Weriom

^I'm going to hold my critique until I've slept, because right now it wouldn't exactly be useful. Anywho, just flipping a short story idea here to see the opinions on its end. I'm going to be brief, and I know several details will not be explained. If you promise not to ask about them I promise to actually explain them soon. The year is 22??. A man, created for exploration and mapping of uncharted regions of space far from the current charted regions of the "great unknown" is sent out with a suit designed to hand all his basic needs. However, after decades of routine movements, it becomes clear the suit was not recharged after its last use, and the suit powers down, forcibly shutting down all function not directly related to its occupants survival, including movement, and communications. The occupant is left floating, completely isolated, through space. His only mental stimulance is a bubble which was made by the suit in its moments of powering down, which he watches the light bounce of for many a long year. However, after some time studying the bubble, it becomes obvious that it moves faster than him, and that it will eventually leave his vision. For decades the man watches his preicous bubble float off into the horizion, until he loses sight of it amongst the field of stars. From here there are three endings. One is short. He continues floating forever and never sees the bubble again. The second is slightly longer. Members of the (Somewhere or other) based space exploration team see a new star in the sky. Study reveals that it is actually an object reflecting light from other stars. Curious, they send off a small scoutship to check it out. The scoutship goes to do so, and finds the man floating through space, rescuing him before continuing its mission. The man notices the bubble, his eternal companion. However, the scoutships pilot does not, and drives straight into it, popping it. The other ending is similar to the second on, but replace scoutship with another man in a suit. When the get to the bubble, instead of popping it, the second mans suit also powers down and the three are left floating through space together. That's it.

Well, go ahead. I'm not repeating myself.

I wrote this first one in ... *checks* June 2006 sometime, and edited about half an hour before posting here. No name, no intro, no need. Just something to show my writing style back then, really. The lack of dialogue is intentional, and has been fairly common in my short stories, really, although the next one I'll post will be a completely different creation entirely. As fire slowly ate through the floor below him, the young boy began to sob quietly. The heat was unbearable, intense. His eyes hurt from the sheer effort of keeping them open in the burning air. The floor was weakened by the heat, groaning with the effort of supporting his weight. A hole close to him was a show on what would happen when the effort became to great. The boy had already tried escaping, but to no avail. He had only gotten up two flights before finding a blaze before him, and he had run back down the stairs in a tearful horror. Unbenownst to him, the fire had started on the roof, but through bad luck or a terrible fate, burning timbers falling from the hotel's roof had set a second fire on the ground floor which had spread thanks to thick carpets at the entrance which lead into the building. The boy had been trapped, caught between two blazes and inhaling smoke as it rose like an evil apparition from the air vents, stairwell and floor. He had tried to crawl away through the vents, but the smoke had been thick, chocking him as if it were water. He coughed quietly. Smoke was leaving everything dirty, dark. Dead. It was as if that smoke was hugging him, latching onto his clothes, his face, on everything in an embrace that was surely deaths. It was a sign he was trapped, lost. It looked hopeless. It was hopeless. In the inferno that had once been so many’s home, a little boy sat down and cried. Firemen were working at the blaze down the bottom, trying to extinguish the fire so that people upstairs wouldn’t suffer from smoke inhalation. But every time men went into the fire, either they were forced out or not at all. Their job was to save lives. Their aim was to save lives. They couldn't manage it. Not like this. The helicopter circling the blaze was relatively small, used only in emergency situations. It was meant to land on the roof, but that was obviously impossible. The only other course of action they could take was to use a precarious rope ladder to get close to the windows and pull anyone out who was there. It was a fools errand. Someone would need to stay on that ladder, buffeted by strong winds, seared by blazing heat and doomed if a cinder so much as brushed the ladder. But people could still be inside. The little boy was still crying when he heard a scrape at the window frame. He looked up to see a man, pulling the window open and beckoning to him. His lips moves, and he smiled encouragingly, but his words were lost among the black soot, the smoke and dirt. The boy got up as if in a trance, and took a slow step forward. He took another step. Stopped. Listened to the fire, the creaking and groaning. He looked at the hole, to his left, at the indistingushable shape that was burning itself to hell down there. He took another step, and sighed as the floor below him groaned one last time and gave way. The buildings frames had taken too much. The roof caved in on itself, the floor just shattering outwards like a bomb. Firemen outside fell victim to rubble flying out, the helicopter fell rapidly away, somehow saving the man on the ladder, and a little boys body inside the collapsed former tower was crushed beneath the soot. In the country's quiet cemetery, four people attended the burials that day, two of them the undertakers. The hotel had been for tourists, after all. None of them had family around to farewell them. Thirty seven charred skeletons were beyond recognition of any sort, with few records to trace them and no details to follow. Their markers were a mound of dirt and weeds, flecked with black traces. That, and a headstone. A blank, empty headstone. --- I'm not that happy with it anymore, but I'll still post it for people to see. Anywho. Uhm. I guess I will make a topic to talk in, just for in/conviences sake (read as desired), so go over there and say what ya think, if you want to.

