Suyami - At and end of the year dance at your school, a government official who happened to show up brings along a mirror that it supposed to show you a glimpse of your future. You hesitate in doing it, but eventually are talked into standing in front of it. However, when you do, you nothing seems to happen. In fact, it doesn't seem to work anymore and you live your life. You fall in love with someone no one ever thought you would even get along with, and you two live very happy before he dies.

However, 13 years after your encounter with the mirror, and a few years after your love dies, you are thrust out of the mirror, only to find that none of it was real, and only 20 minutes have passed. You have your old body, but all of your memories. You figure out that you had gotten sucked in, and everything you had lived never happened, which means that your lover is alive, but hates you know, as he grew to love you. You know that no one will believe you if you said anything. What do you do? How do you feel? What do you plan to do?


Three things about that night she could still remember quite clearly. Her purple dress with sequins, the quarterback who had asked her to dance, and, of course, the mirror. Oh, the mirror. That was what had started it all. If she thought hard, she could still see it clearly in her mind. And suddenly, as though that one thought had held the key to the floodgates, the memories came pouring in...

"I don't know...." demurred the brunette politely, for the guy standing in front of her was the man she had been trying to avoid her whole life. "Please, Kylie," said her father softly, his black tux and matching polaroid sunglasses glinting ominously. "It's just a mirror, other people your age have already tried it! Wouldn't you like to know your future? It's not like the other times."

Kylie knew the whole spiel by now. It was the same thing her father told her every time the government came up with some new device. He would plead with her to try it, promising it wouldn't be like the others. The brunette knew what would happen next. She would protest, but in the end, it would be her who would succumb to the futile hopes of her father. It wasn't that she didn't love him, but how can you trust someone who left you when you were 4? The young woman still blamed herself for her father's failure, and always would.

"Fine, Dad." stated the young woman softly, hoping her uncaring father would see the unshed tears, the fact that her fuchsia dress was practically falling off her sunken frame. She hoped, but it was all in vain. With fragile fingers, she reached out to grasp the mirror, expecting the worse when she grabbed the handle. When Kylie gazed at the mirror, a frown appeared on her pretty face, marring her flawless features. Except for a long crack running down the middle of the mirror, it was quite ordinary. Ugh, zits. thought the girl, ineffectually rubbing a barely visible pimple. Other than a slight moment of disorientation, she felt nothing irregular.

"See Dad?" whispered the heart broken girl, tears gathering in her ice blue eyes. "They don't work. They never do..." sobbed the girl, inside, her heart tearing in two. With a forced sob, she tossed the cracked mirror at her father, and picking up her skirts, she ran.

The heels of her shoes made a noise so loud that it echoed through the halls of her almost empty school. Everyone else was in the gym, dancing their hearts out. Kylie, instead, ran to the bathroom, the one place she could be alone. The young woman crumpled into a heap on the cold linoleum, tears ruining the makeup she had spent hours on. For once, she had hoped that her father's wacky paraphernelia would actually work. But, like the others, it had simply just broken her heart more. With a heave, Kylie stood up, staggering over to the toilet. She wiped her fingers on her ruined dress, and with a practiced ease, shoved two of them up her throat. The young woman gagged even as she held her hair back, spewing her dinner and the treats from the dance. Kylie had a serious case of bolemia, and she felt that it helped her to purify herself of the sadness inside of her. Nobody else knew, and Kylie planned to keep it that way.

Later on, as Kylie walked back in the gym, she saw Nate, the guy with the wierd hair standing alone in the corner. He saw her looking, and walked over, hands in his pockets. "How boring is this?" he asked the distraught Kylie. "Very." said the young woman, breaking off the word. "You want to talk outside?" said Nate, a tiny gleam of hope in his aqua eyes. "Sure." whispered Kylie, meeting his eyes with her sad ones. "I need that."

That was how Kylie had gotten to know Nate, the boy who had tormented and bullied her since they were 5, and she had stuck a worm down his shirt. Three years later, they got married. They lived happily, and had two kids. Nobody had guessed that they would have fallen in love, it had seemed as if they had hated each other! But whenever asked about her relationship with Nate, Kylie would always reply, "Hate is closer to love than you think."

He had helped her with her bolemia, and she had helped him with his alcohol problem. They used each other as crutches, each one helping the other. This made it all the worse when Nate died of a rare blood disease.

Kylie remembered when his funeral was, when she had stood alone, in the bitterly cold snow of Wisconsin. No one had stood next to her as her frozen tears poured down her pale cheeks. The young woman had let the snow fall over her, even as she said goodbye to the only man in her life. Kylie did not count her supposed father as a man. The brunette had sprinkled dirt over his coffin, mixing with the snowy wind as it cascaded onto the unforgiving box. A single tear had escaped her frigid blue eyes, and had slowly moved down her cheek as she watched the machine lower her beloved six feet under.

That was two years ago today. Kylie's cheeks are tear streaked no more, and she stares stony faced at her late husband's grave. As the young woman reaches brittle fingers to touch it, the world goes hazy around the edges. Kylie watches in fear as the past 13 years of her life flash by, going back to where she stands, looking into a cracked mirror.

With a screech, she throws the mirror to the ground in horror, realizing that nothing was real. All those years, nothing! She still remembers. She will always remember. Kylie hears her father shout something, but her eyes are searching for anothers. They find them, and she runs to him.

Then, with a jolt, reality comes in. Nate and her, it never happened. Nothing was real. They were never married, never in love. Kylie's ice blue eyes widen, and roll up into her head. The last thing she hears is; "Isn't that Kylie, or something?"

She knows, it is Nate, even as she slips into darkness. A pale hand reaches for a tan one, and the young woman sighs as she finds it. A tear leaks through her closed eye, and a whisper seeps through her lips.

"My love...."

Yulan's Prompt - You are out camping in the desert, alone. About a day into your expedition, you stumble upon a rattlesnake. Startled, you jump back — and fall into a mysterious pillar of blue light. You fall for what seems to be an eternity, and then you hit the ground so hard, you pass out.

Upon waking, you see you've wound up in a strange jungle, not unlike the ones on earth. But..the sky is a strange hue of bluish gray, the trees are foreign, and the grass is somehow red.

Your realize that you have been transported here with only the clothes on your back, a compass, a pocketknife, and a box of matches. There is a large beast on the outskirts of the jungle, ready to devour you if you try to leave. Describe how you survive the first day and night. How do you feel? What do you do? What do you see? (But dont limit yourself to just that!)

Kailai's Prompt - Ever since you can remember, your step-father would slap your face — hard, and multiple times — every time he became angry. Often times, it wasn't anything you did that made him angry, but rather a slip of the tongue that pushed him over the edge.

Shortly after your nineteenth birthday, your step-father goes too far. He slaps you --hard, and repeatedly — in the face, with all his might, over a misunderstanding. You're in tears, bruised, and face swollen. What do you do? How do you feel? Make sure you don't just scratch the surface, but get deep into character. No speaking.

Again. I sat down hard on the floor. Funny, it hurt. My tail bone that is. It hurt, that kind of hurt that only hurts for a second, but the memory lingers. Time seemed to be slowing down. A smile gripped the edge of my right lip, but nothing came of it. A tear sprinkled down my cheek. It tickled, but I didn't feel it. At least not yet. Only registered away in memory. The cheek tingled too much. A slap, again. Again and again. How the days counted on. My eyes were closed next, squeezing back against the pain. How strange, my arms felt cold. It was hot in here just a few seconds ago. Only as it should be. The burning beneath the skin was beginning. It was familiar, not welcome, but definitely familiar. How it came, a terrible storm. Flames erupted along my jaw, tears exploded from my closed eyes. Eyes suddenly burst open, breath left my chest, and I knew something. Love can't be here. I felt cold and empty, a rain drop falling in a sea of despair. A man meant to be a father, where no father walks, ripped with his reaper, tearing a hole in my heart. I couldn't see anything around me, blackness was beginning to close in. I couldn't even see him. Memories danced in to fill the void in front of my face.

