Saturday, November 01, 2003
Words : 227
Total : 1987/50,000
Evaluation : I was aiming for 2000. But this is going to have to do.
1.4
"I'm still not sure about this."
"Well, staying at home sure doesn't seem to help you."
" ... True."
"I need you there, Bro. You're the only darn mechanic worth his salt around here."
Kyle looked away. He certainly hadn't been worth his salt the past few months.
"... I suppose you're right, Frank."
"Look, we went through all this before. And don't worry about Ann', I'll take care of her."
"... She prefers being called ..."
"... Nat, I know.", Frank finished.
" 'Nette.", Kyle corrected.
"There's a difference ?"
"Small one."
"Well. Hey ...", Frank took his brother by hand. "... Just get a good night's rest, alright ? You'll be fine. It's just two weeks. You'll be back here and back to your old self before you know it."
Kyle wasn't sure if he even wanted to be his old self again. But Frank was right. He needed to get his mind off of things.
" ... Thanks."
"You just be ready tomorrow, okay ?"
"I will. I will."
Frank started walking away. "See you at sunrise."
Kyle looked around him. His home. It felt unreal. Everything had felt unreal since his wife's death.
He sat down on the bed, or what was supposed to pass as a bed, and undressed himself.
Then he laid himself down, sighed, and closed his eyes.
Tomorrow.
Total : 1987/50,000
Evaluation : I was aiming for 2000. But this is going to have to do.
1.4
"I'm still not sure about this."
"Well, staying at home sure doesn't seem to help you."
" ... True."
"I need you there, Bro. You're the only darn mechanic worth his salt around here."
Kyle looked away. He certainly hadn't been worth his salt the past few months.
"... I suppose you're right, Frank."
"Look, we went through all this before. And don't worry about Ann', I'll take care of her."
"... She prefers being called ..."
"... Nat, I know.", Frank finished.
" 'Nette.", Kyle corrected.
"There's a difference ?"
"Small one."
"Well. Hey ...", Frank took his brother by hand. "... Just get a good night's rest, alright ? You'll be fine. It's just two weeks. You'll be back here and back to your old self before you know it."
Kyle wasn't sure if he even wanted to be his old self again. But Frank was right. He needed to get his mind off of things.
" ... Thanks."
"You just be ready tomorrow, okay ?"
"I will. I will."
Frank started walking away. "See you at sunrise."
Kyle looked around him. His home. It felt unreal. Everything had felt unreal since his wife's death.
He sat down on the bed, or what was supposed to pass as a bed, and undressed himself.
Then he laid himself down, sighed, and closed his eyes.
Tomorrow.
Words : 298
Total : 1760/50,000
Evaluation : Not sure if I'm happy with this piece =/ ... Going to start on 1.4 in a bit.
1.3
Dear log,
This is my first entry. My name is Annette Brock and I'm 17 years old. Oh, I can't believe how stupid that just sounded. I'm actually not sure why I am even writing this. My dad thought it would be a good idea. So I guess I'm doing this because of him. He said it would help me get through this. But if you ask me, he needs the help more than I do. Losing Mom hurts a lot, yes. But ... I lost more than just my mother. Dad hasn't been himself. So in a way, I lost him too.
Lost him today more than any other one. He left this morning with the caravan. It's all Uncle Frank's fault. Or mine. I don't know anymore. I feel like everything is my fault. Somewhere I know it's not true, but I just ... I miss mom. I miss her and it's all my fault. Why'd mom have to leave ? WHY !? Why couldn't she just get better ? Why did she get sick in the first place ? It's because of me. I know it.
Dad left. Frank put him up to it. He didn't want to leave, but Frank said it would help him. And Dad said this would help me. Well I don't know if this is helping me because I'm only feeling worse now that I'm writing this down. I should have asked him to stay. He would have stayed. For me. Dad would have stayed. Unlike mom. I hate her.
Sorry if I'm not making much sense. My head is just all fuzzy and I don't feel like I can write my thoughts down very well. I will try to write more later.