Hi all! I have faith that at least one or two of you have noticed by now, but I'm not actually a new account. Amyler was the display name I had before, and I changed for a fairly simple reason, but to get to that I need to say some other stuff first. That is; I apologize. See, when I used the name Amyler I basically said I'll do some debates with people, and then buggered off without a word. My reasons for this can be summed up simply, and will no doubt appear childish, mainly because they are. One thing was that I started playing FE7 again (Then game we would have debated over), and found my opinions were very different. I was playing like someone new, ignoring old favorite characters and nurturing people who I'd only used once or twice in the past. I was in a new mindset, and one I hadn't explored enough to be comfortable with. Although that's only a triffling reason to the main one, which is obvious enough; I couldn't be bothered. I'm not a skilled debator, and haven't done it in a long time, and really, I just couldn't summon the energy. So I just didn't come back. *Shrug* I apologize for doing it, and hope that its not held against me. The name change is just a little way to disassociate those events from myself; stupid yea, but I'm doing it anyway. Plus, I've been using that name everywhere I went online. I thought it time to change something somwhere, at least. Heh. ANYWAY. You may be wondering why I'm back again if I made an arse of myself the first time. Surely I had a reason to do as much, correct? Well, I did. And it's simple; writing. I've done many writings in the past, and had many different audiences and people critic my stuff. Simply, I'd like anyone here who's interested to do the same. I'm not saying my work will have any sort of FE related theme or vibes, but I figure just because people are part of an FE forum it doesn't mean that's all the're interested in, right? Lately my writings have been short stories for the most part, but I have some ... well, potential idea's more so than potential stories for prope- rather, larger writings. I may not update periodically, and to be honest I may not at all, but I can say I'll try. To sum it all up, I'm sorry, I'm childish, Read My Stuff! >.> Also, I won't be doing debates anymore. I'd rather avoid the bad karma later than get someone mad at me by not finishing on now. <.< >.>

I really suppose I shouldn't be suprised at the amount of people who go to so many of the FE forums, but somehow I still am. XD Thanks for the welcomes everyone.

Well Tino, since you've offered, I'll go for Renault against Heath. You want to open?

I'll go for a debate on FE7 or 8. Whoever wants to do it can pick the characters we use and who opens. I'm not too picky. I'm alsonot that good, but lets overlook that part in favor of a friendly debate.

I'm Amyler (Pronounced 'Am-I-Lur', as it were), a forum member from places like FEW before it crashed and burned and FEA whenever people are posting. I'm here at an invitation from SS to participate in some debating, because he and I have done some stuff before. Not that I've ever won them. :P I'm only any good at really debating on 7, 'cause thats the only game I've owned for any longer than a year (4, actually). But anyway. I read lots, and by that I mean more than most people sleep, I'm a certified Aussie gamer (although I can never afford to by new games), and for the first 5 years of my gaming life, I only played Tetris. ... I like Tetris.