Some of my fiction

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Some of my fiction
Topic Started: 5 Oct 2008, 03:52 AM (51 Views)
Remnant	5 Oct 2008, 03:52 AM Post #1
Member Posts: 36 Group: Members Member #1,519 Joined: 4 October 2008 Country: United States of America Favorite theme: RPA 2: Dark	Here are a couple of stories of mine from the Ceramic DM short story competitions over on Enworld



Remnant	5 Oct 2008, 03:54 AM Post #2
Member Posts: 36 Group: Members Member #1,519 Joined: 4 October 2008 Country: United States of America Favorite theme: RPA 2: Dark	Forever lasts too long for those in love CDM Fall 06 Round 1b © 2006 All Rights Reserved http://www.myspace.com/ludorock www.ludorock.com Openings: Look at these people hiding from the red raindrops while earthquakes shake the broken timber of this burning town. There's poison in the water, the ocean's blood that's turned to slime and gotten hard All the fish and whales are corpses on the scab In the darkness soldiers gnaw their tongues in pain, you see So help me God, at the end of time they're screaming on their knees! Oh let them die! Oh let them die! “Broken Bride Part III: The Lamb and the Dragon” Ludo Words by Andrew Volpe Music by Andrew Volpe and Tim Ferrell Up on the stage, solo spot trained on her face, the lead singer of the small house style band that was playing that night, sits down gratefully in the stool someone had put up there. She sat down, put her feet up on a speaker pointing back towards her and started to sing another song. It had been a long set and odds are this was the last song in it. "There is no end to misery No end to pain, sorrow, suffering, death and devastation There is no end to the torments we inflict upon ourselves and each other Unless we are touching Then it can all go away Slowly, gently, easily Drift away slowly into no where The dance is made Dancers taking their time Wafting slowly from love to love Drifting on the tides of right now Endless weeping of two to one to three to one to two all back over again" The two guys up there with her, lead and percussion, joined in with the chorus, "There is no tomorrow, there is no yesterday, there is no now, there is only you and I and the what could be, There is no past, there is no future, there is no present, there is only the you and I and the right this second. There is nothing unconnected, all is tied together, with knots and lives, With knots and lives." Then she takes back over again, tears almost streaming down her face in the harsh actinic lighting, "What ever is left to hope for, lies in your hands and in my very own ones, wrapped up all together into a series, Gordian is always right, but not right now, Knots and lives are the glue, holding you and I together Knots and lives are all we really have To tie us one to the other together, together, together." A small little riff and the song is over. Sad, haunting, the fragile echoes die away in the nearly silent establishment. "Ok that was almost a let down, new song off the next CD we make. Drop a note leaving your thoughts on it." She paused once more, since the song was over, and continued once more, "Thank you again, we are taking a break now, feel free to leave change in the guitar case. We are Pyrrhic Muses and after wetting our whistles, will be back on stage." The lovely lithe woman, her voice husky like a NYC Siren gone folk with a flogged background, all decked out in black jeans, lavender muscle-shirt with the head of a canid emblazoned on it leaves the stage. Her band mates follow, guitarist and drummer, heading to the restrooms and bar while canned crud for pop is blared out of dj sounding speakers. The lights come up and Vik takes a long slow look around. Rumor had it these were the latest bomb, but they sounded like they had been playing together longer than they had been alive. There were three CDs for sale on a stand to the side, the lead singer heading over there with water and lemon in hand, to take cash only the little hand calligraphied sign said. "That last track is off the next cd, did you like it?" She holds out her hand, "Cat A Strophe, like catastrophe but cuter." "Hi my name is Vik, really digging the set so far." What a dork comment to make, even if she is young enough to be your daughter damn near. "Digging the set, what an odd turn, not heard that in like forever. So you like our style, a little retro for lots of folks." "Nope not heard a thing like it before, that one song sleeping dogs or something, that really about teared me up," Vik admits while the two of them wander to the bar. "Yeah one of our oldest songs, been with the three of us since the start. Sometimes it brings the house down, sometimes not." She pauses, "Ice water with lemon please." The bartender hands it over to her, she slugs some of it down, "Well almost time to head back up there, I got a solitary question for you though hun." Looking her over once more, Vik grunts, "Sure fire away." "Like the man says, the endless search for self, has it led you to here or this just a place to kick back a few whiskeys?" The perky lady with eyes that look a lot older than her shape would suggest, asks in all seriousness while the guitarist works to check the tuning of his rig. "I am pretty comfortable with me, but I am looking for the right one, wanna be the right now to find out if you are the right one or not?" Gotta take a stab at it, short, cute, quick and creative, all fine elements in a relationship. "Gonna think on it while we play, stick around, you might be surprised." She leans in and pecks his cheek, reaching up on toes and almost against him but not quite, but the impression on the fabric of life carries her image across the remaining distance to his sense of touch. Then she wanders back up to the small stage, dwarfed with the sheer energy of the trio of a band. Couple of hours later, when it is the next day and the second set is over, not a single cover song that he can tell, they have material for at least a marathon session, the lady comes down to him as he sat there nursing the final drink, past last call, while Pyrrhic Muses broke down their gear. Shortly later it was off for a night of coffee the two of them all alone with her hand in his. Intersections: "What are you thinking lover?" Cat asked out loud from the kitchenette where they were staying for the night on the road, hitting all of the small towns and smaller cities around the central larger one where Vik had met her. “Just about tonight, the gig, how we are on the road all the time, learning the ins and outs of the road, without ever learning a real thing.” “Well dear, we are learning how to live and love and make money the old fashioned way, with hard work.” Cat strolls into the