- April 3rd, 2136
Total : 1760/50,000
Evaluation : Not sure if I'm happy with this piece =/ ... Going to start on 1.4 in a bit.
1.3
Dear log,
This is my first entry. My name is Annette Brock and I'm 17 years old. Oh, I can't believe how stupid that just sounded. I'm actually not sure why I am even writing this. My dad thought it would be a good idea. So I guess I'm doing this because of him. He said it would help me get through this. But if you ask me, he needs the help more than I do. Losing Mom hurts a lot, yes. But ... I lost more than just my mother. Dad hasn't been himself. So in a way, I lost him too.
Lost him today more than any other one. He left this morning with the caravan. It's all Uncle Frank's fault. Or mine. I don't know anymore. I feel like everything is my fault. Somewhere I know it's not true, but I just ... I miss mom. I miss her and it's all my fault. Why'd mom have to leave ? WHY !? Why couldn't she just get better ? Why did she get sick in the first place ? It's because of me. I know it.
Dad left. Frank put him up to it. He didn't want to leave, but Frank said it would help him. And Dad said this would help me. Well I don't know if this is helping me because I'm only feeling worse now that I'm writing this down. I should have asked him to stay. He would have stayed. For me. Dad would have stayed. Unlike mom. I hate her.
Sorry if I'm not making much sense. My head is just all fuzzy and I don't feel like I can write my thoughts down very well. I will try to write more later.
- April 3rd, 2136
Words : 528
Total : 1462/50,000
Evaluation : Still slow. But fun. Will write more today.
Taking away. Lots of things are taken away every day, everywhere. Time takes away a person's youth. Death takes away loved ones. Raiders sometimes bring death. But they always take goods. Unless you were prepared and got lucky, then they'd back off. Sometimes. And now he and the rest of the caravan were taking away goods, clothes mostly, to the next town, and then take away other goods from that place, Newsburg, back to his hometown. But that wasn't called taking away. That was called trading. Trading. Kyle could trade. Mostly his skills. He could fix things. He knew how to fix things. But he didn't come along to trade his skills this time. Though he would, if he'd get the chance. No, no. this time he came along because ... because. Why'd he come along ?
Kyle Brock felt the world spinning around him.
"Bobby, there's one thing you really need to know about having a home. They're not meant for people like you an' me. Not for us people who are on the move all the time. What good is a home if you ain't there most of the time ? Besides, as soon as you leave, some other bastard comes along and takes it !", said the voice belonging to Ralph in front of him.
The sky was blue. Kyle could see it in the reflection of the cart. The sand slowly crumbled away under his feet with each step. One of the cows mooed. Kyle blinked. And again, holding his eyes closed a little longer this time. Darkness. Calm, calm darkness. Open again. So bright. Ugh. It hurt. His mind hurt.
A hand. A hand on his shoulder.
"Hey Brock, you alright ?", the hand said. No, not the hand. The man owning the hand said it. Kyle turned around and looked the man in the eye, holding the gaze for a second.
Hatchet. Hatchet Flinn. Old man. Veteran. Good guy. Good guy.
" ... Er. ... no, not really.", Kyle replied, shifting his gaze back to the ground below him,
"... but. eh ...", eyes on the town behind them, slowly disappearing from view,
"... I'll be .. okay... I will."
"You sure ? We're going to need you there in Newsburg, remember ?", Hatchet tried to comfort.
Kyle nodded at the man, as he had done before when they left that morning.
"Look, I know you've had a rough time. And that's why you're here now. To get away from it all. So snap out of it, this isn't the Brock I know."
Kyle looked apologetic.
"Eh. It's alright. Go on, get on the cart. Go get some rest. Clear that mind of yours."
"...", Kyle stood silent.
"Don't worry, the cows can take it. So can the cart. Get on. I mean it.", Hatchet continued.
"... Th. thanks, Flinn.", Kyle mumbled a little, as he pulled himself up and sat down on the the cart.
"Don't mention it, Brock. You just get your head back together.", and he patted Kyle on the shoulder again.
