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Peter Solarz
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Three Goblin Art

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@writings-by-sam
Suggested reading: Create a writing habit with our Hooked On Writing workbook.
I hate traveling. Being on the road isnât so terrible, itâs the isolation. Most of my people were already gone by the time I was born, and I havenât seen another of my kind since my father died. He told me stories when I was small about how our people filled the world, roaming freely throughout the land, flaunting our power and taking what we wanted. And now thereâs no one. Just me, wandering alone with no others of my kind. There are none that know the pain I feel. Even those that lose their families and friends have, at the very least, others of their own kind. Other humans, other elves, other dwarves. Even the brutal orks and goblins know kinship. I am truly alone.
Even worse, Iâm forced to assume this frail human shape in order to survive. Father taught me the skill young, hoping against hope that I would survive among them. I have and I am, but there are times, especially when out traveling, when I wonder whether itâs worth it. Humans are so small and soft, not at all like us. How they managed to hunt us to the brink of extinction Iâll never understand. They have no natural armor, no natural weapons, they even use these ridiculous forks to eat with. I canât stand it. I donât dare take my true form; if I were discovered it would be the end of me.
But I must be strong. I will bring my people back. We will roam freely again. I will be their savior. And the other races, the little ones, will pay for what theyâve done to us, Iâll see to that. Master thinks he has an ally in me, but that will be his undoing. My knife will be in his back and Iâll take control of his forces and resources even before his body is cold. Heâs a human too, heâs not innocent in all this. How he gained such power Iâll never know, and right now I canât stand against him. But I will learn how to break him. Heâs paranoid and that paranoia has roots in vulnerability, I know it.
Entry 1
Algazar is dead. Good riddance too, I hated the creature. Vampires are terrible beasts, Iâll never fathom why master chose one as his head lieutenant. Always lurking about, seemingly everywhere at once, enslaved to their thirst for blood, not to mention their disgusting affinity for other dead things. I pray that I never have need of such foul servants. Algazar was by far the worst of them, the oldest vampire known. Old enough to know the ancient language of my people, so that I didnât dare put my thoughts on paper with him lurking. Now that he is gone I can organize my thoughts, lay out my plans. Most importantly I can leave these records for posterity. Theyâll want to know of my rise to power, and who can blame them. I will roll over this world with vengeance in one hand and salvation in the other. I will take this world from the wicked and give it to my children. Conqueror and savior both. A fitting legacy.
Algazarâs death wasnât my first step on this road, but it does mark a turning point for me. With him out of the way master is considering me as his new lieutenant. Iâve been making discreet inquiries and itâs between myself and Gallinock. The ork. Heâs surprisingly intelligent for one of his kind, a decent tactician who commands respect. But I can outwit him. He doesnât have my gifts for secrecy and shadow play. Iâll remove him and then Iâll be masterâs next chief lieutenant. A part of me longs to abandon these games, to slash Gallinockâs throat and have done with it. But I need master to think the best of me, to trust me implicitly. That will make it all the easier to betray him when the time comes. There are few that I truly fear, and master is one of them. I canât match him, not yet. The road is slow, but it will be worth it in the end.
Underlined PSA
Figment, the recently closed writing website, has just launched (after a long delay) their long-awaited successor to figment known as Underlined, where users can post their work and receive feedback, supposedly.
DO NOT USE UNDERLINED. DO NOT POST YOUR WORK ON UNDERLINED.
Underlinedâs terms and conditions contains a clause stating that the rights to all your work that you post on their website belongs to them!!!!
Underlined belongs to Penguin Random House. This is an extremely dirty trick for them to play on writers, especially young writers and children, who come to the internet to get feedback and will lose the rights to their work. Please boost!!!
For my writing friends looking for an online writing community, DO NOT USE Underlined.Â
I went to confirm @greater-than-the-swordâs post, because seriously publishers are still pulling this garbage? And yes, they are. If you want to check out the full terms and conditions, have at it. They are full of writersâ nightmares, a few of which Iâll highlight under the cut.
Keep reading
What the actual FUCK
Aw, HELL no!
