me or I swear to god I’ll shove that Cigar through your eye.” He says in fury while leaning forward at the desk.

“We had no interest in her, it was you we were after, it was only later we found out you resigned the mafia and killing you would be of no point, I’d apologize but with my men lying dead outside, I’d say we’re even. I am leader of the entire Yakuza corporation in America, kill me, and suffer to death” Said the Japanese tyrant in his chair.

“Well hellooooo Mr. Fancy Pants. Look man, you ain’t leading but two things right now, Jack, and Shit. And Jack left town. So come outside, pull out your pistol out of your gut and duel me so that I may avenge and hang your head on my wall. ” He wittingly adds in pain.

“I am Yakuza leader, I will not tolerate this! *withdraws side arm*” Now angrily says the Japanese piñata.

Both draw their guns and a simultaneous shot is heard. The mafia members wait no more and enter the room, before them, is the body of the Yakuza leader thrown to the floor with a bullet hole through the eye, and our hero in his chair, with his hand held firmly to his stomach, which was badly bleeding. They try and help but he refuses. He said his time has come and now is the time to leave before the cops show up and that he best stay there. The mafia member reluctantly listen and leave the place to tend to their own wounded and dead.

In the chair our hero painfully bends over, takes the Cigar out of the mouth of the corpse and puts it in his own mouth, “At least it’s Cuban…”

Later he died of blood loss in that very seat, his tomb was dug at the mafia’s request, right by Kate. His grave stone to this day reads: “A warrior, to the final moment. A warrior, till Armageddon come, 1986-2006. Such was the one we knew, such was the one whose name hardly spoke, such was…..Phantom.”

The End

That's a pretty good story you have there. I have to say really enjoyed reading it.

I'd like to see some more from you :-)

So, for the first time ever, I tried to make something rhyme, and it sounds like a bad freestyle rap. I made this up in like 3 minutes however.
I know I ruin the scheme, I overuse words, and I think I use improper grammar at times, but who the fuck cares, just read it and try and understand what I'm saying.

The Silent Fool

The fool was noisless
Silent was he
And a silent fool
He'd always be

And was though of
By society
As useless and stupid
Oh woe is me

But then one day
"Hey", thought he
"I could speak,
and then they won't
see me as a freak."

And so he spoke
And that'd be
The first words said
By he.

Loud and proud
those words would be.

But still in the eyes of society,
A Silent Fool he'd always be.

I should probably have thought about joining here a while ago, as I've been dabbling in writing stories on the BBS over the past few months. But it wasn't until I saw the other thread in C&C (which sadly will most likely be locked) that I remembered this place.

So first, may I join?

And second, my first BBS story- as with Phantom written for the NG Mafia (as all of my stories have been to date). If you like this story then more can be found by clicking my sig! I'd really like some feedback and ways to improve.

Part One of 'The Lord of the Skies' (still in progress):

A New Addition to ‘The Family’

Sentio leapt out of bed as if struck by a large, wooden paddle (not an experience he would recommend). Of course no such thing had occurred; instead it was more a leap of excitement, as the day he had been waiting for his whole life was finally upon him. He hastily threw some clothes on, resulting in an odd pair of socks and a shirt that was both back to front and inside out, but in his rush he didn’t so much as notice. Like a whirlwind, leaving a path of destruction in his wake, Sentio tore through the kitchen, causing Phantom to choke on his cornflakes, and headed for the lab.

As he raced across the grounds towards the little shed that had become his new home, he began to reminisce about his early days in the world of science…

Sentio had been blessed with an inquisitive mind from an early age, although it was often mistaken as sadistic and violent. An observer would consider his tendency to remove the legs from insects as the evil doings of a young and twisted individual. Little did they realize that all the small child was doing was trying to understand why they walked with so many legs, when two was clearly enough to do the job. Unfortunately the adult mind was ill equipped to see the simplistic view of this poor youth, and as such he was subjected to many hours with a psychiatrist, and later some time in correctional facilities.

Unperturbed by the clear lack of intelligence of his peers, the young Sentio’s science career began to blossom, inspired largely by a strange film involving a girl from Kansas and some vertically challenged people who he liked to call ‘minis’. Upon watching this film two questions immediately sprung out: how do the ‘minis’ have enough space for everything on such a tiny body, and how can two animals be joined together to make one? There were other questions, such as how could a lion talk, but those were quickly solved when he realized it was simply a man masquerading in a costume. His mother also wasn’t best pleased when a six year old Sentio attempted to melt her with a glass of orange juice.

