secretspy0404's blog

I am the creator of the Windows series on flipnote hatena. I'll post entries dealing with my life, writing, and artwork and I'll try to keep you guys updated us much as possible!

Writing Challenge: Day 5

Title: Dream in the Sword

Genre: Fantasy

A patch of glowing mushrooms sprout of the side of the hill and into the river; illuminating the rocks below. The atmosphere of the forest is calming. Getting lost in its presence would hardly be frightening. Its trees skyrocket to the heavens and the mossy ground is colored a peaceful green. The sun is lowered but the forest remains lit by its iridescent and glow. The warped reflection of the trees in the river begins to stabilize as the water slows to stop. The soothing silence aids the blue treetops in creating a dreamy atmosphere. The wind blows occasionally, cooing to the forest's visitors and reminding them of the faint memories of the home they left behind. The water stops moving and the gurgling is fully silenced.

Lady Ch'tisael's quiet and petite footsteps synchronize with the hum of the glowing sword that is hidden in the depths of the river. She is dressed respectfully because her intentions require it. Her dress is made of blue satin and stretches down her back in a wavy zigzag. Golden lace stretches from her collar's crest and down the sides of her armlets. Her hair is pushed back into a braided bun that is tied with blue ribbon. Golden locks and green eyes are the first part of her that is seen when she is viewed from a distance. Her dress shimmers in the light that filters from the trees as she steps out of the shade. Ch'tisael approaches the clearing with confidence, but stops when remembering the sorceress's words. "You cannot achieve it if you do not respect it. The song must be sung doubtlessly." She breathes in deeply and closes her eyes while slowly stepping to the shore.

The rain comes rushing down

on the the stoney ground

The angels peek from the mountaintops

as they cry

'praise has been found…'

for wandering soldiers lost their way

on that dreadful September's eve

we'll always remember the way you slept

until hat dreamy sword is found…

The sword's glowing hum shines a green light on the surrounding stones. Lady Ch'tisael's bends her face towards the water and presses her palms together. She knows that the final test requires a great deal courage. If she's ever to obtain the dream sword, she must let it envelope her in nightmares.

She dives under the water and out of sight. The river turns black and it will take hours before anyone will see Lady Ch'tisael again.

Writing Challenge: Day 4

Title: Final Beginning

Genre: Dystopian/futuristic vague thriller

"Black."

"White."

"Alive."

"Dead."

"Admit."

"Deny."

"Question."

"Answer."

"Abundant."

"Scarce."

"Better."

"Worse."

"Beautiful."

"Ugly."

"Arrive."

"Depart."

"Final."

"Beginning."

The green light switches on.

"You may proceed to the next post."

I stand and leave the small and empty room and enter into a slightly bigger one. It is almost identical to the previous confinement's design. The brown wooden chair is the only colored object in the room. There is only a white table and one sided window in front of that. It is my judgement day, but I cannot see the people that judge me.

"Poetry."

I stutter- "Prose."

There is a pause and I hear someone scratching a note down on paper. I can feel sweat dripping down my face.

"Straight."

"Crooked."

"Some."

"None."

"Voluntary."

Thirty seconds on the clock.

"I…"

"No unnecessary talking please. Just speak."

"It's…compulsory."

The green light flashes and I sigh under my breath.

"You may proceed to the next post."

I stand and enter the next room. It is similar in color and architecture to the previous ones, but it is incredibly lengthy and wide. Large white columns line the hall and lead to a final chair. I sit and look at the judge in front of me. It is hidden behind a black veil, and I am unsure of its gender. I cannot see its face. It appears human, but I am unsure.

"Under."

"Over."

"Risky."

"Safe."

"Scatter."

"Collect."

"Nonsensical."

"Clear."

This continues for thirty minutes on the dot. There are hundreds of thousands of rooms just like mine. Hundreds of thousands of the same simulation.

The red light flashes and my heart races.

The veil turns its head at the light. "Isn't that strange?"

I nod. "Yes, I believe it is."

It turns its head back in my direction and tilts it cryptically.

"Do you not agree with our policies or something of the sort?"

"No. I am obedient. I do not care about the terms of androids."

There is a pause.

"Are you certain? Not many like you are going to be there. There are so few humans left. They usually cling on to their ignorance and fear of the unknown instead of looking into the new beginning with intrigue."

I tremble under its gaze. It is an android.

"Yes, I understand. I am not like them. I am open to new beginnings."

It nods.

"Yes…and I see that you have passed the majority of the tests we have presented to you in the duration of the past week. It is impressive you haven't collapsed from fatigue yet, either. However, some of your family members presented a problem in our system and cannot continue."

"What?"

"Perhaps you are undergoing a stage of denial? The Final Beginning is going will commence after 24 hours when we press the button. And when it does…well, we cannot have any flaws in our new world, can we? And I'm afraid you're one of the last people to take the test. You won't have much time to find anyone I'm afraid."