An igloo. It stood there, a plaything for the majestic. I jumped on-

It stopped. The memory was too hard, and a sob wracked my body. My eyes could start to see blurred visions. A blurred image of brown appears, and it snaps back into focus what happened. Flames reach down from my face to my heart, and I find anger. I rip my way backwards, scrambling to get away from the brown. My head collides with a post, and I fall over. It hurt so badly... How can I feel anything when the pain hurts so much?

Everything seemed to be speeding up around me.

I remembered the day I was first slapped. I was terrified. That is always the first emotion. The second one is always anger. After that it’s not about emotion anymore. It’s about thinking. Emotions are gone, and cold, hard thought comes in. A plan begins to form. Later, when the drinking stops and the snoring begins, a silent slit to the throat. So simple; so beautiful. A brave smile lights upon my defeated lips. O foreign father, this time it is real. This time emotion has come into my thoughts, and I know I shall do it. I don't care for any consequences, now only vengeance fills me. Enough is enough.

I am my own.

Yulan's RP Sample

She couldn't remember at which point she'd passed out.

Her first lucid thought was, has desert ground always been this firm?

Then, I’m still alive?... No way.

The cobwebs were clearing, but Stephanie still felt woozy, her bearings like those of a tourist just come off the cruise ship after spending two weeks at sea. She braced her elbow against the grass as she lifted herself into a reclining position, the other hand on her head. What’d happened? The last thing she recalled was absolute terror, endless falling, blue light so intense it’d forced her eyes shut and even then it had poured through her eyelids...

Wait. Grass?

Her eyes flew open.

Tropical foliage greeted her from every corner of her vision. Sprawling trees reaching for the sky, tangled nets fashioned by nature from vines, humongous leaves the size of her torso, and minus the strangely wine-colored grass beneath her, walls of green were just everywhere. She choked back the rising waves of panic that were threatening to overwhelm her sanity as she took in this impossible sight.

The desert. Oh god, where was the desert? Where were the oceans of sand, the shadows of faraway cacti? Where was her campsite?

Where the hell was she?

"...H-Hello? Is anyone there?"

Her desperate inquiry was swallowed by the thick overgrowth.

For a brief moment, Stephanie lost the battle against fear and let her body slump to the ground, her mind still struggling to process her surroundings as she stared into the iron-blue sky above, not really seeing. A thousand questions raced through her head, but not one of them paused long enough for her to study it and summon an answer. She shook, trembled with increasing violence as she tried to call back her wits.

The trip advertised in the brochure was a three-day expedition, and though her parents had been extremely reluctant to let her play around in the desert alone, they conceded that she was now a legal adult and deserved a chance to prove her trustworthiness. So, off she’d gone with happiness dancing in her stomach, armed with a tent, a sleeping bag, and a knapsack of essentials. With this rare firsthand experience in the harshest of climates under her belt, she’d be one step closer to her dream: making a career out of ecology.

Then she came across the rattlesnake. It’d only been day one of her trip, and already she messed up, not looking where she was stepping among the rocks... Its loud warning startled her into shrieking and jumping back—

—right into a pillar of blue light and a bottomless hole. She didn’t know how long she fell or if she ever landed, but apparently she had, because she was here. In a jungle. With red grass. No desert in sight.

Things had stopped making sense at the rattlesnake part.

Stephanie exhaled shakily and clapped her hands over her face, forcefully shoving her fear into the recesses of her mind. It was time to calm down now. Stop spazzing and calm down, she told herself sternly. There was a reasonable explanation for all of this, but as long as she was hyperventilating, she wouldn’t figure out what was going on. Within a couple of minutes, her breathing pattern had slowed to a relatively normal rhythm.

But even with rationality back in her possession, she was no closer to cracking the mystery of how she’d wound up in this sweltering plant pit. Seriously, how...? What...? Why...?

Impossible. Everything was just impossible. This had to be a dream. That was it, wasn’t it? She’d tripped after being scared by that rattlesnake and knocked herself silly. She was probably baking in the desert sun right now, unconscious but alright, dreaming about waking up in a foreign place like this. It was the only explanation.

She experimentally pinched herself. Ouch.

Maybe this wasn’t a dream after all.

Panic came bubbling back, nearly pushing a sob past her lips, but she held her ground against it. No, she had to stay calm.

Slowly, Stephanie turned over and eased herself into a half-kneel, half-crouch, swinging her wild-eyed gaze across the massive plant life in front of her, searching for… anything, really. Anything that might help her answer why she was here.

Through her peripheral vision, she noticed a few tools from her knapsack lying in the grass nearby, and immediately picked them up. A box of matches. The compass. And her pocketknife. Not much—where had the rest of her stuff gone?—but it was better than nothing.

Despite her current situation, Stephanie smiled as she turned the pocketknife over in her palm, relishing the feel of smooth wood and the thin slice of blade that peered over the edge of its cover. She ran the pad of her thumb across its surface, and somehow, it had a rejuvenating effect on her, erasing some of the terror that had nearly shaken her to pieces a few moments ago. This pocketknife was real. It was something to hold onto, something she could see and touch and confirm. Her body wasn’t the only thing that had dropped out of her world and landed in this one. Her pocketknife had come with her. In a way, she wasn’t alone in this alien place, and the thought was mercifully comforting.

Was she actually gaining hope? Pft. She was going crazy, that’s what.

Stephanie stuffed her items into the pockets of her cargo pants and stood, carefully testing each inch of herself for injuries. A few spots were sore, but nothing seemed to be broken, and as far as she could tell, she wasn’t bleeding from anywhere. Now, since she’d established that she was able to move, she’d better do just that. Move and find out what on earth was going on, and perhaps more importantly, where she was.

As an afterthought, she retrieved the knife from her pocket and flicked it open as she proceeded to fight through the natural nets blocking her way.

———

She quickly learned that she was ill-adapted to jungle weather. It didn’t take long for the heavily layered heat to burrow through her clothes and skin and take up residence inside her, weakening her steps to half-hearted trudging. Even worse, the sheer humidity ensured that the heat would only continue piling up inside her body even if she tried to chase it out. Sweat was evaporating almost as fast as she produced it, but her shirt was nonetheless soaked and she winced to feel how sticky her face was whenever she reached up to brush her hair away from her eyes.

How much time had passed? How far had she gotten? It must’ve been at least a couple hours since she’d woken up, but without a way to keep track of the time, Stephanie had to rely on pure estimation, and considering how fried her brain was, she probably couldn’t rely on that. So instead of wondering about it, she simply walked on.

Eventually, her legs became too much like stone for her to coax them to move, and she collapsed at the base of one of the giant twisted trees that were everywhere in this place. The grass was still blood red. The sky was still that crazy gray-blue color that simultaneously suggested imminent rainfall and an artist’s blank canvas. During her reluctant hike, she’d laid eyes on insects the size of her fingers and plants that seemed to have teeth. If she wasn’t so lost and exhausted, the ecologist in her might’ve appreciated the bizarre beauty all around her, but as it was, the only thing she could think about as she looked around was a morbidly literal metaphor for the jungle eating her alive.