The first tentative experiments took place in the back garden. His attempts to answer the first of his questions were often crude and brutal; after all he didn’t have the necessary tools at his disposal. Having cut up and pulled apart a series of snails, which he had discovered beneath a rock, in order to see how much could be removed whilst ensuring their survival (not to mention getting to crunch some shells, a favourite past time), he quickly realized that he needed a larger specimen. Attempts to capture the neighbours cat resulted in a great many scratches and little success. Sentio was dumbfounded by the animal’s unwillingness to lose a little weight. Unphased by this small set back he instead set his sights on something that was always trying to lose a few pounds; his older sister. Sadly even she was unwilling to cooperate as Sentio approached her, brandishing a small plastic knife.

This latest misdemeanor resulted in many more hours with the psychiatrist (who he fondly called ‘Mrs Poopyhead’), and far more traumatizing, the confiscating of his favourite tool, and 24 hour supervision.

It wasn’t until the age of 10 that Sentio once again found the freedom to continue his experiments. After years of supervision and home tutoring, he was finally deemed ‘safe’ to go to school. Unsurprisingly he was a reclusive child, following so many years away from the outside world, and the other children began to mock and bully him. As a consequence he drew back further and further into his shell, speaking to nobody and spending long periods alone with only his mind for company. He also began to dream of one day getting revenge upon the people that were so cruel to him, and so he began work on a new project.

During his first week at school he had stumbled across a small hollow in the back corner of the playing field. Christened ‘the den’, he was able to hide away from the prying eyes of his classmates, and more importantly, his teachers. Within this sanctuary he was able to continue where he had left off so many years before, and once again it was those ever so crunchy snails that took the brunt of his ‘experiments’. Realizing that the larger specimen that he had required previously was beyond his reach, he instead focused his mind on the second of those questions he had formulated. What happens if you cut up a snail and a beetle, and glue them together? In his mind he envisaged a shell scuttling around on six legs, whilst leaving a nice slimy path in its wake. Instead the result was a sticky mess of pritstick and insect parts. He often became so engrossed in these activities that he would miss the lunch bell and be late for his afternoon classes. These were his only misdemeanors though, and being the quiet and thoughtful child that he was the teachers seldom punished him.

A few years passed in this way, with Sentio creating quite an impressive collection of sticky messes within his den, all the time trying to work out where he was going wrong. Following an episode of ER he stole a reel of cotton and a needle from his mothers sowing kit and began trying to stitch animal parts together, in place of the glue. Although this was tricky with such small creatures, he became quite proficient with a needle and thread, and although his specimens inevitably died during the ‘operations’, they were beginning to at least look as he had hoped. He even managed to attach the wings of a dead pigeon to the back of the school hamster; the fate of poor Fluffy was never discovered by the staff or pupils.

It wasn’t until he began to take more advanced science classes in his mid teens that he finally realized what was going wrong. Despite his lack of communication in class, and the years of school that he missed when younger, Sentio was a very intelligent student and regularly achieved top marks in exams. This was especially true in science, and before long he was having classes on his own so as not to be held back by the other pupils. The result was that he was more of an outcast than ever, but he didn’t mind, and indeed enjoyed classes away from the constant bullying and teasing. So when Dr Watkins began teaching him about DNA and the genetic code he was fascinated and spent many hours reading about the subject in old textbooks. He began to understand how genes are capable of coding for complex structures, and read of techniques that allowed these strands of DNA to be manipulated and even grafted into an entirely different organism.

continued in next post

continuation...

Upon realizing that further experimentation was futile, Sentio devoted himself to his academic studies and gained top marks throughout all of his major exams. All this time, however, he was researching and planning, trying to find a way to achieve his ultimate goal. Although the theory was in place within his own mind, he lacked the correct facilities and equipment to make his dream a reality, and given the ethical complications with what he wanted to do, finding them was proving to be tricky.

Returning from his dream like state, Sentio found himself inside his shed, surrounded by his pride and joys; his new specimens. The shed was of course just for keeping his creations; he had a state of the art lab, funded by the Mafia, for all the experimental work. He never liked to ask where the money came from to build that… Finding the Mafia was the solution to all of his problems. Not only had he been welcomed in with open arms, finding friendship for the first time in his life, but he had also been provided with all the technical equipment and wildlife that he needed, away from the prying eyes of the law. People were very funny about playing around with genetics, especially those of large animals and primates.