It lies. It does not feel fear. They were programmed to speak as if they had feelings to make humans more comfortable.

"…No sir-"

"Exactly. You have not proved to be emotionally unstable and it seems you will be able to fit into the new world with ease. Take a turn to the right and ignore the light."

I stand for the last time and exit the room. My family is dead. I know that now. But I keep moving like a zombie into the new room as the robots push me there. I'm surrounded by people. Thousands of swarming people. Some have collapsed, some have passed out. Some are desperately searching for their families and some are left to be alone. It's crowded and disgusting. Humans are now that of a plague. I can't stand the smell of their flesh. I can't stand the smell of their sweat.

The hundreds of screens in the room light up and the countdown starts.

"The countdown has now commenced."

The screen flashes red. "24 Hours"

We have one day and night until the androids set the bombs off and destroy everything outside. Then we will live in this compound until they build specific cities for the remaining humans. Us few who have been deemed "appropriate" or "not troublesome" by them will be quartered off like animals while they live like humans. But not really human at all.

A girl nearby begins to scream but she is immediately silenced by someone. Or something.

23 hours.

My apartment with Ann.

22 hours.

My brother Arthur.

17 hours.

Burnsburrow Street.

3 hours.

2 hours.

1 hour.

They make sure we don't hear anything. We don't hear the sound of the explosions but we know that they exist because we can see it happening. The giant windows are blurred so the details aren't visible, but I can see the flames erupting and engulfing everything outside. This goes on for another day.

When it is over we are shuffled out of the room and into filing stations.

"14 year old girls here."

"26 year old men here."

"86 year old women here."

We're pushed and shoved and pushed and shoved until there's no room to be pushed and shoved anymore. It is the Final Beginning.

Writing Challenge 2: Blue Shard

Genre: Mystery

The Characters are obvioulsy not mine but I thought I'd write an introduction to a short mystery with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. I had fun writing it and I hope I can continue!

Deviantart Link

"Describe it to me, John."

"Wha- It's right in front of you!"

"Please. I need another perspective."

John Watson gave a tired sigh just looking at the scene. Holmes was bent over a corpse inspecting every slight detail in the shard.

"You know, we might just want to call Lestrade over and let him take a look with his team." John continued. "It'll look like we killed this man, Sherlock. And we both know that they already suspect you of being a psychopath." his voice trailed into a laugh.

"I'm a highly functioning sociopath. Hardly anything like a psychopath. If you want to get Lestrade, just call him. I'll only need another minute." He began to inspect the shard once more. "Now please. Describe it."

John walked over to him and took the shard. "Well, it's certainly blue. Not like that even matters." he huffed sarcastically.

"Cerulean." Sherlock's deep voice mumbled quickly. "And it certainly does matter, John. Just its color could give away hints to where it was made. Blue pigments are easier to make in places like the Netherlands, Egypt, even Brussels--"

Watson glared at Sherlock quickly and began examining again. "It's…very smooth. Like sea glass…wait. Why the hell would he just be carrying around sea glass?"

"It's not sea glass, John. Take a closer look." Sherlock began to pace.

"Well…it's…mosaic? Is it mosaic?" he muttered doubtfully.

"Precisely! See these marks on on the side? They clearly indicate that a sort of glue was slathered here and all along the back. It's long gone now, but the logic is sound. And here…" he pointed to a small indent on its side. "It's got a number."

John squinted. "23? Why 23?"

"I don't know." Sherlock smiled, feeling giddy. He always reacted this way in the midst of a case.

"…You don't--" Watson started and then stopped as he watched the consulting detective stride out of the room as if nothing peculiar had happened.

Watson held the shard over his head and watched it shimmer in the light from the apartment window.

"…oh. OH! Sherlock! Sherlock, wait!" Watson bounded out the door after his companion, stopping him in his tracks. "I know this design! Do you know that singer, Lady Doohan at Molly's cafe?" Sherlock nodded in interest.

"She's a friend of the family. I've been to her house multiple times. This is a part of her mosaic wall. What if the killer left a codex message with these numbers?" He continued.

"I guess it's only a matter of time before we find out, Watson."

Writing Challenge Entry Number 1: The Time of the Mist

Genre: Psychological Mystery

Warning: This short story is a bit creepy/scary at points but it's more psychological than anything else. Enjoy!

I hope to edit this later and better its content.

Deviantart Link

Damien didn't normally travel. His occupation as a thermal scientist didn't require him to stray far from the lab on most occasions. However, the death of his wife was as sudden as the car crash that killed her. He hit an all time low. His close friends and coworkers tried everything they could to console him. They even went out of their way to raise money and book a flight to Scotland for him.

