Life

Alright, ​it is now Spring 1903. ​Get ready for shit to hit the fan. Builds due 2000 on 7/​3/16.

Yeah, I'll pass on Kendrick Lamar. 6 years later, I'm still upset that I never saw Eyedea live.

Nimbo's retreats are in. ​It is now Winter 1902. Orders due 2000 on 5/3/16. ​ Builds: England - 1 Build Italy - 1 Build

I want to apologize for not holding up the last two deadlines. The issue is that I was recently fired from my work (one of them) and I've spent my free time looking for another work. Luckily, I found one yesterday which is good because my two weeks notice ended today. So yeah. My personal life is more important than the game. But now that that's all done with... ​we have Fall 1902 Retreats. ​ Germany's Fleet in Holland and Army in Munich must retreat to a neighbouring territory (that is legal) or choose to disband. Nimbus, you have 8 hours to decide before I make that choice for you. After that, Winter 1902 will continue for another 16 hours.

Waiting on the Young Wizards Series myself since The Magicians is excellent and MTV could pull off the YWS.

Can I point out that criticizing Judaism isn't actually seen as a negative thing because of the idea of being "anti-Zionist" or "anti-Israel" makes it seem good to many people? A lot of people (Jews included) make the mistake that being Jewish automatically means support for Israel and therefore permits/limits shots at the religion itself.

Need to check out these songs when I get home. Edit: Also tossing a vote for Disinnocence because he voted for me. Mind you, I have a theme lined up if I get voted Vicar. I SHALL RULE THE WORLD!

I'm actually pretty right wing, which is strange because I grew up in Canada. Center-right but I still defy your assessment.Also, there is a point to Halal which is the same as Kashrut for Jews, or at least the religious believe so. Forget the whole "God said this" argument (which is stupid in its own right), the other argument is that pigs and seafood are generally seen as unclean within the religion. It's to keep your body healthy and considering that study that came out about linking bacon to serious diseases, there may be a legitimate point there. I myself used to observe Kashrut so I know what I'm talking about.

Actually, the principle reason was because the Republicans won that election and Lincoln had promised to abolish slavery before the votes were counted. The South had threatened to secede when Lincoln made that promise. But it didn't help that the Democratic nominees were crap. So technically, both are right because they're both correct.

Why? Slavery itself was also common in the north and it wasn't for racial reasons but economic. I'll touch on this more later but I do have things to say.

First of all, I want to thank Makaze because I screwed up with the times (organized the first deadline during work and the second I missed because of personal things). He let everyone know about it so thank you. Alright, it is now Fall 1902. Orders are due by 4/3/16 at 0000 (I'll make that deadline). Good luck.

I sent you my thoughts of how to play the Middle East based on both past history and sensibility. I demonize my own country but fuck it, it'll be great.

I love this. You seem to have taken the idea of changing the past exactly like Stephen King did. Sometimes, the past pushes back. As in the assassination of Kaiser Wilheim by the same man who started WWI in the first place (same year too). I'm interested to see what happens in the Middle East around the late 40's in your version. Just finished WWI. EDIT: It is so unnerving to hear you talk about a "good" version of Goebbels and Reifenstahl (especially Reifenstahl). Especially to me since I probably have a lot of unknown family that were indirectly murdered by their propaganda. And... that question's been answered. I'd love to help you cover the Holy Land Protectorate since the reality is that 1930's/40's Israel was only a stone throw away from being Communist.

EDIT: Didn't realize it was for a hack. Never mind, in that case.

Starting excerpt from Chapter 1. I'm actually really proud of this little piece here.

Due to me being a retard, the phase is being ​shortened​ by 6 hours to 1200 1/3/16. And nobody caught my mistake of putting Feb 30th instead of March 1st.

Are you kidding? The Arabs have rewritten the entire period from the last 1890's until now. There are many that still deny that the 1947 Partition Plan even existed along with other peace accords since. If that's not revisionism, tell me what is.

