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  • Shinigami357

    Serial Chapter 4

    4th Chapter...

    Kent Jones

    Street corner: the loud beats of a famous pop song can be heard, the singer’s voice like a blur. Evening: the part of the sky not covered by clouds was lit up by the moon. Trouble: A man, well-dressed and professional-looking, approaches; he’s holding a small, leather briefcase. Behind him, a police cruiser wheeled up toward us.

    I figured there was a very small chance I’d get chosen for Judgment. Really, you turn eighteen just once. I didn’t even know my father was eligible for it.

    He was in police custody for a small dispute after he and some dude had it out in a bar. He was supposed to be out the next afternoon. Well, the registration for the Judgment is both automated and compulsory. He was eligible, and the computer didn’t care who it picked.

    What luck, eh?

    So instead of walking home the following afternoon, he’s bound to stay in a maximum security facility for however long I survive. If I die, he gets executed. If I go through the whole three years, he get out and gets whatever is left of his son back, too.

    Bargain of the Century, eh?

    Oh, and one last thing. Though no one can say for sure - no one has gone all the way yet - there’s no provision in the rules that safeguards you from it, either. This means, if I get through the whole three years and then later on get jailed, I could be eligible for Judgment if I have a son or daughter of age.

    I’m just about dying with anticipation.

    The buzz sounds, and I rise from my seat. The door opens and I shield my eyes from the sudden brightness. The sun was high overhead; apparently, it’s noon.

    I walk out to the field as soon as the door locks in place - no one’s ever been cut in half by it, but better be safe than sorry - and stop at the starting spot; kind of ironic, that. I ignored the disturbed area of grass just before it.

    I look around as the door slides close. A few feet further forward, the wall on my left-hand side was splattered with blood - and something else. The blood was still fresh, though it wasn’t runny any more. I cringe a little at the sight.

    Most people would look at the field for the first round of elimination - a plain, rectangular grass-covered surface - and dismiss it. The wall, which surrounded the entire thing - twenty feet high, with sentries hidden all along the perimeter - was deadly, as proven here.

    The door behind me clicked close. I looked straight ahead, some strange sort of anticipation building inside me.

    I can’t be getting excited about this… can I?

    “This is the fourth match in the first round of elimination. Let Judgment begin.”

    I step forward, my pace steady. The other participant - a nondescript black kid who was about the same size as me - circled to his left. Ignoring him, I went straight for the wall; the better to see the blood with.

    The “something else” turns out to be strands of hair, and a few bloody fragments; that were probably bits of skull and brain. Guess whoever it was that met the wall head-to-head isn’t getting an open casket funeral. I cringe again.

    I turned back around. The other kid was angling toward me now. He had a queer look on his face. Probably thought my interest on the wall was morbid.

    Well, just about anything in the Judgment is morbid anyway. I went straight at him, hands held out in front of me. He mirrored my motion, and we headed into a collision course.

    We stopped when we were just outside each others’ reach. We circle, both of us on the edge, ready to pounce.

    I faked him with an abrupt step forward, intercepting his circling pattern. He skipped back, arms flailing. He landed, slightly out of balance.


    I explode, closing the minor distance between the two of us. I wrap my arms around his midsection and plant my feet to the ground, trying to find enough leverage to send him down.

    My back gets hammered as he lashes out with both hands at whatever part of me he can hit. Grunting, I push as hard as I dared to. I got nothing.

    He won’t give up his position. I’ve ducked my head well enough away from his onslaught, but my back was taking a beating. Desperate, I release my hold and push him away.

    He stumbles a bit as he reels backward. Finally steadying himself, he makes to move back toward me. We stared off again, hands held out before us, ready for the next skirmish.

    This time he made the first move. No feint or anything, just a straight rush at me. I bat his hands away and sidestepped his attack.

    Grunting, he tried to turn. He misplaced the foot he was going to pivot on, twisting his ankle. He went down with a gut-wrenching roar.

    I look down at him as he clutched his left foot. Well now, isn’t that sad? I hadn’t even really done anything to hurt him.

    What luck… right?

    I guess there are some hazards here regardless of the field itself. To think that could as easily have happened to me. What else is the Judgment hiding?

    A shiver crept up my spine the longer I looked on. It wasn’t fear, though.

    I’m… excited?

    The grim realization seemed lost to my emotions. Outside, I would have been ashamed of myself; here, it seemed unimportant. Does everyone get this way?

    I decided grappling with my own senses, sensibilities and morals would do me no good. The foundation that the Judgment was built on is survival of the fittest. I’m not quite sure how that’s a logical way to see who goes free and who dies, of course.

    But that’s not what I’m here for. I need to survive for me; for my father.

    I looked down at the boy again. The injury seemed to be bad, as he was still clutching at his foot.

    He can’t stand. And that meant he couldn’t really fight too well, either.

    Slowly, I stretched a foot out to him. I nudged his ankle with the tip of my sneaker. He recoiled, hissing in pain, and tried to bat my foot away with his hands.

    I circle him. He hasn’t uttered a single sound aside from his initial roar of pain. Tough guy - too bad it doesn’t change the fact that he’s injured.

    He shuffled around, his left foot raised about an inch, so it doesn’t get dragged on the ground. He knew if I got a good enough position, he was screwed. He was understandably slower than me, though.

    I was still circling, watching him as I went, when I felt the gust of wind buffet me. I staggered back, and looked around.

    I saw the sky start to darken as the clouds rolled in, big, fluffy and dark, promising rain, winds and perhaps lightning. Well, this sort of weather would certainly give the first round of elimination a twist.

    I shivered again. Not from the wind, which was getting stronger; no, this was adrenaline. I was excited, no sense denying it to myself now.

    I looked back down at him. He was looking up as well, his expression of horror. Perhaps he was planning to tough it out, stand on his injured ankle. Rain would most certainly make that near impossible. But that was none of my concern.


    I lashed my right foot out, at his face. He somehow saw it, from the corner of his eye, but couldn’t avoid or shield it. His head whipped sharply to his right, and he tumbled over.

    He struggled to sit back up, using his elbows for leverage. He clutched his left cheek, where my kick had hit him. It was swelling, all red.

    The wind gusted again. My hair whipped around. I pushed it away from my face, my gaze never leaving the boy in front of me. Man, rather. All of us in here are of age.

    “Kill me.” His voice was raspy as he spoke.

    Me, kill him? Certainly that was the point of the Judgment. He’s just giving up? Why?

    “I’m a goner. Even if I go on to win, the next round is the weapons round. Go and win, maybe you can go all the way,” he explained, as though reading my mind.
    “How do you…” I paused, unsure. “How do you wish to die?” I asked finally.
    “Choke me; anything, I don’t care. Just please, let my mother recognize my body.”

