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| Xeogaming Forums - - Posts by Cairoi |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard.         Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days |
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| The warm rays of daylight were already beginning to fade as Benjamin Lambert drove down the winding mountain road that led to Pleasant Hills. In the seat beside him, Sharon rested her head against the window pane, gently frozen in slumber despite the jerky rattling of the car. The radio had been off for some time, and although his fiancé’s effortless charm was on display, his mind was utterly possessed by the purpose of this journey. Since Benjamin received the letter from a friend of his mother informing him of her death the day before, he could dwell on little else.
Benjamin would be the first to admit that his mother and he were never very close. Growing up, his mother had obviously cared for him, but she was an aloof creature by nature, and so it was Ben’s father who kept the family bound tightly together with his incessantly positive nature. Mother and son alike gravitated to him, and his affection and bombastic nature reflected off of them in imitation. However, when Benjamin was twelve years old, the life he had known vanished completely. His father died in a gruesome crash, and with him went the joy and light of their home. Benjamin and his mother became increasingly distant, having little more in common than grief. On the eve of his eighteenth birthday, Ben left home. A year later, his mother followed suit. In the fourteen years following, the splintered family had little contact. They would send each other simple Christmas cards, and if one of them moved, they would be sure to send a short letter filling the other in. Benjamin often believed it was only the memory of his father that maintained these heartless correspondences, and so attributed nothing to them. But now, as he made his way to the quiet town she had lived in for the past five years, he felt a heavy pang guilt with every breath he took. He regretted it all. The distance, the frustration, all of it felt so meaningless in the face of this permanent silence. The sky was a fiery bronze as they pulled past the wrought iron fence, overgrown with vines, which surrounded the small town. A small sign, carved from wood years before, welcomed them as they reached the first enclave of brick houses alight with candles resting in open windowsills. As Benjamin marveled at the picturesque neighborhood, Sharon yawned and lifted herself from the window. “Is this the place?” She asked, with a tinge of disapproval. Benjamin looked at her for a moment, annoyed, before turning back to the houses. “Yeah, I’m looking for her address now, hold on,” he muttered, peering into the windows at the families eating dinners and talking beside fireplaces. It felt utterly surreal to him, having lived for so long in the hearts of cities. There was no distance, no fear here. “There, isn’t that the number?” Sharon said, pointing at the house on her side. It was a smaller house built farther back from the road than the others, surrounded by a moat of flowers. He drew the letter from the glove compartment and read it, confirming Sharon’s guess. It was a strange destination, far homelier than anything Ben would have ever expected. As they grew closer to the house, the front door opened and a man appeared, adorned in black. His eyes listlessly peered at Ben, marked upon his face by deep pockets. His hair, slicked back, was a graying shade of black. He was neither young nor old, but some hollowed middle ground between the two. He began to speak, and the words came from him like a cloud of ash. “You must be Benjamin.” Benjamin shot a glance at his fiancé, who returned it with a look of equal discomfort. Unsure what to say to this man, Ben merely nodded and extended his hand. The man took it and shook for just a moment before pulling back and clasping his own hands together, like a priest. “Jacob Berger. I’m the one who wrote you. Your mother spoke very highly of you. Come, make yourselves at home,” the man said. He turned and re-entered the house, leaving the door wide open for his guests. Benjamin moved to follow him, but Sharon gripped his forearm, pulling him closer. “Ben, he freaks me out. Are you sure she lived here?” She asked, staring nervously at the house. “Look, I’ll just go in and find out what they’re doing with my mother. You can wait in the car if you want.” Sharon did not reply, still clutching his arm tightly. “I’ll be fine,” he emphasized. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before she released him. He kissed her cheek, then made his way into the house undeterred. For a moment, she did not move from where she stood, until stray thoughts frightened her and she quickly made her way back to the car. Inside, Mr. Berger sat on a rocking chair, his tired eyes resting on the sight of the bookcase against the far wall. Ben felt hesitant to bother him, so he shuffled where he stood until the older man rose, groaning as though it were a great effort. “Will your fiancé not be joining us, Mr. Lambert?” Mr. Berger asked. “No, she’s always been nervous around bodies, so I told her to wait outside.” For a moment, it appeared as though Jacob Berger had smiled, but looking back, Ben was sure he had just been readying to speak. “I imagine you want to see her, then. She’s upstairs, in her bed.” The two made their way up the thin staircase. Benjamin felt that sense of dread fill his lungs once more, and each step seemed to make that weight heavier. It culminated until they reached the thin door at the end of the stairs, when it suffocated him. He struggled within himself, unable to turn the handle or walk away. Mr. Berger, sensing his hesitation, made his decision for him, and opened the door. Across the room, lying on a small mattress covered with a colorful quilt was the woman that was once Benjamin’s mother. She had aged considerably since the day he left home. Her hair was grey, and the wrinkles of her face had seemed to find the perfect way to rest upon her face. He approached her bed, noting how much her final rest looked like sleep. Her eyes were closed, and a small smile seemed to have formed on her lips, as though she has having a beautiful dream. He grabbed her hand in his, and felt the embers of buried love begin to light. Ben bent down and closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of her skin. “Hey, Mom. It’s Ben. I know it’s been a long time, but I thought maybe I could say goodbye to you in person, like a real son should. You deserved more out of me, and I just wish I could go back and fix all the times I thought of visiting you or sharing my life with you and didn’t. It was hard, losing Dad, but that should have made me fight harder to keep you. I’m so sorry it took me this long to figure it all out. I love you, Mom.” “I love you too, Ben.” When Benjamin’s eyes flew open and he saw his dead mother smiling at him, he screamed. “Calm yourself, young man!” Mr. Berger exclaimed, holding Benjamin up from falling backwards. “C-calm?!” Ben stuttered, too flustered to say anything else. “Benjamin Wallace Lambert, stop your whining. I was just asleep,” Ben’s mother said, lifting herself from the bed. “But the letter said you had died. You’re a lot of things, Mom, but you’re not dead,” Ben said, slowly regaining his own footing. “I did die. In a way, I am dead. Jacob, please explain to my boy the circumstances, if you would. I need to go to the bathroom.” “Let me walk you down first,” Mr. Berger said, opening the door and walking her down the stairs. Ben walked over to the window and saw Sharon staring at the house, terrified from the yell he had let loose a moment before. He waved to her, and he saw her face change from fear to relief, slowly consumed by utter confusion. “Mr. Lambert, I will be frank in telling you that while your mother is not dead in the traditional sense, I was not lying when I composed and sent you that letter. She died of a heart attack three days ago.” Benjamin turned to him, feeling frustrated. “Alright, explain how she’s going to the bathroom and calling me by my full name, then, because that seems like the complete opposite of dead to me.” “This is a truly marvelous town, Mr. Lambert. It has had the remarkable luck of having a friendly, united community, with just enough distance from the modern world to keep its greatest secret safe. One hundred years ago, Pleasant Hills had a great sheriff. He was a kind man to the townspeople, a truly selfless leader with a soft spot for card games. It just so happened one day that the Grim Reaper (yes, the supposedly fictional character), came to this quiet town, calling for the sheriff. Rather than fight him directly or go quietly, the sheriff taunted the reaper, challenging him to a game of cards, in exchange for his life. The reaper accepted, and quickly found himself outmatched by this mortal man. Sure it had been just a fluke; he challenged the sheriff to a rematch. He accepted, but requested a boon, should he win. The reaper was a proud creature, and he all too readily agreed, only to lose a second hand. Furious, the reaper gave him his boon. The sheriff asked that Paradise Hills, for as long as it desired, be in charge of its own reaping.” Benjamin did not believe this man’s tall tale for an instant, but he listened on. “Ever since that day, inside our small fenced town death is the dominion of an elected official, who holds the position until his own death, which is the only one he cannot control. Our reaper does not kill, but merely visits the dead and gives them a chance to settle their affairs when they do pass. In Paradise Hills, death is not a surprise. Death is an organized, loving time where no words go unsaid.” Benjamin thought over this (frankly impossible) story in his head for a moment. He’d lived this long without ever hearing anything so ridiculous, but he wanted desperately to