kitchen, snagging her first cup of coffee as dressed as the day she met her mother. “ Also we are learning all about these lovely hick towns with no clue about good music. I think it will be a snoozer session tonight. Gonna be a slow one here, got the feeling it will be about fifty years before it is a happening town. “Well get dressed, time to head into town and see if there is a music shop anywhere close and score some indie tracks to get inspiration from.” She walks back into the bed room, to dress and drink her morning coffee. “You want to get married?” Vik spouts out of the blue. “Hurricane love, not in this life no I don’t, no matter how perfect a man might seem, never in this life.” “Ok just wanted to ask, why hurricane though.” He asks back. “Because you are causing stormy waves in my heart, and the tide is coming in I fear.” With a little black top, jeans and sneakers on her feet, the two of them head out into the daylight. Death came too swiftly, it came with the speed of a bullet nearly, but none the less lethal for that slight lack. It came with kinetic finality, dropping down from forever to cut short a life made long in retrospect, taken one that should not have ever been lost. Death came falling out of the sky to crush the life from the one man she thought she could ever love, and would never love again. But that does not happen for a few more minutes at least. “Hey V, look over there, what is that?” “Don’t know love, not sure about it.” Vik responded back. It looked like a column of mud, standing there in the sunlight there that early pre-noon morning in a small sleepy town in the almost rural, almost suburban, almost urban part of the country where nothing happens to speak of. It was just standing there, without moving, nothing happening to it in the slightest bit. A screeching from the sky came hurting down, heat searing and blasting the area close to where the couple was standing. Something impacted in a small building close by, flames and bricks flying in all directions, scattering shrapnel in all directions. Something had impacted onto the site of this small town, close to where the two lovers had been walking, causing despair and destruction all around it. Bodies suddenly were lying on the ground, already the sound of sirens in the near distance could be heard. Cat looked down at her body, nothing was hurt, no blood showed, and she looked over at V who she called Hurricane cause he was making a storm of her entire life, and she stared. Cat stood there, staring at what had just happened. The coating of mud that flowed up and over Vik covering him in a light brown suit from head to toe, watching it harden all over his flesh, somehow tossed or moved in the force of the explosion of the meteor or what ever it was that had destroyed the small office building there so close yet forever away from them both. “I cant move love.” Vik said with an odd tone in his voice. “Huhh, what do you mean, other than the mud you look fine love.” Cat wonders out loud in a way. “All cold inside Cat, all cold inside, and I cant move my body.” The plaintive tone is clear in his voice. “It is going to be alright V, I know it will be,” But the doubt was there, “Everything will be just fine. We got a gig to play tonight and you need to be there. Tonight and every other night that we play.” Cat cries ever so softly as she can see the light leaving his eyes, standing there encased in a suit of mud thrown up in an impossible situation to murder the only man she might ever have loved. The fire, police, and ambulances all arrive to take away the inexplicable bodies, along with Vik’s, sealed solid in a casket of mud with a young lady crying on her knees reaching out to hold his hand but not able to hold it. They arrive to take away all the bodies except for the one she is closest too. Outcome: The three of them climbed and climbed up the singular lines and fabric, farther and farther towards infinite light. The weight of the wheelchair hindering Cint less and less with each pull of his hands, dragging the belted conveyance higher and higher. FG's long hair blowing in the winds coming off of the dancing primaries all about them. Higher and higher the three of them climbed, heading towards an uncertain destination. But a place better than where they had just come from filled with death and the end of love for more than one of them. They climbed the ropes that held all of the past and future together for the sakes of Cat A Strophe, as well has their own selves. They climb these ropes leading towards a future far away from home, for the sake of the children that should have been carried by Cat sired by Vik who were their predecessors. There was no real reason for it to end this way, three total strangers thrown together at the end of time, climbing literal robes towards light streaming down from thousands of stars all compacted into a single solar system, the ending of all time for this go around of the universe, waiting for the next expansion to occur, the natural contraction having come to an end here in the forever distant future, where two men and one woman is all that remains of a century so far in the past, there is not even a number for it. The time spent in between the eons of eons of eons flicker by in the stress of the climb, towards the light at the end, of this go around at reality. Sleeping Dogs by Pyrrhic Muses copyright 2054 The Night Breathes Music Stillness, the silence of the grave. Quiet now, the dead to be are sleeping. Let this quiet reign thru out the night, and Sleeping Dogs, be still in sight. refrain The Silent Dogs, Restless and torn, Move in their dreams, in search of bones. The Sleeping Dogs, Restless and torn, Writhe in their dreams, searching for homes. Darkened pasts echo our futures, the now to be in soon. Sounds of thunders, distant and close punctuate the room. Lie still my Beauties, rest in peace. Chase the rats, and be at peace. Howl and Growl, Snap and Whine, Whir of gears do define. The angles of Life, boundaries fine Do rest in YOUr sleep, my hounds My Hounds. Peaceful dreams, I wish, Abound. refrain The Silent Dogs, Restless and torn, Move in their dreams, in search of bones. The Sleeping Dogs, Restless and torn, Writhe in their dreams, searching for homes. Sleeping Dogs They do Whine Sleeping Dogs I've defined Sleeping Dogs Still whine and snap Sleeping Dogs Can still crack Can Still Crack, Can still crack refrain The Silent Dogs, Restless and torn, Move in their dreams, in search of bones. The Sleeping Dogs, Restless and torn, Writhe in their dreams, searching for homes. Silent no more, my Dogs are awake. The hunting now they will make. I, wish to offer my grief That Sleeping Dogs, are, not, still, allowed, to, , sleep.