Always read the fine print. - _ -
Sharing so no one falls victim to this
If things were really banned because of the harm they cause, theyâd ban sugar, alcohol and tampering with the original Star Wars movies.
Great wisdom this has.
Trees
Jack walked home between the quiet trees lining the street. He idly wondered, perhaps for the thousandth time, what kind of trees they were. Heâd googled it before, but the different varieties all looked the same to him.
 He pulled his leftovers from last night out of the fridge and stuck them in the microwave. He sat down at his ham radio while he waited. âDanny? You there, buddy?â The microwave dinged. âIâm here, if you wanna talk.â The radio remained silent. Jack sighed and got up, hoping that Danny was just out of the house for a bit.
 As he ate, Jack went through his usual routine at the computer. He logged onto his online game to see if anyone else was on. As usual, it was empty. Jack shook his, wondering why he bothered. It was just him and Danny, the only ones left in the whole world. Sometimes he was glad he was still alive, but today the loneliness was stifling.
 He went outside and watered the tree in his backyard. It always made him feel better, as if the tree could hug him like his mother used to.
 When he went back in, the radio was squawking. Jack rushed over to it, eager to hear another personâs voice. âDanny! Danny, are you there?â Static. âCome on, Danny. Talk to me.â More static. Jack sighed, and grew annoyed with the radio. It was his dadâs old radio, and it sometimes picked up static like that. And every time he got excited for a moment, only to be let down. It looked like Danny wouldnât be on the radio today.
 Jack logged back onto the computer. He quickly stifled one of his more common wonderings: how did the electricity still work? For that matter, how did the internet? But, as always, he shut those thoughts down, deciding that they were mostly automated and didnât really need people around to manage them. He didnât dare think about it too much because the last time he had, heâd had a panic attack.
 So, instead, he googled the symptoms of the parasite. He did it every day, waiting for the day when he would finally begin to exhibit the symptoms. He didnât need to bother, he knew them by heart. But he did it anyway, wondering whether heâd freak out when it started. He didnât know.
 When the parasite first appeared, the conspiracy theorists had a field day. Out of nowhere, people began showing strange symptoms: itchiness, loss of appetite, muscle aches, hardening of the soft tissues, listlessness, and a weird desire to be out in the sun. By the time an afflicted person was spending his days and nights outside, he was already mostly made of wood.
 And everyone had a theory about why it was happening. Some blamed aliens, others blamed secret government projects, and still others blamed global warming. The truth turned out to be far more mundane. Scientists discovered a parasite that integrated itself with DNA. After leaving a host, it carried scraps of DNA with it to the next host. No one was ever able to figure out quite how it found itself in the human population. But as soon as it did, it spread like wildfire. No containment could be found.
 And now, Jack walked down the street surrounded by vaguely human-shaped trees, and watered what used to be his mother.
 As he read through the list of symptoms, for the millionth time, he realized that he was scratching his face. And that heâd been scratching his arm on the way home. And his leg while he was eating.
 âDanny,â Jack said into the radio. âDanny, itâs started.â Jackâs voice was remarkably calm. âIâm turning into a tree Danny.â Jack scratched his knee. âPlease answer me Danny.â Jack scratched the top of his head. âPlease, Danny.â But Jack heard only silence, and, as he scratched his backside, he knew that Danny was standing outside.
A Random Story
Alec stood on the bridge of the fleet command ship trying to look defiant, but suspected that he looked just as nervous as he felt. He couldnât help his wandering thoughts; he wasnât a military commander after all, he was a colony administrator who had read Sun Tzuâs The Art of War for a class in college. But he was all they had, and he refused to let them down.
 âDek, get me a fleet check,â Alec ordered. He had to stop himself from laughing out loud at the thought that their small, ragtag group of refitted cargo vessels could be considered a fleet.
 After a few moments, Dek spoke. âAll ships in position, and weapons prepped. Well, prepared as possible, I guess.â
 âItâs a fair point, Dek.â Alec turned to see Clint, his engineer, on a view screen. âThe repurposed mining lasers are powerful, but these old fusion reactors are going to have a hard time powering them and the engines at the same time.â
 âIâll keep that in mind. Weâll try to sit still while we shoot.â
 âProvided a plasma conduit doesnât blow first. These cargo haulers werenât haulers werenât built for speed,â Clint chuckled.