Looking around he could see some of his past efforts; some had worked out better than others. His initial attempts at manipulating Hox genes had created horrible disfigurement in his mouse samples; some had no legs, some had ten. As he learnt where he was going wrong he began to cross genomes; there were his feathered rabbits, and his furry salamanders. But one specimen stood out above all the others.

Attaching wings to a monkey is a lot more difficult than simply growing them from back. One problem is in creating whole muscle groups in order for them to flap, and there is also a major issue with weight. Even the smallest monkeys are too heavy to lift off. Efforts to produce squirrel monkeys with the wings of an albatross had ended in disaster more often than not. In an effort to solve this, Sentio had looked at bat genomes and wing structure, as their bodies were a much closer fit to the mammals he had in mind. The solution had been to use a third pair of limbs, and use the pentadactyl fingers with membranes in between them to produce the wings. Although more efficient, it was ugly, and in his mind a creation such as this should have beauty in equal measure.

In the end he went back to birds, and began to change the bone structures in his monkeys in order to reduce their weight. A honeycomb system seemed to make a significant difference. There was also the issue of muscle attachment, which required serious modification of the spinal regions. Eagle wings seemed more appropriate from an aesthetic standpoint, and after a great deal of tinkering with the genetic code he finally had a specimen to be proud of.

And so, on this day, the 13th of February 2007, the world was about to see something it had never seen before; a sight so incredible that few would believe it; the kind of thing that can only be imagined in fairy tales. For today would be the first flight of Bob, the flying monkey, and newest member of the Mafia family.

With a cry of ‘Fly my pretty’ (originality never was one of his strong points), Sentio, with a tear in his eye, unleashed Bob upon the world in a flurry of feathers and hair, sent out to seek revenge for all the wrong doings in Sentio’s past life. Of course there were a few technical hitches, and Bob’s first victim was a hapless Snype, who happened to be walking past at the time. Sentio made a note to himself to try and improve training and recognition of the correct targets in his future attempts. For where there is one flying monkey, an army is soon to follow…

End of chapter 1

I took some inspiration from a lot of childhood talk about flying monkeys that I have had with my friends- it has been a standing joke with me for many years. There is also some elements of Iain Banks' 'The Wasp Factory' in there, or at least that was what I had in mind when I wrote it- it's a long time since I read the book so I may be mistaken. Any questions feel free to ask :)

At 7/7/07 09:03 PM, Itsa-Bouncing-Rock wrote:
The Silent Fool

I liked the final two stanzas, they went really well. However, the rhyming and the flow of the rhythm are a bit off, and certain parts of the poem itself were difficult to understand. Not bad but could be better

At 7/8/07 03:01 AM, Sentio wrote: Any questions feel free to ask :)

Did you actually glue bugs together as a child?

Good story by the way. Very interesting to read. Particularly liked the way you displayed ' your' err...idiosyncarcies as a child?

At 7/8/07 06:03 AM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote:

At 7/8/07 03:01 AM, Sentio wrote: Any questions feel free to ask :)

Did you actually glue bugs together as a child?

Good story by the way. Very interesting to read. Particularly liked the way you displayed ' your' err...idiosyncarcies as a child?

I never went as far as gluing them back together, but I did spend many years torturing snails (though I regarded them as pets at the time...). And I did spend rather a lot of time finding insects etc and errr... pulling them apart :S, all in the name of science of course!

I'm glad you enjoyed it anyway- in my opinion that is the worst story I have written to date, with the other three that are linked in my sig showing improvement with a bit of practice :).

and I will be taking over the world with my flying monkeys, you'll see....

At 7/8/07 06:03 AM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote:

At 7/7/07 09:03 PM, Itsa-Bouncing-Rock wrote:
The Silent Fool

I liked the final two stanzas, they went really well. However, the rhyming and the flow of the rhythm are a bit off, and certain parts of the poem itself were difficult to understand. Not bad but could be better

The final two stanzas were the first ones I wrote... I basically threw the rest of the poem together around that...

At 7/8/07 12:14 PM, Sentio wrote: and I will be taking over the world with my flying monkeys, you'll see....

Remind me not to get on the bad side of you then :P