Remnant	5 Oct 2008, 04:00 AM Post #3
Member Posts: 36 Group: Members Member #1,519 Joined: 4 October 2008 Country: United States of America Favorite theme: RPA 2: Dark	In Periphery © 2005 All Rights Reserved For the Ceramic DM Contest September 2005 09.15.05 7:30 PM EST Breathe in breathe out Breathe in breathe out Breathe in Breathe in Breathe in Got a machinehead better than the rest Green to red Machinehead… I walk from my machine I walk from my machine Bush Machinehead Winter The sign says a world and nothing all at once there at the edge of the sprawl. Welcome To Periphery Population 2000 Census 50,000 But that does not tell the entire story of the city along the oceanfront. It does nothing to indicate who or what comes to visit in the dark of the moon. In that time of the year when Uncle Ice hands the unwary their head on a platter, when Sister Moon is absent from the sky and only the cold stars are out for comfort where there is none to be found. This is the time when things come up to the surface, wander down from the far frozen plains to the north, where nothing ever thaws, things that come to the lands of man to prey and cavort. There are 3 Men on the Cold Promontory or perhaps not men after all. The wind whips snow and ice shards around and up and down the granite faced from overlooking the white caps down far below. Granite knives appear and disappear from between waves crashing. All along the way to south and north it looks the same. Storm water lashed landscape where man is no longer welcome till spring comes to visit again. http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22227 Now Ice Storm There might be spying It might be a Tech-no-logical device perhaps Faceless things standing around on shear ice concrete slab Black outfits all alone Vision Visionary Ice reflects past and future Overture Fog shroud Funeral silence Rolling in off the Northern Atlantic seaboard Granite Etched stone monoliths tortured spirits moan, betraying their fate on the unforgiving deep The trees are all dead, covered with ice and cracked limbs wishing spring would come and the hope for life once more. Unless Old Man Winter wins out this time and then nothing changes. An Ice Age come in a hurry at his behest. Fog, towers lurking in the distance glittering in the light, secrets, flesh and skins personas and the end of relationships This is the land the three have come to visit once more, down from their home of unforgiving nature. This is winter, it is just past the Winter Solstice and their power is at the peak. Soon, within days, it could come to fruition. Patience rewarded finally. All the while the winds come down from out of the Noreast. It is a blizzard of salt water and hypothermic winds racing along. This is the heart of winter when spirits and aliens walk the land in search of what it is they think they want. Spring There is a Modern Home sitting alone. The house sits there along the walkway covered with ice from the drizzle and snow of the night before. Rotunda-like house, encircling a dead garden of plants Filled with wrap around windows http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22228 Suze & the house locked away all alone on the promontory She is a recluse, an artiste, painter sometimes sculptor and performer. A Mime, a clown, ala Cirque du Soleil performance artist Red in China Wealth, Prosperity, Feng Shui, facial decorations making a Triangle, Triad, 3 of a kind, the first stable geometric figure The first third of the New Year devoted to her kindness bringing forth life and love to the new growth. It symbolizes the 3 Shadowy figures lost in time and ice. They are alone as she is, even with each other they are alone while the winds whip away their thoughts leaving only the empty garments that they are. She is unaware of this all. Still for her, all alone, in the 3 by 3 space allowed in her mind, she moves in fluid grace Sculpted brows over smiling eyes and lips parted ever so little while she dances to the howling winds outside waiting for spring to arrive. There is a rose of crystal water hanging start in the air suspended by the weight of devotion. It spins crazy in the twisting dervishes of convection and tree altered courses. The woods are comforted with the sounds it makes and the expectations is ensues with. Far away the city lies to the other direction, up towards Providence way, not that close to Portsmouth, the three Ps so to speak. There is Periphery. Sitting all alone in the dark. “Old Baso knows the way there, but ain’t going this time about no sir, no sir.” His thick local drawl, coming out past rotted gums and gold tooth stark exposed when he speaks. The throat of his thick with mucus made severe from chronic bronchitis and a nervous twitch to the eyes. Ash gray face from parching wind wrapped up in thick scarves all around, trousers damp on the ankles from wading through foot some deep snow. Old Baso knows the ways around the lonely places, but no one seems to hear him speak. Peripheral, being or having or part of, constituting the periphery, out of the way and on the fringes. Summer Crazy ballistic dance of life Echoes off the ceiling, sensory bound Overload of lights and kinesthetic ballet Toe to toe, fingertip to fingertip, dance the life away, Old Baso in the background of memory pasted on the mind’s eye, a cornucopia of disjointed digits. Fingers spayed out in supplication to eroding fate The three are not kind, kindred to their home a fourth of the time extant on the earth Spirits of the laments of eternal white and frost bit. Not allowed here now with the sun high in the sky and temperatures well above the freezing mark. No they are only allowed down here when the cold wraps the land in a cocoon of deadly cold. The radio is playing now, The words epic in relation The children stop playing in the street and begin to cry Only knowing something bad has happened. “no bangs, no yells, merely the sea is Mr. Freeze inside of me no bangs, no yells, merely the sea is Mr. Freeze inside of me” Sitting there on the radio in the background of the house music from somewhere Shipwrecks in the Arctic Circle leading to death. Drowning after slipping under the ice. A Grip of Glacier, they are coming home again The Daughter of Spring was ambushed and with her discarded vitality, the three there, only two seasons, six some months or less, remaining till triumph is possible. The ones in black that live in white using the weak to bring it around again. The plans continue to enfold. A cold stone seat in the heat of summer, holding onto the promise of winter and her aching grip on the joints. It is a promise to the powers of white lying in wait. http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22229 Fall No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue I could not foresee this thing happening to you If I look hard enough into the setting sun My love will laugh with me before the morning comes Rolling Stones Paint it Black All alone Lost in the park waiting till the snow comes again to keep it company Worried over Old Aged Pocked and torn town In summers lament http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22230 The photo place far down the street is lit from the street lamps that are left of the nightlife. Winos sitting along side the alleys, marking the hours till morning comes and the agony of life with the drink starts all over again. There was Old Baso squatting outside, marking time till the shortest day comes back around again, leading towards the longest day not so long past. His thick local drawl, coming out past rotted gums and gold tooth stark exposed when he speaks. The throat of his thick with mucus made severe from chronic bronchitis and a nervous twitch to the eyes. Blacked skin made darker than usual in the wake of the summer months. Now that the season has turned, and the way lies open to things to return to the world once more, his step is slower and measured. Black and White folding into the night Walking all alone, down the deserted side walk A circle of life, darkest winter till spring summer falling Into night strident pastiche of Kaleidoscope



Remnant	5 Oct 2008, 04:04 AM Post #4