Remember when I said that I have no patience for people who don't put in their orders? That means you, Marth. It is now Spring 1902. Orders are due at 1800 on 30/2/16. That's 48 hours. Make sure you actually get your orders in this time. ​

The problem I have with revisionists is that I deal with a lot who try to rewrite the Middle East, especially when dealing with the touchy subject of Israel/Palestine. So I have negative feelings towards the word.

I'm going to comment on a more technical level. I think you're doing too much telling and not enough showing. There's a LOT of description in your work and you overkill it quite often. I understand that you want to paint a vivid picture but I prefer if my mind does more work than my eyes. It keeps me engaged a lot more. Otherwise, I get bored since nothing is left to the imagination. So show. Don't tell.

Since I'm aiming for publication, let 'er rip. As for the tense change, that is intentional. Just to let you know. It does sound a bit sloppy in the way I did it (I may even remove the entire first part and just elongate the second) but this is the first edit.

A little background: This story has been in the works for over two years now, possibly three. I worked on it a lot about two years ago and posted a few things but after I went over them, they were pretty crap. It is not fantasy whatsoever. It's fiction and my eventual goal is publication. My inspiration comes from a few books, most notably ​Mercy Among The Children​ (David Adams Richard) and ​Fall On Your Knees ​(Marie Ann MacDonald). Both are Canadian books (that both take place in Eastern Canada) and are amazing but depressing as shit. And I do well when covering depressing topics so... yeah. Feel free to tear this one apart on grammar and style. Content stays the same though. I'll post sections as I work on it but it's going to take a while.

By the way, I play next round.

All orders are in. ​It is now Winter 1901.​ Build orders are required in 24 hours at 1800 on 28/2/16. ​ Builds! France - 3 Builds England - 2 Builds Austria - 2 Builds Germany - 1 Build Italy - 1 Build Russia - 1 Build Turkey - 1 Build