Trying to distract herself from the sensation of sandpaper in her throat every time she swallowed, Stephanie fished out the compass and held it flat in her palm. Let’s see... If north was this way, and the sun was casting shadows in this direction... Then, assuming she was still on planet Earth (she chuckled wryly), it was afternoon.

God. It was afternoon.

The terrifying notion that she might actually be stuck here until nightfall was gradually dawning on her. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what she’d do if she had to camp out—

Fear snaked up from where it had been waiting in the pit of her stomach and slowly coiled around her heart. It squeezed, and she felt dread pound against her chest with each pulse. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

Spend the night here? How? She had no food, no water, no means of communication... Her supplies consisted of a box of matches and a pocketknife. And even if she woke up in one piece tomorrow, what would she do then? Start the cycle all over? Wander aimlessly through the damp brush while the heat slowly boiled her life away? How long would it go on?

Impossible. She wouldn’t make it.

This particular thought finally sent a spasm of weakness through her limbs; she could feel it in her legs even though she was sitting. They didn’t feel like stone anymore. Now they felt like jelly.

I could die.

Tears stung the corners of her eyes, and as always, she fought to hold them back and gripped fiercely onto her fleeing sanity. Onto hope. There was no way she’d let it end here, not in this strange jungle. She would get out of here before then. There was still plenty of time to escape, plenty of chances.

Pumping herself full of more courage than she really had, Stephanie pulled herself onto her feet and inhaled the thick air. Keep marching, girl, she ordered. Trees don’t go on forever.

But they did. The trees were all she saw. Everywhere she turned, more trees. Trees to her left, trees to her right. She looked up and found mostly canopy, just a few splotches of sky pushing through here and there. At her feet, a carpet of fallen leaves and broken branches. Behind her, the trees she’d gotten away from. In front of her, the trees she’d yet to defeat and which hid unknown danger.

In front of her, the trees she didn’t have the energy to struggle past.

Before long, she collapsed again. It was simply too much, this humidity; she wasn’t designed for this environment. Hot and dry were what she was used to in her southern California home. Hot and dry she could handle. But the damp heat of this place was too incredible, how it clung onto her very bones and dried her throat with fever, soaked her clothes into a second skin she didn’t need. She could barely lift her head.

Stephanie languidly wondered if she’d contracted some sort of exotic disease. Maybe one of those big bugs had stung her without her realizing it.

I need water.

Rolling over required more effort than it should’ve. Flat on her back now, she took in a few more deep breaths, inwardly cursing the near-tangibility of the suffocating air, and turned her attention to the trees. On some of them, she’d seen fruit dotting their branches, purple bulbs with stripes a rather alarming shade of electric blue. They were pretty high up, but the gnarled trunks of these trees provided natural footholds, and she’d always been pretty good at climbing. While she had been unable to find any sources of water thus far, if she could get a little fruit juice into her system, it might be enough.

But the question was, were these bright fruits safe to eat?

She’d almost hit the point of being too weak and thirsty to care. But admitting that was also admitting that the situation had gotten a lot worse, and that she refused to acknowledge. She wasn’t ready to give in yet; this was not a nightmare, just a bad dream. She could hold out a bit longer. No reason to worry about something as serious as survival.

However, the pessimistic little voice that everybody eventually discovered to be hiding in the back of their minds grabbed her by the ears and urged her to face the truth.

This was bad. This was becoming downright dangerous. At this rate...

Get a grip.

She scowled and shut her eyes, sucking in air through her teeth as she tried to ignore the disgusting feeling of sweat rolling down her body. She didn’t have to test whether the fruits were edible or not right now. She wasn’t that desperate. Not yet. It’d only been a few hours at most, and humans could live three days without water, right? And a couple months without food?

... But there was no need to be thinking like that, because she was not going to be stuck here that long. There was no way she was going to remain trapped here for that long.

Still, she could use a little nourishment right now—

What was that?

Stephanie bolted upright and tightened her grip on her pocketknife, frantically sweeping her eyes across the woven jungle around her. Just now, she was almost positive she’d heard something, and it hadn’t been a very encouraging something. It was a pop, no—more of a snapping noise, like a foot stepping—

There it was again.

Funny how swiftly strength returned when there was proper motivation. All discomfort oozed away from her senses as she sprang to her feet and backed herself against a tree, keeping her knife in a trembling but otherwise steady position in front of her. Her other hand sought the trunk for support, using it as a sort of pivot as she swung to and fro, nerves strung so painfully taut she was completely prepared to stab the first moving object to enter her sights, never mind that the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears interfered with her concentration. Speculations ran rampant through her head, each one crazier and more disconcerting than the last.

She had never been more scared in her entire life.

The seconds crawled by, each carving grooves into her already fragile mental state. Was it not enough that she’d been haphazardly flung into this foreign leafy hell to meet slow, uncertain death? What more trauma did she have to go through?

Unlike its predecessors, this question was unfortunately answered.

There was no further warning, just a heart-stopping crunch as something huge and furry and fast came barreling out of the bushes and directly at her. Stephanie took all of two seconds to gape in horrified awe at the rapidly approaching set of fangs and claws before she threw herself to the side and scampered for safety, not daring to look over her shoulder as she heard it collide with the tree. Panic had finally invaded in a single decisive moment. But this was no time to be rational. This was the time to fall back on pure instinct.

Beast. Danger. Flee.

She gasped for breath, not nearly able to get enough oxygen from the jungle air as she fought through the underbrush, only superficially aware that she’d miraculously maintained her grip on her pocketknife. But it made no difference now; her knife had been so comforting back then when she’d first woken up, but now, it was just a dinky toy. Useless. She kept running, screamed back at her screaming leg muscles not to stop working no matter what. But somewhere deep inside her mind where her sanity had taken refuge, she knew she wasn’t going to get away. She was too exhausted, operating on insufficient fuel. She’d break down soon, she knew it; every breath was like inhaling powdered glass. Within one of the next several seconds, she was going to choke, trip, and meet her doom. It was inevitable.

Her eyes were geared towards her front, but every other sense was focusing on what was behind her, and oh, how well aware she was of the distance her pursuer had gained. She could hear it tearing through the foliage, smell its hunger, taste its eager breath, feel its claws sinking into her back—

An unknown force suddenly wrenched her feet out from under her and sent her tumbling to the ground. But it didn’t end there. The earth sloped downwards, happily delivering the now screaming girl deeper into the jungle. The world flipped and reversed itself too quickly for her to count, knocking fresh bruises and scrapes onto her exposed skin as she rolled. She couldn’t stop herself, only tuck her elbows in and pray she didn’t split her head open on a rock once she landed.

The split-second sensation of falling, then...

With a thud, it was over.

She was in too much pain to believe. Every fiber of her being shook in protest against how hard she’d pushed it in her struggle to escape. It had almost been too much. Her legs were on fire. Her lungs refused to inflate now. She couldn’t feel her spine. Even the ends of her hair hurt.

But she was alive.

Wheezing, Stephanie turned over and fearfully looked up. Ten feet above, from the edge of the cliff from which she’d just fallen off, the beast surveyed her with what seemed like satisfaction, then retreated and quietly melted away into the jungle.

She let her head drop and broke down sobbing.