 âYouâre a regular ray of sunshine, Clint.â Alec pressed a key, and the view screen winked off.
 Dekâs instruments flashed. âWeâre approaching Earthâs outer defense grid. Contact with attack drones estimated in eight minutes.â
 âAlright everybody, stay calm,â Alec ordered, silently praying heâd be able to stay calm himself. âThis is what weâve practiced for. Weapons stations, power up the lasers. All scanners set for maximum gain.â Alec sighed. âDek, open a commlink to the fleet.â
 Dek pressed some keys. âYouâre on, High Commander. Weâre all ears.â
 Alec took a deep breath. âAlright, this is it. As soon as we fire on those defensive drones, thereâs no going back. Make no mistake, weâre in for a hard fight. Our ships are old cargo haulers with crude armor plates bolted to the outer hull. Our weapons are repurposed laser drills. Our enemies have us outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and outgunned. And we will not back down. The tyrants of Earth gone too far. Theyâve demanded too much from us, and ignored our rights. Theyâve increased our quotas while sending fewer supplies, and treated us like second class citizens. And they think that just because we were born in the asteroid mining colonies, that we wonât fight back. Today is the day we prove them wrong. And though the odds are stacked against us, we have our resolve. We stand today as one, and in righteous fury we will fight. And we will fight until we win or die. And we will do so together!â
 For a moment, Alec thought that the speakers on the bridge were malfunctioning, until he realized that the static he was hearing came from hundreds of people cheering aboard the other ships. He couldnât stop himself from grinning as Dek closed the communique; heâd practiced that speech a hundred times.
 âSir, weâve breached the outer defensive perimeter.â
 âHow many drones on the scanner?â Alec asked.
 There was a pregnant pause. âNone.â
 Alec whirled around. âNone? Really?â He strode to Dekâs console and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, there were no ships displayed on the scanner. âWait, whatâs that?â
 âSome sort of debris field, I think,â Dek replied. He adjusted the controls. âItâs debris, all right. Metallurgy confirms that the components are consistent with unmanned drones.â
 âDrones?â Alec asked. âMore than one?â
 âAt least five. Iâve confirmed with the other ships. No contact yet, but more debris fields are scatter throughout the area.â
 âAlright, signal the fleet. Letâs push forward, cautiously.â An uneasy feeling grew in the pit of Alecâs stomach. He could sense the same trepidation from his crew.
 Twenty minutes later, the big blue orb that was Earth loomed on the main view screen. âStill no contact?â
 âNo,â Dek said. âNo ships, no communications.â
 âWhat about the satellite network? There should be several communication and defensive satellites in orbit, where are they?â
 âGone. But Iâm picking up more debris fields.â A beep sounded from the console. âWait, thereâs something coming up from the planet.â
 Alec turned toward the screen, and watched as an enormous ship lifted itself from Earth. âWhat type of ship is that? Iâve never seen anything like it.â
 âScanners canât penetrate the hull, sir. Thereâs some sort of energy field blocking them.â The strange ship paused for a few seconds, as if considering them, before Dek continued: âSir, my instruments have gone haywire! Gravitational readings have flown through the roof!â The ship on the screen seemed to stretch before vanishing in a flash of light. Silence enveloped the bridge for a split second before a beeping shook them back to reality.
 âDek, whatâs happening?â
 âSeveral ships have powered up their lasers. Comm traffic is a little hectic.â
 âSignal all ships to stand down,â Alec said. âHave everyone calm down before someone does something weâll all regret.â Dek tapped some commands, then nodded. The beeping stopped. âGood. Now letâs figure out whatâs going on. I want a full scan of Earth. I want a population estimate, and try to find some sort of signal.â
 âOn it.â There was a tense moment as Dek worked. What the hell is going on down there? Alec wondered. âSir, scans indicate about eight billion life forms.â
 âEight billion? It should be closer to eleven.â
 âIt doesnât stop there. At least a quarter of the life forms arenât human.â
 A gasp worked its way through the bridge as everyone suddenly realized what had happened. Alec sat heavily in his chair. In a rush of horrible realization, he knew what had happened. âIt all makes sense. The demand for more resources. The withholding of provisions. Earth wasnât oppressing us. They were fighting a war.â
 âIt looks like they lost,â Dek said quietly.