    I moved toward him. There was no reaction from him; he didn’t try to shrink away, or grab a hold of me. All he did was close his eyes, his lips moving silently, as though in prayer.

    I wrapped my hands around his throat. His Adam’s apple moved slightly as he swallowed, his chest heaving as he inhaled. He would not be breathing before long.

    I clamped down on his airways as the rain started to fall on the two of us. I ignored his struggles. Another shiver of excitement ran up my spine, but I ignored it, ashamed.

    I wondered if I would soon give in to this excitement; or indeed if I should use it to my advantage, and enjoy it. If things kept on this way, it was only a matter of time. The prospect wasn’t a particularly pleasant one.

    He was dead before I could figure out the answer. I released him, letting him fall down, closed his eyes as a last act of courtesy, and stepped away. I didn’t give a damn about the announcement of the winner.

    On my way back, I took another glance on the bloody part of the wall. The blood was slowly being washed away, and it ran down onto the grass below, with all the other fragments.

    I shivered again. This time, it’s the chilling wind and rain. Somehow, I’m glad.
  • Shinigami357

    Serial chapter 3

    Well, this is chapter 3.

    Scott Purdue

    Left, left, left, right; one-two; keep the feet moving. Guard up, chin tucked in. Sway, duck, and weave. Circle left, then cut sharply to the right; keep the rhythm up, side-to-side motion.

    I open my eyes.

    The room was dusty. It smelled of sweat. I knew that smell so well.

    I’ve been boxing since I was ten. I earned my pro license at sixteen. Before all of this got in the way, I was ranked third in the 145-lb division, maybe a fight or two away from a title fight for the national belt. Well, there isn’t going to be a championship fight.

    Not anymore. But there will be fighting. Ah, yes, here in the Judgment, there’s nothing else.

    Every year, this cruel contest is held. On the surface, it’s the only guaranteed way to receive amnesty; whoever you are, however evil and heinous your crimes may be, and whatever high court sentenced you to death. It’s a “get out of jail free” card, but it has never paid off.

    The selection for the elimination is simple. Every year, thirty-two eligible criminals selected at random put forth an eligible family member of their choosing -willing or unwilling - to participate; usually one of their children, or in some cases, a younger sibling. The age requirement is eighteen, no more, no less. And that’s why I’m here.

    My father is a waste of a man. Ever since my mother died giving birth to my sister, all he did was beat me and go out with his friends, usually at night. A couple years ago, the whole lot of them got arrested; the charges were grave robbing. Then of all people, he gets selected for the Judgment. I was served my “invitation” at the gym, in the middle of sparring.

    The only silver lining is that he got selected now. Another year, and no doubt, it would be my sister here. And she would never survive. Now I have to, not for my father, but for her.

    The buzz sounds. My senses on edge - I was in match fitness - I sprang to my feet. The door slid open. I entered the field.

    It wasn’t anything like walking into a boxing arena. No cheers, no lights, no crowds. It’s just me, the other guy, and this field. As the door slid close behind me, I took a look over my shoulder. The grass in front of the entrance was all bloody.

    Looks like the winner of the last match savaged the other guy - or girl. Well, I shouldn’t worry about him until later on. It will be the elimination quarterfinals before we even get a chance to meet.

    I looked back across the field as the door behind me clicked close. He was a tall, gangling guy. That meant a height and reach advantage. I put on my boxing stance, trying to psyche him out.

    “This is the third match in the first round of elimination. Let Judgment begin.”

    I’ll say this for the other guy: he’s fast. The announcement was barely over, and he was out, running full-tilt toward me. Staying light on the balls of my feet, I moved left, turning my body ever so slightly to extend the reach of my left hand. I’m a jab first fighter favoring the orthodox stance, so it was natural.

    He kept coming, veering slightly so as to compensate for my movement. Is he planning to ram me? I bounced up and down in place, ready to react.

    I’ll say something else about him: he has good brakes. I skipped right, past his headlong tackle attempt, and he stopped well enough away from the wall, avoiding a crash. I turned around, immediately on the attack.

    I started off with three jabs, in a small triangle: right cheek, nose, jaw. He blocked the first two with his arms and evaded the third by backing away. I could almost commend him for turning around as fast as I did.

    I followed, hot on his heels. I faked a stiff jab high, aimed at his cheek again. He bit the bait and I dove in, deep, with a left hook to the body. He tried to shrink away from it, but too late.

    He was backpedaling, his guard lower now. I chased, circling slightly to the right, in order to cut off his escape. It was time to use the right hand and end this.

    He caught me by surprise as his left fist shot out toward me. I parried it away, and swayed to avoid the right behind it. Damn reach advantage!

    I took half a step back as his punches gained some rhythm. He was headhunting, so I set my guard tight and waded in low. I caught a few glancing blows to my shoulders, and one clipped my left ear, but I got in.

    Once inside, I knew I had the advantage. I set to work with a left hook, to the same spot as before. He grunted in pain, and grabbed me in a clinch. His grip was strong, and the position stopped me from using my right hand. I unloaded short, rapid-fire lefts into his side again until he pushed off.

    I made to follow, but he started throwing wild punches as he backpedaled. Staying alert, I set my guard, staying just outside the range of his punches as I set to cut off his escape yet again.

    He was falling right into a classic boxer’s trap. Concealing my grin behind my fists, I continued to herd him toward the corner of the field.

    His back finally hit the wall, and he glanced in that direction. Pure instinct, I guess. He never noticed I was herding him along the wall and into the corner until he hit the adjoining wall.

    I took advantage of that small moment of confused panic and dove right in again, this time not ducking down. Opponents with long reach are a pain to deal with at a distance, but close up, it’s easy.

    I let loose a barrage of punches. Two jabs, right hook to the side, left hook to the temple, right straight to his face, a left hook to his side. He grunted as each punch landed, but his long arms were shielding his head and body well. I had to change tactics and not punch myself out.

    I change into methodically hitting his guard with short, precise, straight punches. I needed space to land even just one hit on his head. I had to be careful when I picked where I hit and how hard. This wasn’t a boxing ring; the walls were concrete, and I’d shatter my hands easily if I miss. I didn’t even have gloves to wear.

    His guard didn’t last long. After half a minute, it was starting to shake loose with each blow, his arms red with welts. Finally, his two hands spread apart, perhaps an inch and a half space between them; at last, an opening.

    I sent his right hand flying with a well-placed right hook, and now half his face was open for my left hand. I sent an overhand left toward his chin. I turned to get full extension - there’s time for power later, when his guard finally cracks - shielding my head with my right hand just in case.

    There was no impact. I overbalanced a little bit, staggered after I’d positioned myself to fully extend the blow. What the hell?