Feeling the ground roll away under his feet, Kyle closed his eyes and tried to calm down.
Total : 1462/50,000
Evaluation : Still slow. But fun. Will write more today.
Taking away. Lots of things are taken away every day, everywhere. Time takes away a person's youth. Death takes away loved ones. Raiders sometimes bring death. But they always take goods. Unless you were prepared and got lucky, then they'd back off. Sometimes. And now he and the rest of the caravan were taking away goods, clothes mostly, to the next town, and then take away other goods from that place, Newsburg, back to his hometown. But that wasn't called taking away. That was called trading. Trading. Kyle could trade. Mostly his skills. He could fix things. He knew how to fix things. But he didn't come along to trade his skills this time. Though he would, if he'd get the chance. No, no. this time he came along because ... because. Why'd he come along ?
Kyle Brock felt the world spinning around him.
"Bobby, there's one thing you really need to know about having a home. They're not meant for people like you an' me. Not for us people who are on the move all the time. What good is a home if you ain't there most of the time ? Besides, as soon as you leave, some other bastard comes along and takes it !", said the voice belonging to Ralph in front of him.
The sky was blue. Kyle could see it in the reflection of the cart. The sand slowly crumbled away under his feet with each step. One of the cows mooed. Kyle blinked. And again, holding his eyes closed a little longer this time. Darkness. Calm, calm darkness. Open again. So bright. Ugh. It hurt. His mind hurt.
A hand. A hand on his shoulder.
"Hey Brock, you alright ?", the hand said. No, not the hand. The man owning the hand said it. Kyle turned around and looked the man in the eye, holding the gaze for a second.
Hatchet. Hatchet Flinn. Old man. Veteran. Good guy. Good guy.
" ... Er. ... no, not really.", Kyle replied, shifting his gaze back to the ground below him,
"... but. eh ...", eyes on the town behind them, slowly disappearing from view,
"... I'll be .. okay... I will."
"You sure ? We're going to need you there in Newsburg, remember ?", Hatchet tried to comfort.
Kyle nodded at the man, as he had done before when they left that morning.
"Look, I know you've had a rough time. And that's why you're here now. To get away from it all. So snap out of it, this isn't the Brock I know."
Kyle looked apologetic.
"Eh. It's alright. Go on, get on the cart. Go get some rest. Clear that mind of yours."
"...", Kyle stood silent.
"Don't worry, the cows can take it. So can the cart. Get on. I mean it.", Hatchet continued.
"... Th. thanks, Flinn.", Kyle mumbled a little, as he pulled himself up and sat down on the the cart.
"Don't mention it, Brock. You just get your head back together.", and he patted Kyle on the shoulder again.
Feeling the ground roll away under his feet, Kyle closed his eyes and tried to calm down.
Words : 934
Total : 934/50,000
Evaluation : Only about half-way through for today. Man, how am I ever going to do this ?
I do not know what the third world war will be fought with, but I do know that the fourth one will be fought with sticks and stones.
- Albert Einstein
War. War Never Changes.
- Fallout intro
1.1
A lot is unclear about the war. Some say it happened shortly after a terrorist attack on two prominent buildings on the East Coast of the United States of America. That the nukes were fired in direct retaliation to that act. Others claim to have evidence that years have passed since that day before the war. Some even speak of decades. But as it is, the war happened. And besides a ravished and desolate planet, it did not leave much behind.
Survivors. Yes, there were survivors. Small towns in the middle of nowhere that escaped the great blasts. A few fallout shelters, spread across the planet. Small pockets of civilisation that continued to exist despite the war's greatest attempt to wipe out every last trace of it. People lived. People survived. People died. Some at the hands of the radiation that still blankets portions of the surface. Some due to horrors that came from the many great wastelands. But most people died at the hand of their own brethen.
Once spoken of as the War to end all wars, it is not spoken of as such anymore. War did not end. Governments, Nations. Religions, Beliefs. Very little of them matter anymore. Survival matters. And survival in these times is hard. Violent force, by some, is deemed neccessary for this survival. Seen often as the only way to procure one's share of the few resources that were left behind.