"If anything needs to be done, that boy needs to get out of the country. Send him back to the town where he was born…perhaps. He's driving us all mad. It's like a dark cloud entering the office each morning." the boss whispered fervently to Danielle. They looked nervously through the blinds and saw him walk out of the elevator and into his cubicle. His naturally orange hair was thick and unkempt. It defined his cheekbones and strong jawline. He was extremely pale, especially of late, and his green eyes were usually hidden under the shadow of the bowler hat he wore each day into work. A dark wool scarf muffled his speech and an extra large trench coat made him look ridiculous because of his smaller frame. Nevertheless, he was taller than most of the people at work and was considered handsome by most of the people he knew.

The boss and Danielle watched Damien's morning routine through the glass window. He seemed half-asleep ever since the car crash. Spilling coffee on the floor, obliviously bumping into others, and staying at the office after closing hour became weekly occurrences for Damien. He was only twenty seven years old, but when dark circles began to set under his eye lashes, he gained at least five years in appearance.

The London morning rain and ominous sky painted the glass windows of the dreary office. Deep and slow breaths from the boss and Danielle were the only sounds. Their eyes lingered on the dark figure of Damien as he picked up a letter on his desk. It was the plane ticket. It was clear that they didn't want to see or hear from Damien for a long time.

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A hot cup of coffee was all Damien needed. He'd reached Edinburgh from the plane ride at a shockingly fast pace, leaving him to roam where he pleased. But he didn't enjoy the city life. So instead, he took a bus fifty miles away from the nearest city. He now resided in a small cafe near the feared Rosslyn Chapel. He brought work of course. It was against his boss's suggestions to do so but he always felt the need to do something productive otherwise he wouldn't have much to do at all. It was getting dark, but it was only two in the afternoon. The barista seemed to be in a hurry because he was shoving plates, silverware, and mugs quickly into the wooden drawers by the counter, not to mention the awkward glances he made at Damien as if he were crazy. All of sudden, Damien noticed it was empty. In fact, he didn't remember seeing anyone in the cafe when he entered.

"I hate to be rude," the barista's apathetic and deep voice murmured, "but what the 'ell are you doing in here?" he finished. Damien looked around the room awkwardly. "Um, pardon me?" he managed.

"I said, what the 'ell are you doin' in here? Don't you got somewhere to be? Your house perhaps? You don't want ta' get snatched do you?"

Damien fumbled for money in his pocket as he walked to the counter. "I still don't understand what your getting at."

"Oh…you're not from around 'ere?" the barista whispered in sudden realization.

"Well…no. But I don't see how that has anything to do with what you're saying." Damien spoke quietly as well and handed his money over.

The barista sighed and rubbed his head. "Look, I don't want to tell you everything and ruin your trip so I'm just going to give you the basics. When you leave this fine establishment, run to your hotel. If your hotel is pretty far away, go knock on somebody's door and plead to stay with them for the night. You don't want to be around when the mist starts settlin'." The smell of whiskey stained the countertop.

"The mist?" Damien asked. "Aye. Best be headin' out while you can. Try to keep your windows shut too. A great fog covers the this town once a week around this time of day. It's hard to see anything and it's a bit spooky. 'Lots of stories 'bout it. They say it may be the damned souls on their way to hell. Some say it's the angels. A bunch of people take it as an opportunity to commit crimes without gettin' caught. Either way it isn't safe. Best be on your way now." the barista grabbed his remaining keys and practically ran out through the back door.

Damien stood still, petrified. Why would a town believe in such silly stories? He turned to leave and opened the door. Before he stepped out the barista yelled one more piece of advice. "wait! Laddie! Another thing. Don't look at the chapel on your way home. Tis' bad luck. Heard some people have died their before and such around the time of the mist"." When he left, Damien chuckled under his breath. However, on the way to his rental home he followed the barista's advice. He didn't want his imagination playing any tricks on him.

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He entered his house quickly and locked the door behind him. The stories of angels and damned souls didn't bother him, but the threat of actual criminal activity did. He set up his work station in the living room and went upstairs to take a quick nap. When he awoke, he stumbled down the stairs and into the work room. He glanced around his room while walking to the chair and noticed that everything was in place. He sighed in relief while setting up his camera station by the window. One thing the barista was correct about was the mist. It had enveloped all of Damien's yard and he ventured to guess that he wouldn't be able to tell apart a human from a monster if it were only three feet ahead of his porch. Once the thermal camera was set up, ventured to his computer and connected them. He'd come back in a few hours to see the results.