 Alec had hated the people of Earth all his life. But, suddenly, it didnât matter. They were human, like him. And they need help. He stood. âDek. Signal the other ships to form a defensive perimeter. I also want maximum scan of the surface, I need to know everything thatâs going on down there. Engineering, power up the weapons. I expect weâll have hostiles coming at us any second.â
 The bridge exploded into action. Determination mixed with fear, and Alec was glad that determination was winning out. Because his rebellion had just become a rescue mission.
This story was written for a challenge on Prose. It was actually written in six parts, so there might be weird jumps here and there.
This Story Takes Place In The Warhammer 40k Universe
 As the sky darkened, fingers of pink and orange stretched up from where the sun was setting. The gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of fruit from the orchards to the south. The grass was thick and soft, and wildflowers provided spots of color here and there. Caffus hated it.
 The entire planet was beautiful, and cloying, and nothing at all like home. Caffusâ nose and throat were itching without any smoke or oil in the air, and he felt chilly despite the warm evening. Worst of all was the horrible openness of it all. Back home, in Gunmetal City, Caffus had never seen the sky and never been outside of the cavernous steel walls that made up the enormous hive.
 Caffusâ only comforts on this saints forsaken world were his guns. Their familiar weight was the only thing that kept him from falling up into that big open sky. Those six pistols were his pride and joy, and heâd built his life and reputation around them. He had purchased or scavenged each one and lovingly cleaned and restored them until they were fit for fighting, dueling, and killing. He knew each one, itâs strengths, weaknesses, and which situations they were best for. They were Caffusâ only friends, and the only ones he trusted completely. And a strange sensation in his gut told him that heâd need them tonight.
 A deep chuckle sounded behind Caffus. He turned and saw Lug watching him, amusement dancing behind his dark eyes. âFeeling a bit uneasy, Caff?â Lug was, in a very literal sense, an enormous contradiction. He stood at least four inches taller than the others, and his muscled frame was so wide he had to turn sideways to fit through the average door. He carried the biggest machine gun Caffus had ever seen with ease. Yet he seemed to be the most jovial of Caffusâ new companions.
 âJust feeling a little⊠exposed.â The others chuckled, even Ishta. The diminutive woman hadnât made a sound since Caffus had met her; she hadnât spoken a single word in the five months since heâd met her, not so much as a cough. Far more disturbing, Caffus hadnât heard a single footfall or rustle of clothing. Tonight, she wore a tightly fitting, matte black body glove and he had a hard time keeping track of her in the rapidly darkening evening. For the first time, Ishta seemed like a true human.
 âI remember my first time offworld,â said the usually stoic Ravion. âI come from a desert planet and the plant-life of Fedrid gave me a rash so bad, I sprained my wrist trying to scratch under my armor.â
 A quiet hiss from Caffus left made him jump, and pure reflex brought his autopistol out of its holster in a flash of cold steel. He quickly turned it away, however, when he saw that it was pointed to Ishta. The small woman had a curved short sword in each hand, both sharp as sin, and Caffus had no idea sheâd even been carrying them. She gestured up the rise toward their destination.
 Caffus took in the ruins at the top of the hill. The ancient stones had been crumbling for centuries, and whatever carving or ornamentation they may have had were long erased by the elements. At first Caffus couldnât figure out why Ishta had drawn her swords, but as they drew closer to the moss covered ruins he heard it.
 A low chanting was drifting toward them from the far side of the ruin. Caffus couldnât understand what was being said, but his companions looked grim. The drew, as stealthily as they could, around the ruin.
 âThereâs our entrance,â Ravion said, indicating a large hole in the ground at the base of the ruin.
 âLooks like someone beat us here,â Lug pointed out. All the joviality had left his attitude.