Member Posts: 36 Group: Members Member #1,519 Joined: 4 October 2008 Country: United States of America Favorite theme: RPA 2: Dark	P.S., Transversed Round One entry P.S., Transversed © 2007 All Rights Reserved CDM 2007 pollution is a necessary result of the inability of man to reform and transform waste. the transformation of waste … is perhaps the oldest pre-occupation of man. 25th Floor The Patti Smith Group www.pattismith.net Stone steps, stone walkway, overlooking the cathedrals and myriad bronze Buddha, down far below in the valley, men, women, and children plied their day to day tasks, making money, spending money, just fighting to get enough food to eat or feed their families. In the fields all around the city, the poor worked the land, tilling and toiling to produce the food to feed the burgeoning masses. The jungle reaches up from all around, the clear cut and fires still unable to utterly dominate the scenery and place it into submission. "Coffee beans come and get some coffee beans?" the small child asked in a soft, plaintive voice. Pushing a small cart ahead of her tired foot, the other leg ending in a stump gained on birth to make her more efficient as a beggar and street vendor, the cart with straps a semi-rest and a place to maintain balance with moving at a low gliding hop, with only two wheels, made of recycled hubcaps imported from Hong Kong stolen off some rich Tong leader's car, it was getting too short by far for the scrap of flesh that moved it along, peddling the roasted coffee beans for drinking or chewing. "Coffee beans come and get some coffee beans?" Thailand, all the ladies standing there, waiting in an endless row, waiting to see if someone will come to marry them, to take them away from the sordid life of the endless nights, pious Catholics by day, spread legged and sweaty all the night long, working for a few baht to trade in for euros on the scant days the rate favors them. Otherwise they are exchanging dignity and love for an hour or so at a time of their company [Pic 3] But the sweat, liquor and spent seed comes after night arrives, once the sun goes down, so do they. During the daylight though, it is look for life, love, a nice man to take them away from the sordid life the all chose in alternative to what could have lain ahead of them. Gutter punks drift away on tides of opium and mescaline slashed with simple tobacco, dancing along to tunes downloaded into their minds, memes that etched the songs of hate and discontent rending them incapable of conscious decision. Their feet in designer shoes, all made locally of course, kept out of the filth lining the inner city sanctums. This is the status quo here in the developed world. PS wandered along, passing up the odd man out, strolling and surveying the wares on display, quality is a variable, like all others, still the few men seemed more interested in the shortness of life lived, perhaps to find one less broken to the saddle than one with more time under her skin. All of them are in the same business that PS is in, how to get the most of what is needed to survive with the least wear and toil on the flesh, with the fewest scars on the heart and soul, all the while making a living as honestly as possible, and turning the time and tides to an advantage, recycling the flow of life, in one tangible form or another, into something else entirely different. The insects are not so bad way up here, away from the stench of the slums and the reek of alcohol induced actions. Up here on the long cobbled stone walkway where the ladies all stand around, waiting for a rich man from the city, or a tourist to walk past, and whisk them away from the life they know, in Phuket, Bangkok, or one of the other cities scattered about the verdant and lush jungle country side. Just a short change of heart awaits PS somewhere far and away from this dismal place, where the tale has begun. Just living in a wicked age is difficult enough, without all the predators that come along with such a time as this. Monsters, freaks, geeks, the unknown, the scary and the lost ones, all making their way along roads used and abused too many times before the start of civilization. All working to beat the man, tax the system till it can no longer support the downtrodden, and then sift through the wreckage they have left behind in the fall. Down far below under the canopy the watchers lurk, waiting to find more uses for those that walk the land. They keep an eye out on the variables, the ones that sit outside of the norm, that walk the edges of societies, as well as stand in their way for what they think things should come out as, how the world should play its tune, and the melody and harmony of cooperation and toeing the line, is all they are really interested in. Not the loves and foibles of humanity. So they slink away into the darkness created with tree cover while PS stands there looking out over the edge, before they too turn away and head towards the airport, to arrive back many hours later, in the city on the ocean shore, where several compatriots wait for instructions and edification of the goals PS has in mind. Days or weeks past since PS was standing on that high road, watching all the women waiting for life to come and save them, the time since then spent mostly in travel, airlines not being the way they should be, it took so much longer than necessary. All too many hours, watching sun rises and sun sets occur, while staring out of dirty windows as large and small aircraft took off and landed. Sometimes an errant dirigible would wind its way across the shocking blue skies, moving to destinations unknown. Sometimes a fat bellied steamcar would chug its way down forgotten roads while PS walked from one bus stop to another one, miles or towns away from the previous. All this time moving is spent in contemplation of the state of affairs. How the worlds had spun and turned all the same until that single day, when it no longer made a lick of sense. Waking up that day to find love had moved out in the middle of the night. That suddenly former friends no longer knew the names of their loved ones, and things prowled the city streets using the homeless for their feasts of sinew and plasma. All of it had shifted in some sense over the course of a night filled with sleep and terrors wrapped up in the cold and clammy sheets. The sun rose that day, the old missive of Red Sky at Night, Sailors Delight, Red Sky at Morning, Take Warning, never more true than that sunrise. Blood orange red, staining the landscape until it rose high enough to clear the pollution and then it all was wrong somehow. Something had happened, and PS was still searching for the cause. The first few days were freakish, running into people that no longer knew who PS was. Finding empty bank accounts, strange shadows in the darkest of alleyways, as well as the misshapen suddenly all about the place, freaks and geeks, sideshow performers as well as the tatted and pierced were everywhere. No longer just the fringe, the edges of the map had curled over and taken over the center of things. This is when the search for meaning took on an entirely new definition. That was when traveling from country to country, all on an expired passport that was never questioned, never challenged, became the norm, working to find the answers that were elusive so far. Along the oceans it was more the way that PS remembered it, like the moderating influence of the waters extended to reality. Farther away from bays and lighthouses, the odder it seemed to feel, yet few seemed to sense it. All was the same, reality tv ruled the nights while fashion and anorexia dominated the lack of self esteem during the daylight hours, with the endless levels of want for more ruined marriages and stomachs with equal panache. Still the feet were in motion now, and there was no stopping the inertia that had built up over that long last night of semi-normality. We've been living in the shadows all our lives Where it's stand in line and don't look back and don't look left and don't look right So we hide our eyes and wonder who'll survive Waiting for the night... Run Straight Down by Warren Zevon Back across the ocean in another country, another world in practicality, nearly reality, PS moves from place to place, heading in a winding tortuous fashion to the small tourist town trap shop on the west coast where the others were waiting. The situation with the powers in charge that are gouging them of their life savings and leaving them homeless on the streets like stray curs gone feral. This has been the situation for decades before the start of Ps' crusade to find out what went wrong. How it all ended up in the state that it has arrived at. No where near to an answer, seems the clues lead to dead ended streets, deserted moors in desolate countrysides, abandoned morgues and refuse bins where discarded lives have all lost the battle with entropy. None of the clues PS has found leads to a single source, nothing concrete, and nothing tangible to the eyes or ears or sense of touch. It flickers on the outskirts of the eyes, the peripheral vision is the only place that it all starts to coalesce, then