    I tried to turn back around; there were too many openings. I took a quick glance down and saw his feet. He was standing on his toes. Withdrawing my left arm as I turned, I looked up at him. He had leaned back his head, his neck fully extended and his chin out of reach. His shoulders couldn’t fit into the corner, but there was enough space for his head to lean back to. Two very simple measures, combined with his natural lofty stature, used to evade my blow.

    Damn height advantage!

    Suddenly, the left side of my head explodes in pain. I was sent reeling, and my right shoulder rebounded off the wall. Somehow, I kept my footing. I stepped back a bit, trying to shake it off. I’d forgotten about his right arm, what with focusing on hitting his head.

    He looked down on me, crouched down as I was with my guard held shakily in front of me, and smiled. He set his arms in front of him and gave me a “come-hither” gesture.

    What the hell?

    I still have him cornered. My head still throbbed, but I had to push my advantage. Knocking my fists together - an old tradition in our gym - I tightened my guard and pushed in again.

    His left hand shot out at me, straight and fast. My guard just about shattered as my two hands flew apart.

    My trainer would have wept. I was rushing, he was standing. His punch had all his power behind it, and my forward motion to boot. My guard was isolated, my feet unable to take the brunt of the blow since I was moving. Ah, crap.

    The right was zooming in. I tried to get my hands back together, get my guard back up.


    I tried to stop my forward motion, heels digging down.


    I attempted to lean back at the last second. My hands were still ringing, their motion slow. My body was busy expending my forward motion to the part furthest from the ground - my head. Ah, crap.

    I’d taken straight rights before; but never bare-fisted. I’d been caught rushing in. I almost blacked out as I fell, flat on my back.

    I had spots dancing before my eyes. I tried to blink them back and struggle to my feet. My head was now screaming in pain. Holding on to the wall, I stood back up, the way boxers sometimes used the ropes or the corners.

    I faced him. He was standing there casually, hands at his side. Was he mocking me? I decided I’d have to move in again, more cautiously this time around.

    Holding a shaky guard in front of me, I started to step toward him. Started, but didn’t finish. The moment my left foot left the ground, I was reeling, all balance lost. It was all I could do to fall backward and land on my butt, somewhat safe.

    Ridiculous; I couldn’t have taken this much damage, could I? I held the sides of my head in my hands. The left one came away wet, a bright red liquid smeared all over it.

    I am bleeding.

    Most people think boxers are used to getting cut. Blood is a part of the sport. But this isn’t boxing. No ten counts, no bells to save you, no corner man to throw in the towel. No rematches.

    Ah, crap.

    I shuffled backward, along the grassy field. It was all I could do, what with shaky knees and a shot up sense of balance. I guess his right, the first blow he hit me with, got to my ear or something. It sure busted me wide open.

    I looked back up at him. He was leaning against the wall, watching. His expression was of mild interest. Not smug or sneering, just watching me.

    The way a kid watches an ant after ripping half its legs out, I guess.

    Why didn’t I see him for what he was? And where did he learn how to fight like this? Darn it, give me the strength to stand and I’ll at least knock half his teeth down his throat before I kick the bucket.

    The thought stopped me. I was in mid-motion, and fell; as much as you can fall from half a foot off the ground, anyway.

    Had I given up already? Subconsciously, just like that? I won’t accept it.

    I’m so absorbed by my thoughts I didn’t realize he was moving until he was almost literally on top of me. He looked down on me, and I up to him.

    Not yet, I decided. I had to fight; all or nothing. My sister is counting on me.

    I pushed myself up. It was slow business, because I didn’t want to lean against the wall this time. He watched me.

    I stepped back - staggering a little, but staying up - and distanced myself a bit. The guard I put up was a pathetic shadow of what it should be. I was breathing hard, mouth open.

    He watched. I knew I looked pathetic, desperate even. There’s a reason a boxer’s fist is a lethal weapon, though.

    I sent a jab at him - slow, telegraphed - and he batted it away. The right straight that should have come as soon as the jab did - the one-two - didn’t fare any better.

    Even the strongest cannon needs ammunition; I had none left.

    His hands clutched the sides of my head. For one bewildering moment, I thought he was clinching. Then the right side of my head collides with the wall.

    “AAAAAARGH!” I shout, trying to hold my head. My fingers scrabbled against the back of his hand, but his grip never wavered.

    My head is reintroduced to the wall. My body starts to go limp and my vision fades. I was still mentally apologizing to my sister as my head swings toward the wall again. Darkness...

    Yes, it's really, really long.
  • Shinigami357

    Serial chapter 2

    I'm supposed to post this every Sunday, but what the hell...

    Well, actually, I won't be posting chapter 2 here, due to unsavory content [i.e. violence directed toward the fairer sex]. I think that could get me warned or something.

    Anyway, here's the link to the current chapter:

    Survivor Ch. 2

    So, uh, yeah, any future chapters with females in it pobably won't be posted here. Which is probably for the better. Personally, writing this chapter made me cringe, the end, specially.

    Anyway, next chapter in 2 weeks... Cya guys.
  • Shinigami357

    Serial chapter 1

    I was planning on writing a serial for my blog, as a member of our Writer's Guild and as a personal challenge. Here's the first chapter.

    All other details [i.e. useless blather], etc etc et al are in my Tumblr, which I'll prob link in my sig or something. Other than that, the whole story is here, because that's what matters.

    I don't want to make this intro take too much space, so one last thing...

    DISCLAIMER: The story is graphic, dark, and more than just slightly unpleasant. Also, if it is adjudged to be against forum rules, I'll take it down.

    Now that that's done with, I give you... Survivor. Enjoy and peace out.


    Lyle Stokes

    I open my eyes, once again; hoping, willing and praying that the sight in front of me would change. It didn’t. As I sit here on this rather uncomfortable chair, I stare at a plain steel door, just ahead of me. On the other side of this door, is death.

    I can only hope it is not mine.

    I was a boy once. Unassuming, carefree, innocent - naïve, you could say. I guess in some respects, I still am. Still, I turned eighteen, and here I am.

    The short buzz rings out through a small speaker. I almost fall out of my chair at the sound. I can’t be tense, I can’t afford to be, but I am. Is it natural, or is it a sign; a sign of weakness, a sign of my impending death? Before my nerves really got to me, I stood up.

    The door opens. I take note of a small squeaking noise as the door’s halves slide on their tracks, masked by the grinding of the gears that made it move. And then I’m moving.

    I stop right at a marked spot, about 11 meters from the door I just exited. Back then - a lifetime ago, really - I read that the field for the first elimination round was modeled after the playing area of a very old sport called football. The spot I’m standing on now corresponds to a spot in the football field called the penalty spot. The significance of the name is not lost on me. Not now.