 âAny chance they didnât find the book?â Ravionâs question was directed at Ishta. The little woman shook her head, her hard face a grim mask. Ravion swore. âWhat are the odds that chanting isnât related to the book?â Everbody knew that the odds were slim, but no one wanted to say it.
 They moved around the side of the ruin. An orange flickering light grew in intensity, providing light to the now dark world and casting dancing shadows all around them. Caffus could see impossible shapes in the shadows, things that shouldnât, couldnât, have been there. Once he nearly pulled the trigger on a bush.
 As they drew near the chanting grew in volume, and with it a strange sensation in Caffusâ skull. It was as though the words were living things, burrowing deep into his head and dancing about. They were words no human was meant to speak, they were all certain of that. The little group rounded the ruins.
 Caffusâ group rounded the corner and stopped dead in their tracks. At the center of what had once been a courtyard, an enormous bonfire flared bright with flames so red they seemed to bleed into purple. Around it was a ring of men and women chanting strange words that carried insanity with them. They werenât robed and hooded, but stark naked. Around the ring were dozens of other people, all engaging in horrible activities.
 Some were performing hedonistic acts so depraved that no human mind could have possibly conceived them, and Caffus couldnât decide whether he should be excited or disgusted by the twisting, writhing, and moaning.
 Others were engaged in all manner of sadistic torture. Blood poured from a hundred small cuts, flowing over bruises and broken bones. Caffus knew, inexplicably, that those being tormented had volunteered for the treatment.
 The coppery smell of blood wafted through the air, mingling with the smells of alcohol, obscura, and bodily fluids. It was utterly disgusting, and through it all the horrible chanting grew louder and caused blood to leak slowly from Caffusâ ears. The whole scene was wrong.
 For a brief and horrifying moment, Caffus felt something inside him break. Ravion cuffed him on the back of the head, and brought him back to himself. Caffus knew that there was only one thing to do. He surged forward, his pistols spitting death in all directions. Ishtaâs blades carved through limbs and necks with deadly efficiency. Lugâs heavy weapon spewed fire in short controlled bursts, each deadly. Ravion levelled a precision rifle at one of the chanters, but before he could pull the trigger a shockwave emanated from the bonfire, knocking over everyone still standing.
 Caffus picked himself up, despite his ringing ears and aching muscles. As loud as the area had been, it was now completely silent. All around him people were picking themselves up. Lug reached down to help him, but they paused when they noticed the lighting had changed. The bonfire had gone out, and been replaced by a sphere of light floating high in the sky. It was like a tiny purplish sun, pulsing with cold light. Where the fire had been, three figures stood watching Caffusâ group.
 For an instant Caffus thought he was looking at three beautiful women, but as the light from the sphere grew they resolved into something else. Each⊠creature stood a full foot taller than Lug, with vaguely female forms but these had clearly never been human. Their heads sported horns, their arms ended in oversized crab claws, and they moved with a grace and purpose that any dancer would envy.
 They surged toward Caffus, and he couldnât tell whether it was lust or murder behind the creaturesâ eyes. The most intense fear Caffus had ever felt washed over him, and he knew that he would die. These misshapen, yet somehow beautiful, creatures would destroy him. They would rape him over and over until he begged for death, then torture him a thousand different ways. And they would laugh the entire time. Caffus was going die, horribly.
 Lug stumbled toward the creatures, desire for those profane forms overriding his good sense. âLug!â Caffus call didnât stir the big man. âLug, stop!â One of the creatures reached for the big man with its razor-sharp claw. Caffus reacted, and put a bullet through each of the creatureâs eyes. Caffus ran for Lug, to pull him back to reality. He could hear Ravion and Ishta fighting, but he was focused on Lug. He didnât see another of the creatures coming for them. It came from nowhere, hissing and spitting, and with a flick of its wrist Lug was gone, replaced by red mist.
 Caffus sat on blood soaked grass, surrounded by carnage. Ishta was using a pict recorder to capture images of the battle ground. Ravion was searching for the book, the foul artifact responsible for the death and depravity that had occurred that night. The book that had killed Lug. The cold purple sun had gone out with the deaths of the daemons.