it dries up and drifts away on the winds like spiderwebs on the night breezes. Nothing adds up, 2 and 2 does not equal 4 when all the disparate facts and suppositions are placed side by side, Instead they add up to weird things, the strange and unnatural moving in the shadows between the day before it got odd, and the next morning. So PS went and found a few friends, who didn't get all the pieces, but had seen enough to wonder some of the same things. Banded against the night, a small coterie of misfits all looking into the cracks in the world to find out what was crawling there. There were mistakes made, people died, packs of wild dogs ripping the innocent and defenseless into misshapen bloody pieces, all the while the feeling that something was moving behind the scenes would grow, the farther away from the small towns and suburban streetlights PS and friends would go. The inner cities and the deepest, old growths were the worse places. There things moved and used straight razor like fangs or claws on the unwary. But that was the past, leading up to the trip to Thailand, the searching for more answers in the flesh dens and storefront rental brothels, back to the land where it all seemed to start at. Down the many long miles, cabs, cars, trains, aircraft, buses and walking all keeping to the hard places that made more sense, to the tired old shop along the waterfront where TM and the others waited to find out what PS had or had not found. There had been no rational reason to look there, and perhaps it had all be for naught. Up to the front of the place, the garish lights and tacky B-movie spaceship looking like it had made a landing, which while not perfect, was one that would have been walked away from. Mannequins lurked on the overhang and inside, while the whine and whirr of drills, needle guns, nail guns and tattoo machines all made a ratchet and cacophony on the inside, Transversing the inner labyrinth, until the back of the storefront was reached. [Pic4] In there were the core crew, TM, a few others, that tall geek PS could never remember the name of, the bearded guy with the taste for snails he found on the sidewalk and would de-shell and pop into his mouth regardless of the poison hazards or not. The core crew were there, sitting around, some getting more ink placed into hard to reach places, the scent of stale blood on the floor mixed with ash and tar from the rooftop across the alley. "Everyone outside, talk time." PS utters without preamble, then watching the bodies file into the inner courtyard area, TM and the tall geek the first out, the first to stare PS down, the first to just challenge it all. A grandfather clock counted of seconds, long ones, passing while the small motley gathered out there. [Pic 2] "There was nothing to be found there in Thailand, it was for nothing." PS Stands there defiant to the others, will defense need to be made of the decision to pool and seem to squander scant resources for that long trip. "It is the same there as here, they don't remember what they lost that night, and it all is just for nothing, no reason at all." "It makes no sense at all, it is like blinders are in place, no one sees what is clear, is obvious, damn it all, I don't get it." The frustration, the blank looks, the dim accusatory glances there of the others, some milling around, the tall one and TM just shuffling their feet, Mr. Snail wondering what is going on by the vacant look in his eyes, suddenly bending down and picking something off the ground. "Why do I even bother with you all, look, he eats snails, fer the love of sanitation, they are poisonous, how can he eat them and live." The rest all turn to see the shell cracked and the little slimy thing going straight into the waiting mouth, tongue slightly extended to take the mucus covered thing, almost as if taking Communion on a warm Sunday Morning Mass. [Pic1] "See, that is so wrong, why can't you all see that? What is wrong with you people?" PS is about screaming at this time, hair flying all over the place, the wind whipping the loose clothing as it does the mannequins on the store front. In disgust PS just stops the rant. Stares at the assemblage about the small area in the back part of the shop where the search to ascertain answers began, then comes the admission. "Lately", PS says, "I have dreamt of captivity, held down, tied into a maze of stone" Then there comes a long slow pause, like a slow sip of too hot coffee, trying to not burn the tip of the tongue, the roof of the mouth, the back of the throat, before speaking again to the assemblage. "I do not feel a kinship with those that walk this earth.", then "I do not feel like any of them at all, not even my fellow misfits." Head bows in shame, shame of speaking the mind, saying the words out loud, but then TM spoke up, " You talk like you know everything, but you know nothing." PS looks up at him, at TM, wondering how he could utter such a statement, surprise running rampant across the face. TM continues on with the verbal chastisement, "You sit there, whining and complaining about things you know nothing about. You have no connection to humans; never let yourself feel connected to people, or places, or even things, only to you. No wonder you're trapped, because you are. Trapped with no where to go, not even a means to remake yourself into another image, the great one unable to even recycle their own self." TM bursts into deep, raucous belly laughter, mocking all that has gone on, and will go on in the life of PS. The shame, the ridicule, the humiliation of it all bringing tears to the eyes. PS stands there unable to do a single thing, there is no refutation. He stomps his stunty legs, his half sized body in contrast to his full sized head, and extra large sized mind and ego. "You should go recycle yourself; you are not fit to be around." With that pronouncement Tim turns on his heels, and walks out the side gate, away from PS standing there staring at his wide receding back. The others watch him leave as well, before they too turn and head out of the same way, not even dignifying the occasion with the front entrance. There are no words to be said as they all left, as PS stood there all alone, standing in the cold sunlight streaming down, as the noises of the car, trucks, vans and SUVs all wandered mindlessly up and down the busy road in front of the store with the little fake spaceship, with the decorated mannequins, all a symbol for the world and its absurdity especially since the change came over the reality that might have never existed, save in a solitary mind. PS turned and followed them all out the side gate, with no destination in mind, save to avoid the night terrors wandering the daytime streets and the ugly truths that haunt hearts during the nighttime hours.



Remnant	5 Oct 2008, 04:20 AM Post #5
Member Posts: 36 Group: Members Member #1,519 Joined: 4 October 2008 Country: United States of America Favorite theme: RPA 2: Dark	Throwing it Down © 2007 All Rights Reserved Ceramic DM Competition, Round 2, Spring 07 This is a tale told with all my dark art craft. All tales, all stories, all remembrances future or past, are real, in one form or another. They are real because it is agreed on, in the singular or the plural, that all things are real, all elements are possible, life has potential, and the striving of kind is the end pursuit of the act of breathing. This is as real as anything else that exists in the realm of light, this tale to be told to you that are taking the time to read the missive constrained with the English Language, the act of typing, the relating of a story pursuant to other frameworks and ideas. This is a story of reality, how things really are in the Real World ™ instead of the make believe world of truth, honor, democracy, and politicians. This is how it is underneath it all, where madness is the stuff of everyday occurrence, and where hope can blossom in the most unlikely of places. This is the story of people, like and unlike all the rest that have crawled across the face of Mother Earth. These are words of what things are like when you get below the sticky sweet surface of corporate responsibility, and just get down to business. Just. Throwing it down. Starting off: Lost in cavernous malls populated with hollow shells fueled by endless outs of over sugared caffeine in stark recycled white and green highlights, the two couples waltz through the mindless drones of modern thought. The Doctor, the Liar and their twin loves all dancing to tunes only they can hear, up and down the endless alleys and side sections, in front of the strip malls with the same products, phones, hair, fingers and