1.2
Maybe it was for the best. The dry sand underneath his boot crumbled as he brought it down, leaving a short lived imprint. The first step was always the hardest. After that it becomes easier. He looked down at the dried soil beneath him. Another step. A voice, from his left.
"Come on, Kyle. We're leaving. Stop slacking.", it was a man's voice.
Kyle looked up at the man, nodded his head slowly, and followed him as the group started to move on ahead. He gazed over them slowly, feeling too apathic to pay any real attention. There would be plenty of time to pay attention in the upcoming four to five days. That was how long this trip was going to take. Kyle Brock could be back home in two weeks. He'd been away from home longer than that before. But it didn't feel the same this time. Ofcourse it didn't.
There was a calm breeze, as the morning sun slowly rose up the sky to his left. Up above some clouds were forming. Clouds tended to be good. Clouds meant a chance on rain, meant water. Clean water was scarce. Any water was scarce, and clean water even more so. Kyle trudged on. He pulled on his vest. His head ached. His home town lay some five minutes to his back. Kyle didn't really feel good about leaving it behind. But staying there would not help much, either. He had decided to do this, and that was it. No turning back anymore. Oh, if only he could turn it back. No, not the decision to leave. Just time. Time itself. He shook his head. It was filled with chaos. He muttered to himself.
"Get your head together."
It didn't work. Not now, anyway. Just up ahead two of the guards were making small talk.
"Newsburg again, huh ?", said the younger of the two.
"Yup.", replied the other.
"You know, Ralph, if I'd had a bottle cap for every time I been to Newsburg, I'd ha ..."
"Don't talk crazy, Bobby. You get 80 caps worth every time you go there.", the retort came.
"Gee, sorry man !" Bobby said, throwing his hands up in the hair. "Just trying to make conversation. Trip's boring enough as it is."
"Nah, it's okay. I know what you mean. Been there enough times myself, if you ask me.", said Ralph.
"Hehe. Yeah. Haven't all of us ?"
"Guess that's the fate of being a full time caravan guard, Bob. I'd say it beats staying at home any day, though."
"You have a home ?", asked Bobby, raising his dark eyebrows in disbelief.
"Heck no. ... well, once. A long time ago. Before I got into this business. You must've been a mere toddler back then. Let me tell you 'bout it ... ", and Ralph continued.
Kyle Brock averted his attention to the cart directly to his left. Pulled by two pieces of cattle. Cows. Kyle didn't know what kind. If there was such a thing as different kinds of cows. There were. But everything was crossbred anyway. Some cattle herders knew about kinds. But he didn't. He knew about the cart, though. That cart was a pre-war relic. Or rather what was left of it. One day, a long, long time ago, that cart had an extra set of wheels, and could move on it's own. Not anymore. It had been canibalized in order to make it useful again. The front half ripped out completely, leaving just the trunk and the aft wheels. Sad, in a way. But a working cart that could be used for transport was far more useful than a broken down automobile. Cars, they were known as. Car. Just add a T and you have a cart. Which was weird, considering one doesn't actually add anything when making a cart out of a car. Rather, one takes a lot away from it.
Total : 934/50,000
Evaluation : Only about half-way through for today. Man, how am I ever going to do this ?
I do not know what the third world war will be fought with, but I do know that the fourth one will be fought with sticks and stones.
- Albert Einstein
War. War Never Changes.
- Fallout intro
1.1
A lot is unclear about the war. Some say it happened shortly after a terrorist attack on two prominent buildings on the East Coast of the United States of America. That the nukes were fired in direct retaliation to that act. Others claim to have evidence that years have passed since that day before the war. Some even speak of decades. But as it is, the war happened. And besides a ravished and desolate planet, it did not leave much behind.
Survivors. Yes, there were survivors. Small towns in the middle of nowhere that escaped the great blasts. A few fallout shelters, spread across the planet. Small pockets of civilisation that continued to exist despite the war's greatest attempt to wipe out every last trace of it. People lived. People survived. People died. Some at the hands of the radiation that still blankets portions of the surface. Some due to horrors that came from the many great wastelands. But most people died at the hand of their own brethen.