 While his companions worked, Caffus sat there cradling what was left of Lug. Caffus hadnât known the man long, but he knew that Lug deserved more than he got. Lug had accepted Caffus, been a friend to him.
 But Caffus mourned for more than a fallen friend. A part of him had died that night as well. Everything he thought he knew had been wrong. He thought that mankind was powerful, that men were the rulers of the galaxy, and that their enemies couldnât stand before them. But after tonight, he seriously doubted those views.
 Ravion sighed as he sat down next to Caffus. âFound the book.â He held up a small package wrapped in leather.
 âWhatâs going to happen to it?â
 âWeâre going to destroy it. Weâre going to make sure its evil never influences anyone, ever again.â Caffus nodded. They sat in silence a moment, watching Ishta finish her work. âI remember my first mission,â Ravion said. âA group of daemon worshippers was trying to open a warp portal and cause a warp incursion. If theyâd succeeded, the entire planet wouldâve been overrun by those things. By beings so powerful, the things we fought tonight would look like sickly dogs in comparison.
 Caffus stared at the stars. Heâd never seen anything like them before. Countless stars, and most of the had billions of humans living near them. And they were all in danger of falling prey to the carnage heâd seen tonight. He asked Ravion the question that had been bothering him since he first laid eyes on the debauchery heâd witnessed. âHow could they do that? How could they summon those⊠things? On purpose?â
 âThey fell astray,â Ravion replied. âThey succumbed to temptation. They werenât strong enough to resist.â After a pause, he continued. âThatâs why we do what we do. Because someone has to resist. Someone has to be strong. Someone has to stem the tide.â
 Caffus sighed, and stood. âI guess thatâs us.â Ravion smiled.
Some Random For Your Day
Rain is a rare event in southern Arizona, but I learned something. My windshield wipers have 3 speeds: 1 a little too slow, 2 a little too fast, 3 "warp speed ahead, Mr Sulu!"
writing is either
or
there is nothing in between.
WHY IS THIS SO TRUE.Â
If time is money, and money is the root of all evil, then wasting time is fighting evil.
I relate to this so much
by Owlturd
The Magicianâs Pen
"How was the festival, Rodney?"
"Wonderful!" I replied, kissing my mother on the cheek.
"Good. I trust you didn't stuff yourself with too much candy?"
"Well I don't think so, but Neville disagrees." I flopped down in one of the overstuffed chairs in the sitting room, and enjoyed the scent of the fire crackling in the fireplace.
"He often does, madam," sniffed the servant that always trailed behind me.
Mother just chuckled. "Did you bring home any treasures?" she asked.
Excitedly, I pulled the quill from my pocket. "I bought this from a Magician! It's enchanted to write on it's own. All you need to do is place it next to parchment and a full inkwell."
Mother smiled and glanced at Neville who rolled his eyes. "I tried to dissuade him, madam, but he was insistent."
"Oh, one can't deprive boys of their toys. Let's see if it works." Mother got up and went over to the writing desk. I was hot on her heels, eager to see the magical pen work. She placed a sheet of parchment on the desk, along with an inkwell. Then she turned to me. "What next?"
"We just put it next to them," I said, eagerly. I place the quill next to the parchment and held my breath. I felt lucky, being the duke's son: I could get an education much easier than the other children in the town, and I loved to read. And the prospect of reading something written by a magic pen was very exciting!
We waited several moments, but nothing happened. I hung my head. "As I said, young master," chided Neville, "just a gimmick to earn a few silvers."
"Now, Neville, you need'nt be so harsh." Mother patted my back. "Let's get you some custard, that will cheer you up." I nodded sullenly.
We were just turning to leave, when a faint scratching grabbed our attention. We turned to see the quill working it's way over the parchment, writing furiously. "I knew it," I exclaimed, "it works! I told you he was a real Magician!"
"It can't be." Neville shook his head, losing a measure of his composure.
We were about to read the parchment, when the faint sound of ringing bells stole our attention. "Now, what could that be?" wondered Mother. She crossed to the window and peeked out at the rapidly descending twilight. She gasped. "The fires on the town walls are lit! We're under attack!"