———

After reclaiming her wits, she dried her eyes and picked herself up to explore this new area, hoping to find some way back onto higher ground. Not that she wanted to square off against the beast again, but somehow, this place gave her the impression that she’d taken a step backwards and had actually gotten herself further into the jungle, not closer to its outskirts. She investigated a bit, looking for a spot where the cliff dropped down to her level and she might be able to grab hold of the edge, but as far as she could tell, the rocky wall continued straight for quite a while. She’d have to find another way back up; even if she was in her best condition, she sincerely doubted she’d be able to climb this thing without a harness.

Night came.

That pocketknife was truly a loyal friend. Magically, it’d stayed by her side all during that terrifying episode, even following her down the hill and off the cliff into the depression. She finally put it to good use and cut some vegetation to build a fire. At first, she was afraid her choice of firewood would be too damp to kindle, but fate granted her a reprieve, and she had her source of light ready by the time the sun slipped below the treeline.

But without something to distract her—looking for a natural incline to crawl back up or slicing branches—Stephanie’s awareness of her fatigue returned in full force. It knocked its fist on her head, whistled in her ear, reminded her of how thirsty and hungry and hot and tired she was. She didn’t need the fire for warmth, but just having something nearby that was moving and alive, figuratively speaking, helped wonders in keeping her calm. Heaven knows she needed to keep calm now that a whole day had officially passed and she was still here after all.

Watching the sparks play only did so much, however, and as she lay on her side, one arm tightly draped across her stomach, her fears from earlier slithered out of the flickering darkness and curled up beside her body to keep her occupied for the night.

No food, no water, no means of communication... It was time to discard foolish hope and properly analyze her choices. She needed to plan, to think. To survive. How and why she’d arrived here no longer mattered. All that was important was that she got out in one piece.

But the events of the day had been draining, so to speak. She was completely spent. She could barely hold her eyes open, much less make plans for tomorrow.

Wimp.

How did that saying go? 'You can sleep when you're dead'?

It was so easy for heroes in books and movies to spout off motivational one-liners. Difficult and complicated as life was, people needed encouragement to continue forward after a struggle, and if impromptu therapy with a loved one didn't work, at the very least they could turn to those inspirational, commercial fiction-derived quotes that were found in forum signatures all across the Internet. They trivialized failure by claiming that "there are worse things than death", so "never give up" because "all you have to lose is your life".

But therein lay the ugly, frightening truth of the matter. If she failed to get out of this place, she would die. Even if she'd only lose her life, it was still her goddamned life. Her life was the past she'd spent the last eighteen years constructing and the futures she was planning out, both near and far. It was her hopes and disappointments. Her memories of people, places, and events. Her feelings towards those people, places, and events, and even then her feelings weren't stagnant. They were changing all the time. Take now, for example. Under normal circumstances she hated her little snot of a kid brother, but completely alone out here in this utterly hostile jungle, not knowing if she'd live or die, she would gladly cut off her foot if she could just see him again and poke his dimples when he smiled.

She didn't want to die. If she did, she'd lose all her accomplishments, all her memories, every emotion that had ever swept through her heart, everything, and cease to exist. A corpse wasn't a person, nor was it an acceptable reminder of one. It was an object. An object that others referred to in past tense.

She really didn't want to die.

But at this rate...

Despair washed over her as she silently finished that sentence. Attempting vainly to stop from crying again, Stephanie turned her face into the dirt and shook, harshly berating herself. She’d already cried just a few hours ago. Once a day was enough. She was not that weak. But the first fit of sobbing had been out of relief for successfully escaping the beast. This fit of sobbing was out of miserable fear, for the tears she’d reigned in since the very beginning of this whole ordeal. Caught in her whimpers were the wishes she knew would not be fulfilled.

She wanted to go home. She wanted to see her family again. She wanted to make fun of her snot of a kid brother, then mess up his hair and promise that she’d only been joking. She wanted to drink water until she drowned, taste her parents’ fantastic cooking. She wanted to be in her own bed, in her own room, in her own safe house, in her own neighborhood where there were no ravenous beasts and plenty of air conditioning.

She wanted to attend college in the fall. She wanted to move out and experience independent adult life (granted, her folks were paying half her tuition). She wanted to meet her first boyfriend, have her first break-up, have her first make-up. She wanted to graduate and travel the world in the name of science, protect the environment, publish her findings. She wanted to be a wife, a mother. She wanted to get married, have two children and maybe a pet.

She wanted so many things, but she’d settle for going home first.

I just want to go home.

That dratted voice in her head scolded her amid her broken sobs. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ it demanded. ‘Are you really surrendering your dignity? Now? After everything you’ve already been through?’

But she didn’t care anymore. There was no one out here to see her. No one.

Eventually, Stephanie cried herself dry and wiped her face off, resuming her original position on her side as she stared forlornly at the fire. Alright, she’d gotten her fears into the open... Now that they weren’t haunting her subconscious, maybe she’d be able to make a few plans before she tried to sleep. Idly, she wondered how many more times she’d have to go through these annoying bursts of anguish and rational thought.

The smoke from the fire disappeared into the darkness, and watching it reminded her that if nothing else, she had the power of fire at her disposal. She could build a bigger fire tomorrow, a signal fire, and hopefully attract someone’s attention. Though she’d never heard of any jungle quite like this one and still didn’t know if she was even on planet Earth, it was a plan, and she’d run with it for now.

Then there was the matter of food and water. Safe consumption was still an issue, of course, but whether or not the fruit was safe to eat would soon become a moot point. If she allowed her strength to dwindle much more than it had already, it wouldn't matter if she poisoned herself or starved; either way, she was done for. So, that settled it. Tomorrow, she was getting some of that fruit and putting energy back into her system. She could better deal with that beast once she was fed.

Three days without water. One or two months without food. When had her life become a countdown of days and hours, a checklist of things to do to ensure that she didn’t die?

Since now. But it wasn’t surrender, she thought. No, this wasn’t surrender. This was just being practical. She’d always been a practical, reasonable person, and besides, wasn’t it the practical early human beings who’d kick-started civilization in the first place?

She felt somewhat better. Stephanie snuggled her face into her arm and closed her eyes.

She wouldn’t give up. Because it was her life she had to lose, she was going to make sure she got out of here and went home. Because her life was just getting started.

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First of all, Katara would like to apologize to all the RP-hopefuls about Katara and Karena's delayed action in this thread. The both of us have been feeling rather poorly as of late; Karena has also been working late night-shifts and has been tired lately. Now, onward.

Suyami - Karena and I talked long and hard about your sample. There were few grammatical errors, which was pleasing, and the length of the sample was more than satsifactory. However, she and I came to the conclusion that while your sample was good, it did not achieve what we had expected in terms of emotion. The story elements of the plot were there, but it felt very detatched from your character. Also, we requested in the beginning of this thread to not re-post your prompt. Please undergo one round of battle training or romance training, and you may try exemption again. Denied

Kailai - Another sample that Karena and I had to discuss quite thoroughly. We think that you have the makings of a good writer, but at this point we think you need to go through some more training. The sample you have posted is very short and choppy; a lot of your sentences could be combined to have the sample flow better. Also, there was hardly any emotion in your post. It was stated that you were hurt physically, and were 'terrified' and 'angry' but those were just words in the story — I saw no character evidence to support it. Please undergo one round of battle or romance training, then you may try exemptions again. Denied

Yulan - Karena and I were both very, very, very impressed — 24,000 + characters in your post! Not only was the length of your exemption wonderful, but the content was superb and excellently written. You covered all the aspects of the possible human emotions in that situation, and voiced them accordingly. Before you left, I had a taste of your posting capabilities, and if anything, I can definitely say you have improved. Welcome to the RP team. Approved

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Hiroshi - You have a wet paper bag over your head. Your hands are bound. Keeping in mind the stickiness of wet paper, write a sample describing how you get your head out of the bag. No controlling other characters, but be as creative as you want. Describe how you feel, what you're thinking, etc. Don't limit yourself to just that though! Go and post.