Here's my entry. Almost 2,400 words. Prompt used is "Morgan goes to prom". [spoiler=The Prom Last Night - Rated Mature]“Morgan...?" Sometimes, events seem so surreal that they feel like they only occur in movies. And then you get to those which transcend the film because it feels impossible that it would even occur on a screen. But this is real. Because I don't have any other explanation for it. And it scares me. I don't know what to do but all I do know is that I'm terrified of what is to come. "Morgan, can you hear me?" My thoughts evaporate as I concentrate on the face in front of me. She's about middle age, with creases around her eyes that she tries to hide well with make-up. Her lips are formed in a small pout as if she's examining me for a disease that I might carry. Maybe she's ashamed of me being in her presence? My mom will be, so why wouldn't she also judge? I lower my eyes to the badge pinned on the front of her uniform. It's very shiny for a police badge. Does she shine it every day, hoping to impress everyone she meets? It's almost mesmerizing in its brilliance. "Morgan, my name is Detective Lucie Smalls. I know you're scared but I'm going to help you." She continues crouching in front of me, shifting slightly. I still can't meet her eyes. "But I need you to tell me everything to do that." A tear rolls down my face as I try to gather my words. I think I may have cried more in the past five hours than I have in the previous five years. I can't help it; the shame and pain are wild torrents that keep breaking the levees of my sanity. I feel embarrassed to be here. I just want to go home and lock myself in my room forever. "Should I get her some water?" Sam asks the detective. She's the only reason why I'm here. Sam called the police when she found me, disheveled and crying. Her voice is anchoring me to this plane of existence right now because without her, I would be a far bigger mess than I am currently. It teeters on the verge of cracking. I can tell that she wants to cry too but she's managing to stay in control. "N... no. I... I can do this." My voice sounds small and weak but I somehow will it to form words. The detective smiles gently. "Good. I know that this is hard but I need to know everything that happened. Any detail, doesn't matter how small it is." "OK." I take a deep breath and wipe away the tears and whatever is probably left of my make-up. As I start speaking, my memory transports me back to last night. To the senior prom. And the after-prom party where I was raped. --- "Get the fuck up! Simon Says, get the fuck up!" As I stepped out of the shower, my phone started blaring loudly. Most girls my age love Taylor Swift, Chet Faker and top 40 songs. My personal poison is rap, mostly concentrating on the East Coast. And that little nugget came from one of my personal musical heros, Pharoahe Monch. It also made for an excellent ringtone and Sam despised it. Holding my towel up to my chest, I walked over to my desk and checked the caller ID. Sam. "It's already seven! If you're not here in half an hour, the limo is going to leave you behind!" No greeting, just straight facts. I don't think that I had ever heard Sam start a phone call with "hello" or even "hey". At least she wasn't cursing yet. Even though I listened to rap, Sam can easily beat me in a cussing contest. Not that we've tried but I'm not sure I'd want to. "Chill, I just got out of the shower. I'll be there in time." That's another difference between me and most girls my age. They'll spend hours on make-up while I barely bother with it at all. It's also made me a bit of an outcast at school since I'm surrounded by preppy white kids. Bad enough that I'm the only mixed-race kid in the school. My mom thinks I should have been born a man and I don't exactly have the heart to tell them how correct she is. Sam sighed on the other end of the line. "Twenty nine and counting. And don't forget to bring the stash." "I got it, Jesus." I opened the desk and pulled out a water bottle. "Anything else or can I start getting dressed?" "Naw. Just get your butt over here in time." I responded with a kiss and hung up while reaching for my underwear. Sam had ordered a limo for us, her boyfriend and a bunch of her friends. Her reasoning was that senior prom only comes around once and that if we didn't go all out, then it would be all for nothing. But it wasn't the prom that had her excited. Every year, our school hosted the average run-of-the-mill prom to celebrate the seniors who were leaving for college the following year. When I had described the prom to my mother, she sniffed and said something about it being the textbook white kid experience. There would be a prom king and queen along with tacky yearbooks being handed out that were supposed to immortalize the glorious days of high school. That being said, who wants to remember four years of racist slurs and the occasional comment about having no father? Not me. But after the prom, somebody always had a party going on. I had always heard rumours of alcohol and drugs being passed around like it was candy. And the only reason why I was going was because I was best friends with the most popular girl in school. It just so happened that Sam was the only person who didn't care that my mom was a single African-American woman in a predominantly white part of town. Everyone else saw the colour of my skin. Sam just saw me. I quickly threw on my dress and stuffed the water bottle into my purse. I don't think Mom knew that I had managed to sneak some vodka from her liquor cabinet but I think she was suspicious. But she never asked and I never said anything. My heels were by the front door so I hurried down the stairs and shouted goodbye to my mother. She was sitting at the kitchen table buried in work but as I bounced past, she looked up with a wide smile on my face. "I can't believe that you're going to prom, baby. Have a wonderful time and enjoy yourself." "Yeah, no problem." I fiddled with the straps on my high-heels. "It'll be a blast." "Morgan." I turned immediately. My mother's tone had gone from joyous to icy in three seconds flat. "Promise me that you'll be careful." "Umm... what are you talking about?" I hadn't