I barely heard her, for I was staring intently at the words the quill had written.
Raiders from an unknown nation attack this night. The Duke will die in defense of the town, and the Duchess will die of grief shortly thereafter. Duty will fall to the young lordling before his time.
Itâs a Small World
My head ducked and shoulders hunched against the rain, I walked down the street toward home. I'm not really sure why I hung out with Ted, especially that night. He was always dragging me places I didn't want to go, and I hadn't wanted to go to that stupid strip club.
Don't get me wrong, I like naked girls as much as the next guy. Hell, maybe more. But that doesn't mean I want to go to a public place to watch them gyrate.
But Ted always gets what he wants, somehow. I should take lessons.
And then, in the middle of the most embarrassing night of my life, the DJ announces "Serendipity." Imagine my surprise when I saw Karen Burteski, my high school crush, walk out onto the stage. Serendipity indeed!
And all I could think about, as I walked home in the rain, was whether I should laugh after all the times she spurned me, or try to rescue her.
Wells Fargo has high hopes for arts students
tumblr pictures â Facebook â Twitter â follow
[this funny picture via lolsnaps]
Am I the only one horrified by this? It's like: "Give up on your dream, and get a high paying job instead. It's too hard to make it in the arts, and you'd never be able to support a family." Screw you, I'll follow my dreams if I feel like it.
The Find
"So, this is the big dig everyone's been talking about."
I glared at Professor Hansen. "Of course it is! Carbon dating places the origin of this structure at about 3800 BC. We're waiting on more accurate tests, but this may well have been the earliest temple ever built!"
"This is no temple, it's just a hill. There's nothing special about."
"What do you mean? You can see," I said, pointing, " there, and there, where..."
I glanced over at Hansen, and saw that he was smirking. I'd heard that he was something of a prankster, but I thought he would at least respect this discovery. I sighed.
Hansen chuckled. "You've got a great find here, Dr. Martin. But why did you insist on bringing me here? I'm no archeologist."
"No, but your specialty is in ancient religions. I thought you could provide us with some insights."
"Fair enough. What have you learned from the outside of the temple? Any carvings or statues that may give any ideas about who the temple was dedicated to?"
"As you pointed out," I replied, "it's been eroded by thousands of years of rain and wind. Any carvings there may have been are long gone." As I spoke, we moved toward the base of the temple where grad students were working around the entrance. "We've moved some stones that Dr. Fielding thinks may have been statues at one time."
"You disagree?" Asked Hanson.
"I think they're too eroded to tell one way or another."
"Anything else interesting on the outside?"
"Yes," I grinned. "The entrance was sealed. We've been tunneling our way in for a week now."
"Sealed?" I saw a hint of excitement in Hanson's eyes. "Do you think there's something intact in there?"
"Maybe. It's obvious that the seal was put in place not long after the rest of the temple."
"That's a very significant find," exclaimed the professor.
By then we'd reached the entrance to the temple. The students had stopped working, and were watching us approach.
"Why is everyone standing around?" I demanded.
One of the students gestured to the entrance. "It's open," he said simply.
"We figured you and the professor should be the first ones inside," said another student.
It took all the self control I had not to sprint into the ruin at top speed. Instead, I picked up one of the kits I'd prepared and placed near the entrance in anticipation of going inside, and entered trying to look nonchalant. It didn't work very well.
I opened the kit and took out the flashlight and digital camera. I handed the flashlight to Hansen, who was just as excited as I was, and started taking pictures.
The interior was a long corridor, sloping slightly downward. At one point the corridor turned and looped back in the same direction. It did this several times, until I knew that we were deep underground. Finally, we found ourselves in a small room. The air was thin and stale, dust was everywhere, and inky blackness surrounded us. Professor Hansen discovered some interesting things with his flashlight, and I took pictures of them. Then the flashlight found its way to the very center of the room.
"Sweet Mother of..." Hansen's voice trailed off. My jaw was hanging wide open.
There, sitting on a pedestal in the very center of the room, perfectly preserved, was a small cardboard box easily recognizable as a McDonald's Happy Meal.
"What the f-"