Nataru - You are on fire. Describe how you feel, what you're thinking, what you do. No godmoding other characters. Go and post.

Ikusa Yamato - Your favorite game console exploded in the middle of your favorite new game. Your save file isn't just corrupted — it's non-existent. What is your reaction? How do you feel? What do you do? Etc. Go and post.

Taiyou Atarashii - You found out that you are going to die in the next month. What is your reaction? How do you feel? What do you do? Etc. Go and post.

Haku - You are the celebrated head of your large family — everyone loves you. Except your own mother. She treats you like dirt, hates you with every fiber of her being. How does this make you feel? Please describe your feelings, surroundings, weather, etc. No godmoding, NO SPEAKING. Have fun!

Nezumi - You've accidentally killed the person you love the most. What is your reaction? How do you feel? What do you do? Etc. Delve deep into character, don't just scratch the surface. NO SPEAKING. Go and post.

ooc: I wasn't sure If I should put the event that happened to lead up to this, so I worked with what happened after.

One moment was all it took.

As time seemed to slow down, Nezumi began to regain control of his muscles. While staggering, Nezumi had dropped his head only to exposed to the results of his rage. His father lay sprawled on the floor, his once warm and loving eyes now empty and cold.

At first, it seemed like a nightmare; something that would end in a matter of milliseconds. But it didn’t end. It dragged on for minutes until Nezumi realized that this was no dream; it was reality. What he had done was more then a ploy his mind played out; no cruel prank to satisfy the anger he had suppressed, no. This was real; Nezumi had become what the nightmare made him. In a pool of his own blood, Nezumi’s father was motionless; a limp bird with its’ neck wrung. Nothing Nezumi had done in the past could compare with this tragedy.

Slipping the gathering pool of crimson warmth, Nezumi felt his knees shiver as the pin pricks of fear daggered his spine. His fingers went numb, and the scared young man struggled to keep balance. His fingers went cold and his face went pale, his pupils shrunk and his ears twitched as shock and sadness collided to reach the destination first. What ensued was a hybrid of both, an illegitimate child of sorts. The lids of his eye sockets flooded with tears as his teeth tightened as his voice shot out in an earsplitting roar to shake the foundations of the house itself.

Rivers of salty water dived from Nezumi’s chin and merged with the cooling blood of the killer’s father. Massaging his face roughly, Nezumi smoothed his shaved head with the wetness of his hands. However, tears met with an unlikely bedfellow; sweat. The possibility of being charged with murder had taken sorrow’s position and forced Nezumi to think. It was one thing to think under pressure, but this was a different game; it was a horror scenario.

Pacing back in forth, shaking uncontrollably and twitching at some points, Nezumi would grunt or even scream as tears escaped his control. Looking back to the corpse, Nezumi grew angry as his current mental state caused him to hallucinate. It seemed as if his father’s eyes followed him, and a low-pitched laugh escaped his lungs. Nezumi growled as his rage almost set himself back upon his father, but something held him back.

Nezumi, instead, collapsed on his dead father and clutched the corpse close as he freely cried out in agony. Moaning in pain, as his heart beat faster in sync with his tears, Nezumi held his father’s head close to his chest. As the corpse began to freeze, Nezumi stood up and wiped the tear-stains on his face. With a hobble, Nezumi closed his father’s eyes as he left the room. Taking one last look at the man that was once his father, Nezumi left the secluded house; leaving the area with a heart broken in many places and his mind mentally scarred with the image of his father’s bleeding face.

Grading

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Nezumi - Karena and I discussed your sample, and there are a few things that caught our eye. First is the promptness of your reply. We appreciate your enthusiasm, but the almost instant reply after I posted your prompt leads the two of us to question how much time you actually spent on the post, if you did it to the best of your ability.

Secondly, we noticed the over-abundance of your name in the story. It grows quite repetitive — Nezumi this, Nezumi that. I'm sure there are better ways of referencing your character than just "Nezumi", "he" and "his."

Lastly, I'd like to point out that part of your promt was to delve deep into character — not to just scratch the surface. Karena and I feel that you didn't do this very well; we didn't ..... get a good sense of who your chracter was, etc.

Overall, though we think that you are a better-than-average RP'er, we think you should go through training before we allow you to post on the RPG boards. Denied.

Arokoh's Prompt — You just got dumped by your long-time special someone via text message for your best friend. Describe your reaction, your feelings, everything — don't just scratch the surface. NO SPEAKING, NO GODMODING. Go.

Koorimika's Prompt — You've accidentally killed the person you love the most. What is your reaction? How do you feel? What do you do? Etc. Delve deep into character, don't just scratch the surface. NO SPEAKING. Go and post.

Zhi's Prompt — You are a sniper on active duty; one day, you overhear your commanding officer tell another officer that the war is a farce, that the fight is just a show of firepower. You realize then that you are on the wrong side. What do you do? How do you feel? Delve deep into character, don't just scratch the surface.

It was the tenth day of Sirus' deployment in the region, and still nothing of any significance had occurred. From what he'd read though, this boredom was a welcome change from what anyone in his position had been assigned in the past. Until recently, snipers were seen and used as little more than government-funded assassins with draft cards. Now, the elite marksmen were finally being used in supporting roles, rather than being sent out to crawl through the bush and take shots at high-value targets behind enemy lines.

Then again, it did have its drawbacks. The main drawback managed to blow right back in his face, literally: there was no need for camoflage anymore. The only thing necessary in the increasingly urban scene of warfare was cover and a good vantage point. Well, and a spotter, though with the lack of activity in Sirus' sector; he hadn't really needed his terribly badly. Obviously, the man's presence was a welcome insurance that he wouldn't be shot in the arse anytime soon, though he was beginning to wonder if that particular event might be a welcome relief from the doldrums.

Slow days like this did grant him one thing however, and that was time to think; though he was wary to avoid falling too deep into thought, as technically he was supposed to be keeping a watchful eye over the infantry moving about below. A quick check with a landmark he'd taken note of earlier told him that they were approximately 382 meters away, as the rusted old street lamp just forward of the column was jotted down on the small notepad as being 383.8 meters from Sirus' position. He glassed over the area to be sure there were still no threats, and only once he was finished did he allow himself to try and make sense of what he'd heard his CO mentioning earlier that morning.

Apparently, at least as far as his commanding officer and the former's staff were concerned, the war was nothing but a display of firepower. Which raised a few moral dilemmas that Sirus felt he needed to solve as soon as possible so he could return all his attention to his duty where it belonged.

It was a bit more complicated for men in Sirus' position to cope with than the average foot soldier, since for him the war was essentially in his face. The grunts down below, if they ever did get into a shootout, were usually no closer than maybe twenty or thirty yards. All they saw were bad guys shooting at them, and it was their job to shoot back. For Sirus however, he saw each target individually and up-close, thanks to the nice scope on the rifle that Uncle Sam had generously provided; albeit, only after several days of prolonged hell-raising on Sirus' part. Through that scope, he could see every target as if he were standing right next to them. He could see the wrinkles on their forehead, the look in their eyes before he pulled the trigger and removed them from this world with a single bit of metal that they would never hear coming, though what bothered him the most was that he could pick out every possible physical feature.