told her about the party and I was worried that she'd finally bust me for stealing her vodka. If she found it, I would be grounded for over a month and that would be before the spanking. The joys of having a black mother. "Just promise me that you won't do anything stupid." She knew. She had to know. I could see it in her eyes. But why wasn't she calling me out on it? "I won't, I promise." I responded a little quickly, not even convincing myself. "Can I go already? Sam's already mad at me and if I miss the limo, she'll kill me." She kept staring at me and biting her lip as if she wanted to say something. It felt like an eternity passed before she sighed and opened up another file. "Girls will be girls, right? Go and enjoy yourself. And don't forget to call me if you need a ride." "Got it. Love you." And with that, I opened the door and raced over to Sam's house. --- The prom itself was quite boring, to be honest. Sam and her boyfriend Derek won prom king and queen, chaperones hovered around in order to stop the "bad boys" from spiking the punch and I was completely ignored by just about everyone. I hadn't been expecting anything more, to be frank. The action only truly began on the way to the party. According to Derek, the party was being held at some rich kid's mansion. Derek had already seen the amount of alcohol that his friends had stocked up for the party. He had been in complete awe when he told us. It would be enough to knock out an elephant. As the limo took us there, Sam smiled mischievously and reached into her purse. Out came a bag with three small pills. Suddenly, all the chatter in the limo stopped as everyone stared at them. "It's not pure Molly, guys. And I only have enough for three." One of the girls snorted. "So you're going to give one to Darkie? Please. You can stop pretending to like her already." Ouch. Sam squeezed my hand and smiled back at the girl. "Actually, I was going to give you the third pill since Derek doesn't approve of X but now you're cut off." She turned to face the rest of the girls in the limo, her face now dark with anger. "Anyone else want to take a shot at Morg? I fucking dare you to." That is why I loved her. Sam had always been willing to put her reputation and popularity on the line for me. I never understood how I could possibly pay her back in this lifetime. However, it seemed like Sam was happy to receive nothing in return. She looked back at me and handed me one of the pills. "This time, I got the good shit. Our nights are going to be amazing." She popped another one of the pills. "Down the hatch, girl." I followed suit. From experience, it usually takes MDMA about a half an hour to kick in so once we were at the party, I'd be on cloud nine in an almost literal sense. The feeling from ecstacy was one of joyful bliss and I was determined to have fun. I leaned over and kissed Sam on the cheek. "You're the best." She grinned as the limo began to slow to a stop. "Just go out there and find a nice guy or girl. Whatever you're in the mood for." "Why nice? Can't I just go with hot?" All the girls began piling out of the limo until it was just me, Sam and Derek left. Sam looked at Derek and he quickly scrambled out of door. Then she turned back and kissed me straight on the lips. "No, I mean nice. The hot ones are fuckwads and that goes double for the women." Then she climbed out, leaving me to savour the taste of her lips. The truth about our relationship is that we hinged somewhere between best friends and lovers, not willing to choose either definitively. But Sam was in a relationship with a good guy and I wasn't about to ruin that for her. Plus, I wasn't exactly pining for her. I got out of the limo and joined everyone else inside the house. Time started to slip by as the molly hit my bloodstream. At one point, I remember talking to this really hot girl that I had never seen before and within five minutes, we were in the bathroom making out. At least it felt like five minutes. Then I returned to the party and began dancing. A drink appeared to my left and I took it. It tasted a bit sweet and sour but my senses were enhanced thanks to the MDMA coursing through my veins. I felt a pair of hands on my waist. They felt strong and secure, ready to guide me while I danced non-stop for hours. I could hear the music melt into my world around me. The beat that swirled into colours before my eyes. I closed my eyes and just relaxed as I let the music and exploring hands take over. The world was spinning softly and I was on top of the world. It was just spinning into light and colour and darkness. Spinning into darkness. Just darkness... --- I can't continue any longer. The tears come back in a vengeance and I find myself sobbing into Sam's shoulder. She explains to the detective about how she found me crying on a sofa downstairs. My dress had been ripped; my panties bloodied and discarded like trash. Just the shock of finding me had sobered her up enough to be able to call the police. People had run from the house, terrified of the consequences. But not Sam, my beautiful Sam. She had stayed with me to the very end. Detective Smalls stands up and purses her lips. The frown on her face is one of both concern and disappointment. But I'm not the target. Instead, I feel Sam wither beside me, her own wall crumbling. "Samantha, you did the right thing by calling the authorities immediately, but I suggest that you call a lawyer right now." Sam nods in absolute silence. I stare at the policewoman in shock. "But... but why? She helped me... she..." "Possession of unlawful substances. I'm eighteen... which means that I can be tried as an adult." Sam responds quietly, staring at the ground. The tears are flowing from her eyes. Oh god... did I do this? She has been the only person in my life that I could trust with everything. I repaid her by ending her life. I break down again and pull away from her, ashamed. I need to get out of here. Sam should hate me because I despise myself. I just want to sink into the ground and just die. And then I feel it. Her hands around myself. Her gentle breath in my ear. And the soft words that I know will haunt me for the rest of my life. "I love you. And I always will.”