toes, as well as prepackaged food, the difference is usually only the name blazoned across the front of the establishment, and sometimes it is difficult to make out the lettering, they all look the same. [Pic of the Doctor and the Priest} "Love is nothing but a performing art" the liar said in his mockery of piety, "Filled with Palms, Blackberries, and other PDAs conducted in the privacy of the self-esteem and home, hopefully for some people." [Pic of the two ladies standing or dancing, not sure] "But you are wrong there my good man," the Doctor spouts off around his trademarked drink, warm in the summer sun, cold in the winter months, available to anyone with the coin to drop, "I find you utterly wrong in this regard." Small children still with minds left are dragging their parents from one distraction to another. The mothers are less susceptible than the fathers, inoculation started early with baby dolls and other ragged promises. The quartet staggers on down the crowded shopping mall, pausing to purchase nothing, to savor and regret even less. Waiting for the call to come and visit the other, to get the ball rolling down the hillside once more into that gray area of light and dark. Throwing it down. Long before it all started, as an starting point to The World "The ratios are off your Lordship," the technician is cowering behind the plate glass, tempered in the forge fed by mistakes and fueled with anger and despair, "the timing is wrong, the placements are suboptimal, as well as immediate deformities arising." ”As you can see from this prototype this human genome is not as adaptable to the alterations required, it needs to be modified before further alterations will take effect.” The technician knows when to finally close its mouth, and await the fate in store with the deliverance of news not conducive to prolonged existence. “Well,” smooth, sardonic, akin to smoke sliding across a gently resting pond in the middle of virgin wilderness, “Well it seems there are limitations to the species, it will take a few generations longer I suppose. No matter for it, draft plans to cull the herds more to speed up the process, start a few wars or something, just make it happen.” Glint of black on black, white chiffon dangling at the cravat line, pallid white flesh that has never been touched by the light of the sun, paler than the deepest cave bred mushroom could strive or dream to achieve, echoed in the ebony of the drapery and finery that adorned the skeletal structure with its scant covering of an epidermis. Turn on the heel and leave out the stone bound wooden door deep in the fastness of the earth. [Pic of the alien looking thing in the hands] The technician goes back to work, time to destroy the test material. Time to start over again, there is no lack of raw material to work with. Even when using only the local stock walking around the facility, it might be decades before they would need to tap back into the outside world for fresh stock to manipulate among the humans. Time passes slowly when there is all of it left in eternity stretching out in front of the eyes. Throwing it down. Keeping it all in check Death comes knock knock knocking on the basement door tick tock tick tock the clock strikes the hours on the dot, tick tock tick tock stealthy little steps up and down the cold concrete floor while the water goes drip drip drip down the back of the neck standing in the puddle watching the seepage seep This is where the boundaries are weakened with each and every birth that is forced into the world, with each drawing of breath, of each outreaching of unnatural arms, does the fabric become ever so slightly more torn, ever so gently more ripped, worn away with the work of the unceasing mechanics of design taking all into endless ripostes of control and harmony enforced with blade and shovel into the cold hard ground to bury the dissenting. This is what is happening every single day to the world, as it grows colder with the lack of human hearts, with the expansion of the meme of consumerism, with the advent of one world scattered to all the corners, forever reaching hands out to touch, and unable to make solitary contact. This is what is happening when man does not care about man, woman ignores woman, children are cruel to one and another, all the while the pets run rampant, feral lurking behind each overturned rubbish bin called a home by the homeless, it only takes a few generations for domesticated porcine to become feral razorback killers, the potential lurks under the torn and broken flesh with each step into broken glass of a relationship. There are things out there, that touch on the lives of men, women and children, bringing out life and pouring death as a decanter of wine is emptied into each and every glass at a banquet, leaving none spared the embrace of the bitter absinthe like slide down the throat of the nightshade that comes with the passing of time, or the swiftness of stolen eternity cut short in a spray of crimson flecked foam from a gurgling pair of lips. This is when it all turns sour, heads south and drops out of sight six feet under the ground with only weeping as a memorial. This is what happens when hearts have grown colder, as the Ice Age of the soul steals away the warmth of human interaction, borne away on the wings of gold and lust for power. Throwing it down. Rocked Lives torn into tiny scraps of putrid flesh decayed lying in the gutter. Standing outside the dingy tenement square, where the time has stopped for all practical purposes, but still it crawls as a carcass twitches in the final throes of rigor mortis, death gases nearly complete in emission. The bloated corpse, once a female from the vestigial traces of an outline, is left to rot away into nothing. The old man, growing older in the passing of time, letting the flecks of life drip off his fingertips making way for more pain and despair, every breath a small concession to living again, moves from the shadows into the light of the doorway, eager to enter and see what the others have concocted this time. There in the endless battle against entropy, the dark destroyer of all that was lovely and beautiful. At one time he felt that religion was the true evil, then it was money, later on it was the fickle nature of man, when all along it was the endless decay into mindless entropy, the winding down of choice into destruction, that is the true root of all that is inimical to love and happiness. Now he just knows it is all lies, the words spoken by the big governments, by the giant multinationals, the lies told by those in power, as well as those desiring power and dominion over others. They are all lies, meant to mislead and confuse the real issues, of life, love, giving, and being creative. Those are the true boons of mankind on the skein of existence. Instead though, the words of hate, of greed, of existence for the sake of consumerism flow in torrents to rival the largest of waterfalls made with imagination and delight. The leftover man, the remnant carried out of the depths of the past, across the wide worlds and left forgotten in the dark wire twisted realms of nether fey that drift along, tormenting all they come across. The Remnant limped along the darkly lit ways down the streets, making his way to meet up with the others of his little cliché. Too few to be of notice, too many to gather safely, meeting up with the Doctor (really only in name along and not in function, assumed name at that), the Liar and their Twin Loves (not lovers) to discuss their findings of the recent past. The Remnant wanders along, with cup in hand, goggles for the dust and miasma that floats in particulate state, and with a hat on to disguise and dissuade comments, he walks along and dreams of the days before he knew of other things. He makes a lonely path on the urban sidewalks looking for answers in the world all about and around him. Footsteps echoing in the distance of time, down the rusted stairwell into the bowels, rumbling coming from deep below, steam pipes breaking open to spill open second and degree forms of almost or actual death, while pumps eat themselves alive in the frenzy of unmentioned states of existence. [Pic of the b/w guy with the big goggles on] Down into the depths he descends, seeker’s journey in the waking state. The others should be there as well, in the meeting place, where they can discuss what can be done to thwart what seems to be occurring all about the world, in the skies, under the waves, buried in the rocks dredged up from the bones of the planetary body. The Doctor’s pale flesh, by design rather than genetics, gleams in the soft bulbs illuminating the small room