<«Writer's Arena»>

[Ayasato-chan]

I always have written in the 3rd person, although I did write a piece in 1st person... never finished the last part of it. (I could post it if you'd like.)

[Twig]

2nd is just...odd.

[Sploda]

I write mostly in 3rd person, unless I want the character to be like me, then i use 1st person.

[Kaisu]

Wait, I'm guessing 1rst is what I call POV, and 3rd is Narrator-style, but then what's 2nd?

[Twig]

1st person uses the word I.

3rd person uses the names of characters.

2nd person uses the word you.

 

It's hard to explain.

[radio414]

1st: I jumped over the crevasse, and just barely made it.

2nd: You decide to jump over the crevasse, nearly falling in.

3rd: Bob jumped the crevasse, almost falling in.

 

That's basically it.

[Kaisu]

Then third, sometimes 1rst, occaisionally a mix, but never 2.

[Twig]

New Topic?

[chrid97]

How many stories have you written?

[Twig]

Too much to count.

[chrid97]

I had a feeeling someone was going to say that -.-

[Sploda]

1

 

You have a problem with that?

[chrid97]

Yes, yes I do.

So you have written 1 story or 1 good story?

[Sploda]

Just 1 story, you can read it the link is in my sig and on the first post.

[chrid97]

Oh, okay. I am going to join your Club but not right now. My mom thinks im studying

[Sploda]

...

Not the club the Link in the Spoiler.

[Raylen]

I like having great ideas (IMO) and ruining them.

 

[spoiler= Prologue for some story]

It was suspense. It soon gave away to pain as the task was carried out – the punishment – the sentence.

 

Drip, Drip, Drip, splashed blood to the floor – my blood.

 

I did not cry out, I vowed not to. Only a coward cannot take responsibility for what they've done. But it wasn't the pain that was overwhelming, it was humiliation. Even us, the low – or the infidels – play by rules of honor, honor is very important. Some bribery prevented this from being worse – this could have been in public. I shuddered at the thought, but it continued – why are such corrupt people allowed to rule us?

 

Ever since the “Enlightenment” – no, that's those demons’ term for it – there was a different system of law. Such laws governed life, and held a communist-like grip on society. The good thing was, the punishments were quick, just a few minutes, rather than wasting years in jail, under the old system.

The seemingly cruel sentences were almost nothing, thanks to modern-day technology – obtainable by the black market. Only the squeamish were afraid of these sentences – those civil rights activists, democrats, and the entire left wing in general. In short – the ones that ruined us.

 

I was blindfolded during these moments, another testament on humiliation. Such people – damn them! – They gave us such a bad reputation! They do not have the slightest notion of honor, to know a man, will take responsibility – cowards! Now those demons think we cannot watch the carrying out of our responsibility without vomiting – humiliation.

 

In 16 years – my lifespan – I’ve seen more blood than all of those socialists combined. My colleagues would have probably done more than their fair share of killing.

 

In my mind, I cut to a scene when I uncovered an ancient book – in what were the remains of a library. It had been about the one – the traitor – unwilling and indecisive allowed those scattered demons to unite. The democrat – or socialist (those terms are synonymous nowadays), the one that made history, as the first… My mind trailed. I could not take the fact that our ancestors screwed up – so badly they did.

 

Drip, drip, drip – more blood flowed, but to a lesser rate.

 

They would make sure their victim did not die, how it was done, I had no idea. But their intent was to make the victim suffer – and leave a visible everlasting mark. An everlasting mark – that’s what mattered, not so much the former, but the latter – oh so much pain. Those demons did not keep criminal records – they did not have long arduous trials that would take years – they made marks, upon the body – permanent ones.

 

Although this is preferable compared to a jail sentence, it carried – for those in our profession – an overwhelming statement of failure. They took a knife and make a quick slash or two on the right side of their face, deep to scar the victim. Everyone’s mark was unique. This intrigued me – how everyone stayed unique despite the fact they kept no records.

 

The knife drove its course – it hurt – two slashes, not one. One through the middle of my right face, from the forehead down – another across my cheek. Here, my fate was sealed; I would be seen as a second-rate thief, no one would be able to trust me – unlike the golden days before. Trust, I thought, and the memories came flooding again.

 

I remember when I was still a child, maybe of nine or ten, I remember the Master telling us, just go and know that you can do it. To believe in yourself and not believing will result in certain death. I trusted that I would not screw things up, the many heists I pulled – amazed everyone. A child can manage such things!