    Behind me, the doors were sliding shut. When the two halves clicked together, there seemed to be an air of finality to it. Judgment has begun.

    I look toward the other end of the field. A boy stood there. He was dark-skinned, tall, and looked like he was in good condition. His hands, like mine, were empty. That’s how the first round of eliminations is always fought: bare-handed. My heart sank as I looked on.

    "This is the first match in the first round of elimination. Let judgment begin," called out a voice from the speakers all around the field.

    The surface of the field is much like that of a football field - grass. The boy shot out of his starting spot as soon as the voice was finished speaking. His steps were long and graceful, each one leaving almost no impression on the grass. I struggled to pull myself together, unable to think or move. He was halfway up the field when I regained control of myself. I let out a long sigh. When did I start to hold my breath?

    There is no time to think. Without hesitating, I run right. Instinct, I suppose. I’ve always been right-handed, like most people. The boy saw I was moving and went to cut me off. He never even broke his stride.

    I changed direction, heading back the way I came. He responded, still going full-speed. I decided if he’s coming, let him come, and I stopped right where I started. He was perhaps seven meters away by then.

    I rolled left just before he ran into me. The boy shot past where I stood, slowing down as he realized I had dodged his attempt at a pre-emptive attack. I got to my feet and ran as fast as I could to the end of the field where he started.

    It didn’t take him long to chase me down. I was barely halfway up the field when he collided with my back. I was thrown face-first on to the field’s surface, grass getting in my mouth. I tried to struggle to my knees, but I felt his weight on my back. I was trapped.

    My arms flailed around, my fingers scrabbling, trying to grab hold of anything. I pulled patches of grass off the field in my struggle to get free. It got me nowhere.

    “Like the view down there?” came the boy’s voice, taunting. He was sitting on my back. Pain explodes on the right side of my head as his punches me. Faintly, I could hear him laughing.

    I was still recovering from the impact when my face was pushed down into the grass. I struggled harder, to no avail. He was too strong, his position too good. My face gets rubbed left and right on the grass. My face was rubbed raw when he stopped.

    “This is too easy,” says the boy. He chuckled, and the next thing I know, his right hand was over my face.

    I realized he was trying to claw my eyes out. I closed them, and started to thrash about. If I was blinded, then I’m dead; there are no two ways about it. The boy grabs my hair with his other hand and keeps probing. I jerk my head around. I don’t want to just give up.

    The boy realizes I’m fighting hard to keep my sight, or perhaps he just gives up. He covers my mouth with his hand and drives my face back to the grass.

    “Hold still!” he shouts, angry, as I redouble my struggles. I snapped my head to the left, to get away from his right hand, and it slips. I open my mouth to gasp in some air, and a couple of his fingers get into my mouth as he tries to recover his hold.

    I bit down, hard. It was instinct. The boy howls, and tries to shake his hand free; wrong move. I put all my body’s strength into my one desperate attack. Soon I was tasting blood.

    The boy, now roaring in pain, hits my head on the left side. I growl in pain, and the small opening was enough for him to pull his fingers out of my mouth. I felt his weight come off my back.

    I roll to my back. The boy was four feet or so to my left, kneeling, his right hand cradled protectively in his body. He was moaning in pain.

    I struggle to my feet, breathing hard. My head was still throbbing with pain from the two blows to either side. I spat blood out as I approached the boy. He was also struggling to his feet, but doing it with one hand instead of two is slowing him down.

    I kick his left arm from out under him, and he crashes face-first into the grass, howling. “Like the view down there?” I asked. He growls in answer and tries to get up again.

    I kicked him in the ribs, and heard the air go out of him. He started to cough as I kicked him again. “No more, please,” he begged, his voice reduced to a gasp after I’d hit him several times.

    I placed a foot to his side and rolled him over. He didn’t resist, but curled up in the fetal position instead. I kicked him again, and he flinched, his defense buckling under my attack. He was crying now, the fight gone from him.

    I was tiring of it. I was expected to kill him, or be killed. But with no weapons and a field that offered no hazards, my choices were limited. I looked down at the boy, who was sniffling, his bleeding right hand held protectively to his chest. He wasn’t even trying to get up anymore.

    I looked up. It was still early; the sun wasn’t even a quarter across the sky yet. I sighed and resigned myself to finish it. Kill or be killed, that was how justice was meted out in here.

    I looked back to the boy again, and stomped on his side. He grunted in pain, so I brought my foot down again. This time he roars in agony, and his left hand covers his side. I must have cracked or broken a few of his ribs.

    The blood drew my attention as I continued to look at him. His right hand was left defenseless as he covered his side. I prodded it with my foot, licking my lips at the memory of how his blood tasted. He started to cry out in pain, but the sound got strangled halfway through and he clutched at his side harder, shaking. His ribs were broken for sure.

    I bent down to lift his right arm away from his body. The boy barely resisted. Just a few minutes ago, he was strong, but now he was a whimpering wreck. I laid his hand down on the grass and stomped on it.

    The blood started to seep to the grass as the boy convulses in pain again. I keep a good hold of his hand so he can’t pull it away and stomped down on it one more time. In the game of football, players have studs on their boots. I wish my sneakers had them, too.

    I stomped down again, this time on the wrist, and I hear the grinding of bones. The boy’s eyes were bugging out by then, his face almost frozen in a scream. I tried not to let it distract me from the matter at hand.

    I studied the boy. My mind was foggy as I scanned his limp body. Dazed, I decide to stomp down on his groin. His neck strained as he felt the pain. I stomp down again, harder, and then again, and another time. After the sixth time, I stumbled as I pulled my foot back for another stomp, and fall flat on my butt.

    I breathed hard as I sat down. The boy had stopped moving after the third time I brought my foot down on his groin. I looked down at him again, and saw his glassy, empty eyes.

    The boy, whoever he was, was dead.

    I cover my face with my hands as the realization coursed through me. I barely heard the voice announce me the winner of the first match in the first round of eliminations.

    Spiler'd coz it was too freakin' long.
    Also, feedback is much appreciated. Thanks, guys.
  • Shinigami357

    Sleep's idle visions of unnerving

    Damn, that title sounds... like... something.

    Anyway, yeah. I rarely dream anymore, or at least I rarely remember my dreams anymore. Before yesterday [Philippine time, folks] the last dream I remember was... well, truth be told, I'd forgotten it, too.

    This recent one ended up in a street somewhere near where we live; I've passed through it hundreds, perhaps thousands of time, and I could summon the image with little effort. I've forgotten how the dream ended up there, but that's not the point [or maybe it's related, I dunno].

    So there were people there, as there should be in any normal street in an urban area. They were talking, and some construction was happening, and there was this guy getting a tattoo [I know, makes no sense, but it's a dream]. And then suddenly, with such graphic clarity, everything started to... explode, I guess you'd say. To be a smudge more accurate, everything fell apart and radiated in an outward manner, annihilating everyone around. Got it?