believe. His mother, of all people, would feel home here. Outside, death took his father in the blink of an eye. Here, she could stop the cycle and reconnect with him. “I see in your eyes that you do not believe me. Mr. Lambert, I am this town’s elected Reaper. If you think this is too good to be true, you are sadly mistaken. There are always consequences,” Jacob Berger stated, sounding especially resolute. “No mere mortal can be death. To give these people peaceful deaths, I have surrendered so many things that makes a man human. Taste, smell, joy, sadness, art, music. Many reapers last mere weeks before the nature of the job drives them to suicide, and we do not know where we go when that happens.” As he said these final words, the door to the bedroom opened, and Benjamin’s mother entered the room, staring at her son with complete earnesty. At that moment, he accepted what he heard. “Now that you understand, I will leave you two to talk amongst yourselves. Mrs. Lambert, I can only give you until dawn.” “I understand, Jacob. Thank you so much for everything,” Benjamin’s mother said. Benjamin looked at him and nodded. With no more words, Mr. Berger took his leave, shifting out the room and out of sight. “Son, we have so much to talk about. Tell me everything.” ® A few hours later, Benjamin left the house, wiping tears from his eyes. As he approached the car, Sharon leaned out the window. “Am I going crazy, or did you scream in there?” Benjamin laughed. “I just scared myself going up the steps.” “Oh,” she replied. “So, are we going to stay for the funeral?” “There’s no need. We said our goodbyes,” Benjamin said as he got into the front seat. He started the ignition, looking up at the house one last time. Sharon rubbed the back of his neck, and he smiled at her, hearing his mother’s blessing for their marriage running through his mind. As they drove away from the sleepy town of Paradise Hills, Benjamin Lambert remembered a picnic he shared with his family so many years ago. The sunlight turned the grass into little blades of emerald, and they paled into comparison to the light that shone from their happy faces. But most of all, he thought of Jacob Berger, and his tired, weary eyes. (Last edited by Cairoi on 08-21-10 11:13 PM) |
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Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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OOC: Skipping ahead.
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BIC: The group, led by Victoria, made their way into the woods. Daniel often stopped and remarked upon the beautiful sights that surrounded their path. This island, he felt, was far too beautiful to be true. How had no one noticed this paradise before, especially with the tree that stretched out into the sky from all points of the island. For the group, the tree became less of a wonder, and more of a silent guide, never out of sight long enough for them to become lost. However, the winding journey soon sucked up the daylight, and the group stopped besides a grand waterfall that crashed into a clear pool of water. "Here will do," Victoria said, and sat beside a fallen tree. Daniel eyed their surroundings, rubbing his stomach. "I'll go look for some."
Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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My first playthrough of Fable II, I played a pure good character, dedicated to being the greatest hero I could be. But when |
Spoiler: everything changed. Instead of choosing the "save everyone" ending, I chose the "ressurect your family" ending. However, dog + family died, Spoiler:
The VERY moment I returned home from the tower, my wife left with my kids. All I was left with was the dog, and everyone looking down on my decision. Oh, and Spoiler: they released DLC to get the dog back no matter what ending you chose.
Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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Swim this way
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EDIT: After noting how fun of an idea Xeios' request thread has gone, I'm totally revamping this thread in order to plagarize his idea. Stories, drawings, you name it. I'll try and do it in a somewhat timely fashion. (Last edited by Elara on 09-04-10 02:04 AM)
Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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I'm not contesting any of the rulings here, but could someone point out some of these run-on sentences? I see long sentences, but they're all grammatically correct as far as I can see. |
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Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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Originally posted by Xeios It's all good, man. I mean, every other mistake you said I made, I did, and since we don't really have a "writing style" thing, I suppose it fits under grammar. The one that concerns me more is that I got a 5 from True over something I didn't do.
Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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Closed. |
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Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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Ouch, I totally forgot about judging. Can I do that tomorrow? |
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Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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Grammar: 6
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I really feel like everything to be talked about here has been discussed. Spelling: 10 Plot: 5 A lot of ground has been covered here by the others, but I'll try to offer up some original information. I think the ACTUAL plot has potential: The insane survivor turning his back on his evolutionary imperative, sealing the fate of the human race. However, you really don't go into that. You spent so long getting a taste for the character's mental state that the plot is crammed. There's a lot to work with with this story, but it demands more space and more focus on the story than on the character's mindset, as it is too chaotic to produce a steady flow. Characters: 4 Your main character has the potential to be a very complex and intriguing character, but I felt like you didn't really tap into it. You went to lengths to assure the audience (through his own words) that he is insane, but we only really see it for ourselves at the end. Showing more than telling about his nature would leave a much larger impression on the reader. Also, I feel like Miranda was extremely rushed. She came off like one of the manequinns from I Am Legend. Description: 7 The story showed a serious potential for description. Personally, I think you used a lot of very culturally specific lingo with this character. The Potter puppet pals and wawa hoagies, while recognizable to you and others who live similar lives to you, lose a lot of meaning to people outside of Eastern America/America in general. With stories, you have to realize that ANYONE can be reading your story, and so you shouldn't deny understanding to people who don't have the same life experience. (I worded that really weird) Besides that, I feel like your writing style can definitely improve upon its already promising form, and it definitely strengthened the piece. Creativity: 7 I am a fan of post-apocalyptia, especially unique takes on our (apparent) doomsday. You didn't flesh it out enough for my tastes, but you gave a very promising glimpse into an interesting world, marked with a very unique protagonist. Overall: 39 I'd definitely love to see a second draft.
Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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Ok, I think I agree with everyone when I say the grading rubric needs WORK
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Here's my suggestion: Grammar & Spelling: (mesh the two into one category) Plot: (this refers SOLELY to the story itself. The progression/variety/believability of events, as well as the events themselves). Character: (no real changes here) Writing Style: (instead of description, this catagory tends to leak into all the others. I think that by gathering it into catagory, the other ratings will be more fair.) Creativity: (once again, no real changes)
Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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Grammar: 5
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Xeios and Phoenix definitely put it best here. Spelling: 10 Whatever. Plot: 7 Good story, but definitely rushed. There should be more things going on. When you condense a story to this length, you lose a lot of the sense of reality. More rising action, more tension, and more twists would benefit the kind of story you're trying to tell here. Characters: 3 There is literally no character growth. Every character is flat, static cardboard figures that you move like chess pieces to your inevitable conclusion. Sure, the main character is a developed psychpath, but to have a killer as your main character, you need them to change to keep the reader's interest. This story almost functions like a "day in the life" of a character. It captures an instant, where there's an entire life you're missing out on. Description: 4 Your writing style is unique, and it lends to the mind of the character. Your style definitely captured the mind of Tyler, but it did nothing to connect the reader to anything but. First person stories are often traps to skimp out on world-building descriptions, and you fell victim to this. Remember that when you're taking the role of a character in a story, you can't just transport their thoughts onto paper. They're also seeing, smelling, hearing, feeling. It's important to give a sense of all of that as well, though obviously to a lesser extent than a third person piece. Creativity: 3 American Psycho + a dash of Silence of the Lambs= this story. Overall: 32 Vince, the greatest way to improve a story is to challenge your characters. Not physical obstacles, but emotional and mental obstacles. That's when they grow and become something far more impressive and memorable. Rewrite the story. Add to it.
Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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Grammar: 9
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Paragraphs were short. 'Bout it. Spelling: 10 hurf durf Plot: 7 As a singular scene with a short climax, I got a somewhat small feeling from the story as a whole, but in terms of the interaction between the characters and the progression, it performs admirably within its space. Characters: 7.5 (round up to 8 if you must) You have the makings of two very good characters here. They are relatable, realistic, and unique. In terms of the two, the character that exhibits the most flaws in terms of writing is the convict. You touched upon his background, and it is there where I think you could have sold the piece utterly. You compact his moment of revelation to a short flashback. "The convict lost his job after his wife left. He got into drinking at first, until he was kicked out of his apartment for lack of rent. It was all downhill from there. The church helped him at first, but even they left him when he refused to stop drinking. " EXPAND. Show some of these scenes, even if they are nothing but brief glimpses. If you give that a sympathetic light, and you trace with the artistry I know you are capable of, you provide an excellent return path to bring him to where he has come now. Description: 7 You can compose a scene, but you definitely need something else in there to completely capture what you're getting at. Creativity: 8 I'm not a religious person by any means, but some of my greatest role models have been religious, so I hold nothing against them. In an age where the worship of god has been bastardized into an excuse for bigotry and hatred, I've met a few people who believe in a God that is forgiving to everyone. These people are rare. This story shows you as one of those people. While the basic setup has been used many times, it is your style, and your choice of language that sets this piece apart. It is unique on its original, masterful take of a classic story. Overall: 46.5
Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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Originally posted by Xeios That is what I meant.  Forgot to include that.
Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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Seriously, this shit CANNOT be real, but I saw it. With these eyes.
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Or did I? 
Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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Once upon a New Jersey summer, Urban Astronaut spammed. The spam was served with rice. Day by day he sadly posted and masturbated furiously. He loved tentacles and furry porn, but despised every cheese quesadilla. Then, a furry creature burst into flames. Urban immediately spewed quesadilla all over Bitmap, infuriating him. Bitmap turned gay. Like super gay. Gay for Vince, who secretly loved Hannah Montana. He cuddled with Bitmap, and with Phoenix, and with Vulkar, and with Valhalla, then they exploded. Urban pleasured himself. Anyways, while watching Hannah Montana, Vince beheaded Phoenix then, rainbows came out of Phoenix's dead talking vagina. He skinned Valhalla's wiener which he liked to eat with Vulkar's severed limbs. But Vulkar's invincibility shockingly aroused him and Vince continued to break up Vulkar's limbs, anyway. So the fashion of Bitmap's vomit covered the new clothing. Phoenix stopped chewing, because of decapitation, and a ban, costing him Xeodency.
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The next day, Rogue was chilling in a freezer, sliced into pieces. She freezer burned and was inedible, a shame really. DarkSlaya didn't care.
Cairoi |
This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4848 days Last activity: 4471 days
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Once upon a New Jersey summer, Urban Astronaut spammed. The spam was served with rice. Day by day he sadly posted and masturbated furiously. He loved tentacles and furry porn, but despised every cheese quesadilla. Then, a furry creature burst into flames. Urban immediately spewed quesadilla all over Bitmap, infuriating him. Bitmap turned gay. Like super gay. Gay for Vince, who secretly loved Hannah Montana. He cuddled with Bitmap, and with Phoenix, and with Vulkar, and with Valhalla, then they exploded. Urban pleasured himself. Anyways, while watching Hannah Montana, Vince beheaded Phoenix then, rainbows came out of Phoenix's dead talking vagina. He skinned Valhalla's wiener which he liked to eat with Vulkar's severed limbs. But Vulkar's invincibility shockingly aroused him and Vince continued to break up Vulkar's limbs, anyway. So the fashion of Bitmap's vomit covered the new clothing. Phoenix stopped chewing, because of decapitation, and a ban, costing him Xeodency.
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The next day, Rogue was chilling in a freezer, sliced into pieces. She freezer burned and was inedible, a shame really. DarkSlaya didn't care. He's eaten lunch. But Phoenix didn't bring his sandwhich because he died of platypus poisoning. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| Xeogaming Forums - - Posts by Cairoi |