 

It wasn’t like the old days, where you went up to someone with a gun and say “give me all your money!” If you did that, then chances are they have an automatic rifle rigged somewhere to shoot you. Thievery had become an art, an art of deception, trickery, and chance. With technology, everything must change – everything.

 

The story that was over a hundred years old, the story at the end of World War two, would be an example of what technology does. But the end, it was all decided by one thing, a paradigm shift. We could kill millions, flatten cities, and invoke the apocalypse with the push of a button.

 

The story of Nagasaki and Hiroshima was over a hundred years ago – it is wise not to dwindle on regrets, on the past…

 

To me, I felt humiliated, I wondered if the other people, with criminal marks – which was quite a few of them. I felt childish, I just failed once, and I can dust myself up and keep on going. No one can be perfect every time. But how I just hated to lose, I wanted to be the best – I must live on, to keep that promise that I made.

 

There was another sharp lapse of pain. The blood had stopped flowing, that means they sealed the wound. I kept thinking about that promise, and how I would fulfill it. My mind kept giving away to anger and thinking about how they had ruined it. It was for this black liquid that I was born in poverty, it was for that I had to steal and kill, for that I suffer – no, not suffer - humiliate myself, this I had to deal with for 16 years.

 

The blindfold was removed, and I could see, my right hand – bloody, and on the floor, completely disconnected with my arm. It seemed to have wiggled a bit, and the stump, carefully wrapped in a bandage, was bloody also. I also knew there were red streaks on my face – streaks of blood. The punishment for a thief – the hand that steals…must be cut off.

 

I wanted to vomit, but restrained myself – that will just give them more reason to humiliate me.

 

The law did not apply to just infidels, it applied to everyone, and just the harsher punishments were used on the infidels. To infidels, there were no alleviating circumstances – no exceptions – if you were found guilty, the deed was done, if you were a man, you did not complain. The case was different, if you were a socialist, or a coward.

 

What was worse would be the 20 mile walk back to the slums, in public. Well, I would be home. When I am home, it was done with. It wasn’t some lengthy jail term, the trial and the sentencing took less than an hour to complete. That didn’t cheer me up, tomorrow – I would have to enter Lux – the underground black market – and purchase a prosthetic hand. I would be welcomed by the thieving community with a mixture of sympathy – and of course, humor.

 

All throughout the streets, I was jeered at; tomorrow, I would be looking to set the score. As more distance was covered, my mind gradually sinked to deeper thoughts, calmer ones. Then the thing that never refuses to leave my mind – the promise.

 

 

[chrid97]

...

Not the club the Link in the Spoiler.

 

I know -.-

I'm just saying

[Sploda]

Ok but it isn't easy to join, I'm picky when it comes to members.

[chrid97]

Okay. I'll do the best I can

[Twig]

I like having great ideas (IMO) and ruining them.

 

[spoiler= Prologue for some story]

It was suspense. It soon gave away to pain as the task was carried out – the punishment – the sentence.

 

Drip' date=' Drip, Drip, splashed blood to the floor – my blood.

 

I did not cry out, I vowed not to. Only a coward cannot take responsibility for what they've done. But it wasn't the pain that was overwhelming, it was humiliation. Even us, the low – or the infidels – play by rules of honor, honor is very important. Some bribery prevented this from being worse – this could have been in public. I shuddered at the thought, but it continued – why are such corrupt people allowed to rule us?

 

Ever since the “Enlightenment” – no, that's those demons’ term for it – there was a different system of law. Such laws governed life, and held a communist-like grip on society. The good thing was, the punishments were quick, just a few minutes, rather than wasting years in jail, under the old system.

The seemingly cruel sentences were almost nothing, thanks to modern-day technology – obtainable by the black market. Only the squeamish were afraid of these sentences – those civil rights activists, democrats, and the entire left wing in general. In short – the ones that ruined us.

 

I was blindfolded during these moments, another testament on humiliation. Such people – damn them! – They gave us such a bad reputation! They do not have the slightest notion of honor, to know a man, will take responsibility – cowards! Now those demons think we cannot watch the carrying out of our responsibility without vomiting – humiliation.

 

In 16 years – my lifespan – I’ve seen more blood than all of those socialists combined. My colleagues would have probably done more than their fair share of killing.

 

In my mind, I cut to a scene when I uncovered an ancient book – in what were the remains of a library. It had been about the one – the traitor – unwilling and indecisive allowed those scattered demons to unite. The democrat – or socialist (those terms are synonymous nowadays), the one that made history, as the first… My mind trailed. I could not take the fact that our ancestors screwed up – so badly they did.