    You know how in CSI, they have these 3D reproductions of how the crime happened, or in Final Destination or SAW, you see people get ripped apart? It was like that. Except it was real. To me it was, anyway.

    And the kicker was, the last thing I saw was this metallic, sort of automated machine, it had fingers [or whatever equivalent of fingers machines have] holding a blank card, and it was tattooing the ace of spades onto it, then it flung the card toward me, like a shuriken, I suppose.

    That woke me up. I sat straight up [kind of like the Undertaker when he no-sells the other guy's finisher] and I was all like" wtf?!?" cold sweat and all.

  • Shinigami357

    New blog... Yay?

    Blah, blah, new blog. Anyway, yeah, just made a separate blog for all this writing stuff I like to do. My main blog's a bit all over the place, so I thought, having a blog for one purpose wouldn't be bad.

    Anyway, gone back a bit to my horror story that was quite recently in hiatus. It's almost 70% done, more or less, though editing is a must. So far, the plan as of the moment goes like this:

    1. Finish Chapters 9 - 11. I've planned those chapters out a long time ago [well, made a basic outline], so it shouldn't be a problem, even with the inevitable snags. I don't plan on them being too long, so I'd be surprised if they go beyond 7.5k words total, but you can never really tell.

    2. Major overhaul of Chapter 5. Well, only 2 people have ever read this, so obviously, I can't rant about what's wrong about it here, coz none of you will get it. Basically, just need to delete the majority of the chapter, take what works, and what's absolutely essential, and rewrite it. It's kind of hard when the only reason the chapter exists in the first place is to tie the first four together with the rest of the story. Thankfully, chapters 6 onwards is where most of the stuff really falls into place, so it's not as if I'm going to need to rewrite everything else.

    3. Probably have to change how some chapters start. This is just to accommodate the things I would need to take out of chapter 5. Shouldn't be a pain.

    4. Write the rest. This would probably be up to the end. I think I'm gonna end up with 13-15 chapters. It'll besurprising if I don't go 60k words when it's all done. Before the next step, that is.

    5. Edit the whole thing. Well, first drafts always suck, so they say. Hopefully, it won't be needing too many major cuts, or plot holes.

    Apparently there's a NaNoWriMo site. So I'm thinking I should prob try that. 50k+ words in 30-31 days sounds tough, though [joke's on you if you try it on a February]. Hm...
  • Shinigami357

    Life and Times of a Shinigami #5

    Just to finish off that thought: "...I'd have smashed my PC into smithereens already."

    Here's a condensed version of the story: Our PC kind of sucks [a lot]. Now, around 11/2-2 weeks ago, it went on a spree of fuck-ups. First the sound disappeared. Then my videocard went into a repeating BSOD for 3-4 days. Literally spent more than 20 hours trying to fix it. Anyway, video card seems to be stable again, but still no sound, which really sucks.

    It's so bad I've started asking my mum to buy me a new one... LOL, fat chance that'll happen. Can't even replace my AK2i, let alone buy a new PC...

    Anyway, shortest blog so far, I think. Dammit.
  • Shinigami357

    Life and Times of a Shinigami 4

    Hi again puny mortalsfellow tempers! I'm on an emotional roller-coaster these recent days. I'm more on the happy side though.

    Anyway, without further ado, here's a quick "blog-it-before-it's-gone" summary of my last couple weeks/months or so.

    - My mother went back to work. It's a long story, but the tl;dr version is this:

    Around the end of June, my mother had, well, a minor stroke. Not that such things are ever minor. She's been on sick leave since then, just resting. I wasn't quite sure how to act or react, so in the end, I just settled on being there. It always works. Anyway, she's back on limited duty [or whatever he hell the term might be], feeling a whole lot better, but still taking medication [aka "some really expensive... stuff"].

    - My writing's been suffering quite a bit. It's getting better now, though.

    As can be seen from the top of my sig, I like to write. I was doing rather well [around 45k words on the "main" story, a combined 15k on two others] until I kind of hit a snag. Not writer's block, just something a bit more personal. I guess some of it was because my mother was sick, but it coincided a bit too much with my birthday, when I was kind of depressed.

    You see, for much of my 20 years on Earth, my focus was staying alive [another long story. for the tl;dr version, google up "tof" (without the quotes)]. Then, I don't know, maybe I got a bit too mature, and realized my life was "useless" [i.e. it had no focus/direction]. I was going nowhere [literally and figuratively]. Back when I graduated high school, I wanted to be a lawyer, until circumstances beyond my control fucked that plan up.

    Ironically, since then I decided I wanted to be a writer [possibly my only "talent" I can still use without inducing further harm on myself; you did google that term up, did you?]. I mean, a wannabe writer who is writing [and doing not too bad] then gets depressed because he's not doing anything with his life. I would have smacked myself upside the head.

    It's not too bad, though. I got through it after a while. Writing again with pretty much the same gusto as I did when I started, maybe more.

    - Football season's back, baby!!!

    No, not NFL. EPL, peeps. My general mood for the week is usually decided Saturday/Sunday evenings, when most of the fixtures are played. So I guess it's no surprise I'm in a cheery mood after 3 wins in as many matches [top of the table, too]. GGMU!!! International break sucks, though, since we don't get any coverage of those matches. At least I'll have UCL group matches to go on next week, aside from the usual EPL fare.

    - Eating well

    This really did coincide with my mother being sick. We were kind of lacking funds to buy food for a while. In fact, we went a week with the classic Filipino menu of eggs, "tuyo" [basically dried fish] and instant noodles [not to mention rice, the staple of Filipino cuisine; God forbid we eat without it, though I kind of dislike it]. Not that I'm complaining, I'm used to eating these food once in a while. I was more worried about my mother.

    Then again, that was then, this is now. As I type this, the fridge is full of odds and ends [we have a big container of apple/cranberry juice, I think, I've never drunk anything like it before], and I have a big plastic bag of, let's see... Junk food... Junk food... More junk food... And two tubes [cylinders???] of Pringles. Life is good.


    So, anyway, that' pretty much everything. And, as to that alternate title... Yes, this Shinigami is smiling.


    I also watched a lot of movies, prob gonna post up some more mini-reviews, since those seem to get a little attention, and I kind of enjoy the discussions that follow. Who knew?
  • Shinigami357

    Shinigami mini movie reviews

    Watched some movies recently. Might have less time for that what with EPL season just started [woot, GGMU Go Red Devils!!!].


    Disclaimer: I will be reviewing some Korean movies, and since I'm really, really, really bad with korean names [hey, I'm a Jap/Filipino shinigami, cut me a break], I'll give the characters identifiers instead, k?

