It's me, that John fellow everyone's always talking about! I just got back from the Super Happy Fun swim at the local water emporium, and that in it's own was rather exciting. An hour and a half of chlorine induced halucinations and getting hit by random high-schoolers (this only happened once, but I figured it was worth a comment). I spent the time there with my amigo, Jed. We discussed stuff, most of it Twilight complaints, such as how Edward glitters.
That glittery vampire friend brings us into my next recent event, Improv! We had practice today, and an expo last week, in which our story (which i narrated) involved a small child whose house was destroyed by a meteor. I still laugh at his misfortune. We also had a theme event (beginnings) in which one of our fellow improvers, Leah, started the vignette with "I just started Twilight!". I knew then, that it was my civic duty to jump in and yell, "I'm Edward, I *Sparkle*!" It got lots of laffs.
We also had an Improv practice today, in which I learned that one of my teammates can read peoples auras. Mine's yellow. Yay!
In our life, improv scene, which needs to be all serious, and realistic. My group asks for a pivital moment, and one of our coaches yelled out, "You get invited to your first Orgy!" That made me double over.
I'm writing the 2nd bloodsuckers page in my mind, and hope to have it up soon. Peace-out!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Bloodsuckers: Page 1
Without further ado, here is the first page of my comic!
radcat101.deviantart.com/art/Bloodsuckers-Page-1-103088540
(^Go to the link!)
radcat101.deviantart.com/art/Bloodsuckers-Page-1-103088540
(^Go to the link!)
Friday, October 24, 2008
Hark, a lark! (That just popped into my head. Do not ask where from.)
So, since I'm so awesome (you all knew it to be true) I have a new story to post on this Blog, an English project that I have been working on for a while. As well as that, I've decided to play "Disaster Report" over again, and, hope to try and find more secret secrets. That is the only game that I can say I know more about then anyone else I know.
It rose, high above me, made of brick. The wire, jagged like the teeth of some animal, threatened me from it’s home, the top. It reminded me of a crocodile (of which I had only heard; they died off long before I came into this world), and glittered, even though the Sun was obscured behind the smog that filled the air.
It had been years since I’d seen the Sun. The glowing orb had retreated from our sky years ago, long before THEY came in their metal birds, long before THEY had lowered their “men” down into our village, long before THEY separated me from my family, long before THEY had taken me away. I only vaguely remembered the Sun, shimmering through the broken windows in our home. It had left with the arrival of the smog, a sure sign that THEY had arrived.
We had long waited for this day, myself in particular. Countless hours had led us to this moment, our chance to shine, our chance to escape. A shout in some language (which I didn’t recognize, as it was probably American, and I only knew British) sounded from a man in the middle of the crowd. He adjusted his glasses then rushed the wall, his ragged jacket moving with each step, his sandal-bound feet noisily pounding on the cracked asphalt beneath us. The rest of us followed, en suite, the clatter of feet and raised voices screaming into the air.
The noon guards probably thought we were delirious or mad, at least until we raised our weapons of choice. Mallets, chisels, even (as in my case) grimy fingers were quickly put to work dismantling the masonry. I heard the frantic cries of our oppressors high above us, but our determination was too fierce for any alarm to defeat us.
I was one of the first through, one of the first to feel my bare feet in the mud. I dropped the powdered, broken brickwork from my hands, and heard it plop, ever so faintly, into the mud. I felt the water well up in my eyes. I felt it roll down my cheeks, turning brown from the dirt encrusted there, and dropping down onto the ground below. And then, I saw it.
Glittering in the distance, the smog from their factories far away from their homes stood the giant sky-towers of our oppressors, hundreds of meters tall. A road from the olden days, partially destroyed, led from their city in a straight line, to us, and to our camp. The rusted carcasses of vehicles lay on the road, littered as if a giant disposal van had tipped, jettisoning its cargo across the asphalt surface. One such box lay next to me, and I peered in. The remnants of a chair, burnt and decaying, stood on metal bars, and a small bag lay on the floor. I grabbed it, and pulled it open. Items fell out, including a flat, rectangular piece. I snatched this up, and stared. And I remembered. A picture. Looking back up at me, a family, long gone, smiled ghost smiles. Smiling in return, I looked at the figures, then around me, and stood by the side of the vehicle.
A cry and a burst of weapon fire sounded from the guardhouse broke my trance. I dropped the picture and turned towards the commotion. The man with glasses leaned from the window and raised a torn flag, draping it from the opening. He yelled, a cry of victory, and we yelled back. We had finally gained our freedom. We, who had been oppressed for years, were finally ready, finally able, to live.
It rose, high above me, made of brick. The wire, jagged like the teeth of some animal, threatened me from it’s home, the top. It reminded me of a crocodile (of which I had only heard; they died off long before I came into this world), and glittered, even though the Sun was obscured behind the smog that filled the air.
It had been years since I’d seen the Sun. The glowing orb had retreated from our sky years ago, long before THEY came in their metal birds, long before THEY had lowered their “men” down into our village, long before THEY separated me from my family, long before THEY had taken me away. I only vaguely remembered the Sun, shimmering through the broken windows in our home. It had left with the arrival of the smog, a sure sign that THEY had arrived.