And then realize that he was shooting another human being. Someone who probably had a family just like he did, someone who had likely never wanted to get involved in the bloody business of warfare, and someone who might have otherwise enjoyed a full and satisfying life. Yet it was Sirus' duty to ensure that each target's family would get a knock on the door from some government official with a significant lack of empathy, and then have to explain to their children why their father wasn't coming home.

And now, he had to cope with those same thoughts with the added guilt from his CO's statement no more than a few hours ago. That the war was being fought only as a means of showing off military strength. Like any good soldier, or more appropriately, like any good soldier who wished to remain sane and among the living, Sirus quickly went about rationalizing the situation.

For one, it could very well just be the man's opinion, rather than fact. Well, lord knows the bastard tries passing off all his other opinions as facts...

That thought alone helped, and he could feel a bit of the weight being lifted from his conscience. Still, he wasn't done yet; even the slightest bit of guilt could cause him to hesitate at a crucial moment; a hesitation that could mean one of his brethren would be sent home via airmail in a one-size-fits-all black canvas bag; and it would be entirely his fault. Which brought him to his next rationalization...

Whether this thing's legit or not doesn't matter. Fact is, I'm here to keep the men down there alive, so they can do their job. I signed on and agreed to serve my country and do as I was ordered, and right now my only orders are to make sure nobody tries taking potshots at the jarheads** down there while they do their job.

It was that tactic that Sirus found worked the best, after all it was the truth. When everything was said and done, no matter what the reason for the war, his duty was simple: make sure that as many of his comrades down below as possible get to go home and return to their families. These were the men that he saw on a daily basis, ate with, chatted with (off-duty of course), and when the brass wasn't paying attention; screwed around with. They were his friends, and for all intents and purposes they were his family.

How'd that old saying go? "Blood is thicker than water?" Somethin' like that...

Frankly, even if the war was being fought for all the wrong reasons, in the end he was ensuring that nobody killed his brothers in arms. The six poor souls he'd put a bullet to over the past few days were there for the same reason, and there was no doubt in his mind that each and every one of them was fighting for the same reason. They had loved ones they were fighting to protect too, and if push came to shove, Sirus told himself that they'd shoot him without hesitation as well.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a color change in his scope; there was a shadow where a shadow hadn't been before.

And this particular shadow looked an awful lot like the sort cast by a human being.

His spotter had noticed it too, and was softly whispering all the data Sirus needed to take into account before taking a shot, that is, if he needed to take one at all. As it turned out, he'd be needing that information, as the person casting the shadow slowly came into view. The marines below hadn't spotted him yet, they were busy playing what could only be described as a high-stress version of the game "Telephone." The odds of the metal object he was carrying being anything other than a Soviet-made RPG-7 were slim to none as well, and once Sirus saw the man flip up the sights, he knew the chances of this being anything other than a civilian were now officially nil.

...well, for better or worse, time to go to work. Better him than my brethren, not to mention the civvies that'd get taken out as well...

With that final thought, Sirus squeezed the trigger, and felt the familiar kick of the rifle on his shoulder. His shot was true to the mark, the wind giving it an ever-so-slight shift eastward, just enough to put the round right on target to enter the man's skull just above and to the left of his right eye, and to put a coat of red paint on the ground behind him. The shot killed the man instantly, and only once Sirus confirmed that the target was down did he mentally tally the kill and go back to searching for any more threats to his brethren below...


[Glossary / Footnotes]

* "glass over" : a quick, visual search of an area through a scope or binoculars; the 'glass' portion derived from the fact that both instruments involve looking through glass at some stage or another.

** "jarhead" : slang term for a Marine.

Zhi - Good post! I'm glad to see you back on the site. The writing is superb (not that I expected anything else). The length is good, and the description was phenomenal. Welcome to the role play team! Profile up, no? When you get that done, go 'head and RP to your heart's content.


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Sora's Prompt: After months and months of being sick, you finally drag your butt to the doctor. Unfortunately, you have no insurance, no job, no money — and no one willing to help pay for your hospital visit. What do you do? How do you feel? Don't limit yourself to just that, but make sure to delve deep into character. NO GODMODING, and DO NOT repost your prompt.

Kyoko Ruriomo.

The daunting aura thwarted the once exultant laughter, the marvelous smiles, and exceptional spectacle that used to be proclaimed paradise. A dreadful silence conquered all rays of bliss with ebony shadows. Thunderous clouds shrieked in dismay, and ferociously crowded the beautiful sun. It's radiance sluggishly dissolved giving no more sparks of jubilance, for even the heavens began to mourn of the unfortunate innocent.

Up roaring thunder clashed and fought against the dazzling flashes of dancing bolts. The lightning slapped every place after following ever outburst. Together, the couple danced in their ultimate power and laughed unkindly at the shallow screams of the wind. No matter how hard it whirled about, it's strength never met the standards of the storm champions. It hissed and spat with this one-sided war and tossed a tantrum at the pitiful subjects that forever paced the earth. It whipped the leaves off the unknowing branches and commanded the small petals to join the lugubrious ritual. Everything twisted and smoothly moved with the upbeat of the random blasts while standing tall under the spotlight of burning electricity. Though the forces were powerful, they yielded to only one single element that was as merciful as any mother to her child.

Twinkling beads of tears emerged out of the black abyss and carefully carved their way through the sky. Their destinations were unknown, but a few splashed freely upon someone's faint skin. The beige surface had already subsided to the running wine that drained easily out of the small veins. It's bittersweet hue spiraled and accumulated the crystal liquid which transformed it's glow to a settle rose. All the substances peacefully streamed over the motionless frame and crawled around to find anything that didn't have a smooth surface. Both blood and rain found the tattered drapery draped over the figure and slowly began to stain the fabric and give it a horrific smell. The final pints of blood began to dematerialize just as the being's ultimate breath dissipated into the atmosphere. The loved child was no more.

Kyoko Ruriomo was gone.

The vivid memory slashed through her thoughts. It feasted upon the very systems of her own imagination. It's roots wavered away from fantasy and snapped in alignment of reality. During those very seconds, this flashback nipped at the tremendous muscles with intentions to break them down to the point of disablement. NO amount of strength no determination could resolve the matter even if given the ability of change. The past was previously written minutes before this lack of physique. How could any convert the tragedy to the wishes of a pleasant afternoon with mere foolery? Could even a god raise their mighty fists and take charge in order to resolve this situation?

The murderer's eyes shut violently together in pure agony as the scene quickly began to rewind and slowly replay the incident. Every clip holding every startling image brought more unbelievable torment. Her throbbing heart pounded against her chest in a vain struggle to revive the defective tendons and bring forth activity. Breathing ceased as the lungs shriveled up while the final bits of oxygen breezed over the parched lips. Shameful hands quivered as the weapon gracefully melted between the girl's fingers and gradually peppered the ground underneath the shows of rain. The slayer had unmistakably shut down since all her systems failed in every place. Why did it happen this way?

The very first of teal blossoms were launched as the lids swept open to reveal the crystal orbs. The sheer white began to bruise to pink and red as the tears stepped to the brim. It's producing amount flooded over and crept over the sickly skin. The cheeks hastened the briskness of the solution until it reached the edge of the endless cliff. The more the liquid fell, the more the burdensome load enhanced until it's weight surpassed the restraints. There the tears cascaded into the open space and in suit of the rest, had splattered into the fresh mud.