 

Drip, drip, drip – more blood flowed, but to a lesser rate.

 

They would make sure their victim did not die, how it was done, I had no idea. But their intent was to make the victim suffer – and leave a visible everlasting mark. An everlasting mark – that’s what mattered, not so much the former, but the latter – oh so much pain. Those demons did not keep criminal records – they did not have long arduous trials that would take years – they made marks, upon the body – permanent ones.

 

Although this is preferable compared to a jail sentence, it carried – for those in our profession – an overwhelming statement of failure. They took a knife and make a quick slash or two on the right side of their face, deep to scar the victim. Everyone’s mark was unique. This intrigued me – how everyone stayed unique despite the fact they kept no records.

 

The knife drove its course – it hurt – two slashes, not one. One through the middle of my right face, from the forehead down – another across my cheek. Here, my fate was sealed; I would be seen as a second-rate thief, no one would be able to trust me – unlike the golden days before. Trust, I thought, and the memories came flooding again.

 

I remember when I was still a child, maybe of nine or ten, I remember the Master telling us, just go and know that you can do it. To believe in yourself and not believing will result in certain death. I trusted that I would not screw things up, the many heists I pulled – amazed everyone. A child can manage such things!

 

It wasn’t like the old days, where you went up to someone with a gun and say “give me all your money!” If you did that, then chances are they have an automatic rifle rigged somewhere to shoot you. Thievery had become an art, an art of deception, trickery, and chance. With technology, everything must change – everything.

 

The story that was over a hundred years old, the story at the end of World War two, would be an example of what technology does. But the end, it was all decided by one thing, a paradigm shift. We could kill millions, flatten cities, and invoke the apocalypse with the push of a button.

 

The story of Nagasaki and Hiroshima was over a hundred years ago – it is wise not to dwindle on regrets, on the past…

 

To me, I felt humiliated, I wondered if the other people, with criminal marks – which was quite a few of them. I felt childish, I just failed once, and I can dust myself up and keep on going. No one can be perfect every time. But how I just hated to lose, I wanted to be the best – I must live on, to keep that promise that I made.

 

There was another sharp lapse of pain. The blood had stopped flowing, that means they sealed the wound. I kept thinking about that promise, and how I would fulfill it. My mind kept giving away to anger and thinking about how they had ruined it. It was for this black liquid that I was born in poverty, it was for that I had to steal and kill, for that I suffer – no, not suffer - humiliate myself, this I had to deal with for 16 years.

 

The blindfold was removed, and I could see, my right hand – bloody, and on the floor, completely disconnected with my arm. It seemed to have wiggled a bit, and the stump, carefully wrapped in a bandage, was bloody also. I also knew there were red streaks on my face – streaks of blood. The punishment for a thief – the hand that steals…must be cut off.

 

I wanted to vomit, but restrained myself – that will just give them more reason to humiliate me.

 

The law did not apply to just infidels, it applied to everyone, and just the harsher punishments were used on the infidels. To infidels, there were no alleviating circumstances – no exceptions – if you were found guilty, the deed was done, if you were a man, you did not complain. The case was different, if you were a socialist, or a coward.

 

What was worse would be the 20 mile walk back to the slums, in public. Well, I would be home. When I am home, it was done with. It wasn’t some lengthy jail term, the trial and the sentencing took less than an hour to complete. That didn’t cheer me up, tomorrow – I would have to enter Lux – the underground black market – and purchase a prosthetic hand. I would be welcomed by the thieving community with a mixture of sympathy – and of course, humor.

 

All throughout the streets, I was jeered at; tomorrow, I would be looking to set the score. As more distance was covered, my mind gradually sinked to deeper thoughts, calmer ones. Then the thing that never refuses to leave my mind – the promise.

 

 

[/quote']

 

It's interesting, but to be honest, it didn't catch my attention.

[DL]

Ok but it isn't easy to join' date=' I'm picky when it comes to members.

[/quote']

 

which is why you accepted me, the perverted lolicon?

 

Anyway, I'm in the process of writing that one story, remember, where the girl gets hit by the bus?

 

yeah, it might be up in a few days.

[Sploda]

You had notable threads and your a decent member (when not putting me in perverted fillers).

[DL]

Hey, I liked the perverted fillers.

 

Anyway, I go another cliche.

 

"It was a dark, stormy, night..."

[Twig]

There's also the Sasuke's personality cliche. I didn't know there was so much cliches.