    The Chaser

    The Chaser is a Korean [and by Korean, I mean South Korean, k?] movie. Basically, it's about a cop-turned-pimp whose girls all go missing. Now at the beginning of the movie, he sends one of his few remaining girls to a guy. Thing is, he soon finds out the guy is a serial killer.

    The movie is very unique. A lot of it plays out in the streets of Korea at night, which was shot well. Also, the movie sticks true to its title - much of this movie is about chases. Not the hollywood car chases where cars go boom everywhere - here, a lot of the chasing is on foot. It's also very unique in that everyone knows who the killer is, the problem is - where are the victims [the girl, in particular]?

    There's also this side to the story which plays out as a commentary of the capabilities of their police force - or the lack of it. For most of the movie, mr killer makes them all dance on his palm, while mr pimp chases him - literally and figuratively - at every turn.

    Bottom line is, the movie delivers. It's not action-packed for the sake of action. The violence is realistic even if some of the blood is rather OTT. And as usual with good Korean cinema [that I've watched], they interweave subplots and contexts seamlessly. You'll laugh at the whole ordeal of the mayor getting shit thrown at his face, and feel for the daughter of the girl who was sent to mr killer.


    Holy shit revenge movies. Now, I have to yet find a good copy of Korea's pinnacles of revenge movies, that being oldboy and the more recent I saw the devil. Bedevilled is yet another revenge tale - with a little difference. It's a reversed role movie.

    The movie starts with a woman in seoul. She's a very "look out for number 1" kind of woman [bitchy too]. This gets her in trouble [how did I not see that one coming? owait...], and so she decides to "take a vacation" to a remote island where she grew up.

    Now this is where the story shifts focus. On the island is miss bitchy's friend. This friend of hers is treated like a slave by the old women and a plaything by the men [there are like less than 10 people total in the island]. So as not to spoil too much, one day her friend goes psycho. And I mean absolute friggin nuts - with a sickle, mostly.

    Yes, i know that summarization sounds lame - trust me, the movie isn't. I just don't want to spoil the major plot points. Again, the violence is as realistic as you can get, and it's not too bloody. The story also does a great job setting up. By the time the poor woman finally goes ballistic, you are sure to be feeling sorry for her. I was actually cheering - but that's me, of course.

    The part before the ending did puzzle me a little, but that's no great error. Overall, it's good. And I really do have to get to those copies of oldboy and I saw the devil... hm...

    Law-Abiding Citizen

    Yes, revenge movies. Oh, how I love 'em. This one's premise is simple. House invasion results in two dbags killing mother and daughter. Dad was there. Lawyer strikes a deal with one of the dbags. One dbag walks, one goes to death row. Dad is unhappy. Fast-forward 10 years later.

    That really is the premise, pure and simple. Some of the things that happen are on the preposterous side, but meh, who cares when you got a re-tooled bomb-disposal bot equipped with machine guns and anti-tank rocket launchers, amirite? Again, this is a none-too-subtle dig at the justice system. It also begs the question does revenge = justice? And where's the line between revenge and rampaging?

    The thing that really drew me in - aside from the rather cool kills - is the mindgames. Both sides are trying to outfox each other. As most revenge movies do, they build up a rather solid feel of empathy for the avenging party. You feel the injustice that's been done, so to speak.

    The thing that really pissed me off, though was the ending. A quick search online told me a lot of people agreed. It was a copout, almost cheap, really. Aside from that and some of the aforementioned required suspense of belief [or disbelief], it does its job well of telling a vengeance story.

    I'll make this review short and sweet.
    Not enough "get to the choppa".
    Also, katana vs extra-terrestrial wristblade FTW.


    Anyway, that's all of it. I'm yearning for good old horror now, maybe a touch of gore. On that end, FD5 is out soon, I should totally watch that. Tony Todd is back, and that creepy voice of his telling people that death is after them is more than enough reason to watch it, IMHO. LOL
  • Shinigami357

    Life and Times of a Shinigami 3

    Whew. It's raining here like there's no tomorrow. Looks like the rest of the week will be dominated by this damn typhoon. Urgh. Anyway, here's what's been happening since my last blog.

    [1] I got 1 year older - Not much to say, except that it was pretty much a non-event.
    [2] Watched a few movies - Again, I'm finding time as well as new ways to watch movies. Mini-reviews below.
    [3] Whole lotta shit happened.

    So yeah. That's mostly it. So I turned 20 [human years] a few days ago. Nothing much happened. Some friends on FB and twitter greeted me, nothing else happened [read: all the plans made were scrapped, just my luck] and I'm one year older. Feels good to be alive, right?

    Anyway, on to ranting... Skip this space [and prob a quarter of the damn blog] if you've a mind to do so...


    I hate getting promised something and then ending up with nothing. I mean, Fate shrugged and said, "Screw you, [insert name here]." And that's not funny. I mean, hell, I'd rather people not plan/promise and get surprised than when they plan/promise and I get disappointed. It's shit, you know?

    This is what happened: my mother told me [due to my rather insistent bugging] that she'd take me to the cinema on Sunday [this past Sunday] to watch Deathly Hallows 2 [since I got jack squat on my birthday]. Now, just to be clear, I had not asked her - true, I was bugging her, but what else to do at home, anyway? Also, this would have been the 3rd or 4th movie I'd ever watch in a cinema, everything else is on Tape/VCD/DVD/Internet [mostly pirated, too]. And, of course, as usual, shit hits the fan and everything goes down on me.

    Not only did it rain [fuck you, troposphere], my aunt got some weird pain in her stomach/abdomen as well. Well, how did I not see that coming? Mom said after: "well, let's just get it on CD." I go: "yeah, sure." [look away, roll eyes]

    Now, some people say it's almost immature for a 20 year-old to be crying over spilled milk. Frankly, I can't give a shit. One, it was a promise. Two, I haven't been more than a few hundred meters away from this house since last August. The last time I asked for anything was a trip to the mall for Christmas, which also got promised and, guess what? Here I am 7 months later, stuck at home. I can almost foresee this next Christmas. Damn.

    It is fucked up. I mean, ok, there's a legit reason, sure. But not even the most legit of reasons can make this any less shittier. A fucked-up situation is a fucked-up situation, whatever your POV might be. The only saving grace [if you can call it that] was me getting P1000 [don't jizz - it's only about $20+] which I can't really spend since I don't go anywhere.


    Nothing much else to say about that rant. I'm over it, just venting.

    Anyway, I watched a couple movies, as I tend to do when I somehow grow tired of my PC. Yes, it does happen.