The radiant visions of thrilling history was sliced through with the dagger of the present. The wonderful times of resting in the waves of the glorious sea only to gaze into each others eyes were hacked away. Pleasurable amusement of the classic games of tag and hide-and-go-seek with the results of giggles and grins shredded into pieces of nothingness. It even slashed the day the two expressed their affection for on another. The love could never be explained for it was their own delightful secret. No one could fathom the very concept of it. None but the two lovers, but this too had been divided.

Juliet had slain her own Romeo with her own dagger.

Knees buckled in and fell beneath the child as her body could no longer withhold the woefulness. The misery forcefully slammed her figure into the swirling mud. It's clumps snagged her clothing, held her crystal strands of hair into sticky bundles, and smeared itself across her pure skin. The opposing elements brutally slapped her with no forgiveness, no grace, no love.

Crimson optics pried open to stare at her dearest, her crush, her angel. The everlasting handsomeness never fled her mind even as his bleached surface wrinkled up in the wet environment. Earlier times deflected the current image with a replacement of the old Kyoko. The shut, lost eyes vanished and became glorious hazel orbs. Their color blazed brightly with his mighty tan and his amber locks that always swung freely through the wind. Not once did the mixture of water and dirt change the powerful memories. Not once.

A rugged hand slowly swept through the open space between them. It was only inches away from the past, loving, and life. Fingernails seemingly drew back as her true flesh stroked his used-to-be blushing right cheek. Smooth to the touch, the girl would never forget. Lacking strength, the feeling fled as faintness captured all movement. It was then did her hand fall by his head and not move as the dreadful afternoon wore on.

Young Juliet later that day would refuse to leave the boy's side. At that time, she will take all punishment for his death and be willing to sacrifice her own life to see him fly joyfully into heaven. That day is a time she will always keep in her heart, and make it her mission to follow him into his better place and hope to be forgiven. Always Koorimika will hope to be by dear Kyoko Ruriomo.

The lights shone unevenly from the plastered ceiling. The tiles looked as though they would crumple and fall at any moment, small pieces of fragments dangling and swaying from the light breeze of the air conditioner. The hospital lobby could be compared to that of the Sahara Desert. The florescent lighting came down in a hazy, sandy glow, while the air that poured in through the open doors created a blistering heat wave through out the center. All though it was night, the blacktop parking lots were boiling, the smell of hot tar filing in through the open windows.

Suri laid her cheek against the cool plastic of one of the hospital chairs. Sweat beaded at the top of her hairline and fell slowly down her cheeks and forehead. Suri looked to the pegs on the wall, which would eventually hang coats when winter came to pass. For now, it was home to several surgeon and lab coats. Two of them stood out in particular. One was a crisp mint green, with a few wrinkles up the sleeves, while the other was a dirty off white, several specks of blood trailing down the side. Suri watched in wonder, enjoying the site of the bodiless coats hanging together in peace. Two soulless silhouettes who owed nothing to the world except the duty of being worn by wealthy professionals.

She liked the way her jeans felt around her body, as she curled her arms up to grasp her knees. The constriction and elastic denim held her body intact, her bones and skin, heart and lungs. Her eyes were heavy in their sockets, as her body ached for sleep. She could feel the weight of weariness fall over her like a steady stream of water. Giving into the sweet temptations, She fell into a clouded sleep filled with fragments of hollow dreams and nightmares.

A long corridor led to a room at the end of the hall. It was the only room, so the wanderer had no choice but to turn around or to take a left into that room. Suri knew it belonged to her brother. It was his studio, his art studio. In this room held wonders of the world. From the ceiling hung swirls of sculpted glass, elongated tubes holding colors of light purples and deep reds. When the sun would creep through the window at a certain angle, the glass would illuminate, catch fire, and cast the colors about the wall, like the sun breaking through the coral infected, Caribbean shore. The northern lights captured in the hands of a mortal artist. A variety of earth colored pots littered the shelves, stacked bowls and cups crowding the wall. Suri loved this all, but her favorite were the horses. They stood majestically in the center, huge, galloping beasts caught in their last moments. She could have sworn that each time she entered her brother’s studio, their expression had changed, as if, in the middle of the deep night they had broken from their clay prisons and galloped into the moonlight, only to return by dawn’s first light—

Her head was aching severely, as though a tyrant of thunderstorms had just invaded her mind. Sleep quickly left Suri, as she opened her eyes and rolled over miserably. Standing up felt more painful than anything that could cross her mind, as Suri stood up and walked to the bathroom.

The bathroom was empty except for herself and a nurse. The face of the nurse looked miserable. Suri could tell she was in the ER because of the black circles which covered her eyes. She probably hadn’t slept through the night. Her skin was very pale, and she looked as though she would collapse at any moment. The red lipstick, which acted as a cover for her weariness, reminded Suri of the red roses her mother used to buy every Sunday morning to brighten the dreary rooms of the their small apartment. Suri digressed from her rude staring and began to casually wash her hands as the nurse exited. Suri took the cold water to her face and sighed. Small bits of soap found its way into Suri’s eyes. Her hands were immediately rubbing vigorously at her face.

“Ouch!” She whispered painfully, as her eyes began to water. She took continuous water to her face until the soap was completely washed away. But the soap didn’t seem to be the culprit of Suri’s tears. She took her hands to her face once more, empty and soaking, and sobbed violently into her own body. Her chest and abdomen vibrated from hysteria as she suffered quietly to herself, months of tears built up and finally broken. She held herself because she had only herself to hold. Suri was entirely exhausted. Not the exhausted one would feel after a long day at the office, or after an intense game of some sort of sport, but the exhaustion of living. The exhaustion of forcing herself to breathe, wake up, and participate in the normal rituals of the day, one that tore at the very muscles and tendons of her body, at the threads that stitched together the tiny fragments of her life.

She wasn’t sure why she dreamt of the studio. She looked up at her own face after smoothing out the red lines on her face, after standing up straight and clearing the evidence of a break down. She remembered how this dream ended, because it wasn’t a dream at all. It was a memory, a common one, one that was far too often reiterated over and over. She once came upon her brother on a cold Monday morning. The sun hadn’t risen; the colors had yet to ignite. She had come to see his latest work, his master piece he spoke about frequently. The sight in which she came upon didn’t cast it’s usual spell of enchantment. Suri stood horrified as she pushed the door opened gently.

There were horses everywhere. They were barbaric, they were mutilated. Pieces of the galloping beasts lay about the floor. Disfigured horse heads littered the ground, some sporting no eyes or mouths, while others had half their mane or head completely missing. Deranged pieces of the lower abdomen sat brutally on the carpet next to portions of legs and flanks. Looking closely, Suri could see the patterns of her brother’s finger prints, marks of his hands still remaining on these mutilated beasts, captured in the fired clay forever. The beauty of the room disappeared.

The lights did not rise in his studio that morning. He was taken away, he was sick, like everyone that shared Suri’s blood.

These were the memories that chose to follow Suri wherever she wandered, no matter her effort to escape them. These memories served as her constant reminder of having nothing, no family, no home, no life, nothing. Her dreams were filled with these images of horses, battered, returning from war, or just motionless clay figures burning in the sunrise. Suri returned to her corner of chairs and collapsed. The exhaustion that relentlessly bit into her heels would take over her body once more. She was satisfied letting it do so; all she wanted was to sleep forever. Dreams were a place where only shards of reality existed, it was a place where nothing was expected to make sense.