where the five are all meeting at. The cold steel table is bolted to the floor, relic of a time when someone with a scalpel made this their work space. Now it is somewhere far from prying eyes, electronic devices, and full of cold iron to ward the unwanted from spying on the conversation. The Liar and his ruddy complexion making a fine mockery of health and good fitness habits, was next to enter the space. He in his usual frock of black, pretending to know things he does not profess to adhere to. His boots always go click, click, click as he steps on metal plates or doorstops. The twins enter, the loves of the flesh of these conspirators. Really little more than mindless blood and sinew automatons, they are a pleasant distraction as well as eye candy to distract from the two men on their dealings. The ensemble is all there, another round of expository about to ensue, another bout of philosophical masturbatory fantasies of making a difference when the hand basket has already be doused with accelerant and the roadside flare is burning almost into the Kelvin. “So where does the road lie this day.” The Doctor in typical obtuse fashion just spouts, never saying anything, never doing anything, never meaning anything. “Ohh look a dead spider, dears come and look at it!” One of the twin loves, with the aplomb and intelligence that selective breeding for looks not brains will produce, ohh the wonder of the anorexic age. “Not now my sweets, our dear meditator, I mean mediator, has something he wished to discuss with us all.” The Liar smoothing the way, as usual, decorated in the usual frock of lies and disguise. “This is over, I am done.” The lost one, lonely, short, getting round and hairy leftover from a bye gone age, one of life and the want to help others, just sighs out loud. “If this is who wants to change the world, then what is the point to change?” “Go ahead, go back to the malls, the stores, the lies, the latest fashions, I am through with this world anyways. Time to move on.” “But dear sir,” The Doctor who is not a doctor in reality, in typical Moulin feeling, “But dear sir, we are here to lend a helping hand, or perhaps eight.” “I say, what is going on?” Caught in the lie of paying attention, the Liar looks up from his attempted observations of almost displayed distractions while the mindless pair coo and awe over the desiccated remains of an arachnid. “He says he is through, all done with it all, the quest, the search, the good fight.” “Yes I am done.” The chest sighs, heaves, pain flares on the inside, anxiety and panic at constant war ever since fleeing from the first set of chains, only to find the ones forged all alone in the dark, wandering lost rain streaked roads and back alleys, were all the tighter for being self-inflicted. “Well if that is all, why did you call us down here good sir?” Indignity at the duration to come here, indignity at the lack of couth it might appear, the faux man of cloth stands straighter, evidence of too few meals missed straining at the seams. “Lets go sweeties, the spider bores us.” One or the other of the twin loves, who can tell them apart unless they were to be tattooed or branded, one could imagine they cannot tell a difference save if one should sleep, but that might require a brain that was leached out in the modern school system. “Yes, forget him, let us all depart,” The Doctor or was it the Liar says that. The lonely man has his head bowed in entropic reaction to fatigue. The other four make their way out the door, forgetting why they came there almost immediately, the stain of almost confrontation draining away under the ever increasing acidic PH balance of the fog on the ground once back to the city streets. Far below, where the pipes have rusted away, and the remains of dead insects lie, the Remnant, the leftover one, he who escaped a captivity of servitude, stands all alone chained with links forged of his own device. Throwing it down. Far behind the scenes, back where The Dark Fae Queen and The Fox Queen both held their courts when they would deign to touch the earth, there a lonely old man, on his birthday in fact, a lonely old man sits in a forgotten corner of a server room. His sole task being the monitoring of traffic devoted to search engine requests and how it affects the speed of the various government owned and operated supercomputers, as they being non-private sector tend to be overloaded and called upon for tasks unrelated to their true purposes. He and his stuffed animal hand puppet, Wiggly the Penguin, sit and spend their lives there, watching the HDDs spin up and spin down, there in the server room locked away from sight and sound of the outside world. [Pic of the Blue penguin and the blade server rack] Nothing ever happens to them, and someday this other lonely old man will die of old age sitting there watching nothing happen to him at all. While his counterpart stands all alone in the darkness, paralyzed with his own self. This is a tale told with all my dark art craft. It is a tale of The World, and how it impacts the rest of creation, with pain, fear, loathing, disgust and lies. It is not over yet.



Remnant	5 Oct 2008, 04:49 AM Post #6
Member Posts: 36 Group: Members Member #1,519 Joined: 4 October 2008 Country: United States of America Favorite theme: RPA 2: Dark	Report on the Viability of © 2008 All Rights Reserved Report on the Viability of Test Objects and Test Subjects Test report of experiments recently conducted per direction Abstract The scope of this testing is to report on the viability and utility of the test articles and subjects. This report will be used to determine future funding and directions. There were a series of tests conducted recently to verify viability of delivery systems, mass displacement devices, as well as zone control methods and methodologies. These tests were conducted as far from local habitation as was possible. In several instances, difficulties arose and in one case the testing was observed by local inhabitants. Despite these difficulties, all tests were conducted successfully and this test report details the setup and results of the testing. All of the testing was conducted using standard sampling and retrieval procedures, following all safety and decontamination processes. At no time were test personnel in any physical danger due to environment, habitat, or other factors. The key objectives were all met, testing and sampling were all held to the highest quality possible with zero cross-contamination Table of Contents Abstract 1 Table of Contents 1 Table of Figures 1 Introduction 2 Body 2 Test Articles 2 Results 3 Conclusions and Recommendations 6 References 7 Table of Figures Figure 1: Test Subject One, Biological subject in a Can 3 Figure 2: Witness to the Mass Displacement Test (Female Subject) 4 Figure 3: Two male subjects, in two primary colors, mind control exercise 5 Figure 4: Jungle creature held by human male, under observation 6 Introduction The test subjects consisted of four elements. The first was an analysis of the physical, chemical, and emotional components of a biological entity found in a can. The second test was a mass displacement device, illustrating the utility and potential of the device. The third test was a mind control device, a sub-dermal implant, intended to prevent local detection. The last test was a series of biometric studies of a jungle dwelling creature, with some potential for utility and use to our other future studies. Body One set of test engineers were utilized to conduct all the testing. There was some travel involved in the testing, as well as some minor issues relating to how they were scheduled and conducted. The main details are below in the Results section. The purpose of the testing is to validate proof of concept designs as well as to determine whether these lines of research and study should even be continued. Test Articles There are four tests in this report. The first Test Article is a biologic that was accidentally located in a can that was obtained in a raid in the eastern hemisphere. The can was a standard sized one for the location, and after the primary test subject was tested to destruction, subsequent investigation of the ancillary objects obtained during the obtaining of the original test subject, this was located. The curiosity of the find has prompted the testing cycle that was conducted. Due to the short timeframe involved, and concerns over deterioration, the tests were conducted as swiftly as possible. There were no appropriate surgical devices, so locally obtained plastic silverware was used to prod and manipulate the biologic. The biologic appeared to be some sort of flesh, with