We had long waited for this day, myself in particular. Countless hours had led us to this moment, our chance to shine, our chance to escape. A shout in some language (which I didn’t recognize, as it was probably American, and I only knew British) sounded from a man in the middle of the crowd. He adjusted his glasses then rushed the wall, his ragged jacket moving with each step, his sandal-bound feet noisily pounding on the cracked asphalt beneath us. The rest of us followed, en suite, the clatter of feet and raised voices screaming into the air.
The noon guards probably thought we were delirious or mad, at least until we raised our weapons of choice. Mallets, chisels, even (as in my case) grimy fingers were quickly put to work dismantling the masonry. I heard the frantic cries of our oppressors high above us, but our determination was too fierce for any alarm to defeat us.
I was one of the first through, one of the first to feel my bare feet in the mud. I dropped the powdered, broken brickwork from my hands, and heard it plop, ever so faintly, into the mud. I felt the water well up in my eyes. I felt it roll down my cheeks, turning brown from the dirt encrusted there, and dropping down onto the ground below. And then, I saw it.
Glittering in the distance, the smog from their factories far away from their homes stood the giant sky-towers of our oppressors, hundreds of meters tall. A road from the olden days, partially destroyed, led from their city in a straight line, to us, and to our camp. The rusted carcasses of vehicles lay on the road, littered as if a giant disposal van had tipped, jettisoning its cargo across the asphalt surface. One such box lay next to me, and I peered in. The remnants of a chair, burnt and decaying, stood on metal bars, and a small bag lay on the floor. I grabbed it, and pulled it open. Items fell out, including a flat, rectangular piece. I snatched this up, and stared. And I remembered. A picture. Looking back up at me, a family, long gone, smiled ghost smiles. Smiling in return, I looked at the figures, then around me, and stood by the side of the vehicle.
A cry and a burst of weapon fire sounded from the guardhouse broke my trance. I dropped the picture and turned towards the commotion. The man with glasses leaned from the window and raised a torn flag, draping it from the opening. He yelled, a cry of victory, and we yelled back. We had finally gained our freedom. We, who had been oppressed for years, were finally ready, finally able, to live.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Improv team
Recently, my school went through the process of Improv (improvisation) tryouts. There was a lot more people trying to make the team then there were last year (I made it then) so they had to cut many more people then usual.
As per the usual fear inducing trials, you were sent into a room by your lonesome, with two judges facing you, and expected to perform to the best of your capabilities, regardless of the amount of fear penetrating you. I had to make my own theme-song.
The whole thing was a blur, with most of the beginning a narcissistic, shame-less production towards myself (what can I say, I am that awesome) with the only other major part including the words "beef jerkey".
To my great delight, I made the team, which makes me very happy. If you were here, Nathaniel, you should've tried out as well.
In other, English-related news, I just passed in my book report on "fahrenheit 451" by Ray Bradbury. It's a work of pure genius, and I would suggest reading it.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Alrighty, for those of you who I don't know personally, I'm working on an idea for a graphic novel. This here is the test for what will be about chapter 3 or 4, so yeah, hope you like, and creative criticism is appreciated!
Bloodsuckers: Chapter 1.
"Can I offer you some tea?" The man in the robe asked to Clyde. Standing at about 6 feet tall, Gary Squires, towered over Clyde, who was sitting at the ornamental glass table. Across the table, sat the two car landing pad,with Mr. Squires' Kotari Esquire, a 6 figure hover car, which cost more then Clyde made in a year. "None." Clyde muttered. His head was pounding after last night, and tea certainly waesn't going to help. From Clyde's side, a cheerfull "For me, please!" echoed out. Dammit, Sven, why do you have to be so damn cheerfull? Clyde angrilly thought to himself. Sven was his assistant, a vamp. If the pointed ears didn't give it away, the fangs did.
The two men were at Squires' penthouse, as he claimed to have heard something the night before. What was there to hear? Well, for starters, a gunshot as Thomas Moore was capped in his apartment, once in the brainpan. Sven and Clyde were detectives, and had been hired by the Moore family to figure out why an ex-buisness man was killed, for apparantly no reason. Mr. Squires was the only person to hear anything.
Placing the tea on the table, Mr Squires pulled a chair from the opposite side of the table. His robe folded uneavenly as it formed to the plastic CeMax chairs, the latest in interior design, for those who could afford them. "You can't believe how shocked I am that this happened in our building." Squires began. "I can't fathom how the murderer got through security, and all the way to the 150th floor with a loaded weapon. Thomas, through not a personal friend, seemed to be a decent enough fellow." "Just how well did you know Mr. Moore?" Clyde inquired. "Coffee once or twice, nothing big."
"Anything special about him?"
"Nothing much. Except, a couple of days ago, he got a package. It made him quite destressed, though I can't begin to wonder why."
"He didn't tell you anything?"
"Not a thing."