Once spoken of as the War to end all wars, it is not spoken of as such anymore. War did not end. Governments, Nations. Religions, Beliefs. Very little of them matter anymore. Survival matters. And survival in these times is hard. Violent force, by some, is deemed neccessary for this survival. Seen often as the only way to procure one's share of the few resources that were left behind.
1.2
Maybe it was for the best. The dry sand underneath his boot crumbled as he brought it down, leaving a short lived imprint. The first step was always the hardest. After that it becomes easier. He looked down at the dried soil beneath him. Another step. A voice, from his left.
"Come on, Kyle. We're leaving. Stop slacking.", it was a man's voice.
Kyle looked up at the man, nodded his head slowly, and followed him as the group started to move on ahead. He gazed over them slowly, feeling too apathic to pay any real attention. There would be plenty of time to pay attention in the upcoming four to five days. That was how long this trip was going to take. Kyle Brock could be back home in two weeks. He'd been away from home longer than that before. But it didn't feel the same this time. Ofcourse it didn't.
There was a calm breeze, as the morning sun slowly rose up the sky to his left. Up above some clouds were forming. Clouds tended to be good. Clouds meant a chance on rain, meant water. Clean water was scarce. Any water was scarce, and clean water even more so. Kyle trudged on. He pulled on his vest. His head ached. His home town lay some five minutes to his back. Kyle didn't really feel good about leaving it behind. But staying there would not help much, either. He had decided to do this, and that was it. No turning back anymore. Oh, if only he could turn it back. No, not the decision to leave. Just time. Time itself. He shook his head. It was filled with chaos. He muttered to himself.
"Get your head together."
It didn't work. Not now, anyway. Just up ahead two of the guards were making small talk.
"Newsburg again, huh ?", said the younger of the two.
"Yup.", replied the other.
"You know, Ralph, if I'd had a bottle cap for every time I been to Newsburg, I'd ha ..."
"Don't talk crazy, Bobby. You get 80 caps worth every time you go there.", the retort came.
"Gee, sorry man !" Bobby said, throwing his hands up in the hair. "Just trying to make conversation. Trip's boring enough as it is."
"Nah, it's okay. I know what you mean. Been there enough times myself, if you ask me.", said Ralph.
"Hehe. Yeah. Haven't all of us ?"
"Guess that's the fate of being a full time caravan guard, Bob. I'd say it beats staying at home any day, though."
"You have a home ?", asked Bobby, raising his dark eyebrows in disbelief.
"Heck no. ... well, once. A long time ago. Before I got into this business. You must've been a mere toddler back then. Let me tell you 'bout it ... ", and Ralph continued.
Kyle Brock averted his attention to the cart directly to his left. Pulled by two pieces of cattle. Cows. Kyle didn't know what kind. If there was such a thing as different kinds of cows. There were. But everything was crossbred anyway. Some cattle herders knew about kinds. But he didn't. He knew about the cart, though. That cart was a pre-war relic. Or rather what was left of it. One day, a long, long time ago, that cart had an extra set of wheels, and could move on it's own. Not anymore. It had been canibalized in order to make it useful again. The front half ripped out completely, leaving just the trunk and the aft wheels. Sad, in a way. But a working cart that could be used for transport was far more useful than a broken down automobile. Cars, they were known as. Car. Just add a T and you have a cart. Which was weird, considering one doesn't actually add anything when making a cart out of a car. Rather, one takes a lot away from it.
Words : 0
Total : 0/50,000
Evaluation : Argh ! TOO SLOW
Started writing this morning. It's not going too great. 390 words after about an hour and a half. Need to find way to continue writing crap. Been editing too much, resulting in non-crap. Will post piece later.
Total : 0/50,000
Evaluation : Argh ! TOO SLOW
Started writing this morning. It's not going too great. 390 words after about an hour and a half. Need to find way to continue writing crap. Been editing too much, resulting in non-crap. Will post piece later.
