I briefly have access to the internet again at home. I say briefly because there’s every chance this will drop out as I’m typing this update. What a time for it to go, though… I mean, E3 is on at the moment. For those of you not in the know, E3 is a yearly video games convention where all types of nerdy shit is shown off to make people go ‘ooh’ and ‘wowza’ and various other exclamations of joy at the pretty colours and special boom-boom shiny stuff. And yes, I freakin’ heart that stuff.
So here we go!
I’ve fallen behind on my goals – partially because of the internet debacle (seriously, if I went into the details I would write more than my month’s goal based on the idiocy of the situation) and also because of me deciding to take studying for an exam that I have today seriously. Reading the same shit over and over again had better work.
Here’s something I wrote on Day 6. I’ve decided that this shall be the opener to a much larger piece, because I got to around the 350 word mark, and was still introducing/setting up the scene. So read part 1 and let me know what you think! (Please do, I’ll give you a biscuit!)
Another lazy Sunday afternoon in the sleepy backwater town of Mobius 8, Mars. Mobius 8 was a forgotten town by Martians and Earth-refugees alike. It sat in a canyon full of jagged rock facings that blocked out natural sunlight for at least a quarter of each day.
Monsieur LeMieux, a croissant, had just finalised an agreement with the largest mining company on Mars, ending months of speculation about the potential future of Mobius 8 amongst its community.
Now, this move did not go unnoticed by his arch nemesis Staypuff, who was steadfast in his ways yet squishy to the touch, and was of the opinion that the last thing Mobius 8 needed to be was a mining town.
Y’see, it might have been forgotten by everyone, but Mobius 8 was rich in a rare iron ore, a resource that could be used to manufacture all types of industrial machinery. The largest claim laid just a 5 minute walk from town, but the bulk of the ore lay some 20km underground, meaning the dig would be costly and very distracting for the townsfolk of Mobius 8.
The issue, of course, was that the downfall of Earth was due to mankind’s inability to adapt to the need for sustainable energy sources. The freshly colonised Mars, however, was set up to be the exact opposite – environmentally friendly and relying on alternative energy technology.
The environment itself may have been harsh, red deserts as far as the eye could see, mountainous terrain that was near impossible to climb and storms that were as unpredictable as the effect on certain ‘species’ when they migrated to Mars. Marshmallows, croissants and cats were all blessed with the ability to speak. Marshmallows and croissants developed limbs and cats were now easily able to walk on their hind legs.
The act of toasting marshmallows became listed as a war crime now that marshmallows could communicate their pain effectively. However, this developed a black market for the affluent to attend ‘toasting’ parties, where poverty-stricken marshmallows would allow themselves to be slowly toasted and nibbled on.
Staypuff had established himself as a champion for marshmallow rights and a staunch advocate for keeping Mars ‘green’ as it were.
These two individuals had clashed on plenty of topics over the course of their respective stays in Mobius 8 and it seemed like they were set on a course that could only end in one of them being dead.
What they weren’t counting on, however, was the arrival of The Cat With No Name…
Yep. Marshmallows, Croissants, Cats, Western, Mars. You try and figure it out. I was writing it thinking, “where the hell is this thing going?” But more to come on that when I start on part 2, etc. It’s definitely an idea I can develop more. I’m feeling that way about a lot of the things that I’ve posted, but I’m enjoying the challenge of keeping them short. Means I have to get the message across using a lot less words.
On to Day 7…
“After three years, what do I get? Nothing. Years of false promises and now a broken hear t to boot.” The man says after downing his sixth beer. I wanted to be able to communicate effectively with him, but I could only do my best at the time.
“When you’re feeling loves unfair, you just ask the lonely.” Wise advice, or so I thought.
“The lonely? I am now, for all intents and purposes, lonely. What am I gonna do, sit around and talk to myself? And love is unfair. It’s cruel and has no care for those falling out of it, just those naïve enough to believe they’re ‘in’ it until their little cauterized bubble pops and they soon recognise that they’re actually in a relationship – which, my friend, is a very different thing to love altogether.” We’re onto beer number seven now.
“It’s been a mystery, but still they try to see why something good can hurt so bad.” Surely I’m starting to make some sense now, I think.
“Fuck it. It all hurts. The times of good are far outweighed by the bad. There’s no compensation at the end for either, that’s the joke of love and everything in-between. Show me a man who’s truly happy and he best be a recluse on top of a hill with nothing but his thoughts, otherwise I’ll be taking you for a liar.” In one swig, he polished off half the beer.
“The girl can’t help it, she needs more.” About time to knuckle down for some sobering reality.
“But why? Why is it only ever good enough for a finite amount of time? I’m not asking any more than I did for the time that we were together, just that it continued.” Seven is finished. “May I?” as he signals to the empty bottle.
“Any way you want it.” I said as he started on beverage number eight.
“Any way THEY want it, you mean. It’s always the partner that’s willing to give everything and take nothing that gets left aside, regardless of gender. But when we’re stuck in those moments that help you escape everything that we believe this world to be, we kid ourselves that those moments matter, that they somehow answer that age old question of, ‘Why are we even here?’”
I responded with, “Be good to yourself when nobody else will.” hoping that he would ease up on the drinking.
“Fine, I get that. But how am I meant to be good to myself when nobody else will? How am I supposed to believe in other people when it seems like all they want to do is use and abuse you until they get bored and decide that there is better out there for them…”
“Faithfully…” I interrupt with.
“Faith’s got nothing to do with it. We all grow up with these infantile fantasies of ‘the one’ or ‘Mr or Mrs Right’ when really, all we end up with is a stack of maybes and missed opportunities. What have you got to say for yourself now, buddy?”
“Don’t stop believin’.”
We were interrupted by another stranger at the bar.
“Excuse me, sir. I think you’ve had quite enough to drink.”
“Who are you to tell me I’ve had too much to drink?”
“Well, how can I put this gently… You’ve been talking to a jukebox for the last 30 minutes while it’s been playing Journey’s greatest hits to you.”
“Oh. Fair enough.”
“I’ll be alright without you. There’ll be someone else, I keep telling myself.” I said to him as he left.
I guess with this piece, it’s not so much as a genre mashup as it is a re-take on the idea that a break-up is regarded in many ways as a journey. Although, I do kind of like the idea of a jukebox having a consciousness.
I imagine it would be like, “Fuck. Any of you ironic suckers put Buddy Holly, Little Richie or The Big Bopper on ever again and I swear, I’m scratching those 45s.”
Or it is silently judging all our music tastes while we’re on the other side of the glass going, “Argh. I wanted G 8, not H 7. Curse your little buttons that are clearly not designed for people with stubby fingers.” Or just looking like vapid moths trying to figure out exactly what it is we want to listen to.
Plus, I guess I wanted to put my stamp on what seems to be a revival of interest in the group Journey since Glee came along. Where’s the representation for people who knew about Journey before Glee? Well, I didn’t even reference ‘Open Arms’ in that piece of writing. But then again, most of you would probably believe that Mariah Carey is far more responsible for that song than Journey.
It also has a fairly cynical view of love/relationships. My own opinion on these matters is pretty much the opposite of that. I know far too many great couples to believe that it’s all a load of bunk. That’s not to say I haven’t encountered some downright destructive relationships, though.
Ok, so I’ll have more writing for you all over the weekend (provided I can upload it) and I’m looking forward to getting back on track with my goal once this damn exam is dealt with. Hope all you other NYWM folk are travelling alright and writing like mad people.