Damien returned to the room and looked at the pictures. There were no heat figures except for the small red blobs that appeared to be squirrels. He sighed and changed the settings to "live footage." Before he he could stand, he froze in place. A fairly large heat signature began to appear in the distance. He looked out the window but didn't see anything. Looking back at the computer he saw that the figure was now on his lawn. Once again, he ran to the window in a panic but could not identify anything. By the time he reached the screen, the figure was only a couple feet away from his house. He slammed his window shut and locked the door, grabbing his computer and hiding behind the couch. The figure stopped and reached it's hand forward. It was a human, and it was beckoning. A bead of sweat rolled down Damien's forehead. In the heat of the moment, he whipped his head around the couch and towards the window. But once again, he saw nothing. The figure was walking away, back into the forest from where it came. Only seconds later did Damien sprint out the door, and into the mist.

His irregular breathing was the only noticeable sound. The once quaint village had turned an eerie place of emptiness. He sprinted blindly in the direction of the where the figure had disappeared. Once he reached it, he fell into the underbrush and down a steep hill. His screams followed him until he hit his head at the very bottom. He'd fallen into a huge clearing where it was harder to see through than the fog. He pushed and stumbled his way to a standing position and then tried his best to survey the area. He felt a cool cobblestone path underneath his feet, and began to follow it. Strange beams of light occasionally poked through the treetops at random. The sound of the rustling bushes caused Damien to tense. However, after a couple of deep breathes, he began to follow in its direction. Once he'd made his way over to the brush, he pushed past the ferns and into daylight. He'd made his way to the other side. But…the other side of what? he thought. A castle stood rigid on the smooth hilltop. It's features were jagged, black, and imposing. Gothic arches were carved into the entrance and marble surrounding the windows. He approached the giant mansion slowly, and then began to run towards it. He banged on the door screaming "Mercy!" And in a minute, one heart-wrenching minute, the doors opened. The breeze blew them back easily and he let himself into the grand hall. Many candelabras scattered the walls, but none were lit. He slammed the door behind him, locking out his fears and the dreadful feeling that someone was following him. 

He hurried up the stairs and into another hallway. Each door was painted a vivid shade of red. He ran to the door farthest a way from him and opened it without a single thought. He locked the door and turned to face the room. It was large, gloomy, and dark. Books scattered all of the desks and paper blew around the room like a funnel. He slammed the windows shut and noticed that the mist had followed him all the way to the castle. It was slowly making its way to the windows. His breathing quickened and he ran to one of the nearest bookshelves. If anything were to calm him down, it was a good book. He sat by the empty fireplace and began to read. He noticed oddly that his first choice was a book that he already owned. It was the 5th addition of "Applied Thermodynamics for Engineering Technologists" and one of his favorite books. However, he'd read the whole of it multiple times and decided to go for another book. To his surprise, he picked another book that he already owned. It was a collective book of Fitzgerald's short stories. In pure curiosity he grabbed for a third book. It was another one of his favorites, "Fluid Mechanics" 6th edition by Lynne Jack. He dropped it and began to frantically pull out every novel from the shelf. He looked at each and every title, and when he recognized it, he quickly tossed it to the ground. Soon enough, a great pile of books had formed at his feet. He knew all of them. Damien pushed his back against the wall and tried to regain his breath. Not only had he recognized the title of all of the books, they were his. A small and quick cursive scribble "Damien Livingston" was inside all of the covers.

He closed his eyes and pressed his hands tightly around his head as he began to hyperventilate. There was a knock at the door. He eyes flung open and his trembles began to worsen. "Honey, I'm home." it was his wife's voice.

"Who are you?!" he screamed.

"Damien? Can you hear me?" Amanda was crying. "I guess you're just in your mind palace again. dreaming about us…right?"

"What are you talking about?!" he screamed.

She was silent. "If only we could talk…nothing been the same since the car crash. I'm trying to pay all of your medical bills as soon as I can…but it's hard."

He was silent.

"If only I could just hear your voice again…"she sobbed awfully until she was slowly dragged away from the door by a kind-sounding voice. "Don't worry Amanda…it's time you go home now…"

All was silent.

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Amanda stood reluctantly as the nurse guided her away from her husband's bedside. She watched him closely. His breathing was soothing, but she could never imagine life without him. The hospital atmosphere was never calming for her, and the image of her husband stuck in a permanent coma with tubes attached made her feel disgusted. They'd gotten into a car crash only 2 weeks before. The nurses had declared him brain dead, but she knew this was not the case. Occasionally he'd twitch his fingers or show slight signs of movement. But the staff claimed he would remain non-responsive and in a vegetative state with breathing support for the rest of his life. She imagined that he spent a lot of his free time thinking of his past life. She called it his mind palace. Before she left, she held his hand tightly and whispered "dream well."

I'm alive!!!

Hey everyone! I've decided it'd be good for me to make a Hatena blog and post my flips on here as well as possibly Deviantart. (http://secretwindows.deviantart.com) I've been recently doing a writing challenge with my friend by writing short stories based on the titles we give each other. I'll be posting those stoires on here as well! Can anyone tell me how to upload flipnotes on here? I'm still unsure of how to do that. I hope we can all stay in touch!