It was just at that moment, that an Ajax delivery van pulled up to the landing silo. Turning to view it, Squires rose from his seat. 'Excuse me, gentlemen, but I must accept this delivery. I won't be a minuite." Turning, and walking away, he approached the glas panelled doors leading outside. Sven leaned over to Clyde. "We didn't find anything on our sweep of the house, package wise."
"You thinking what I'm thinking, Sven?"
"Unless you're thinking about noodles, then no. But, I think I have an idea."
"We may have a motive here."
Suddenly, the delivery man caught Clyde's eye. Why was he not wearing his Ajax hat? It was a manditory part of the uniform. Then the other piece of evidence that this wasen't a real delivery hit Gary Squires directly in the chest. A battery-operated percussion pistol, barrel smoking, had raised, and unleashed a bolt of pure energy into the man's chest, sizzling his skin. "Aw, hell." Clyde muttered.
Bloodsuckers: Chapter 1.
"Can I offer you some tea?" The man in the robe asked to Clyde. Standing at about 6 feet tall, Gary Squires, towered over Clyde, who was sitting at the ornamental glass table. Across the table, sat the two car landing pad,with Mr. Squires' Kotari Esquire, a 6 figure hover car, which cost more then Clyde made in a year. "None." Clyde muttered. His head was pounding after last night, and tea certainly waesn't going to help. From Clyde's side, a cheerfull "For me, please!" echoed out. Dammit, Sven, why do you have to be so damn cheerfull? Clyde angrilly thought to himself. Sven was his assistant, a vamp. If the pointed ears didn't give it away, the fangs did.
The two men were at Squires' penthouse, as he claimed to have heard something the night before. What was there to hear? Well, for starters, a gunshot as Thomas Moore was capped in his apartment, once in the brainpan. Sven and Clyde were detectives, and had been hired by the Moore family to figure out why an ex-buisness man was killed, for apparantly no reason. Mr. Squires was the only person to hear anything.
Placing the tea on the table, Mr Squires pulled a chair from the opposite side of the table. His robe folded uneavenly as it formed to the plastic CeMax chairs, the latest in interior design, for those who could afford them. "You can't believe how shocked I am that this happened in our building." Squires began. "I can't fathom how the murderer got through security, and all the way to the 150th floor with a loaded weapon. Thomas, through not a personal friend, seemed to be a decent enough fellow." "Just how well did you know Mr. Moore?" Clyde inquired. "Coffee once or twice, nothing big."
"Anything special about him?"
"Nothing much. Except, a couple of days ago, he got a package. It made him quite destressed, though I can't begin to wonder why."
"He didn't tell you anything?"
"Not a thing."
It was just at that moment, that an Ajax delivery van pulled up to the landing silo. Turning to view it, Squires rose from his seat. 'Excuse me, gentlemen, but I must accept this delivery. I won't be a minuite." Turning, and walking away, he approached the glas panelled doors leading outside. Sven leaned over to Clyde. "We didn't find anything on our sweep of the house, package wise."
"You thinking what I'm thinking, Sven?"
"Unless you're thinking about noodles, then no. But, I think I have an idea."
"We may have a motive here."
Suddenly, the delivery man caught Clyde's eye. Why was he not wearing his Ajax hat? It was a manditory part of the uniform. Then the other piece of evidence that this wasen't a real delivery hit Gary Squires directly in the chest. A battery-operated percussion pistol, barrel smoking, had raised, and unleashed a bolt of pure energy into the man's chest, sizzling his skin. "Aw, hell." Clyde muttered.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Brigadier-Chapter 1:Skyflight Part 4
The man with glasses made a sort of gurgling noise as he fell, blood already pooling on his chest. Carson dashed past him, and confronted the bearded man, as another Taimener fell, a shot between his eyes, to Carson's left.
A crack sounded out from bearded, as the butt of Carson's rifle collided with his jaw. Swinging the rifle down so that the barrel was pressed against the stumbling man's chest, and pulled the trigger again. The smell of gunpowder filled Carson's nose; he hadn't noticed it the first time, the adrenaline must have blocked it out. Without looking, Carson passed the man, when a familiar voice sounded out. "A little help, Car!" Carim! The boy was pinned down by a Taimener private by the entrance of the opposing airship. Already, Carim was bleeding from a cut on his head, and if the Taimener's blade reached his target, Carim would be good as dead.
Delivering a swift kick to the privates ribs, Carson felt some nasty recoil. "Dammit!"
Update time: As you've probably guessed, this short story teaser thing will go on for longer then 4 parts, but it still will be finished soon. Also, I plan to use this base idea for a manga I will be working on, so be on the lookout!
Sunday, August 10, 2008
News!
So, yeah...I'm not dead. "Yay!"
Sorry for not making a post in forever, stuff came up, mainly my page, page 22 for the Inspector Iroh round robin comic, radcat101.deviantart.com/art/Inspector-Iroh-page-22-94154602 It took a while, but I'm done now, so you can expect a new Suspect Terrane comic, plus the end of Brigadier Chapter 1.
Also, I'm getting a new dog! Isn't that awesome! I plan on calling him Inu, or Xander, or something like that.
~L.t. John
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