Hyperventilating. Not severely, but she could feel it coming. Her breath was short; her chest was liquid iron, as though it would melt to the ground and burn. Comprehension was suddenly out of the question. She slapped herself. Ouch, no, she was awake. The conversation she had just had was reality, cold and brutal, unforgiving reality. What had the doctor just said, only moment ago, what had he said? How did she get from sleeping across two chairs in the entrance lobby to standing in a white waiting room? Suri was suddenly paranoid. She was frantic, beyond control or recovering. She wanted to let screams escape her body, she wanted to set the room on fire with her violent...her violent what? What was it? What emotion could honestly justify her wordless feelings? Everything was just so completely hollow and impossible. It was horrifying to her, to be missing segments of her life, to have gone from point A to point B without any prior knowledge of what she had been doing, or how, or why. She remembered looking to the face of the young doctor, his bronze complexion, his supple blue eyes. But god, his words? His lab coat, his clipboard of notes, the way his expression went from brilliant to disquieted as he brought her news. The room spun, colors blended together like that of a 3 year old’s finger painting.

And it was happening…the hyperventilating, the horses, the words of the doctor coming up like a fatal explosion…

Dying, I’m dying...

Koormika - Let me say first off that your writing style is very good, and the post was well written. However, I'm going to have to turn it down because Katara and I both felt that it was slightly confusing and misleading. We weren't quite sure what you meant, or the relevance to the prompt. Sorry. DENIED.

Sora - Also, your post was well written, and your writing style was good, but we felt the first part was out of place, and didn't make sense with the prompt. Your post was a bit confusing and misleading in that context. DENIED.

Both of you need to do either do one round of the Battle Training and try again, or do one of the classes in the RPU or the Romance Training.

Nanami -[/b] Your parents have just announced to you that you are moving - to another country! You don't speak the language of that country at all, nor do you know anyone. There's nothing you can do to change their minds. How do you feel? What do you do?

Deng Bao Li - You like something rather controversial, and not many understand why. How do you feel? What do you do?

Remember to dig deep into your character's heads, or you will not pass.

The screen turns on, a video of a young girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, in a small, sparsely furnished bedroom, showing. Upon pressing play, the girl's hands start moving, her face showing frustration as she signs the reason for that frustration in American Sign Language. "Nobody wants me anymore. All my friends at the last NAD meeting toldme not to wear it, but my parents won't let me leave without it. I want to please my parents, but I don't want to wear a cochlear implant."

Her hand shot up for a second, grabbing at something on her ear and pulling it off jerkily, angry at it. "There it goes again. That machine won't stop whistling at me." On the screen, she dangles a small tan-colored electronic thing from her hand, then throws it across the room. "It's like being next to a train all the time. I don't understand how my mom and dad think this will help. Of course they have been against me being Deaf for as long as I remember. I never had the experience of a Deaf school and until I was ten, I thought I was the only Deaf person on the earth. As it is now, I have to sneak out of the house to go see my friends, and need to go to a church to learn Sign Language. Finally I have the ability to communicate with someone. I finally have the ability to understand what is being said and my parents rip it away from me."

The young girl wipes tears from her eyes, but can do little to stop the floodgates from bursting loose and for a few minutes she just sits and cries, the camera still recording. When she regains her composure, she turns back to the camera. "I know they think this is good for me. They don't know what is good for me. How can they know. They are only hearing people. They have never experienced the things I have. I am failing in school because I can't understand. I have been labeled mentally retarded by the school I go to. They never had to do that. My dad is a well-known doctor, my mom heads the chemistry department at Vistakon. How can they know that I am not broken. They see me as a controversy that must be solved. I am no controversy. I am a person. I live, breathe, think and feel. I desire friendship and knowledge and all the things a normal person wants. I have been told that I can't even go see my boyfriend." She narrowly avoids another emotional outburst. "I feel like I am split between two worlds. I want my parents to be happy, but I can't do that without leaving my friends; I want to be happy, but I can't do that without angering my parents. I wish I knew what to do. I like my Deafness, but my parents don't. What do I do about this?"

The young girl was about to continue when the door in the back of the room opened, and a man in about his mid-30s stepped through. He looked angrily at the camera, walking across the room and grabbing it, the screen going black for a second, before it started spinning, and shut off showing the image of a 15 year old girl cowering, tears flowing freely, before a man who was shouting at her, belt in hand, and a single, angry red mark on her hands.

Deng Bao Li - Katara and I have discussed your sample. We think you went about it in a unique way, but in the end, it feels void of emotion. You need to dig deeper into your character heads when you write. So, I'm afraid your sample is being DENIED. Either do one round of the Battle Training and try again, or do the Romance Training or one of the classes in the RP University.

Shun's prompt - Quite a few years back, you had a lover. You two were from different sides of the track, so to speak, and yet you both were drawn to each other for some unexplainable reason. You could never tell your friends, nor could your lover tell their friends. You two broke up over a great difference of opinion, and went down two very different paths. Now, many, many years later, you two meet up again, and you find that you are still attacted to your ex-lover. How do you feel? What do you do? Delve deep into your characters thought, and remember, no controlling other characters. Keep it strictly on what on what you do and what you think.Do not say what your ex-lover is saying or doing. Just what you are doing, saying, and thinking, and I repeat to delve deep into your characters thoughts.

Shun's prompt - Quite a few years back, you had a lover. You two were from different sides of the track, so to speak, and yet you both were drawn to each other for some unexplainable reason. You could never tell your friends, nor could your lover tell their friends. You two broke up over a great difference of opinion, and went down two very different paths. Now, many, many years later, you two meet up again, and you find that you are still attacted to your ex-lover. How do you feel? What do you do? Delve deep into your characters thought, and remember, no controlling other characters. Keep it strictly on what on what you do and what you think.Do not say what your ex-lover is saying or doing. Just what you are doing, saying, and thinking, and I repeat to delve deep into your characters thoughts.


It was too crazy to believe at first. He had never thought he would see her face again, after that day. That day she had walked away, never looking back, and he to had walked away. It was crazy that they should meet again, now, after all these years. His mind just went blank. He had no idea what to say. Crazy

That day, the day she had left and never come back. It was true, at that time; he had not wanted her to come back. He had been angry, full of anger and hate. For a moment, he thought he felt it again, but no. It was over come by the amazement of seeing her again and....maybe something else. Something else seemed to stir in him, something very small, at first. As he stood there, his mind finally began to clear. He began to think normally again. He realized he had many questions to ask her, about her life, after they had broke up. Did she have many questions also?

"Uh, hey, long time no see huh?" He finally spoke. His mind had cleared, but, that was all he could say. He still had many things to say. As he looked at her, he felt that feeling again, that very small feeling, but it seemed to grow as he looked at her, as he thought of there time together. With a shock, he realized he still had feelings for her. No, was that possible? After all these years, he had almost never thought of her. Never thought to look her up, but here they were now, and there were these thoughts, these feelings.

Again his mind buzzed. Could she also feel this way, or was she in no way glad to see him? Did she still hate him? What if she did? Would he be able to live after this day without thinking about her after? What if he were to walk away and never see her again? This day could change the rest of his life. Maybe she was glad to see him, maybe she still had feelings for him, deep inside. Maybe they could work things out and be together again. His whole life could change, because of one fateful meeting. Because of one hour out of his whole life. Things could change, just like that.

He couldn’t believe it. He had so many questions left unanswered. So many thoughts, left unspoken. The only way for things to work out, was to talk. To explore and discover. He smiled at her. “So, do you want to go and get a drink or something? Catch up on old times?” This could be it. The turning point. It was amazing how such a small thing could change so much. Crazy.

OOC: I know its not the longest post in the world, so sorry about that.