small teeth embedded along the outer circumference of the entire entity. There was a filmy, pearlescent fluid in the can that took up the rest of the volume. After opening the can the testing commenced. The second test was a demonstration of a mass displacement device. If successful it would help to reduce the footprint of obtaining main test subjects for the normal test cycles. In order to conduct this test it was determined to move unloving biological items to begin with. A standard flying disk was used to transport and deploy the device. Once at the test site the device was detonated. The third test was intended to demonstrate the effectiveness of some prototype mind control devices. As they are intended for the native population, they were inserted beneath the outer dermal covering of two of the males of the largest bipedal species, and later activated with interesting results. The fourth and last test covered in this report was a series of tests conducted on a previously unnoticed species found in an equatorial jungle by a scout team. It was retrieved and demonstrated a high degree of potential intelligence as well as utility so some basic and routine non-destructive tests were conducted. Results The various tests were all successful to various degrees. Follows is a more detailed set of results. Figure 1: Test Subject One, Biological subject in a Can The biologic was tested for contagious diseases, sensitivity to light, humidity, pressure changes, as well as extremes of temperature. At the start of the testing, it was determined it was chemically alive, with no indication of a nervous system analogous to the indigenous life forms previously tested. Standard cultures were obtained, scrapings, and no infectious diseases were detected under laboratory conditions. Once that was concluded it was exposed to the local environment and further tests were conducted. It showed no reaction to changes in light, either from total darkness up to maximum illumination. Following that the environment was altered from no moisture, up to saturation levels for ambient air temperature. At the greatest value of humidity the biologic exhibited some slight change in hue, deepening approximately three shades with no other changes noted. Once that was completed it was immediately subjected to a high pressure environment, with a total atmosphere equal to a gas giant. It showed no damage other than a flattening of the overall structure. After that it was subjected to an immediate and rapid decompression venting to the outside and taking it to an absolute vacuum. Again no response was detected save some deformation with the exiting of the oxygen. Last set of tests conducted were temperature. The inside of the test chamber was lowered to match that of the vacuum, reaching to 5 degrees Kelvin. The outer fluid covering froze and remained intact. Then it was subjected to a temperature, reached as fast as the test chamber could obtain an interior temperature of 670 Kelvin. The outer covering was converted to a gaseous form and was ablated away leaving the biologic dried and cracked. At the end of the testing it is concluded this is some form of artificial biological device, and worthy of further study back under more concrete and extensive facilities. Figure 2: Witness to the Mass Displacement Test (Female Subject) The second test was of a mass displacement device. It is intended to replace manned retrieval teams, instead pulling in test subjects and items without making the local inhabitants and dwellers suspicious. Due to a miscalculation in the time conversion the time of the test was not in the middle of the dark cycle, but in the middle of the light cycle. This was due to a mis-calibration of the time conversion standard from local time to standard time and back again. Despite this the test was carried out, the flying disk was able to deploy the test device. It was detonated, but due to the time mistake the detonation was observed. It is estimated less than 10 locals observed, and only one was close enough to have observed any physical effects. This is recorded in Figure 2 above. Based on the current population of the world wide test subject population of over 6.8 billion, and with only 10 potential observers, this comes to be a rounded off observation rate of .000000147. This value falls well below the potential noted threshold, and is well below the maximum allowed value. The device detonated, displacing a standard collection box worth of un-living former biological samples. It left the manufactured and worked metallic and other non-biological materials. Based on this and the subsequent retrieval by flying disk of the mass displacement device the test is considered an unqualified success. Figure 3: Two male subjects, in two primary colors, mind control exercise The third test conducted was of another prototype. This was of a mind-control device, also intended to aid in finding and testing local test subjects. Two males of the predominant bipedal species were tranquilized and the mind control devices were implanted under the scant dermal covering this species possesses. Once the subjects were returned to their natural habitant a series of signals were sent to test the range and efficacy of the implants. The creatures displayed abnormal behavior, including mating patterns indicative of the opposite gender of their species. Unfortunately shortly after the tests were initiated, before actual test commands could be sent, the test subjects suffered severe physical trauma and perished. While this could be considered inconclusive, the fact that just the carrier wave induced such radial behavioral modifications indicates great potential for the implants. Figure 4: Jungle creature held by human male, under observation This is by far the single test subject with the most potential. It was discovered by a survey and sample team while scouting in an equatorial jungle location. They were searching for a small sub-species of the dominant bipeds, and during their radar sweeps discovered this specimen. Recognizing a potential kindred spirit, they gently obtained the subject before locating the main test subjects. Those main test subjects along with the rest of the destructive testing will be covered in a separate report. This subject was exposed to our cultural icons, similar as to discovering a feral child of our own great race. It demonstrated a great aptitude for learning, mimicking the sequence within a few series of demonstrations. Then a series of simple mathematic tests were conducted, which did not go as well as the visual testing. This could be attributed to the difference in digits on the upper limbs, from our own. Despite that difficulty, the test subject tested equal to a small child in our developmental stages, and the test engineers feel that it has potential to be a productive member of our greater community. The final aspect is the safe consumption of our core foodstuffs, lending credence to the superior nature of this miniscule entity. Conclusions and Recommendations All of the testing is considered to be successful. Both of the biological series of tests yielded positive results, leading to a desire for more extensive testing. The two devices tested both performed to expectations, and further funding, testing, and development is recommended. With the greatest potential being the last test subject. The test engineers feel that further study, as well as obtaining of a viable breeding population, is warranted in the small biological specimen. This would yield a great boon to our overall society, to be able to introduce a new member into the overall good. References All testing was conducted in accordance with standard collection and detainment practices. At no time were the collecting personnel subjected to unprotected exposure and all precautions were followed. Extensive visual recordings were made of all phases and are available on request. Appendix A short recording made of locally obtained test subject, held in seclusion post the testing of the subject entity, prior to the destructive testing the other test subject was subjected to. [Record mental and physical] With his hand holding the strange little creature, the one that was brought back from some distant jungle, he waited to hear the results of the many tests. It had taken all too many days to find out, what would be the final outcome. Too many sleepless nights waiting to find out the final judgment, yet soon it would be resolved. Still it was strange to think that this little thing was more important than he was. Strange indeed. [End Record mental and physical]



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