I recently had my 29th birthday (on June 7th). To celebrate, my wife and I finally decided to ‘get with it’ and purchase a Playstation 4 video game system. I bought some games for it too, but I’ve only really been playing “Until Dawn.”
Here’s a trailer for it, in case you’ve never heard of the game.
My wife and little cousin have been playing “Minecraft” almost nonstop, as well, so the console is getting a lot of good use.
Anyway, “Until Dawn” has gotten me into the folklore of the Wendigo. They are creatures (either monsters or evil spirits) from Algonquian lore. Themes of starvation run rampant in the myths, as well as cannibalism. I knew about the legends prior to playing the game, but now I’m really interested in them. How horrible would it be to be so starved that you eat your best friend and turn into a terrible monster with an insatiable appetite?
I’m so inspired that I think I will revisit one of my plots from high school and college. Zombies, vampires, incubi, penanggalan, werewolves, wendigo…Sounds like a good Friday night, right?
In other news, my wife and I will be moving come July. I might not have internet for a while, at least, until we are able to find a provider that isn’t expensive. A few days or even weeks without the internet certainly won’t kill me. I might even be able to get some serious writing done! It will be harder on my wife, however. We both have social anxiety like crazy, but I know it is much harder on her. The only real social interaction she has is online, where she feels more comfortable.
(Plus I want to play Overwatch and Final Fantasy XIV online like crazy, so yeah.)
Writing prompt from here.
Writing prompt #6: After falling asleep during history class, a teen wakes up to find his school and town apparently abandoned, for what looks like years.
He was dreaming of the normal things a young man dreams of; of lovely women to fall in love with and adventures with cars. He also dreamed of sweets and coffee; of his sister who was long since dead, and of his mother in happier times. It all left him, though, with a snort.
It was his own snoring that had awakened him, pulling him from the inky ocean of dreams. Blinking, Zachary looked around the empty classroom, and, for a moment, he was stuck between the land of slumber and reality. That was why, he supposed, it made perfect sense that there was dust everywhere, on every surface. Cobwebs the size of beach balls hung in the corners. Blinking again, he slowly realized that something was very, very wrong.
I had honestly forgotten how much I adore Neil Gaiman’s writing. “Stardust” brought me back to his world, his imagination, which is vast and breath-taking.
“Stardust” is the story of a plain young man named Tristan, who came from the village of Wall. This village is a sort of way-point between our world and the world of the Fair Folk and of magic. He promised a girl by the name of Victoria a fallen star. He leaves his safe, boring home to find the star for her, for he wishes to marry her and impress her.
The only problem is that the star is a woman.
Gaiman’s writing is extremely beautiful and at times witty; I soaked it up like a sponge.
I wrote this way back in 2013. I think it shows its age, honestly.
Sampson-Tall University had been built in the late eighteen hundreds. With such age came stories, of course. Tales of deaths and hauntings, of moaning in the girl’s dormitories and hangings in the science building. The crumbling walls of the University’s buildings held many tales, but Theodore Noll was not one to give into superstitions. Of course he had heard of the actual occurrences that had led to many of the ghost stories; as the vice president of the History Club, he was in charge of digging up tasty bits of past happenings around the university and the surrounding town.
The other students mostly liked to investigate and hear about the most gruesome of university history, so he often supplied then with the facts; newspaper clippings, old hall notices, and anything else he could get his hands on from the university library or the town library. Theodore was well known in both, and had reserved seating in front of the records books on Mondays and Wednesdays from five in the evening until the libraries closed at nine, although he had been trusted with a key to the university library and often remained until midnight or later, pouring over old documents to keep the other History Club members happy.
I don’t remember writing this. It was a file on my computer. I know I wrote it, but I just don’t remember when, or why I stopped.
The sand was soft beneath her, warmed by the midday sun. She stretched out, arms above her head, and sighed deeply into the cooling breeze. Sea foam bubbled up against her scales, her fins. Calling to her. Return, return, return. The ocean today sounded like her sister. Perhaps it was; Celea was good at using the waves to speak with others.
Here, on the warm earth, however, she felt alive. The cold ocean was her home. It would always be her home—there were no magic potions or sea witches that could split her tail into legs, as some humans believed—but for a moment, just a moment, she wanted to live in the open air.
I really love how this blog has turned into a dumping ground for all of my unfinished works.
…that was sarcasm.
June remained awake, watching the shadows pass above her on her bedroom ceiling. Occasionally, a car would pass by her window, its headlights driving the shadows to the furthest recesses of her room. The darkness would return quickly, roaming from place to place in front of her forest green eyes. Only the faint glow of her alarm clock on the stand beside her bed offered any color—a toxic red, flashing the numbers as time ticked by.
Another sleepless night. She silently added one to her ongoing count. What was it now, twelve? Something in the back of her mind told her that there was an urban myth—she was hesitant to call it truth, for she had yet to ask her doctor about it—that warned after three days or so without sleep, the brain began to drive itself insane. A mind came undone after that long without sleep. Now she was working on twelve sleepless nights without so much as an hour serving as a nap.