    Coming Soon - It's a Thai movie, which, as far as my meager research went, has not been given one of those [mostly-crappy] Hollywood remakes. IMHO, Asian horror is a unique set of thrills and chills, set apart from most of its Western counterparts, and they just don't work when translated forcefully. It got suggested to me.

    First things first - I watched the whole movie on Youtube [fully english-subbed], so if you've a mind [or an appreciation for Asian horror or just horror in general] then go ahead and search. Shouldn't take too long. Ok, now that that's over with, off to my mini-review.

    The movie centers itself around a movie. Yes, a movie about a movie [that kills people], and no, this ain't some bizarre "Inception" joke. The main characters work for a movie theater, which is scheduled to premiere the movie soon [thus the title]. Now the main protagonist gets approached by some hoodlums to switch the reels over so they could pirate it [typical]. Guy agrees after a little grappling with his conscience, and off they go. What happens next is the more-or-less signature Asian horror set-up of telling you a story/mystery that reels you in and then once you're hooked, you're screwed [in essence, giving you enough rope to hang yourself]. There's a romantic side-story, the usual "urban legend/curse" thing going on, but in essence, the story is not about the jumps [there are some, of course] or the characters but the movie [read: the movie within the movie] and the mystery/hype around it. Oh, and speaking of hanging - it's an integral part of the story. That's not much of a spoiler, so don't worry if you plan on watching it at all.

    Usually this is when I start griping, but I don't gripe about horror movies in general. To each his own, right?

    Overall not the best or the most atmospheric Asian horror movie, but it's plenty good. Oh, and btw, best line ever: "Do you really want to see me die?!?"

    While I was watching this in the middle of the night, my dad was asleep in the adjacent room and he was groaning and moaning, like a frigging ghost. Damn. Nearly scared me enough not to finish the movie. LOL

    The Tournament - I stumbled into this movie browsing through torrents [I'm allowed to specify that as long as I don't link to it, right?]. Apparently it's a straight-to-DVD movie, just another action flick that didn't get enough exposure. But hell, it was worth it [and definitely deserving of more than the straight-to-DVD treatment].

    Now, usually, I don't like spoiling these mostly-unheard-of movies, but story-wise, there's not much to spoil. It's formulaic, and I say that with all kindness, because story or not, the action carries everything else, and that's what makes an action flick, right?

    The story goes like this: Every couple years [7 IIRC] a tournament between 30 of the world's best assassins is held in some remote city. Last man/woman standing gets the fame, the glory and some cash. Now the champion of the last tournament comes out of retirement to join the next one coz he's hunting his wife's killer. So anyway, the motley crew of 2 hackers takes over some British city [handy for all them damn CCTV cameras] and the bloodbath ensues. Each contestant is implanted a chip/detonator so they/the people running the show can track where each one is. Apparently, it wasn't implanted well enough, coz one guy then takes it out and a priest of all people ingests it. Said priest is then helped by this Asian assassin girl [woman is more fitting perhaps?].

    Generic plot, really, and no, I'm not spoiling all that - it's all in the frigging trailer, for chrissakes. Watch it enough times, you can prob figure out who screwed who and why. But again, it doesn't matter.

    My review is thus short: epic action sequences, could have been more epic perhaps, but it's great for what it is. There's some hand-to-hand combat, a few shootouts, some crazy car scenes [only one real chase scene, which is good]. My favorite scenes are when this parkour/free-running guy [apparently he's actually one of the inventors of the sport] goes off on everyone from the rooftops and then later on in some epic car scenes and the final chase scene. If I had any gripes about the movie, it boils down to a few things:

    1 - People engaging the Asian assassin in CQC? Really? What are they, retards? We have more ways of kicking ass in here than bullets have calibers.
    2 - Some scenes you can call to the letter, like minutes before it happens. Then there are some frenzied scenes where everyone's shooting everyone else. The ending for example, I knew the trick before it got revealed. Again, no biggie, since story should be the least of one's concerns when watching action flicks, but hey, I gripe.

    Overall, if you like movies where people try to kill each other, explosions, action sequences, etc, then it's a good movie. People who like deep, mentally-tasking storylines should look elsewhere. Personally, I liked it, was laughing the whole way as people get gunned down left right and center.

    Anyway, yeah... That's mostly everything. I hope this typhoon GTFOs soon. Damn, I hate this weather.
  • Shinigami357

    Life and times of a shinigami 2

    I'm bored, there's really nothing to do, and my head's going off-the-wall crazy, so...

    Anyone wanna help me figure out the answer to these queries???

    [1] If we turned Rebecca Black into an Avox, would she sound better?
    [2] Would astronauts be out of a job once the last shuttle mission is over? What are they supposed to do after?
    [3] Does anyone read this crap of a blog?

    Anyway, got back to movies again... This time I caught just about 2/3 of Salt. Not half bad. I was watching it, and my dad was watching it and providing commentary [who needs DVD extras? huh!]. I didn't get much of the story except that Angelina Jolie was kicking everyone else's asses. Again. And again. And again.

    Anyway, what I really loved about the movie was that for once in Hollywood action-thriller movie-making history, car+car or car+bullet did not equal a friggin' big explosion [at least not the parts I watched]. Wow, it really took them THAT long to figure that one out [mythbusters just laughs at them, I suppose]?

    Last thing. My mom had this weird idea to paint a section of our wall. That's right, just one section of it. I'll not pass judgment, but it's kind of weird. Well, whatevs...
  • Shinigami357

    The life and times of a shinigami 1

    I'm kind of bored, so I thought - why not do a regular blog to impress/annoy/everything else in between the Temp? And since no one stopped me [I'd like to see them try] here goes.

    Lately, I've been watching movies more recently on cable - don't ask me why, it just seemed like I suddenly had time to spare. Weird.

    Some of the ones I've watched [and some of my thoughts]:

    The Incredibles - T'was fine. Kind of split the message between "you can't do everything alone", "you can't turn away what you are" and whatever the message was in the whole "wannabe sidekick turned megalomaniacal bad guy" storyline is, but whatevs, not every film is perfect. I like the whole "there are two ways to look at people with superpowers" side of it, though - most comic movies have this air of "if he/she can fly/lift tons of things/punch criminals then it's fine" thing going, which doesn't seem to make sense in terms of real-world implications.

    Specifically loved the way the movie handled the cape/no cape business. Sometimes such things are viewed as mere food for thought, discarded as the movie sees fit, but here they actually back up their own logic [no capes]. It's the little details sometimes that makes the immersion possible.

    Cars - Haven't watched the 2nd one yet. Anyway, pretty good film. This one seems to be just fine letting its message of "you can't do everything alone/not everything is about you" get along just fine - in fact, they almost overlap, which works wonders for the storytelling.

    Seriously though [if I was a car], if I saw some punk drive someone older out of the way, I'd personally T-bone them onto the nearest wall. And then help the old dude. But that's just me.

    Lightning McQueen's bestfriend seemed almost TOO stereotyped, though. Dunno what that's about.

    Also, loved the bit at the end where they spoofed the other pixar films and transformed them into cars, as well. Funny. There was a dedication at the end, too.

    Toy Story 3 - Well, what can I say? I grew up to Toy Story 1 and 2, so nostalgia aside, it was a good movie. The message was simple: "life changes [love is eternal]". There were other subplots and sub-messages to go with them, but that's the focus of the movie. I dunno, maybe part of the message was a signal that there wouldn't be another sequel - that the Toy Story franchise is moving on, so to speak. If so, it will be sorely missed.

    The whole Buzz Lightyear Spanish mode was hella funny.

    Drag Me to Hell - I watched this before, so I knew the good parts [horror-wise] and kept spoiling it to my mum [who doesn't like horror movies in general] and my dad [who only nods, wtaches the movie, and then points out the exact scene I was spoiling, LOL]. Lemme tell you guys, I was in stitches when the main character got dragged to hell and run over by a train at the same time. [technically not run over, as she was unharmed by the train, but you get what I mean]

    I probably should put all that into a spoiler, but no one reads these, so whatevs...

    Anyway, yesterday I made the fateful decision of finally letting my mom hack away at my hair - she's been raring to trim it to a shorter length for the past year or so. I've posted a photo of sorts in my FB profile, which you guys might [or might not] find in the GBATemp FB group.

    To some people, this isn't a big deal, but it is to me. Just to be clear - I'm no neat freak, nor am I narcissistic, but I do care about my hair [my eyes too, but that's not the point here]. Ever since I can remember caring about it, I always loved my hair to be long, and was duly pissed at school regulations decreeing that the accepted length of boys' hair is, well, too short for my liking. That, and my hair always grew fast.

    So you can say I'm attached to each strand of my hair that once reached all the way to the small of my back. Now, I can barely cover my eyes with them. Well, since I can't get all that hair back now - or at least not for another couple months, maybe a year - I suppose I'll have to live with it.

    As to other things in my head, here's a quick roundup:

    - I wish it was August already, so I can go back to watching the EPL. GGMU!!!
    - Screw the NBA lockout. Darnit.
    - Why all these friggin mosquitoes here? Last night, the cockroaches were out in force, too. Urgh.
    - I should really get back to whatever I'm writing, LOL


    My mum says I can finally watch HP7 part 2... Next sunday. Well, better late than never. [insert "that's what she said" joke here]

    Until next time, mortals. And any fellow shinigami out there, if ever.
  • Shinigami357

    Tremble before my might, puny Tempers!

    So, first off, let me just say... No, I am not posting this blog post because I'm in the midst of my "Can't watch HP7 part 2 depression"-itis. Just so we're all clear on that. Now, without further ado...

    I, Shinigami357, have just mastered one of humanity's greatest, century-long secrets. One that only masters can ever claim to learn in one try. In other words...

    I have mastered how to crack an egg open. One-handed. Without getting the shell pieces all over the place.


    Yes, yes, I know what you are all thinking. I AM a boss... :mthr:

    That will be all for this blog post, thank you.
  • Shinigami357

    Alternate things to do coz you can't afford a movie ticket

    So, everyone who isn't living under a rock should know that Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part 2 is out soon [tomorrow/in a few hours my time]. And, as usual, some people can't watch it [like me], so let's examine what other things you can do in around 2+ hours [though I heard the movie only goes 90 minutes? that can't be right]...

    Here's my list of "Alternate things to do coz you can't afford a movie ticket"

    [1] Sleep - I hate sleep, but whatevs.
    [2] Read - Of course, I'd stay clear of my HP books, lest I want to get depressed.
    [3] Get Depressed - Well, someone has to put it out there. Dammit.
    [4] Troll - Hey, I'm a Temper, ain't I? So are you.
    [5] Write - What I'll probably be doing.
    [6] Play games - Eh, we're all gamers here, so...
    [7] Get a life - Uh... Nope...
    [8] Reply to this blog - I recommend this! [I swear I'm only recommending this to help our fellow Tempers]
    [9] Sign my Death Note - Just 'cause.

    Anything else I forgot? Anyone there in the same boat I am?
  • Shinigami357

    Is God a gamer?

    So, in a society of gamers, it's almost become a habit to look at people as "gamer or "non-gamer". Now, if we assume that everyone is either one or the other, where does that put God? Gamer? Non-gamer? Here are my thoughts...


    God created everything in 7 days6 days and rested on the 7th.
    - Let's see Blizzard top that! :rolleyes: He created the universe, light, some other junk, animal and plant life, and then us. Heck, Spore ain't got nothing on him. And then he took a day off. Like a boss.

    God likes a character whose origins are like "WTF?!?" :wtf:
    - Y'know that guy Jesus? Yea, His son or something. God didn't go here, go all Simlish [talking bout simoleons and weather, LOL] and get a mate. Nope, He sent some winged dude to some untarnished chick and told her to bear His son. No muss, no fuss, no bother. Really devious, though. And people thought the whole "Link-Zelda stay the same every game" thing is devious... Huh.

    God knows how to use spells/skeelz
    - Y'know how in Sim City you can send a meteor to destroy your idiot citizens? In Black and White, too. God don't like people trying to get one up on Him. I mean, He made it flood for 40 days and 40 nights, gave Egypt 7 plagues or some crap, split a sea [and sent it crashing down on aforementioned Egyptians], etc etc.

    God has a rival
    - It's the true mark of a gamer. Competition always heats up things. God's greatest rival is this dude Lucifer IIRC, who didn't like Him being all boss and whatnot, and started a rebellion and some crap.


    Can you say RESPAWN TIME?
    - We go back to this guy Jesus. Dude got backstabbed, unjustly sentenced to the death penalty and then dies. Yea, so what does God do after He watches His son kick the bucket/buy the farm/bite the dust etc etc etc? He waits 3 DAYS to make him respawn. Damn.

    He's a pacifist
    - Admit it guys, gamers are non-pacifistic. Just look at the gamut of mindless shooter clones out there. God doesn't care about bloodshed as long as it doesn't concern Him [silly Egyptians]. He won't even twitch through two World Wars. Let the underlings fight it out, who gives a damn?

    No sequels???
    - Unless God's patience is longer than die-hard Duke Nukem fanboys, then we can be sure He ain't a gamer. I mean, He took His son away, right? And everyone's like "OOOh, let's wait for the second coming". Well, here we are folks, thousands of years later - still nothing. Sequel's never gonna come, by the looks of it. Face it, He doesn't care about a sequel.

    So... What do you guys think?

    Peace to all you hardcore Christians out there.